#I have spent enough time around cats to be decent at understanding their body language and to know how to pet them

[tj-crochets]

As far as my favourite animals go, I am obligated to put my two silly baby tabby cars, Benny (image 2) and Jenny (image 1)

But my favourite animal is the peacock mantis shrimp. One creature should not have evolved to have such rage in its body. I'm not going to attach a photo cos it looks a bit strange and I wouldn't want to scare you without warning :D

Your crochet things are amazing! I love them so much! Have a great day!

Thank you!! Benny and Jenny are absolutely adorable, and I don't think I've ever seen a cat with side stripes quite like Benny's. It almost looks like he has a big square on his side? I admit I haven't spent much time with cats though so idk if that's a common cat thing lol Peacock mantis shrimp are so cool! I appreciate you not wanting to scare me but as long as the animal photo isn't gory I have yet to encounter any animal pictures that scare me ^_^

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

pause, m | myg | 4

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Some things that are normal for most aren’t normal for you and Yoongi. He moved in and sleeps in the same bed with you, but still all you do is hold hands and kiss gently. Everyone has their own pace. Not everyone lives in the fast lane. There’s just... this nagging feeling. You have to be honest. 

warnings: rated M (18+) - mentions of a previous physically and verbally abusive relationship; language; smut (penetrative sex); there’s so much fluff you might die; also RIP to their heads XD; non-idol!AU; music producer!Yoongi x dancing fanatic!reader

rated M because I know how sensitive a topic domestic abuse is.

--

3.

-

"Sorry."

"What?"

You retreated your hand from the tuft of hair sticking out of Yoongi's black cap. He turned around and raised his eyebrows at you. You ended up apologizing before actually doing anything or even touching the little black tail in the opening of his hat. He adjusted the brim and gave you a weird look. 

"Something wrong?" he asked, tilting his head. 

"No, uh... I..." You struggled to find the words. "I almost touched you. I wasn't sure if you were okay with that."

Yoongi smiled a little. "It's okay. I know you're there. And I know it's you."

He was sitting right next to you at your computer in your bedroom. You had set up a station for him, the two of you in the corner, occupying two computers ninety degrees from each other. All you had to do was turn to the right and he was there. He turned to the left and you were there. It was kind of cramped and not ideal, but it had to do for now. Yoongi worked on music at home. Some things Yoongi could only do at the studio, but some things he could do at home. You found him a decent computer and some hand-me-down equipment and it was good enough. 

Actually...

It was miles better than it was before. He was surprised when you asked him if he wanted to work on his music at home. It wasn't permitted in Yoongi's previous relationship. But you saw he lamented sometimes, recording demos on his phone and wishing he had some sort of setup to do some things. You didn't understand the technical aspects, but it couldn't hurt to ask, right? It had become a fun project and now Yoongi was sitting beside you.

Yoongi spied the images on your monitor. "What are you looking at?"

You turned back. "Apartments. I'm just trying to see if there's something bigger, so you can have your own music studio at home."

He bit his lip. "I can't afford that right now."

You understood that Yoongi often mentioned money because it was a topic of arguments with his ex-girlfriend. You hadn't gone into this expecting Yoongi to be rich. In any case, it was better for him to invest in his music. You had already told him this, but habits take time to be broken. Thankfully, your work paid well even though it was mostly clerical duties. There were perks to having worked at the same company for a long time.

"It's okay. I want a bigger space too." 

"You mean you want your dance studio back?" he teased. 

You felt your ears heat. "I can use the living room... anyway, I want you to be able to work in peace. I haven't seen anything good though."

"Mmm, well, this kind of thing takes time and luck."

You turned your head to look at him and found his face next to your shoulder. A handsome profile. His eyes shifted to look at you. Something flitted in those dark brown eyes. The nagging feeling came back, tapping inside your ribcage, rattling impatiently. You looked away, back at your computer screen. 

Yoongi said your name softly. 

"Is something wrong?" His voice wavered. "Did I do something?"

"No, Yoongi," you replied, still not looking at him. The frustration inside expanded. You knew you had to communicate. You couldn't not. If you avoided it any longer, you would be growing the seeds of doubt and you wanted Yoongi to trust you. To do that, you needed to be honest. 

"I'm horny."

Silence. 

"What?"

You jerked a little in your seat, moving away from Yoongi before raising your head to make eye contact. Your chest felt tight, ashamed, even though it wasn't supposed to be embarrassing. 

"I'm horny," you repeated, rubbing your fist on your thigh. "I don't want to pressure you because I know that topic might be delicate. I just..." You kept looking at those wide cat-like eyes and then looking away, heart beating fast and heat building faster. "I find that I can't really look at you that long without thinking about it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Silence. You felt your stomach knot.

“I don’t remember the last time I had sex,” Yoongi murmured. “I don’t remember the last time I wanted it.”

Ah. Right. That would make sense. Of course, that’s how he felt. Also, you weren’t exactly sexy. The octopus dancing didn’t really get the guys, so to speak. You could handle yourself. It was fine. He was just so… You wanted Yoongi to feel good with your touch, wanted his heart to flutter the way yours fluttered, wanted to see him breathless with want.

There was a weight on your thigh.

You started, looking down, breath at your throat. You were wearing loose gray shorts and the matching sweatshirt. Not a sexy outfit to get your freak on. But you were staring at Yoongi’s hand, kneading the fabric and your leg underneath and the heat was rising, heart racing.

“I think I need a reminder…” he murmured. “A reminder on how good it feels to be loved like that.”

Yoongi lifted his head and you stared into his eyes.

He leaned forward and closed the distance, kissing you softly, and you breathed him in, fitting your hand over his, guiding it up, gentle touches, turning in your chair to face him, and he was turning to you, holding you close, your hands skimming over his t-shirt, not trying to get more, just wanting to show your want, just demonstrating how you would run your hands over his skin if there was no barrier, and he stood up, making you stand up.

And then your heads banged together.

“Ow!”

“Motherfuc–”

You swore and Yoongi clamped a hand over your mouth, rubbing his forehead and shaking his head.

“Don’t ruin this,” he winced, removing his hand.

“My brain feels rearranged,” was your woozy response, cursing the narrow space.

Yoongi took your hand and pulled you away from the computers, towards to the bed, the same bed you two slept on, but didn’t touch, not like this. You only held hands or kissed gently. Late at night, when Yoongi was fast asleep, you would stare at his profile and wonder if he felt the same passion you felt, but it was weird to watch him sleeping, so you looked away and stared at the ceiling instead, thinking about him and his body against yours.

And now it was, his arms around you, pressing you to his chest, kissing your lips, cheeks, closed eyelids, making you laugh a little. Your fingertips on his back, tracing patterns, his gasp against your skin, cap falling off and tumbling to the floor, his black hair brushing your forehead.

“T-Touch me more…” he murmured.

He took your forearms and pushed them down, sliding your hands under his white shirt and then it was skin on skin, a needy noise between you two. With burning ears, you realized that was you, Yoongi’s hands on your shoulders as you explored his back, fingertips dancing up his spine, his pants in your ear, and then his fingers in your hair, messing it all up, rolling his body into yours.

Hardness.

You gasped, raising your thigh to press against it, and his hands slid down, and you looked up to see his half-lidded eyes hazy with desire.

“I want to follow your lead, Yoongi,” you breathed. “Any time you want to stop, we can stop.”

He nodded, leaning down to kiss you, deeper this time, tongue sliding in and playing with yours, your hands exploring the contours of his back. His skin, so soft, so lovely, smelling the vanilla and patchouli body wash you used because you shared the same shower and he used all your products. You shared so much with him, but there were some things you couldn’t share. Not yet. Not until he gave you his sign that he was ready.

You never told Yoongi, I love you.

The most precious words used in this world, turned to a poison dagger to hurt him, so you never said it, not until he was ready to hear it, not until he wanted to hear it. You knew Yoongi knew. You would hold his hand, draw a heart in his palm, small things like that, and he knew. He’d squeeze your fingers and smile a little smile and that was enough.

Maybe you were tiptoeing too much, but it was impossible to tell, because everyone is different and not even Yoongi himself knew what trivial actions or words would bring back unpleasant memories. He had spent so long repressing them that it was hard to tell reality from fantasy. He didn’t know what to be afraid of because he tried so hard to make them disappear.

You drew a small heart on Yoongi’s shoulder blade and he gasped, pulling you closer.

“I… like when you do that…” he mumbled, sounding a little embarrassed.

“Draw hearts?” you questioned, tilting your head.

“Yeah… on my skin…”

And then Yoongi surprised you.

He backed up a little and pulled his shirt over his head, taking your hands and placing them on his chest, not saying anything, but you could see it in his eyes, I don’t look very good, and you pressed your fingertips to his chest, over his beating heart, looking up at him.

“You will always be perfect to me, Yoongi.”

He gave you a wistful smile, believing you and not at the same time. “You have weird taste.”

You drew a small heart over his, feeling him shiver at your touch. You grinned brightly. “That’s how you know I’m devoted.”

He chuckled, closing one eye, looking sheepish. You waited, letting him work through the emotion, trying not to put himself down, taking it for what it was. It was not an easy thing to do. You had to be patient. Yoongi took your hand and pulled you to the bed, a familiar environment.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said.

“You don’t–”

“I want to,” Yoongi reaffirmed, looking you in the eye, determination in his tone. “I want my hard work to be the reason you feel good.”

You shouldn’t say it. Well, maybe it will lighten the mood. You struggled internally and then leaned forward, placing the back of your hand near your mouth.

“Hard work is a weird way to refer to your dick,” you whispered closely.

Yoongi burst out laughing, gums flashing, raspy and full, shoving you onto the bed. You bounced, hands flapping about, grinning at you own joke as Yoongi grabbed the bottom of your sweatshirt, yanking it up and over your head.

“This and your bad habit of moving your head at the same time as me–”

“It means we’re in sync!”

“I don’t want a concussion every time we make out,” Yoongi shot back, pinning your arms down and hovering over you, exasperated smile on his face.

He was so close.

Your grin slowly deflated, realizing that he was shirtless and you were shirtless, and Yoongi had you pinned down, gazing down at you with dark eyes and that open-mouthed smirk that was also disappearing, realizing he was on top of you, realizing this wasn’t innocent, realizing he was about to do something that should be normal but was made abnormal to him.

“You don’t have to do it,” you said gently.

“I know.” He looked at you under his black hair, messy and flat from being under the hat, brown eyes and pink lips standing out on his fair-skinned face. “But I want to.”

You always thought that parts of life were boring. It would be easier to fast forward and skip it.

But not with Yoongi.

He leaned down and kissed you, a kiss that you wanted to pause and live in forever, him inhaling you, pressing deeply, hands releasing your arms and cradling your head, his kisses like stars, precious light that brightened your whole world. But you also wanted to press play, kissing him back, your hands caressing his sides, drawing small hearts on his skin, your own heart swelling with the electricity of touching the one you loved, not knowing until now how nice it was, the simple sensation of dancing your fingers up his back and back down, his gasps on your skin, kissing down, down the curve of your neck and the swell of your breasts, so focused that his eyes were screwed shut and his brows were furrowed.

“Yoongi…”

His eyes opened slowly and Yoongi looked up at you with shaking pupils. Scared he was going to fuck up.

“It’s just me. You know, the one who dances like an octopus.”

His expression seemed to relax, turning into ruefulness. “How could I forget?”

“Should I wiggle a bit to jog your memory?” you teased.

“Please don’t.”

Your remark seemed to have calmed him, returning to your breasts, slipping the straps down, kissing along the curve of the cup, slipping his tongue under experimentally to make you jump, heart racing once more, a small smirk on his lips as he reached behind you and unhooked it, releasing them from their prison.

“O-oh!”

You yelped when Yoongi pulled your bra down, kissing your nipple directly, tingles flaring from the kiss, leaving you breathless as his tongue danced out, licking gracefully, slow circles that made you clench your jaw and tighten your core to avoid arching your back to get more. Yoongi seemed to sense your urgency and added more pressure, closing his lips around it, and your hands flew up, holding his head as carefully as possible but holy shit, holy shit, Yoongi’s tongue on you was pure ecstasy and he was doing it for you, showing his love for you and that’s why it felt so good, that’s why it was so fucking nice.

“Ah, fuck, Yoongi…”

He kissed to the other side, murmuring your name against your skin, seeped with desire and affection, pushing your wet nipple with one finger as he kissed the other, two points of pleasure that flowed through you, your gasps turning to moans, his hands coming up and encircling yours, lacing your fingers with his and holding them, whispering, faint, nearly silent, vibrating your sensitive skin with his lips and breath.

And then you heard it.

His whisper right above your heart and you looked down, Yoongi’s eyes looking up at you.

Apologetic for taking so long.

“I love you.”

If someone paused the tape right now, took it out, and your life ended right there, you would be okay with that. If that was the last moment in this world, if that was all that was and time stopped, you would be content.

But it wasn’t.

Play.

You smiled down at him, trying to prevent your voice from shaking.

“I love you too, Yoongi.”

The most precious words in the whole world.

“Should I stop?”

Your eyes widened. “N-no! I mean… if you’re…” You stopped speaking, seeing the playfulness sparkling in those dark eyes, pleased to have tricked you, even if only for a second.

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled, lifting himself up to kiss you lightly. “I only wanted to see if you would be bothered.”

“I am very bothered,” you responded, peeved. “Hot and bothered, even.”

Yoongi lifted a brow, small amused smirk on his lips. “Come to think of it, me too.” He backed up and you lifted your chest, only to have Yoongi press down on your collarbones, worry flitting his face.

“What?”

“Don’t bonk my head.”

You grimaced. “I’m not a serial head bonker.” You lifted yourself up and Yoongi swung his head back, eyes flashing with mock fear. You pointed to the nightstand, rolling your eyes, and rummaged around in the drawer, feeling to the back and pulling out the small box.

“How old are those?”

Your cheeks flushed. “L-Last month!”

“You wanted to fuck me since last month?”

“N-No, obviously earlier, but I didn’t k-know if you ever wanted…” you trailed off, flapping your jaw, holding up said box, the condoms tumbling out. You panicked a little, not wanting him to think you were expecting too much, dropping the box and scrambling to collect the pile, the tip of your finger hitting the box at the exact spot that would cause it to fly off the bed and hit the wall.

You stared at it, betrayed.

Yoongi burst out laughing. “I can hear you talking to it,” he chuckled.

“I’m not saying anything!”

“You wanna fuck me?”

Your head snapped back, eyes widening. Yoongi tilted his head.

“Yes,” you blurted. “Well, yes, I mean, you’re so…” This was awkward. It didn’t used to be awkward but, also, you had never been this invested. Your eyes widened. You were invested in a person. Actually invested, invested in Min Yoongi. You looked up at him and he looked back curiously like a cat, not realizing your epiphany. Oh shit. Now this was even more weird.

Do something. Do something. Not that. Oh no, you’re doing it.

You held up the plethora of condoms. “Pick a card?”

Living alone made you too fucking weird.

“Aren’t they all the same?” Yoongi snickered.

You shifted, putting them back down on the bed. “Ahaha… right…” Your leg pressed against his and you jumped, startled. “You’re hard.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows. “When gorgeous tits are out, the human body reacts when there is attraction, even if you’re speaking nonsense.”

You blinked at him. “G-Gorgeous?”

Yoongi’s ears flushed pink and he reached over, ripping a condom off the others. “Y-Yeah…” He straightened, scooting back to between your legs, placing his hands on your shorts. “Ah… unless the mood is killed…”

“No,” you exclaimed, hands flying down to the waistband. “It is not. It is alive and well. Very well.”

Yoongi opened his mouth and shut it. Then he opened it again, smiling a little. “I’m beginning to think we are a bit strange.”

“it’s just because it’s the first time,” you rambled. “All first times are a bit strange.”

This wasn’t getting anywhere, so you yanked down your shorts and underwear at once, Yoongi gasping and snapping his head down as you kicked off your clothes, the sharp scent of your arousal suddenly very apparent. You felt your cheeks heat, unaware that you had such a strong reaction to Yoongi being above you, observing your wetness with round eyes, as if to say, I did that?

“Wow.” Yoongi raised his head, black bangs framing his beautiful eyes. “You’re stunning.”

Was it ever like this? Like every word was precious, every lyric in this song meaning more than the words themselves, like every single piece of the composition was perfect, special, everything pause-worthy, even the odd bits, you reaching up to cup his head, pulling Yoongi down for a kiss, him pushing his own pants down, sucking in a breath as your hand wrapped around him, moaning in his mouth, deepening the kiss, more erotic, more intense, his cock throbbing in your palm, getting harder by your touch, Yoongi whimpering in your mouth, backing off slowly, ripping the condom open, sliding it on, and you watching, oh, he’s beautiful there too.

“Thanks…?”

“… Uh, you’re welcome.”

You spoke out loud. Great.

“Do you need some prep?”

“Yoongi, please put it in before I say something stupid again–”

You cut yourself off as Yoongi pushed in slowly, both of you suddenly gasping at the sensation, you already wet enough because you had been thinking about this for so long, morning, night, morning, night, thinking about Yoongi, and if you could, if he was ready to have him inside you, filling you up, and it was happening, happening right now, sinking into you, looking into his eyes. And you could see the amazement, the wave of satisfaction that shimmered through his dark orbs, and the way Yoongi looked at you.

Like he was complete.

“I… oh, fuck…” His eyelids fluttered. “I might not be that good…”

“Are you kidding me, holy fuck, you feel fucking incredible,” you breathed, clenching around him, moaning softly at the perfection that was him, heart racing with every second. Your hands came up and held his cheeks, your breath hot and fluttering upwards. “You already feel so good, Yoongi. You can see it in my face, can’t you?”

His eyes searched yours, looking for the lie, the performance, but there was none, no need to lie when your hips were already slowly rocking into his, creating movement and pleasure, and he fell into the rhythm, complementing you. Your hands dropped and you put them over your head, grasping the pillows, letting out every cry and soft sound so Yoongi could hear and know this was the truth, your legs circling his slim waist. Yoongi bit his lip, breathing hard, whimpering a little.

“I mean… it’s been a while… and you feel too f-fucking good, oh fuck…”

You realized what he meant and you reached down with one hand, jolting as your fingertip touched your clit, rubbing it forcefully, shudders flying through you, gasping at your own stimulation, breasts pressing together, and Yoongi moaned, feeling you constrict and pulse around him, wetter, thrusting into you harder until there was a symphony of sound, heavy wanton breathing, slapping of skin on skin, chasing your climax as Yoongi chased his, eyes locked, almost there, almost there…

At the bridge.

Somehow you both knew the final chorus was coming.

“Yoongi…”

He breathed your name, drawing it out like the most precious word in this world.

You moaned deeply and it rushed through you, shooting up your torso and into your chest, an overwhelming pressure that took you under, making you throw your head back and gasp his name, pressing down on your clit to amplify every bolt of pleasure that made your muscles shake. Yoongi groaned, thrusting into you hard with his own gasp, cock jerking and shooting into the condom, surrounded by your suffocating embrace and you saw his eyes roll back a little, muscles in his arms tense, fingers bunching into the sheets, black hair sweaty and sticking to his face.

Hot breath mixing with yours, heavy pants of shared ecstasy.

“Whoa…”

His dark eyes flickered to yours, pupils blown out, blinking slowly as he exhaled. “W-What...?”

You felt your ears heat. “Oh… uh… it’s never been like that before. I’ve never felt… so much.”

A red flush bloomed over Yoongi’s cheeks. “Me neither…”

“Maybe we’re in love?” you offered lightheartedly.

A small smile grew on his lips. “Yeah, maybe.”

You began to raise yourself off the bed, but Yoongi put his hand on your collarbones quickly.

“Hold on. Let me get off first.”

“I’m not going to hit yo–“

“Ow!”

“Motherfuc–”

Press play.

-

fin.

--

masterpost

[vaire-gwir]

Some Cat and Wolf fanfic I had in mind pt.6

Or: I lost a Friend on ao3.

I really can’t let this one go, every time I’m ready to resign myself to the fact that I won’t finish it, I have to write another chapter. 

It’s winter again, and for the first time in a while, Lambert dreads the coming of spring. He refuses to go to Kaer Morhen cause he knows he won’t find peace there, so he decides to remain south. Eskel being the good and worried brother he is, finds him eventually. I wanted the reunion to be so much better than this, but I can’t seem to write anything happy lately. 

Be kind, english is not my first language and there’s a reason why this blog is called fillingless pie, keep that in mind. 

****

Lambert was passing through Velen when he decided he was not heading north. 

Something about this place gives him the chills. He's never been here with Aiden, they spent plenty of time in Novigrad and Oxenfurt, but they purposely avoided stopping in Velen, mostly because no one was paying them enough to face ghouls, mercenaries, and religious fanatics all at the same time. 

The stained statues, dripping with fresh blood and caked with the remnants of old sacrifices, creep him out. Their empty eyes seem to follow him around, everywhere he looks there's a shrine or a wooden sculpture of some kind, and he can feel their silent judgment. 

Lambert has never been religious, not before being a Witcher and not after, especially not after. If there were Gods, it's hard to accept they grant powers to certain people only to have them play with formulas and tweak mutagens until they could create a bunch of monsters to hunt other monsters. How did the Gods allow things like Witchers to happen?

A long time ago Aiden told him he didn't believe in the Gods because they're a useless device to instill fear, they demand sacrifices and tributes but do nothing when it comes to helping a miserable bastard out. They turn a blind eye to starving communities while rich Lords thrive and get wealthier by the day. 

<i>So much for justice, right? We're told to not anger them, but no matter how hard folks try, they still never answer people's prayers: I've heard poor farmers begging for their fields to be fruitful, and yet all they got was a scorched square of land and starved, I've listened to innocent mothers pleading for their children's lives and yet they had to bury them, I caught children praying for their father to return from the war and all they got was a bloodied sword in his stead. 

If the Gods were listening, they wouldn't allow that, don't you think? If they allow all this to happen, either they don't care about us or they're not really there. I'd rather believe they're not there. </i>

The icy wind howling between the trees surprises the Witcher and tears him from his dark thoughts as he instinctively pulls his cloak tighter. Lambert hadn't noticed how winter silently crept up to him, soon everything will be blanketed in snow, and he should have made its way up to Kaer Morhen weeks ago to retreat to the old keep and wait for spring. 

For the first time in a long while he dreaded the coming of spring. He had nothing to wait for this year, spring sounded as lonely as summer, as sad as fall, and as bitter as winter.

And now it was too late, he told himself, the passes would already be covered in snow and it was too dangerous to climb up the Killer in this weather, it was a treacherous path even in summer. It was a pointless risk to take considering that he could find half-decent work pretty much everywhere, he told himself it all depended on how picky he was. 

And if he's lying, well, no one is here to call him out. 

Because truth is, Lambert doesn't want to go home this year, home is gone and stone walls are no different than the bricks and rocks of any other village. 

He won't find comfort or safety in Kaer Morhen, there's nothing he can do there besides chasing shadows around every corner. He's not bringing another ghost to the party, the old castle is already too full of them. 

Home was just a word. Somewhere to let his guard down and stop feeling like he was constantly out of place. It was acceptance, understanding, safety. It was the chance to feel something else besides anger and disappointment. 

Home was that room at the inn north of Kaedwen where Aiden waited for him at the beginning of every spring, the first time they met there, as soon as Lambert picked up the trail of Aiden's scent his heart started beating so fast he was worried everyone else could hear it and by the time he got to the front door his hands were shaking like a blushing maid. 

He felt so stupid and happy and relieved to meet his lover again, he almost couldn't believe Aiden came all the way there for him. 

 Home was that clearing in the forest out of Redania where they spent the night huddled on the same bedroll after they were kicked out of a tavern, a petty argument turned into foul words and by the time they were forced to leave Lambert had never seen Aiden so annoyed and upset. 

Anger was his thing, it looked out of place in his green eyes. Lambert wanted so bad to go back and set the whole place on fire on principle, cause they don't deserve it, they didn't do anything wrong, and he would have done so, consequences be damned. 

But Aiden said that people rarely get what they deserve and curled up on his side, burying his nose in the crook of his neck and asking Lambert to stay. Suddenly nothing was more important than holding him close.

Home was the empty house by the river where they fucked until sunrise, the cave where he told Aiden he loved him for the first time, the room at the palace in Beauclair where he was so jealous he almost screwed up but Aiden forgave him anyway. That was home, Aiden was home. 

But Aiden was gone. Spending the winter between forgotten walls and frozen gardens is no different than spending it anywhere else if you don't care for the coming of spring. 

And he has no way to explain to his brothers what has happened. He’s not going to face his makeshift family knowing they’ll smell the stench of despair right off of him miles before he reaches the keep. He'll have to tell them what happened, there will be questions on their lips, and he doesn't have any answers. 

The wasteland surrounding him seems to reflect his mood so well, possibly because he has a different understanding of emptiness now: it's not only in the absence of things that were there, it's also in the impossibility to go back to a previous state, as if the shape of what's missing was still occupying an invisible place, so it's not truly empty, it's full of the shadows of those things that are gone. 

And maybe going back is not the point.

Spring is not as alluring and promising as it was before, the rain is not refreshing, the sun less warm, the shadows are always stretching long in front of him, they don't offer relief but only fear. 

But it was not spring that was alluring and promising, it was the chance to see Aiden again that beckoned him out of the keep, to kiss him, to tell him any stupid thing that crossed his mind, or just to sit in silence. 

The rain is still the same, but it won't cling to Aiden's eyelashes anymore, it won't fall on his face, it won't trace imaginary patterns on his shirt when it drips from his curls. 

The sun is still as warm as before, but its bright rays won't dance on Aiden's skin in the morning mist while they're sleeping, and it all seems a bit pointless now if he can't have it with Aiden. 

Lambert doesn't find it fair that nothing on the outside has changed. His whole world collapsed and he almost expected the real world to start crumbling too. 

Nothing will change in two weeks or in two months, it's not a new season that will make him whole. Days are still slipping from his hands, and nights are filled with the same nightmares he had months ago. He'll still be empty and lonely in spring, just like he was in winter, just like this scorched earth has always been. 

Before meeting Aiden he had always lived life like that, without holding any expectations or hope, accepting things as they were, his only defense against the world was his anger. But he's not the same person he was before, much like a snake that sheds its skin can't wear the old one again no matter how much it misses it. 

No, he won't go to Kaer Morhen this time. Every inn, every tavern, every empty house can be almost like home, cause when it's dark and he's weary and he can't bother to scrape monster's blood off of his skin, he can pretend that Aiden is getting food downstairs and he’ll be back in a few minutes, he's talking with their employer, burning a body, getting supplies, he'll be back, he just has to wait and behave. 

And when the illusion holds, he can breathe easy again for a few minutes, cause he knows he’ll wait until the end of times if it means he gets to see bright green eyes and a cheeky grin emerging from the doorway. 

It's not a permanent solution, but he lives by the rule of whatever helps you sleep at night, one more lie won't make any difference. 

It's exhausting, searching for Aiden's face in every single person he sees, but that doesn't mean he knows how to stop doing it. Just like he doesn't know how to stop seeing the damn cats. 

All of a sudden there's an abundance of felines everywhere he goes, nobody owns them, nobody sees them, but even in the middle of all this ruin, he has seen a gray cat jumping out of the rubbles. Its green eyes seemed almost out of place, too bright, too full of life, too clear. Beautiful things don't belong to ruin, almost in the same way Aiden didn't belong to him. 

The cats will follow him all the way to Kaer Morhen, his madness will chase him wherever he goes. 

He can already imagine the peaceful, repetitive life of the winter days at the old fort disrupted by his silent confrontation with a nonexistent cat, and his brother, his perfectly sane and normal brothers, as normal as they can be, even Geralt's bard, and Vesemir, all watching him while he trails after an invisible animal.

That would be something to explain. 

Lambert is still carrying Aiden's medallion with him, he can't bring himself to leave it behind after all this time. 

  He vowed he was going to burn it, throw it in a river, bury it in the middle of a nameless forest, but it's still in his pocket, the weight of it anchoring him to reality when he's drifting through the nightmares. It doesn't burn as much as before, or maybe he's familiar with that slight physical pain by now. 

Some things are easier than others to get used to. Loss is not one of those things. 

And if the Wolf wasn't so lost in his own thoughts, he'd notice the pack of ghouls moving in circles around the ruins of what once was a village, but his mind is not keeping up with his body, it's still focused on the gray cat amidst the ruins, and the creatures pounce before he can even figure out they're there. 

Rookie mistake. 

***

In the end, it’s Eskel that finds him in spring. 

Lambert is investigating a shipwreck along the Pontar river, near Ban Ard, the fourth in a month. He's sure it's sirens he's dealing with, but he hasn't found a single clue yet. 

The first rays of dawn greet him on his spot at the end of the bay and the first thing he can think of is that Aiden would have liked it here. He clenches his fists so tight that the dark leather creaks audibly, frustration and disappointment settling in his veins like a snake. 

Maybe that's why his mood is darker than usual, a sleepless night out on the shore in the middle of winter will do that to anyone. 

Maybe it's because he's not eager to go back to the inn, the maid swore they never let any animals in, and yet there was a ginger cat on the windowsill of his room when he entered and his stomach flipped every time its green eyes moved in his direction. 

It's the same maid that greets him when he gets back to the inn, she's tending to the animals as she say "there's another one" when she sees him, "I sent him upstairs, he said he knows you? I figured...well, I don't want to get in trouble."

Lambert stares at the entrance puzzled: it's a bit too early for Witchers to be this south. He used to be the first to leave the keep as soon as the snow melted, the others always stayed a bit longer. Unless it's not a Wolf. 

He doesn't know many other Witchers that well though, he has vague memories of his brief encounter with the Caravan, he has seen a Bear in Kaer Morhen a couple of times, and once while they were out on a hunt he saw Eskel talking to a Viper. He wouldn't say he knows any of them.

As he walks through the tavern, a familiar scent finds his way into his senses: beneath the leather and the steel he can smell amber, and sandalwood, with a hint of something raw, welcoming, citrus and apples, it's a warm scent, one he knows very well, he used to wake up to that scent on his pillows. 

Eskel always smells inviting to him, like sitting at the table when you're hungry or waiting for a cake to come out of the oven. 

How weird, the only two people he ever loved in his life were nothing alike: Aiden smelled like the sea, or the crisp clean blankets drying in the first rays of summer, fresh, spicy, promising, tempting. Eskel was comfort and quiet, reassurance and furs that have been left to warm by the fire draped over the bed. 

 He stops in front of the door, unsure, for too long. His mind is having a hard time figuring out why Eskel is here, did he happen to pass by, why is he not in Kaer Morhen, what if something happened...

The door opens not even a minute later, and a blur of red and black armor surrounds him distracting him from the questions crowding in his mind. He finds himself enveloped in a tight hug, strong arms circling his shoulders, pulling him closer, muttering something he can't focus on.

When he was younger he used to think that Eskel was the safest place he could find, it's funny how some things never really change. 

He’s worried, Lambert can tell something is bothering him, but for some reasons he looks almost...relieved? That's a first, he finds it hard to believe anyone can feel that way  when they see him. 

"How did you...What are you doing here?" Lambert's confused expression doesn't hide his reluctance in breaking their embrace. 

"Lambert, we thought...I was worried." Eskel doesn’t ask why he did not come home or what happened to him, he clutches him for a moment longer, silently grateful he finally found his brother. 

Fear is a big part of the winter months. Concern and worry sat in their chest like a stone every time they walked through the frozen courtyard. It's something every Witcher experiences, it comes from not knowing how many of those they left the previous season they'll find the next one.

This year, winter had been an ordeal for Geralt and him, Vesemir kept saying they shouldn't worry too much, but it's impossible to do so when they have no idea of what happened to their brother and the list of things that could have gone wrong is endless. 

It's tough, they already have so little, that the idea of losing it is unbearable. Whoever makes it to the castle first is bound to spend at least two awkward and anxiety-filled weeks waiting not so patiently for the others to finally, finally show up. They all know what it's like to lose a brother.

"It's early. You should be in Kaer Morhen," Lambert says trying to avoid his eyes. He sits on the end of the bed as if putting some distance between them could help him explain his brother's presence. 

"I left as soon as I could. Asked around in Ard Carraigh and a friend told me a Witcher was looking at the shipwrecks along the Pontar, figured it was worth checking out."  Eskel stares at him intently to check that the younger Wolf is not wounded or recovering from some injury. The fact that he doesn't find any doesn't settle his concern. 

"It's sirens," Lambert adds scowling. It didn't make sense for Eskel to be here this early, not for such a shitty contract. First job of the season was usually a big one for them, but he must have had a reason to travel so soon just to take a look into this.  

"I'm not here for the sirens," Eskel interrupts, his voice low as he crosses his arms over his chest. He leans on the small table in front of the bed and Lambert can see the way he's staring at him, he has that focused frown on his face, the one he always gets when he's engrossed in a book or when he's trying to plan the best course of action before a hunt. 

It makes him nervous enough to start ramble: "I can't find anything cause of course those fuckers disappear as soon as they feed and I have no idea where their nest is, but I'm on it, and I know it's sirens, you shouldn't worry about that. No point in coming all the way here at this time of the year, I can handle a couple of bloody fishes, and the sailors..."

"I'm not here for the damn sirens! I'm here for you!" Eskel snaps. Lambert immediately shuts up and lowers his eyes to the floor, the room falling into a tense silence. 

Eskel sighs. He sees Lambert fidgeting on the spot, legs bouncing slightly, fingers torturing a frayed thread on the blanket underneath him, unable to settle. Eskel hates himself a bit for putting him in that position. 

"You didn't come home." Eskel keeps his voice soft, trying to mask his concern. He used to be the one to help him calm down, relax and unwind when he was on edge, he shouldn't be making it worse. 

"I spent winter south before. Things happen." Lambert shrugs as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

He was surprised when he met Eskel outside of Beauclair an early fall afternoon of some years ago. It was always nice to run into your brothers on the Path, that brief moment of respite was worth all the hard days of traveling. 

Lambert felt almost sorry for lying when he said he couldn't stay long because he had a contract. Almost. 

In all truth, he was just eager to go back to Aiden, their little room seemed better than an entire palace. It felt natural, almost too easy, mentioning that he had a good job here and he wanted to spend the winter in town. He couldn't tell the real reason why he was so keen on remaining here, but thankfully Eskel didn't question him. 

The memories of those peaceful and carefree days together still cling to his mind, gnawing at his inside in painful bites. 

He doesn't know that Eskel thought happiness and quiet suited his brother so nicely he secretly hoped to find him in the same frame of mind next time they'd meet. 

"Exactly. Things happen, usually not nice things to us Witchers." Eskel sighs and rubs the lower part of the scar on his face out of old habit. "Do you remember that year I got held up on elf business and I was three weeks late?" 

"Of course I do, some of the worse three weeks of my life," Lambert mumbles. He didn't think it could get any worse than not knowing if one of the most important people in your life was alive or not. Now he knows it can get worse. Knowledge hurts more than doubt.

"You said I should never scare you like that again or you were going to kill me yourself." Eskel grins at the thought, the memories of Lambert clinging to him well into the night and muttering every now and then <i> don't ever do that again</i>. "Can you imagine how I felt when you didn't come at all?"

 Lambert keeps his eyes trained to the floor, unable to look at his brother. He never thought Eskel would miss him like that, he's not someone others usually miss. He's more like the type of person others can't wait to get rid of, the sooner the better. 

Fear of losing someone is etched into their souls from the first trials, when they have to deal with the horrible truth, many won't survive. 

Lambert remembers being in his room with tears still stinging in his eyes, trying to be strong, telling himself he made it through the woods and it would be easier now that the trials were done. And when he thought the worst was over, he quickly discovered it only just begun. 

Every year the apprehension and dread only ease when they're all finally together in the main hall. Lambert has been in the position of waiting for Eskel or Geralt to arrive, every day being a torturous collection of wasted hope. 

That's why Eskel's words hit him differently. He should have known better. 

"I...I had something going on...I'm not...I didn't think it was a big deal." Lambert knows he doesn't deserve his kindness or patience. 

He's always been a selfish bastard, and the fact that they're here in this room, and he's trying to come up with some excuse for his stupid behavior is proof enough.

"Why not? Do you really think you're not important to us? To me?" For a split second, Eskel wonders if maybe his brother didn't want to be found. He wasn't accidentally late, he hasn't been held back like they all thought, he consciously decided to not go home to them. 

For reasons unknown, Lambert didn't think Kaer Morhen was safe for him anymore. And that hurt. 

"Lambert, did something happen?" Eskel silently moves to sit next to him on the bed, his hand laying on his shoulder. His senses scream at him that there's something different in his brother's frown, in the way the lines on his forehead seem more pronounced, in how he seems to be so blank.

Lambert was always the only one of them to express everything in extreme, be it something he was passionate about or the anger that seemed to torment him at times. He was rarely measured or composed, he was everything or nothing, no in-betweens. 

That's what's different in him now. There's no fire in his eyes, no mounting feelings waiting to explode, it's like something was taken from him. 

He doesn't know what's wrong with his brother, but something is off. He's hurt, not in a visible way, but it's there, like a cut you can't see but it keeps bleeding. 

This type of wound, he doesn’t know how to heal. He can’t give Lambert some Swallow and let him sleep it off, there’s no injury to stitch or bone to fix, yet he can see his brother is bleeding and broken. 

[snippychicke]

Aftermath--Three

Chapter Three is here! The last of the set up chapters, after this is mostly just...fluff. 

No warnings, I think. A surprise waits inside, however. 

First | Previous

 Otto had spent most of his adult life working for the commission. A few time jumps to different eras and decades, but mainly staying somewhere in the 1960s since it seemed the more precarious times. Nuclear war liked to develop at the drop of a pin, and even the most well-meaning change could spell Armageddon thanks to trigger-happy Americans and Russians. 

(Though a few times it was the UK and France. And once China, which the rest of the world hadn't realized had nuclear weapons until it was too late.) 

But no matter where or when he was, he was with his brothers. Oscar might have mingled with the civilian population once in a while, but he, like Axel, either had other responsibilities or would rather relax at their temporary home than deal with the locals. 

He wasn't used to civilians and their quiet, dull lives. Granted, Lorelei often had her radio on to break the silence if she were home, and the grainy black and white TV was usually turned to the news. (She also had a habit of chattering while changing the dressings on his eye every morning and every night. Even if half the time her southern drawl made her words hard to understand, her tone and lit were pleasing to listen to.) 

It was still dull, with nothing but the pain to distract him from his thoughts. Losing Oscar had been hard enough, the wound still fresh on his heart. Even now, he expected his younger brother to try and ambush him just to get a reaction out of him. Or hear him trying and failing to sing to the more upbeat music on the radio, stumbling over the English words. 

Then he lost Axel; his last memory of his older brother being of his hands around his neck and Axel's face twisted in both rage and grief of not controlling his actions. Otto found himself praying to some unknown power that Axel was out there, somewhere, carrying on. 

Otto feared if their position had been reversed, he wouldn't be strong enough. He struggled as it was, but the thought of finding Axel gave him strength. Believing his brother was out there gave him the motivation to keep trying to regain his strength. 

And startling Lorelei was becoming decent amusement as well.

"Why are you doing pushups?! Shit, your eye is bleeding again!" (It often did at inconvenient times, leading to her fretting like a mother hen. She wouldn't rest until he allowed her to fuss to her heart's content. )

"Why are all my kitchen knives impaled in the garage wall?" (Relearning to aim with just one eye was becoming a chore. And he gave in to the need to take a break just as she returned from work. She quickly forgot about the knives as soon as she saw he was bleeding, again,  and about five seconds from passing out.) 

"Jesus Mary and Joesph, I swear Otto, you may not be a serial killer, but you definitely have a screw or two loose!" (He swore she hadn't dusted the cobwebs from her ceiling in decades, but considering how small she was compared to him, he couldn't wholly blame her. To his amusement, she tried to steal the feather duster he had found, jumping pathetically to try and reach it as he held it out of reach. It reminded him of Oscar, and then it wasn't quite as amusing.)  

It wasn't that he was getting soft towards her; it was simply that he had a sense of honor. The reverse of an eye for an eye; she had been kind insane enough to help him. The lengths she went to and fussing over him as if she genuinely cared, made him feel indebted to her. He could tell Raymond didn't trust him, giving him a dark look when he visited every day. 

But he couldn't harm her. He had no reason to (and it certianly wasn't because she tried so hard to show him kindness. Like when she tenderly brushed his hair away from his forehad when she feared a fever. Being so careful during dressing changes, her voice soft and soothing, her touch gentle. She quickly picked up on his body language and did her best to distract him when his thoughts got dark.) 

It was nearly two weeks before he was feeling well enough to think about leaving seriously. Two weeks no sign of Axel. He kept an eye on the news for anything bearing his brother's mark, but there was nothing—no trail for him to follow, making him antsy. 

The longer he stayed, the farther Axel was. (He refused to believe there was any other reason. Axel was out there. Somewhere.) 

It felt a bit wrong to leave when Lorelei was at work with nothing more than a note saying thank you on the kitchen counter and assuring the small room was in perfect condition (or as best as could be, considering the old worn everything.)

It took him a while to find the small cat house, feeling like it was halfway across the suburb of south Dallas (or it could have been that he wasn't quite up to strength just yet.) The ragged curtains were still drawn shut; a few of the cats lounging in the windows  enjoying the sun while others relaxed on the small steps thanks to the little cat door Oscar had crudely cut shortly after they had 'moved in.'

The cats welcomed him with plaintive meows, rubbing and threading through his legs. The fact the place smelled like an unclean catbox was enough to confirm Axel was no longer using it as a base. The large bag of dry cat food was spilled across the kitchen and living room, yet the cats were far more interested in him as he searched the small house for any sign of Axel. 

But every trace of their residence had been cleaned away per protocol, with not even the vaguest of hints where Axel's next destination was.

Except, for some reason, his and Oscar's bags were still stuffed in the hallway closet, packed and ready for a quick retreat, just as they had left it. The ache in Otto's chest strengthened at seeing his little brother's pack buried beneath his, the white and black milkman hat sticking out from where Oscar had quickly stuffed it before that last mission. 

Otto could still remember chastening him to take better care of it if he honestly wanted to keep it, and Oscar had groaned he would fold it correctly when they got back. 

Except his little brother didn't return with them that day. 

Only the cats were witness to him, pulling the hat out and falling to his knees as he clutched it to his chest, biting his tongue to trap the scream of agony from escaping. 

                                                        --+--

Lorelei supposed she shouldn't be too surprised when she returned to an empty house. She had noticed a restless shift in Otto for the last few days. The kind she had seen before in others that had stayed with her to recuperate before they too moved on. 

At least he was kind enough to tidy up after himself (was it embarrassing that he was a better housekeeper than her?) And he had even left a piece of paper saying thank you that she pinned to her fridge. 

She knew Raymond would be relieved when he found out he had left. Even though Otto proved he wasn't about to hurt either of them, her soul brother was about as distrustful as could be when it came to him (granted it was somewhat earned.)

But she was going to miss him and his odd antics. Like how he had sat at the kitchen table, all of her knives laid out before him along with an old whetstone he had found somewhere in her junk drawer, and spend probably at least a few hours just sharpening the dulled blades. (Generally, after he used them for target practice.) His determination to find some odd house chore she had slacked on and finish it without so much as a word. 

 He had been silent, but it wasn't the oppressive silence like her father's had been, where she knew he was boiling about something (like her existence). Sure, once in a while, it would be broody or antagonistic when Raymond visited, or something reminded him of something dark in his frankly mysterious past. But otherwise, it had been amicable. 

Even when she was chatty out of nerves or after a particularly stressful day, he hadn't seemed annoyed. Instead, she sometimes would catch a faint smile as she prattled on. Or even a light huff of laughter when she made a joke, and he shook his head slightly because her jokes were usually terrible puns. 

"Oh, I'm an old biddy," she sighed to her comatose patient the next day, setting up another saline flush along with the IV antibiotics. "Here, I keep telling everyone that I'm fine being by myself, yet here I am getting attached to an absolute stranger. I should just get some cats, huh?"

The man was silent, which she expected. The doctors had just been in to check the healing stump of where his leg had been. Which meant the nurse had dosed him with plenty of pain meds just an hour before. Partially to help negate the pain from the procedure itself, but also so he wouldn't try to grab the nearest person as a hostage. 

That encounter still left many of the other nurses hesitant to enter the room. It had been the day after the John Doe had been brought in the emergency room, found by a couple of hunters just outside of town with a traumatic amputation of his left lower leg.

One minute he had been asleep (or assumed) as the doctors discussed treatment plans, and the next, he had jumped up, grabbed one of the nurses, and had a ballpoint pen pressed against her throat while swearing something in an odd language as everyone scrambled. 

What was with white-haired men and being violent? Granted, she had never seen Otto like she had the John Doe, his pale blue eyes wild with both rage and pain. 

Which was why restraints were now strapped to the remaining three limbs. The straps rattled against the metal sidebars as John Doe stirred, making Lorelei pause. His young face was twisted into a grimace, and she moved to brush his forehead out of instinct.

"Bror?" He mumbled, making her stomach twist in guilt. She didn't think her rambling would wake him.

 "Shh, it's okay, hun. Just get some rest," She smoothed his messy white hair, smiling as he relaxed back into sleep. 

"Lorelei, you know you're crazy, right?" One of her fellow nurses asked as she slipped from the secured room and into the nearby nurses' station, "Going into that room by yourself. You saw what he did to Mary Lou!"

"Well, how would you feel waking up without a leg and a bunch of people hovering over you, talking in a different language," she shot back defensively as she grabbed John Doe's chart.  

"Not homicidal," her coworker responded, working on her own chart notes. "I mean, I'd scream for sure, but I doubt I'd be able to move the way he did. Hell, I doubt I'd ever been that quick." 

                                                      ---+---

Lorelei supposed she shouldn't have been happy to see Otto sitting on the front steps of her home the next evening. She had a crappy day, her feet were killing her, and she was planning on just crashing in her bed. Yet seeing him on the cement step, two large backpacks sitting on the dilapidated porch, made the end of her day a little better. 

He looked up, the bandage still wrapped around half of his face, but she was pleased not to notice any blood staining the gauze. She wasn't so happy to see the melancholy expression on his face.

 She took a seat on the step next to him, feeling warmth radiate him to chase off the chilly December air. She wasn't brave enough to look at him, and instead plucked a piece of dead grass from the lawn. "Don't tell Ray, but you make a decent house guest. Not many men clean up after themselves, let alone fight me about dustin' or sweeping them cobwebs out." 

She peeked a glance after a pause and felt relief to see a faint smile on his face as he focused on the dusk colored sky. "I won't ask what you've been up to, as long as it ain't gonna be bringing any police around here." 

"No," he answered her joking comment gravely. 

"Kay, good."  She tore at the blade of grass some more. "So... Are you looking for a place to stay, or are you just here to say bye for good?"

This time he did meet her gaze. His dark eye looked haunted, and she could see the telltale marks of crying by the red rims and puffiness of his lids. Her fingers ached to reach out and try to soothe the crease around his good eye, to bring some sort of comfort, so she shifted to sit on her hand instead, hoping he would think her fingertips were cold. "Because like I said, you're a nice house guest. You do your own share of the chores, and you can stay as long as you like. Just no more using my good steak knives as darts, you got me?"

"Yes," he answered solemnly, making her heart jump. "...Do you like cats?" 

His question surprised her for a moment before she smiled. "Yeah, I do. I was just telling my patient that I should get a few."

He nodded his head without elaborating further, though she swore there was a thoughtful expression on his face as he watched the last glimmer of the sun fade away. 

The silence this time was broken by her stomach growling, earning an amused glance from Otto as she blushed. "Right. Well, I'm hungry,' she hurriedly jumped up and offered her hand to him. "Shall we?" 

He accepted her hand, the callouses firm against her skin. It still surprised her how tall he towered over her. "Let's see; I have fish sticks or hot dogs. It's up to you…."

                                                   ---+---

Lorelei woke the next morning to a blank and white angular-face cat kneading her pillow; its purr a deep growl. As soon as the cat realized she was awake, it butted its head against her as a greeting, its purr becoming louder. 

"Where did you come from?" She asked as she sat up, allowing him to crawl into her lap. The cat, of course, didn't answer but continued to knead her lap. She picked up the cat and descended the stairs, following the smell of sausage and the quiet mewl of other cats. A group of them were sitting expectantly at Otto's feet, jumping when he would toss a piece of an egg at them. All of them boney and looking as if he had found them wandering the streets. 

"Dare I ask?" She asked, shifting the cat to protect her modesty as he glanced over at her. She didn't miss the quick once-over before he shrugged and returned towards breakfast.

"You said you liked cats." 

Living with him was going to be fun, Lorelei decided as she allowed the cat down to join its brethren at his feet and instead shuffled towards the fridge. "True. I did say that." She just didn't expect so many. They were all weaving around him, eager for a treat, which made it hard to count, but she swore there were at least a dozen. "So… do they have names?"

"Bebis." 

She waited for him to elaborate and frowned when he didn't. "Are you saying they are babies, or that they are all named Bebis?"

"Both," he answered, shooting her a quick half-smile as he flicked another piece of an egg at them. 

"Oh no, that isn't going to work. I mean, I fully agree they're babies, but they need their own names." She busied herself with setting up the kettle for coffee, trying not to think how easy it was moving around each other, or how much happier she felt compared to the last two days. 

It was the cats; she decided as one jumped up on the counter to pester her. Definitely the cats. She blushed when she noticed Otto watching her out of the corner of her vision as she baby-talked to the small tabby that looked like it hadn't eaten in weeks. 

Just the cats.

Next Chapter 

[straylightdream]

Sweet Temptations | PJM

chapter one: the best kept secret

Featuring: Jimin x Reader

Warnings: smut and some angst

word count:  1794

AN: this handsome man is my bias so I’m not shocked I wrote a smutty series for him. They whole series is gonna be smutty. If you would like to be tagged let me know.

all future chapter can be found in my masterlist

You were completely foolish when it came to Park Jimin. You knew you were risking your job by starting something with him. He somehow convinced you to give him your number and the boy flirted with you nonstop over text and I’m person.

You got offered a job by the company you worked for to follow BTS on the North American leg of their tour. The publication you worked for wanted to write a long detailed piece about their massive fan base in America, and their life touring here. You knew who the boys were when you took the job. You had listened to some of their music and was aware of who they were. Your publication managed to work with BTS on this project so they got you backstage access to every show and made it where you could interview the boys as well often.

The first time you met Jimin you couldn’t help but be smitten by him. Before joining them on tour you found him attractive. You had seen pictures of him and the boys on red carpets and you were aware of how handsome they are.

Your first solo interview with Jimin you couldn’t help but blush as he flirted with you. He was too charming for his own good. During his second interview with the boys he still flirted the whole time, and on his second solo interview he managed to get your number.

This started out as just innocent flirting, you told yourself over and over that he like to flirt with all women. Originally flirting was just on his part, but then you joined in. For some reason you thought it would be smart to play with fire. Even though you knew deep down that this couldn’t end well.

He stole his first kiss at one of the parties after one of the shows. You were tucked away in a dark corner of a club scrolling through all your work emails. You were caught off guard when Jimin slid next to you holding a drink for you. You slide your phone into your pocket and look over at him.

“A drink,” he says holding a drink out towards you. You realized early on that even with the language barrier between you, Jimin knew a decent amount of English and had no problem talking to you. Sometime he would have to ask you to repeat something here and there if he didn’t understand.

Reaching out you take the glass filled with a dark from him, “I shouldn’t drink on the job.”

He shrugs and says, “you should.”

You bring the glass up to your lips and taste the cranberry and vodka. He found out the day before this was your favorite drink.

“Thank you,” you look over to find him smirking at you.

“You know I shouldn’t be doing whatever this is?” you say waving your hand between you.

“Why not?” He asked as he brought his own drink up to his lips.

“I could get fired,” you say knowing that it wasn’t strictly stated but you knew it would be frowned upon. That BTS management and your company wouldn’t be happy to know something was going on.

He reaches out resting his hand on your thick thigh, and leans in close to you and says only loud enough for you to hear, “nobody has to know.”

You nibbled on your bottom lip looking into his dark eyes. Was he serious about wanting more or was this just a game of cat and mouse. You weren’t anything special, you're a plus size girl. You personally thought you were just average at most.

“Is this just a game?” you ask, needing to know.

He shakes his head.

You look up and see that everyone from the tour is on the other side of the club. Nobody can really see you and Jimin.

“You’re pretty,” he says leaning closer to you.

“Do you say that to all the girls?” You say with your face inches from his.

He shakes his head. His intense stare stays locked on yours. Butterflies fluttered around your stomach as he leaned in closer. Your breath hitches as you stare at him. You feel like you’re getting lost in his hazy eyes.

“May I kiss you?” he asked.

You know deep down inside you should say no, but you don’t. You whisper, “yes.”

His hand rests on your round cheek as he closes the distance between you and presses his lips to yours for a heated kiss.

That wasn’t the only time he would kiss you. From there on out he would steal kisses from you whenever he could. Anytime he would start a solo interview he would kiss you before the interview started and would attempt to be professional and give you an interview.

You started sleeping together about a week later. After a full day of him sending suggestive text. He somehow convinced you that he should come to your hotel room. You knew that was a bad idea that you shouldn’t mix sex with whatever is going on between you.

From your first time together you quickly learned that sex with Jimin is completely intoxicating.

-

Strong hands gripped your doughy hips as his hips plow into you at a quick pace. Your hands are taloned into his shoulder holding onto him for dear life. He has you sitting on the edge of the bathroom counter. You’re both basically fully dressed. He has your underwear in his pants pocket and your dress pushed up to your waist, and has his pants and boxers pushed down just enough to free himself. Your lips part as you silently pant. You desperately want to scream but you have to be quiet so you don’t get caught. With each thrust it takes everything in you not to wine. Before you were with Jimin you never thought you were someone who was loud during sex, but he seems to bring it out in you. It might have to do with the fact he likes to whisper dirty things in your ear while he is in you.

His dark eyes are locked on you as he’s focused on helping both you find your release. Leaning forward he connected his lips to yours for a rough kiss. His hips move into you at a rapid pace. He wasn’t trying to be gentle exactly, he knew it turned you on with he was a little rough. He knew this had to be quick so he was attempting to get both of you off. Tilting your head to the side you give him more access to your skin. He tug on your earlobe causing you to let out a moan. He knows the spot right below your ear is your weak spot. He wasted no time connecting his lips to your sensitive skin. He nips and sucks on our skin. You know he’s going to leave a mark, and it’s going to be a bitch to cover up around everyone. A moan passes your lips at the feeling.

“Quiet,” he murmurs with his lips brushing your ear.

Biting your bottom lip you hold back another moan. You know that you’re just locked in a bathroom that anyone could hear you walking by.

Closing your eyes you tilt your head back whimpering quietly.

“Min,” you breathlessly whisper.

“Are you going to cum for me?” he asked, tugging your body closer to his so you’re barely resting on the counter.

Mindlessly you nod your head as you stare at him. You know he can push you over the edge quickly. You desperately want to beg him to help you, but you know you have to stay quiet.

He moves one of his fingers to where you’re connected and brushes you sensitive clit. He brushes the right place a few times pushing you over the edge. Your eyes about roll back in your head as you find your release. You slap your hand over your mouth silencing whatever sounds are trying to escape. He thrust forward twice more before finding his own release. Leaning forward he rests his head on your chest as he rides out his high. Your chest rises and falls as you push your fingers through his hair.

Pulling away from you he looks up at you and gives you a crooked smile. You can tell he’s proud of himself.

“Wow,” you say with a little laugh.

He nods and says, “wow.”

Stepping away he tosses his condom and pulls up his boxers and pants. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out your underwear handing them to you.

“Do you think anyone heard?” you ask as he helps you jump off the counter.

He shakes his head as he adjusts his clothes hoping to make it look like he didn’t just have a quickie in the bathroom.

Your legs feel like jello for a moment as you work on pulling your underwear back on. You attempt to smooth out your hair as you look in the mirror. You can’t walk out of this bathroom looking like you had sex. Through the mirror you see Jimin stand behind you. He wraps his arms around your curvy stomach resting his head on your shoulder. In the mirror you see the hickie that is on the side of your neck.

“You left a mark,” you reach up pointing to the discolored skin.

“Sorry,” he says with a smile plastered across his face. Nothing about that smile implied he was sorry.

“Liar,” you say, pulling your hair forward hoping that will hide the mark long enough for you to get some concealer.

He steps away and you turn to face him. You know that you have already spent too much time here together.

“You should go to rehearsal,” you say.

He nods as he steps closer to you. Leaning forward he presses his lips to yours for a soft kiss, the complete opposite of kisses you had shared during sex.

You watch as he walks out of the bathroom. You shut the door quickly and wait five minutes before walking out. You hope that nobody saw both of you leave. You walk off to the lounge and work on writing some notes for your assignment. When you first sit down you pull your concealer from your bag and cover the mark Jimin left on your skin.

You stayed in there for a while just listening to music and working on your laptop. Your phone vibrating catches your attention and you can’t help but smile seeing you have a text from Jimin. You know at the rate things between you are going that when this tour is over it’s gonna be hard for you to walk away.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* the taglist is open *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@firstonetoleave @w1tchcraftt

[glados-kisser]

A few years back I was walking in a park with a friend of mine. It was a bigger park, some dogs loose (although it wasn't really a dog park, people were just Doing That), a couple of small roads leading towards one of the bigger roads in that part of the city. We ended up on the sidewalk talking, and I noticed a bird on the ground near the sidewalk. I mostly ignored it, but paused after my walking by didn't cause it to jump away or flutter. Curiosity piqued, I approached it, asking my friend to wait a moment. It was a crow, a bird I'd always had a fascinated respect for. It was making a bit of a fuss, and i crouched down to see it better. The bird was young, and I realized it had probably fallen out of it's tree - I could hear the caws of its caretakers above, but was concerned - as noted, there were several dogs in the park loose. My friend and I spent some time trying to contact various orginazations - the trees nearby were too tall to place the bird anywhere on them, and there wasn't any good shrubbage around to hide him in while he practiced flying (which is what I had guessed happened when he fell). So we called a number of locations - animal rescues, the audobon society, vets offices, the fire department (we were CONCERNED), and none of them would be able to get there before the weekend's end, which I felt was too far away and likely to end with the poor bird a dog's meal or worse. While my friend spoke with these orginizations (my phone was neaarly dead because I'm dumb), I sat a small distance from the young crow and watched him. I don't know what his thought process was - possibly that I wasn't making moves towards him and was tall - but in whatever his thoughts, he hopped over to me and began to climb me, stopping at my shoulder to let out a lovely and /very loud/ caw to his parents. At this point I lowered him from my shoulder (ow my ear) and began to stroke him (not holding him down, just touching him), noticing feathermites and feeling more concern for this bird - feathermites were normal enough as I recall, but I was still worried. I  sat with him for a short time before my friend gave me the news that no, we couldn't get anyone to come help within the next two days. At this point I decided that it was all or nothing, and I'd give my mom a call (I was about 17 and my mom and I have a good relationship) and ask if I could bring him home until we were able to get him to a rescue. She agreed - although he'd stay on our balcony, not inside the house (reasonable enough, since we had a cat). At this point a lady across the street came out and asked us if we needed help, we explained the situation, and she offered a box with a towel in it to carry him in. I was more than glad to accept, since I felt like maybe carrying him in my lap would be more stressful for all parties involved.

The box was procured, and my friend drove her car up towards the curb. I wanted to move quickly, since there was no way for me to thoroughly explain to the parental crows that I wasn't just taking their son, I was gonna bring him back safely. In hindsight, I guess maybe I could have just left him on the ground? I understand taking wild animals home isn't wise or kind in most situations, but something about this felt...mmmm, different. I don't remember now what drove me to bring him home rather than hope that nature worked to his favor - probably something to do with crows and wanting to do whatever I could to help them. But in any case, I took him home and dubbed him "Starscream", partly because I loved transformers, and partly because he was a noisy lad! I got him home and did some research after plugging my phone in, and was able to get some food (plain scrambled eggs and peas), which he was absolutely delighted to take. We set him up outside, and I took care of him. Feeding him frequently, and researching how best to help him. He was a little younger than a fledgling by my estimation, and after some research I found that Dove Lewis would treat and release crows. I was hesitant at first - I don't remember what I'd wanted to do, but I was worried for some reason about taking him to Dove Lewis as opposed to caring for him myself - but in the end my mother and I found a lesion on his tail, and felt it would be best to take him to professionals. Besides that, they'd be able to rehabilitate him if treatment took too long.

After about three days of caring for him (and gods did I care for him - something about him was borderline magical. If I ever had a familiar, I think he was it. I did a decent amount of research on crow body language, and he wasn't afraid of me - by the time we took him to Dove Lewis, his feathermites had cleared signifigantly, and I suspect it was because he was preenining again.), we took him to Dove Lewis. The people were optimistic, since he was preening and active this meant he wasn't afraid or in pain. So I was hopeful.

This is where the story grows less warm, and I wonder if I should have made different decisions. I used to cry when I told this story, because I felt like I had made a bad call. But I called them, and I asked about the crow I brought in. At first they told me he was well and they had been able to release him, but when I specified the location I'd given them, the gentleman got quiet. He told me that unfortunately, that crow hadn't made it. The lesion my mom and I had found had actually been the mark of what I presume must have been either a dog bite or an injury from the fall - but in either case, his tail had been broken. He wouldn't have ever flown, so they had put him down.

I know taking care of a crow was more than I probably could have done, but I wonder - I think about him, and I wonder what would have been different had I taken care of him. The wound hadn't been festered, he probably would have lived. Would he have enjoyed his life, or would he have resented me for being unable to provide better for him? Was it better that I sent him to people who had better knowledge? Would he have chosen differently, had the choice been laid out for him?

I wonder about these things.  I wonder how different I would be right now.

After his death, I returned to the park from which I had taken him. I was so afraid that the crows would mob me - I had failed, I had let their young die after taking him. They didn't. I think they must have known he was dead the moment his tail broke.

I think about him often still. @dovewithscales  This is the story I meant to tell you two years ago. I can tell it without crying now, but I still feel ... A lot. I don’t know if I did the right things, but I tried damn hard. 

[lorei-writes]

People I’d Like to Know Better

Aww, I got tagged by @datenoriko . Let’s do this!

Birthday: March 13 ( it’s somewhat awkward sometimes, because I never know what to answer whenever somebody asks me for my age if it’s before my birthday - the most accurate answer would be my actual age, but the more useful one would be to round it up. Either way, I’m almost 20).

Zodiac: Pisces! (And I can’t swim and have been terrified of water since forever).

Last song I listened to: Take This Lonely Heart - Nothing But Thieves

Hobbies:

Okay, stay with me there. Disclaimer: I do not do all of that stuff all at once. I do not know why it is that, but my hobbies have always followed fixated pattern: find something you like and do nothing else in your free time. I do not want to brag here, I’m just really passionate about those things! + I’m babbling way too much.

Math - I absolutely adore math, especially logarithms and trigonometry. There’s nothing more satisfying that finding a solution to a problem, even if it’s “using a cannon to kill a mosquito”, as my tutor says. That being said, I usually studied on my own (the majority of my classmates at high school just oftentimes needed more time than I did. I did have a private tutor - it is a really common thing in my country - but I usually had the general idea of the concept before the class and we’d just solve the tasks I didn’t know how to tackle). Because math is just like that! It makes sense! I feel safe doing math - if I can see enough examples, then I’ll probably be able to come up with a pattern and the solution. However, there’s a single problem with math ^^”” I had a very bad posture and could sit studying well... 6 hours at school + 3-5 at home (+private tutorial depending on the day)?^^””” It wasn’t all math, but it certainly did increase the amount of time I’ve spent like that... A couple of years of that and you know how I injured my spine ^^”” It was really bad, hehe, I could hardly write ^^” The first physician I’ve seen also didn’t diagnose it right, so I had to take a year off to somehow figure it out ^^””

Writing - I LOVE WRITING. I think I’ve started doing it when I was 11? Although it’s probably hardly noticeable, since I had never written stories in English before, haha. I usually write fantasy, because the word building aspect of it is just so enjoyable. Other than that... I am this unfortunate kind of writer that can’t lie ^^” I always have to research everything, otherwise it doesn’t feel right at all! I most probably always am overly optimistic in regards to economic stuff, but yeah, overall I tried to read up. Recently I’ve been EXTRA excited by how different English is when compared to Polish! I hope one day I’ll be able to convey the same raw emotion in both of them. And that I develop muscle memory, so that I don’t make so many typos!

O, and there’s some actual I-have-looked-it-up-stuff in my stories (spoilers): Had it happened in the future, part 2 - I know a person who has lost an eye in a very similar way, Dragon’s Treasure - technically, those are the symptoms of a poisonous hemlock... Poisoning. Gash, it sounds so stupid. Either way, it doesn’t grow in Japan (but it does in China, India, almost the entire Europe), so I put up the “it was exported” hypothesis. Either way, the funny thing in the story is that we still don’t have an antidote for it, so Torakikumaru was literally saved by the fact that he wasn’t hungry after stuffing himself with candy - yes, the konpeito he shared with Nobunaga. The boy just didn’t ingest enough of the plant for it to be lethal. Together? That’s how untreated hypothyroidism looks. I hope to write more stuff including some small details like that ^^” O, yeah, I was also really happy with how the Judgement day turned out! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve referenced the Exodus there ^^” Well, more precisely, Exodus 34:14, per verse. Though I’d say that that what happened before is also kinda important - the golden calf and so on.

Yes, I’ve been on one shots rampage since I’ve started this blog. 

SEWING - I’m self taught seamstress! I make mostly backpack and cute bags, but I can sew some simple clothes just as well ^^ Recently I’ve been doing some easy fixes and mending, but I hope to make a flat lined skirt in near future. Now that I finally have my hand back, I want to WORK. I also do embroidery. 

Crocheting & Loom Knitting - I’m not the best at either of this, but it’s soo calming. I oftentimes crochet when watching something - I actually can do this and still read the subtitles, so I can watch anime!

Languages - it’s low-key embarrassing, but I can only speak Polish and English ^^” I know some very basic French and Japanese as well, but yeah, I hope to learn more about those. Preferably, I’d like to understand written and spoken Japanese without much trouble. Though I like to just listen how others speak about languages just in general - what are the grammar rules, etc. It’s so fascinating!

Biology - I kinda cheated on biology (well, and chemistry) with math, but I still do love it. I especially like reading about the engineering of human body - how it evolved, what are the flaws in the “design”, how it all works. And for some reason, I like the long words. Just the long words. And since I like to know what they mean, people at school assumed that I was smarter than I was - like, nope, dear, I just read about random stuff and get VERY excited when there’s just a single tiny tineey chance I can infodump somebody.

Drawing - I used to draw portraits before my spine injury ^^” I was kinda decent at it, but yeah, well... Spine. Couldn’t hold the pencil. I’ve lost most of my skill now, but I’m slowly coming back  to it. I love coloring things with alcohol markers. They blend just so beautiful. I also paint with acrylic paints aaand want to learn more about watercolors! 

History - Eh, kinda random, but I watch a lot of stuff about how the daily lives of people in the past were - how did they do the laundry, how was the soap made, how did women deal with their periods, how did the underwear look, etc. I’ve read an amazing book on women in Medieval times! 

CATS - everything cats. Literally. From cat related goods, to actual products for cats - litterboxes, cat litter, anything. I like researching cat behaviorism. That’s probably good tho, because I have three lovely little cat ladies ^^

Otome games - I write only for ikesen, but I’m playing ikevam too. I played ikerev, but gash, the game crushes all the time! :C Other than that, I’ve finished Masamune’s route in SLBP and it was enjoyable - it is only that the colour scheme of the interface makes my eyes burn. I do not mean to say that it is ugly or bad, it just hurts me - not in metaphorical sense, it really, literally tires me out and makes the experience unpleasant. I know it’s weird.

Last movie I watched: Oh. Em. The thing is, I do not know ^^” I plan to watch some Ghibli movies on Netflix, but haven’t got around to it just yet ^^” I don’t remember when was the last time I’ve watched a film other than that - I just can’t focus for long enough. Or I get too excited. Long story short - you don’t want to watch a movie with me. You really don’t.

Dream job: Teacher! I would want to teach math. I’ve seen far too many bright minds go dull because the parents couldn’t afford the private tutor and that is just sooo wrong. However, it means getting stuck in a dead end job and becoming the private tutor after the school - teachers are gravely underpaid in my country and frankly, I don’t know if I will be able to afford to become one. 

Meaning behind URL: None. I just like Masamune & keep here all my stuff and the stuff I like. It makes me happy ^^

Tags: @missjudge-me, @fairstival, @nad-zeta , @metroidgirl0234 ! Hope you guys don’t mind ^^” If you don’t like the tag game, feel free to ignore it.

[superlative-solaire]

*[As he watches his brother flip the pancakes, a familiar scent thickening the air along with the sound of sizzling that fills the space between them, Solaire thinks back on the times in the past he has seen this exact sight. How many times has he watched Phthalo's busy back like this, a cobalt jacket clinging to slight shoulders as the usually-shorter skeleton balances on the step stool? How many times have they made easy morning conversation, or none at all, enjoying the telltale sounds of a peacefully shared home? It had been a daily routine, broken up only on occasion-- walking down the stairs with shuffling, heavy feet to be greeted with a quiet smile, and a gesture to sit and wait to be served.]

*[He'd come to accept many of his elder sibling's strange contradictions, his discrepancies. How a monster so lazy could be awake before he was; how they'd share this meal, and he'd tidy the kitchen dutifully like his room upstairs didn't look like a war zone. How he could grin so easily while he worked the batter, treating it like a pleasure rather than a chore, but would groan in dramatic agony the instant he was asked to pick up his sock.]

*[It's the little things he misses about living with someone else. Learning that everyone has their "ifs" and "buts," their moments that show a different side to their SOUL. If the world has taught him anything in 24 years, it's that there is no exception to the rule: everyone has more than one face. And it makes him feel less lonely, that way. To know more than one of someone, to have them know the many sides he has in return.]

*[When the house feels especially empty and lonesome, he even misses the bad days and faces. The days where he'd descend those steps to find the lights still off, and the kitchen empty. The days where he'd make a mess of his own trying to cobble together a decent breakfast, and knock on the door to Phthalo's room. Sometimes greeted by silence, other times a muffled acknowledgement. Leaving the meal there by the door, and finding a cleared plate when he returned home...or on the worst days, bringing it into the room and checking on his family’s well-being. It wasn't often he was allowed in the other's room, a need for privacy understood wordlessly by the two of them. Feeling useful in those times, feeling like family should-- the understanding that just by being there, physically, he could be there emotionally too. He could lend his support, and it was welcome. Appreciated, cherished even.]

*[It doesn't feel as real or as helpful to check on him over a text, or only when they get the chance to meet up like this. He knows he's a good brother, that it's not out of lack of love-- but he can't help but wish, sometimes, that they were still under the same roof each day. That he could be there the instant something goes wrong, aid with his problems, instead of merely offering support and comfort after it's already gone south. It's a present upset at the back of his mind, now that they're living separate lives...]

*[Because he's spent a lot of time worrying up close, and is learning that worrying from a distance is much more stressful. The kind of worry that doesn't feel productive.]

*[As Phthalo plates the pancakes-- bunny-eared, today, just like always-- he takes a moment to rub a hand over his sternum. As if to relieve an ache, or scratch an itch. And Solaire can feel it crawl right back into the cage of his ribs and curl up like a cat, that worry all over again.]

" ...ARE YOU FEELING ALRIGHT TODAY, BROTHER??? "

*[The question has Phthalo stilling his movements a mere split-second before his hands keep moving. When he looks to Solaire, it's from the corner of visible eye. The way his smile is pulled between two points is a tad too taught, too tight.]

* " uh...yeah. think so. "

*[The taller's brow draws inwards, corners of his mouth falling a smidge, and he leans a few inches further over the counter. Hands in his lap ball into loose fists, bare fingers bending into and away from bony palms-- finding the feeling unpleasant, and wanting to write it off as the absence of his favored red gloves. The likely half-truth, half-lie response bothers him more than he'd normally let it. Because if he was there, he'd know for sure. He'd have seen the signs and behavior before now, and could make that judgement. He'd have seen how well Phthalo has slept, or eaten; whether he's taken his medicine yet, today, and how well he's been getting around. It's taken careful observation over the years to pinpoint the warning signs...and now, he doesn't have that opportunity. Now, he's left free floating.]

" ...ARE YOU SURE??? BECAUSE YOU ARE ACTING LIKE IT IS BOTHERING YOU, AGAIN... "

*[Phthalo blinks a few times, owlishly. Stalling, perhaps, or pondering. Looking a little sheepish, a little ashamed, as he raises his phalanges to his collar bone in a telling move. Solaire recognizes the action immediately for what it is: nervous fidgeting. A bad habit that's stuck over many years as they grew.]

* " mean...'m a lil' off today, yeah. but 's no big deal, y'know. nothin' worth killin' the whole breakfast vibe over, heh heh. "

*[Sitting across from the younger of them both, sliding Solaire's plate across the table to him, Phthalo is quicker to take a bite than he should be. It saves him an instance of speaking, and he savors that.]

" ...I SEE. WELL, IF YOU SAY SO! "

*[As they eat, they maintain their usual banter back and forth. The day-plan sharing, the laughs through mouthfuls of food and the bits of pancake thrown here or there in jest. And as it goes on, Solaire fancies himself chewing slower and slower in an attempt to make it all last. Make their time together stretch across the hour, with a watchful eye masked as playful.]

*[Silence returns as breakfast comes to a close, Solaire clearing the table and Phthalo wobbling as he stands on tiptoes atop his bitty stool to take care of the dishes in their abnormally tall sink. Three times the taller offers to take that responsibility on, given he's more physically built to do it; three times he's turned down, albeit gently. When Solaire sets about his work while humming a tune, wiping down the counters, the smaller monster dares to join him-- and it is daring, given his lack of rhythm and the way he treads down an unbeaten, off-key path with a twinkle to the solitary star of his eye. He doesn't care if it sounds good, because it feels good.]

*[Solaire is almost ready to leave it lie, despite his brotherly instinct to meddle and overthink. So close to just letting the world keep spinning on its ass, come what may. But then he's gazing over just in time to see the way fingers tremble faintly as they hold the sudsy sponge, and the thin sweat cooling on a rounded skull.]

*[By the time Phthalo hops down from his veritable pedestal, drying his sore hands on the towel hung from the oven door, Solaire has stopped humming minutes ago. Instead, he seems rather focused on picking at a chip in the wood at the top of the chair, where his hands rest unsure. Without looking, he speaks in a voice that is just as tentative as the first dip of a toe into unknown waters. Like a child asking for permission, or for a treat at the store. Hopeful, but cautious.]

" WOULD YOU...COULD I CONVINCE YOU TO STAY HERE AND TAKE IT EASY, TODAY??? I AM SURE THAT YOU PROBABLY HAVE MOM STUFF TO DO STILL, BUT. YOU KNOW, FOR OLD TIMES' SAKE...??? "

*[-- And since when has Solaire done anything just for old times' sake? Just for the novelty? Phthalo isn't gullible, but he is conscious. He can hear the worry laced into the words, see it worked into the very body language his sibling exhibits. He knows that if he did go now...he'd just be worried about. A weight on the back to be carried, or extra stress to an idle mind. And that's the last thing he wants, because it'd have him worried just the same.]

* " mmh...yeah, i s'pose i really should, huh? "

*[He hadn't realized it was showing on his face, or embodying the tremor to his joints. And yet with Solaire behaving that way, it's clear now that he looks as unwell today as he's beginning to feel. The idea of lying back on that old couch with a plush blanket, and some tea, and the plethora of beanie babies that are sure to be brought down and arranged around him soothingly...it's nice. Madame seems to think so too, choosing then to walk between his legs and rubbing her soft sides against his bones as if to coax him into staying.]

*[And yet, even if it didn't sound like heaven to kick up his feet right now-- even if he did have important things to do today-- he knows he'd still stick around to rest up for at least a few hours. The way that his brother's countenance is now alight with relief, the way the worry exits through the bottoms of his feet and his shoulders bounce back up to their weightless default, is reason enough. To see that genuine smile return, that sunny show of pearly whites, is plenty.]

" REALLY??? GREAT!!! I CAN MAKE THE WHOLE LIVING ROOM A COZY LITTLE NEST, AND BRING DOWN ALL OF THE BABIES, AND TURN THE LIGHTS DOWN SO I CAN SET UP THE LAMP, AND-- "

*[Were it anyone else, Phthalo might feel guilty getting all of this attention and care. Definitely, in fact. But Solaire has said it more than once, each time taken to SOUL-- that he likes to feel like he's doing something to improve others' lives. That he likes to feel needed. That he truly does enjoy looking after this enigma of a skeleton, and getting his shot to flip the script. Today, he gets to play at being the older one. It's healing in different ways than intended, for Phthalo to be offered and accept such doting. To feel worthy of it, to feel like it isn't such a burden that he's sick. Has been sick. Might always be sick.]

*[But that's okay. Right now, it's all okay. Without meaning to, the little ex-sentry is sighing a laugh; warm, and earnest. It has Solaire pausing in his rant, his verbal checklist, and looking a bit embarrassed.]

" ...W. WHAT??? "

*[Response comes in the form of a nonchalant wave of a hand, Phthalo passing by to exit the kitchen into the living room. As he does so, a feather-light pat or two is placed against Solaire's shoulder with opposite hand-- or rather, as high up on the arm as he can reach.]

* " -- ehh, 's nothin'. "

*[But still, he's grinning like it certainly is Something. Making his way to the couch, Phthalo flops down onto it with a force that betrays the tenderness to his body. These cushions used to see so much use from him that he could barely recognize his own scent burrowed into the fabric and filling. But now they smell different, like new people, and places, and chapters in life. As he makes himself comfortable, at home, it all washes and settles over his head. That gaudy old rug that needs replacing, the sprinkle covered rock, even the lone glow-in-the-dark star still stuck to the ceiling that has likely lost its luminous qualities long ago.]

*[Some things change, but others stay the same. That's the nature of the beast, the truth of life. And maybe that isn't so awful? Maybe that's healthy. Because really...how else would it feel so nostalgic to revisit the parts of the past you hold dearest?]

-----------------------------------------------------------------

*[The clock ticks steady on the wall, a cat's tail swinging left and right beneath. A very real statement, that specific furniture. Curtains are drawn closed, the air pleasantly cool. It's a calm sea Phthalo is set adrift in, stars lit upon the ceiling and walls as the lamp projects them outward. A heavy, fluffy, feline weight rests upon a weary chest that, strangely, rises and falls in steady sync. One ladybug beanie baby tucked under a snug arm. The TV is turned down low, voices and laugh tracks naught but whispers in the afternoon haze. Nearly inaudible snores and lidded eye are proof that relaxation has led to slumber, a needed rest.Turning the doorknob to exit ever-so-quietly, Solaire takes a second look over the scene with a SOUL that feels 3 times larger beneath the protective layers than usual. Madame cracks a single eye open, looking to him for a beat before nestling in further and rumbling a soft purr. Sure, he's hours late to his piano lesson-- but when he called Undyne up to inform her he would be, she was only minimally prying.]

*[As the door closes behind him, and his scarlet boots trudge through snow and ice, he hums cheerful pieces of assorted tunes to himself-- the world is as it should be, in good sorts, and he trusts it to remain that way until the next time it comes calling on its own. After all, he's not the only one looking after his brother, anymore. Right? And you know...that's more than okay too, he thinks.]

[emma-nation]

Without You - Bloodbound AU (Chapter 9) *For You Sequel*

Summary: Gaius is back. While coming up with a plan to take him down, the gang must deal with some new life-changing events.

Genre: Angst/Adventure/Romance

Rating: T - Warning for violence and language

Tag List: @begging-for-kamilah, @lulu-the-cat, @ilovekamilahsayeed, @zoe6111, @kennaxval (If you want to be tagged in future chapters/fics of this pairing let me know!)

Notes:

- English is my second language, please forgive me for any mistakes.

- Hope you enjoy it, your reviews and likes are always appreciated.

- Things have went as planned again this week, so here’s another regular update for ya :)

- Slight MxF Smut Scene Warning in the Flashback session! If you’re not interested, you can just skip this part without affecting the understanding of the chapter.

- FxF Smut Alert!

Lysimachus

About thirty minutes earlier they were driving back home, in complete silence. A lot of thoughts and feelings consuming his mind. Never, in his 2064 years of life, he had seen a Vampire survive a Feral bite. It was an extremely painful death. Back on his days as a Vampire Hunter, he even extracted Feral's blood and injected it on Vampires, infecting them and watching as they went through the gruesome transformation, before killing them. It was one of his favorite torture methods.

When they entered his apartment, Priya gently grabbed his arm.

"It was nothing," she assured. "The bite was superficial, I'm not feeling a thing."

Lysimachus turned around to look into her dark brown eyes, for the first time since he spotted the wound on her shoulder. She was stunning, truly stunning. He still remembered seeing her on TV or magazines, prior their meeting. Or how Zoe would always grumble about never being able to afford a Lacroix outfit. He never cared. The Fashion world wasn't his thing. While he appreciated being well-dressed, the brands of his clothes never mattered, as long as they made him look sharp.

Until somebody, sold him the information Priya Lacroix was part of the infamous Council of New York. The one group who could lead him to Gaius. For months he studied the Fashion Designer, following her steps on social media, until her VIP party in Amsterdam.

----- Flashback (slight smut, feel free to skip it) -----

"Show me what you got," she ordered him to remove every piece of clothing he was wearing. He learned she was so selective with potential houseboys as she was selective with her models.

Following her command, Lysimachus was completely naked in front of her. She walked around him, examining his body features.

"Hmmm, not very tall... Only 5'8". But..." she dragged her nails on his toned abdomen. "You've got a nice pack here."

Then she went behind him, grabbing his buttocks.

"And here too."

Finally, she stopped in front of him, looking down at his crotch. She grinned.

"Interesting... I'd like to see it on full-mode, if you don't mind."

"Being around you, it won't be a problem."

After showing her what she wanted to see, he had passed on another step of her test. But as he was informed, there was still a lot he’d have to prove to earn her approval.

"Please yourself," she demanded.

"As you wish."

She watched him with arms crossed, head cocked to the side. The manner he pleased himself and the amount of time he was taking to finish made a hint of satisfaction appear in her face.

"Stop."

"Make me," he teased, knowing her tastes.

She slapped him hard on the face and grabbed his hair violently, making him face her.

"One final step, and you're mine."

With one move, she completely teared off her clothes.

"You better give me the good stuff... or..."

"Or?"

She approached, whispering in his ear.

"I'll kill you."

After extensive hours of rough, wild sex, he managed to impress her. No mortal could ever give her that experience. She had found someone of her level, of her tastes... she only didn't know he was a Vampire yet. Or a Vampire Hunter. But she was very close from finding out... Lysimachus smirked, as his eyes turned red and he exposed his fangs, ready to drink Priya's blood completely.

----- Flashback Ending -----

That was 8 months before. In that period a lot had changed, especially recently, after knowing who she truly was. In front of him he could no longer see a wicked Vampire, but a broken girl. Who had been abused and humiliated, trying to heal her wounds through revenge. Giving men and women the same treatment she received. Deep down, she desired to be respected. And loved too.

He forced a smile, knowing what she was saying wasn't true. The bite went deep down her flesh. At this point the infection must be going through her veins, and soon, it'd reach her brain.

"I mean it, Hunter. I just need to feed and this thing will be healed," she insisted, reaching her purse. "I'm gonna find someone on Bleeder and..."

That was the last thing she said before collapsing. On the floor, her body started twitching on a strange manner. Her veins becoming more visible and her skin more pale.

"Priya!" He shouted, kneeling beside her and holding her in his arms. It was happening. She was becoming a Feral. "S-Stay with me. Talk to me... You need to stay conscious..."

He took her to his bed, placing her comfortably on his pillows.

"T-Tell me something about you... like, uhhh... when is your birthday?"

Through the excruciating pain she was feeling, she still managed to give him a small laugh.

"Why does it matter, Hunter?"

"Because... we'll throw you the hell of a party."

"November 6th," she answered. "But... it's 8 months from now... I-I won't make it."

"Of course you will!" Lysimachus held her face with one hand, while the other grabbed her cold, shaking hand. "I-I... I know a lot about magic and there's a cure for this. I'm gonna call my witch friend and soon you will be... snatching wigs again."

Priya fought a smile.

After feeding her a blood bag he had stocked on a freezer, he gave her a strong shot of painkillers and tranquilizers. Before falling asleep, Priya noticed a stake attached to his belt.

"Just do it, Hunter. Please let me die decently, gorgeous as I am. I don't wanna turn into a disgusting Feral."

"Hey," Lysimachus stroked her soft hair, before lying next to her, "that one was for the Vampires attacking your club, not for you. Why don't you rest now? I called my friend and she's on her way. We'll save you, I promise."

It was a lie, he knew, but she needed to feel secure, while he was willing to try everything, until the last moment. Killing Priya was not an option. Not right now.

With barely no more strength or control left, she squeezed his hand.

"I... trust... you..."

----------

Kamilah

Kamilah had been locked in her home office for a while. She had a need of being alone. The first, but not her main concern, was Amy coming home late night, and drunk, after a night of fun with Lily and Jax. That wouldn’t have been a problem under another circumstances, but at that moment she needed to stay out of sight. Gaius had thralls observing each one of the clans and with that, he could easily figure out she was back from London.

Her main concern was Lysimachus. After driving straight to Priya’s club and not finding them, she headed back to her penthouse, where she started receiving multiple phone calls and texts from her brother. He was desperate for her help. Something had went terribly wrong.

Answer me, please. I can’t lose two people I care about in the same night.

While she didn’t care for Priya’s life, she felt extremely guilty. Accidentally, she had told Gaius’ about her relationship with Lysimachus. Her brother had fallen in love, and being alive for over two millennia is more than enough to figure out that love is a weakness, that makes you vulnerable and fragile.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

“May I come in?” Amy asked. “Please.”

Kamilah sighed and unlocked the door. Her fiancée came in, wearing a casual outfit after a cold shower, that helped to return to a more sober state of mind.

“I’m so sorry, Kamilah. I was bored and... I messed up, didn’t I?”

She took a deep breath, taking a moment to answer.

“Not as much as I did.”

“Why? You scolded me so much that I hadn’t even time to ask. How did the meeting go? Did Gaius do anything to you?”

“To me, no. But...”

She lowered her eyes, avoiding Amy’s gaze while she told her everything. Gaius’ plans for The Council members, Lysimachus reaction upon the attack to The Crimson Veil, her anger and finally, the possibly tragic outcome.

“Oh,” Amy looked somehow shocked. “Have you checked on them yet?”

“No,” Kamilah told. “How am I supposed to tell my brother I was responsible for whatever happened to Priya? She’s a heartless monster, Amy. But he cares about her, for some reason.”

“We should drop by his apartment. That’s the right thing to do.”

Kamilah agreed with a firm nod. Amy’s strength and confidence during moments of crisis impressed her sometimes. How could a mortal be so young and yet so decided and wise?

Minutes later she was sitting at her brother’s office, while he desperately put off books and papers from shelves and drawers, looking for anything that could prevent Priya from turning Feral.

“Brother,” she gulped. “I know you’ve spent a long time around witches but... I’ve never seen a Vampire that healed from a Feral bite.”

“We couldn’t go out in sunlight too, remember? Now we can. Because of Priya.”

Frustrated, he threw a chair against the wall, smashing it into a thousand pieces.

“There’s got to be something...”

“Even if it does, at this point her entire body is infected! She’s a risk to all of us!”

“What do you suggest then, Kamilah?” Lysimachus slammed his fist on the table. “That I enter that bedroom and stake her while she’s asleep? Wasn’t it the same that they did to your lover back in Italy? How did that feel, huh? How do you think she felt, when you weren’t able to protect her?”

The words hit her straight in the heart. She hadn’t though about that event for a while, but it was definitely a scar she carried. She never had time to protect her, to tell how much she loved her, or even say goodbye. While she opened her mouth to say something the bell rang and Lysimachus returned, accompanied by the young witch that provided them the rings.

Kamilah left them alone in the office, joining Amy at the living room. The girl held her hand in a comforting manner.

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “He’d have done it sooner or later.”

“I know. Gaius isn’t the kind that quits and my brother isn’t either. Lysimachus always thought he could save the entire world and that’s what got him in prison.”

Suddenly Kamilah noticed the looks of Lysimachus and the witch were at their direction. She furrowed her brows as she detected the last few words of their conversation.

“...maybe her blood could help.”

Lysimachus approached, dragging Amy by the arm.

“Amy, I need a favor,” he pulled a dagger from his pocket. “I need you to feed Priya some blood.”

“No,” Kamilah protested. “You’re not dragging my fiancée into this! She’s not even herself anymore. She could lose control and kill Amy.”

“Come on, Kamilah. It’s her only chance! Being The First Vampire’s descendant, Amy’s blood has powerful properties. She could save Priya.”

Kamilah pulled Amy back to her direction by the other arm.

“Guys,” Amy tried to settle things between them. “Why don’t we sit down and discuss our options?”

“Discuss our options?!” Kamilah shouted. “You’re not risking your life for a mistake I did.”

“Excuse me?!” Lysimachus questioned. “It seems like you have something to share, sister.”

“It’s my fault. I accidentally told Gaius’ about you and Priya. He was furious when you prevented the explosion and used it to get a revenge on you.”

Her twin brother was completely mute for a second. Then he looked at her in a way she had never seen before... there was fire in his eyes.

“Y-You... betrayed me.”

“I had no intentions, brother. I’m so sorry, he wanted information about you and this was the less important thing I could think of.”

“Less important?” Lysimachus let a sarcastic laugh. “Less important for who?! You know what? Do you know why we’re in this mess in first place? Because I gave up on the ritual. I gave up on the ritual because in order to kill Gaius we must kill Amy too. I protected your lover Kamilah, meanwhile you sacrificed mine for your selfish purposes!”

He punched the wall, opening a large hole on it before heading to the bedroom.

Kamilah sat down again, processing the words she had just heard.

----------

Amy

At the balcony, Amy breath in some fresh air, still undecided about what to do. She had no problem offering a small amount of blood to feed Priya, as Lysimachus wanted, but would that be enough? Kamilah also had a point, she was about to turn Feral. She could easily lose control and kill her.

And there was the ritual. To destroy Gaius, she’d have to sacrifice her own life.

“It seems like you’re carrying a lot on your shoulders,” the young witch appeared right beside her.

“Oh, trust me. Only a year ago I was only a small-town girl, who wanted to come to New York, get a decent job and enjoy life. Now, I'm engaged to one of the most powerful CEOs of the country, who's a Vampire and the fate of their race, and also the human race, depends on me."

"No evil doppelgänger yet?"

"To be honest I wouldn't be surprised if she just appeared at my door."

Amy laughed at their joke, breaking a little the tension of the moment. The witch girl was about her age, they could've been hanging out, going to a club or to a theater together, but they were both dealing with the supernatural.

"So what's your story?" Amy asked.

"As exciting as yours," the witch answered. "Grew up in an orphanage, got separated from my brother, messed with some dark forces to find him... Anyways, I decided to settle down at New York just doing the witch stuff, you know?"

Amy smiled again. Even with such a tragic past, that girl was able to keep a good humor.

"So, you know about the ritual. The one to destroy Gaius."

"Sorry, I tried my best to protect you when I discovered. This is what I promised my ancestors. But your friends are good at finding out stuff."

"Do I really have to..."

She nodded in response.

"Amy, do you want to hear an advice? Get debriefed, go away. Runaway from this world while you still can. If the information about your origins fall in the wrong hands, they'll start a war for your blood."

"I can't, I love Kamilah. More than I ever loved anyone in my life."

"But someday, you'll die. Kamilah won't. And she'll possibly find another Amy to love. Think about it."

Amy fell silent again, thinking about her words. She though about her family, her hometown, her old life and then... Kamilah. She was everything she ever wished for. The danger, the adventure, the passion she always looked for, she found in the female vampire.

"She's getting worse," Lysimachus scream echoed through the apartment. "Will you all just going to let her die?"

"I'll do it," Amy announced. "I'll feed her some of my blood."

"Have you lost all sense?" Kamilah followed her to the bedroom. "She's going to..."

When she opened the door, Priya was tied to the bed. Her eyes were blood-red and she was hissing loud. The only few words she was able to pronounce were senseless.

"She's losing her conscience," Kamilah told.

"Not if I can stop it," Lysimachus argued.

Amy grabbed his dagger, opening a gash on her palm and dripping some blood inside a glass. She handed it to Lysimachus who forced Priya to drink it. Surprisingly, the Fashion Designer eyes returned to their normal color and she calmed down.

"Hello friend with benefits," Lysimachus caressed her hair.

"Only... the... b... ben... benefits," Priya joked, making him smile.

"Feeling any better?"

She shook her head in denial, for his disappointment.

"S-Slipping... again... want... want to... kill... you."

Frustrated, the former Vampire Hunter punched the wall again.

"Just... do it."

Amy shared a look with Kamilah. Her fiancée had been completely closed down since learning about the ritual.

The young witch also watched the scene, with a puzzled look.

"She doesn't have a Brand, does she?" She asked.

"No," Lysimachus told. "She doesn't even know who's her Maker."

"The Brand is meant to keep the conscience tethered to the body. Maybe if we gave her one, infused by the blood of an older vampire..."

"I'll do it," Kamilah agreed. "It's my fault she's dying so..." she pulled her amulet and a lighter from her jacket.

"Noooo," Priya weakly whined. "Not... Kamilah's... tramp stamp..."

"Shut up! I'm trying to save your life."

"Wait," the female witch ordered. "I have a better idea. Seal the Brand with Amy's blood. Nothing is more powerful than The First Vampire's blood."

----------

Kamilah

Kamilah was browsing on her computer when Amy entered her dark office. After Branding Priya, she had gone home. The life of the Fashion Designer wasn't her priority right now, Amy's life was.

If Lysimachus was telling the truth about the ritual, she needed to act immediately. No one would sacrifice her wife-to-be, even for such a big purpose like destroying Gaius.

"How's Priya?" She asked, trying to show some sympathy.

"She has stopped losing her conscience, but the bite isn't healing. It has started to spread," Amy told. "I'm not sure if she's gonna make it. I wish I could do something more."

"Well, don't even say it in front of my brother. If he hears that, he may want to..." she stopped. "Nevermind."

Amy approached, sitting on her lap. She studied her computer screen, curious.

"Uhhh... Is that where you're planning to spend our honeymoon?"

"It's a house I own in Sweden. I've got it in a big deal I closed a few years ago. I was thinking it's a perfect place to start a new life, don't you think?"

"Do you mean... move to Sweden?"

"It's a small town. No one will ever find us. I have contacts, they'll give us new IDs and..."

"It's about the ritual, isn't it?"

Amy stared inside her eyes, Kamilah could see she was so lost and scared as she was.

"We're not doing it," she pressed her forehead on Amy's. "Never."

"But..." Amy placed a hand on the back of her neck, "it'd set you free."

"I'll never be free without you."

Kamilah pressed her lips on Amy's, kissing her slowly, while her fingers gently stoked the girl’s side.

"This is why we have to runaway. If the rest of The Council finds out... they'll come for you.

"I have another idea in mind."

Amy kissed her again, fiercely, firmly. With a force she hadn't felt ever before. She finished it by nibbling on her lower lip.

"Turn me," she whispered in Kamilah's ear. "Turn me right now. I'll become useless to the ritual and... I'll be yours forever."

"It's not that simple. Gaius would still come after you. And there's a lot you need to consider. What about your family? You won't be able to be so close to them anymore."

"I don't care..." Amy brushed her lips on hers again. "You're my family now."

"And you won't be able to have children."

"I can adopt."

"You..." Amy silenced her with her index finger.

"No more excuses, Kamilah. I give up on anything to spend the eternity with you."

"Eternity is a long time, are you aware of this?"

"Yeah..." Amy pretended to be pensive for a second. "But I think I can tolerate your temper and your cynicism for the eternity."

"In this case, I better work harder. Tolerating your insatiable hunger and your habit of losing stuff for the eternity may be expensive."

Amy laughed before pulling her for another kiss.

"I love when you try to be funny."

"Well, you started it."

The girls hand went under her shirt, feeling every inch of her stomach and chest.

"I was so afraid I wouldn't see you again," she spoke smoothly as her hands went down to Kamilah's pants, unbuttoning them.

"I feared Gaius had killed or even hypnotized you for real," Amy's mouth went down to her jawline and neck, while her hands traveled inside Kamilah's underwear. "Seriously, I even..."

"Amy," Kamilah interrupted her, rolling her eyes. "Can you not say his name while... doing this?"

"Of course," Amy apologized. "I'm sorry."

Kamilah closed her eyes, enjoying Amy's strokes on her most sensitive spot. She moved her hips, following the girl’s movements.

When she arched her back, finally reaching climax, she whispered in Amy's ear.

"This weekend... at the Hamptons' house. I'll prepare everything and... I'm Turning you."

----------

Amy

Lying on the bed with Kamilah, Amy grinned ear to ear. Being Turned and running away with her fiancée solved all their problems. Being biologically dead, she'd no longer be The One. Her blood would lose all its power. And also... she'd never have to leave Kamilah.

"Tell me about that Bachelorette Party," Kamilah broke the silence. "I'm not very fond of this idea."

"Oh, no big deal. Lily took me to this Strip club, full of hot guys and girls. Even Jax gave us a private little show inside the limo."

As Kamilah widened her eyes in shock then furrowed her brows, as if she was ready to explode.

"I'm joking," Amy quickly announced. "Only a few drinks among friends in a cool supernatural bar."

"Which one?" Kamilah wanted to know. "I know every supernatural bar in New York and none of them is safe for you."

"It's a new one. Founded by one of the Shadow Den members."

Kamilah didn't answer, but by her face, she still didn't approve the idea.

“Right,” Amy changed the subject, “now, what about that meeting? You still haven’t told me everything. There's something else in your mind."

Kamilah let out a deep sigh, that suggested something else was disturbing her.

"Hearing his revenge plans, the things he's planning for The Council members... makes me wonder what he's planning for me."

"Didn't you earn his trust again?"

"I know him, Amy. He would never forgive me for what I did. He's saving the worst for me, and he must be planning to use you or my brother for that."

Amy was pensive for a moment, then she grabbed a notebook and a pen from the nightstand drawer.

"What are you doing? Kamilah looked at her intrigued.

"Our own plan," Amy started explaining. "We have a head-start, you know what he's planning."

"A conflict between me and my brother was exactly what he needed. I’ve just made things easier for him, now I’m not in good terms with Lysimachus. God knows what stupidity he’ll be doing after Priya dies. "

"Okay..." Amy wrote Lysimachus name and pulled some arrows. "We need to ensue his protection."

Kamilah smiled and took off the pen from her hands.

"Let me take care of it, would you? You stay put, while I handle the tough part."

Amy pulled her by the shirt collar for a kiss.

"But I had a good idea... We can get some explosives, blow up that club and send Gaius, Jameson and the whole gang to space."

"You've been watching too much news on TV, little firefly," Kamilah playfully bit her earlobe, then pressed soft kisses on her neck. "Don't worry, I've got everything planned."

Kamilah grabbed her notebook and started writing her own notes. She had the prettiest handwriting Amy had ever seen in her life. She read the first word: 'Turning'. She smiled.

The female vampire proceeded with the next step of her planning sheet.

"Training," Amy read. "And then... Elope?"

"And the last..." Kamilah added, "Sweden."

Amy took the notes and started to adding some details.

"Right, Ms. Sayeed, CEO of Ahmanet Financial. What will be doing to this little company of yours?"

"I'll sell it," Kamilah was decided. "I can start something new. Something related to botany, perhaps."

"Will we have pets in our new home?" Amy asked.

"Cats. Many of them."

"Uhhh... children?"

"It's too soon to decide it, don't you think?"

"Hell yeah," Amy tossed the notepad aside. "We have a lot to enjoy before that."

Kamilah smiled before involving her in a warm, passionate kiss. Meanwhile, all Amy could think was about how excited she was for the weekend, when she'd become a Vampire.

----------

Lysimachus

"It has stopped spreading," he announced, examining Priya's wound. "It seems like Amy's blood has truly worked."

Lying on his chest, the Fashion Designer gave him a weak smile. Though she was no longer losing conscience or that the wound had stopped spreading, she wasn't looking any better. She was severely weak and pale, her skin was cold as ice. Lysimachus wore his leather jacket around her body and covered her with a heavy blanket.

"Hunter, stop fooling yourself," she mumbled. "It's not working. I'm dying... I... I wonder what the tabloids will invent. They'll say I died from an overdose probably."

"I-I won't let them... I'll say you contracted a severe and deadly infection, and that you fought like a trooper until the end."

At this point, he was holding himself to not cry. He hadn't cried for centuries. Not even when Zoe died. Although she was his best and closest friend, he knew about that risk. She was a mortal Vampire Hunter. Her life was always in danger. And he didn't watch her die. He didn't have to say goodbye. One move and Adrian broke her neck, far from his sight. Because he was busy, chasing Priya.

"Hey," he called, trying to keep her awake. "Last year, in your club, why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"

"You're a bastard, like me, Hunter. I knew that at some point you could be useful."

"Fair enough."

"What about you?" Priya asked back. "That night in Amsterdam, why didn't you kill me?"

Lysimachus sighed.

"I knew that at some point you could be useful. And because I thought you were pretty."

"Oh, so you had mercy on pretty female Vampires?

"You were one of the rare exceptions."

She let out a small, weak laugh.

After a long moment of silence, Lysimachus felt her hand touching his under the covers.

"Hunter?" She called. "I'm afraid. Though it's something I'd never admit, but I am."

"Y-You don't have to be," he wanted to tell her that soon she'd be cured, but at this point, both of them knew it was useless to sugarcoat reality.

"What do you think that happens to Vampires after their death? Especially the baddies."

"I've never thought of this before."

"My people believe in reincarnation. This is what I'm afraid of, I don't wanna be born a dalit again."

"If you do," he kissed her forehead, "I'll find you and I'll rescue you."

"How are you going to find me, stupid?"

"Simple, I'll look for the girl who can make awesome clothes and snatch wigs."

Seeing Priya genuinely smile again made a single tear fall down from his eyes. He noticed her eyes were teary too.

"We never finished that conversation."

"We don't have to."

"Okay... at least I figured out what was missing."

He held her even tighter, appreciating his final moments with her. Thinking about the life he was willing to show her. A life she never knew... A knock on the door brought him back to reality.

"Lysimachus," his witch friend shouted, "I know why she hasn't been fully cured yet! There's one more thing."

"What is it?"

"I was speaking to Jax and he told me that feeding from someone that the Vampire has an emotional connection may help delaying the transformation."

"Goodbye, cruel world," Priya mocked from the bed.

After the witch left, Lysimachus sat by her side.

"No one?" He sighed. "Not even... Sergio?"

"Sergio, Hunter?!" Priya rolled her eyes. "Are you joking or you're really this dumb?"

"I know," he ran a hand through his dark hair. "I'm only trying to think of a manner to save you. I meant it when I said I care about you."

Priya studied his face for a second, before inhaling deeply.

"If you ever tell this anyone, I'll kill you."

She sank her fangs into his neck, drawing a large amount of blood, for long minutes.

Lysimachus wasn't sure of how much of that was real, but his only choice was to wait and pray that Priya's body would fight off the infection by itself.

Next: Kamilah takes Amy to the Hamptons to Turn her, but will things go as expected? Stay tuned!

[foundcarcosa]

Rules | Answer the 20 questions and tag 20 amazing followers you’d like to get to know better! (y’all know the drill)

Tagged By: Stolen from: @slow-motion-shadow

“A few previous people who did this provided alternate questions, so I’ll just go ahead and answer those since they’re more interesting.” <-- Same.

Name: Johnny Carcosa

Nicknames How often do you wear makeup? Rarely. I think makeup is the tits, I just don’t have the money right now to build a decent collection and I also have nowhere to wear it to.

Zodiac Sign MBTI type + bad joke about it: Most recent result was INTJ and the MBTI already is a bad joke all on its own. Give me astrology any day of the week.

Height Favorite shoes: I haven’t had a favourite pair of shoes in a while. Shoes are so disappointing these days.

Nationality Tell me about your home planet: ... I’m a supermassive black hole, every planet is a home planet once I eat it.  

Favorite Fruit Share something you think everyday: "why do things make noise”

Favorite Season Do you like cinnamon rolls? Not enough to buy one.  

Favorite Book Share something personal related to books or music: I used to be obsessed with the Black Dagger Brotherhood series, about 10 years ago. Spent a lot of time on the forums and everything. The first and only long (like, around thirty chapters) story I wrote and finished was heavily influenced by it. Anyway, so some context for the story I’m about to tell: the Brothers have names like Phury and Tohrment and so on, basically English words slightly misspelled, usually by throwing an H in somewhere. Right, okay, so one time I got to meet JR Ward (the author) at a book signing and I asked her to make the autograph out to Vengeance (who was my character and also my Constant Companion at the time, and probably my username on the forums at that time), and then I added, “no H in it, though”.

Favorite Flower Favourite insect: Praying mantis, for one. Atlas moth, walking stick, cicada, there are way too many cool bugs out there, okay.

Favorite Scent Favorite science: All of them???? Like.

Favorite Color Favorite costume or disguise: *gestures to human suit*

Favorit Animal Favorite thing to do when alone: Everything. Existing unobserved is so freeing.

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Cocoa In a story, would you be a Lonely Mermaid, an Absent-minded Fairy or an Unpredictable Yōkai: I have no frame of reference for this question.

Average Sleep Hours Average hours of procrastination: Meh.

Cat or Dog Person Would you rather be friends with a green alien who loves to debate, or a sweeeeet little robot who understands you perfectly, but cannot speak? What kind of terrible question is this? An extraterrestrial robot, obviously. Not being able to speak is certainly no dealbreaker, seeing as communication has never been limited to spoken language.

Favorite Fictional Character Favorite mistake that always makes you laugh? Both of these questions are impossible.

Number of Blankets You Sleep With Do you like sleeping outside? Sure. I’ve done it enough, that’s for sure, but I do prefer sleeping outside because I want to, not because I have to.

Dream Trip Experience: For some reason, I’m drawing a blank on what to answer for this one.

Blog Created Name or re-name your blog aesthetic: Eldritch trickstercore? Mutually-assured madness? 

Number of Followers Number of your your close friends: Sorry, celestial bodies are nebulously defined and definitely without number.

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Ten Pence and a Pint

Short ghost story based around a pun. See if you can spot it!

2,971 words.

I need your help. I don’t know what to do. I swear I’m not crazy but I can’t think of any other explanation. Let me tell you what’s happened. Then if you want you can walk away, I won’t blame you. I would, if I ever could.

I’ve always been a bit of a drinker, and I know it doesn’t help my credibility but you have to listen. Nobody has ever complained and I’ve held down a steady job for years, but I’m always the last one to go home after a night out. After every party I would wander home past the abandoned pub at the top of my road.

After three different owners had all tried and failed to make a profit, the conventional wisdom was that the size of the pub and the terrible location made it too expensive to operate. Combined with the horribly accelerating property prices, nobody wanted to buy it. It had been boarded up, first with wooden planks and then with metal panels after some squatters had pulled away the planks. Then the building had been left to decay until someone could raise the money to fix it, or else give it a decent burial.

It all started in that pub at Halloween last year. I was wearing a silver spacesuit decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars. At some point in the night I’d acquired cat whiskers drawn with eyeliner and some glasses with those googly eyes on springs, but I was carrying them in my hand. As I walked past the abandoned building I noticed that the lights were on in the frosted windows, the door was open, and the smells of a party were coming from inside: meat, beer, wine, sweat. The night was cold and I wanted one last drink before bedtime. I swerved straight inside, not even caring if I was crashing a private party.

Through bleary eyes I noticed everyone was wearing outlandish outfits, from all kinds of periods of history. Obviously I didn’t think much of this at the time. I remember thinking it was hard to make out details of people’s faces. It was hard to understand anything anyone was saying. I thought it was a pretty pretentious party, with everyone role-playing. If I had been sober I’d never have dreamed of trying to get away with party-crashing, but I figured with enough swagger I could just walk up to the bar, order a drink, keep to myself, remain polite, and nobody would bother me if I didn’t bother them. I wobbled my way to the bar and ordered a pint of lager to settle my stomach. It was warm in the pub so I was sweating into my spacesuit, and I worried about my whiskers melting.

From what I can remember the bottles behind the bar were wildly diverse. There were glass bottles in all kinds of shapes, dozens of beer taps, chalk boards with cocktail menus in at least three languages, and even terracotta jugs on the bottom shelves. There were mirrors behind the shelves. They were clouded and artful, more like a metallic sheen than actual mirrors. I could see my own face clearly. For a brief second I was confused, seeing something behind me in the mirror that didn’t make sense. I can’t remember what it was, only impressions: darkness, squalor, anger. I felt the urge to look behind me but then the barman asked for my order. He was bald and his entire head was made up to look like a skull. He wore a black high-necked shirt and black gloves. I remember thinking that the skull makeup was very convincing.

“Just a pint of lager, please,” I said, as polite and sober as I could sound. I was pulling out my wallet and digging inside for enough coins. According to the price list on the chalk board, I had just enough money left to get ten pence change from a pint of lager.

“Sorry, we only serve spirits,” said the barman. His voice was deep and whispery, and I realised I could hear him so clearly because the noise of strange conversation had gone entirely silent as I ordered my drink

“Okay, vodka and coke then?” I replied, too drunk to think about the growing silence behind me.

“No, you don’t understand. We only serve spirits.”

“Oh I get it. Because it’s Halloween, right? Very funny. Let’s say I’m a ghost dressed as… whatever this is,” I gestured to myself, “And maybe give me a beer? A beer for the ghost of a poor dead space kitten? Miaow?”

The yawning void behind me suddenly became noisy again, but it was a terrifying noise. It sounded like a thousand howling wolves, very far away but very hungry. It sounded like a winter gale from the bottom of a deep ravine. It sounded like all the inmates of a terrible prison all at once suddenly flying into a violent rage.

At first I frowned in puzzlement, then turned from the barman. I can only imagine the stupid look on my face as I slowly turned to face the mass of forms that were swirling behind me. Faces screamed, or tried to bite me, or yawned open wide enough to try and swallow me, but they were instantly absorbed back into the swarm. My eyes were watering in the sudden wind that whipped the heat of the pub away. The sweat in my spacesuit was suddenly freezing.

Bewildered and terrified, I don’t know how much time I spent staring in horror at the terrible visions. Eventually I must have started running because the next thing I remember is fleeing down the road. I could still hear the animalistic screaming behind me as I yanked open my front door, hurled myself through it, and slammed it closed behind me. I was weeping loudly as I held my body against the door, bracing it in case something tried to follow me. I don’t know how long it took for me to start breathing normally, or for my heartbeat to recover, or to finally gather enough courage to let go of the door. Despite my fears, nothing appeared to be trying to get through.

I poured myself a glass of water with shaking hands and lowered myself onto a chair with trembling knees. I sat in the dark staring at nothing, jumping in fright every time the house settled. A creaking wall or groaning pipe had me looking around wildly like a hunted animal.

Eventually I must have fallen asleep because I jerked awake as the warm dawn light crept through the kitchen window. I rubbed my face, went to the bathroom, and nervously took a shower. The hot water scalding my frozen skin made me feel better. By the time I was making a cup of tea I felt recovered enough to laugh at myself. I had obviously had far too much to drink, and maybe had some kind of hallucinatory episode at the party I had crashed. Those poor people probably had a worse fright than I did. Nobody wants a random drunk astronaut with a cat face suddenly freaking out at their sophisticated Halloween ball, especially uninvited. Still, maybe it was a fun story they could recount to each other. Just one of many regrettable events over a busy, debauched Halloween night in the city. Or maybe it was something more nefarious. Maybe my hallucinations had been caused by some kind of drug in that beer. I didn't remember drinking it but maybe I had, and it had been spiked with something. By the evening I'd worked myself up into a righteous anger. How dare those pompous Halloween pricks take advantage of an innocent drunken idiot? I had imagined them previously laughing over the story as though they were my friends, and we were all laughing together. Now I imagined them laughing as though they were my enemies, not caring if I lived or died from their distasteful chemical prank.

Then I noticed my wallet was missing.

I hunted up and down, tearing my house apart into the night. The only explanation was that I'd dropped it in the pub after my freakout. Maybe one of those asshole “spirits” had picked it up and handed it in? If the pub was open again then there would probably be a ‘lost and found’ box. There was no physical money in it, but it had all my bank cards  I nearly had enough stamps on my coffee shop loyalty card to get a free muffin. Dare I show my face there after last night? Damn right! I would reclaim my wallet and have a bloody good word with them about their prank. It would be terrible for them if I reported their opening night to the police.

The next morning I went to work full of righteous fury, and on my way down the road I noticed the pub was covered in metal plates again. Maybe the party had been illegal in some way? It definitely seemed like there wouldn't be a box of lost property just left behind the bar. But maybe nobody had picked up my wallet? Or maybe one of the assholes had left behind something that I could use to track them down.

After work I waited in my house until it was dark, fingers drumming patiently on a crowbar I had borrowed from work. I fished a torch from the cupboard under the stairs - probably the least useful place to keep the one item you really need in a powercut. I waited until after midnight, put on some black tracksuit bottoms, a black hoodie, and a black woollen hat. The effect was spoiled by the bobble but it was still good camouflage.

Through the wintery air I walked down the road to the abandoned pub. Frost was forming on the pavement. I was hardly the most discreet burglar in the world, dressed in black and carrying a crowbar just strolling though the streetlit-orange night.

There was an alleyway alongside the pub, which led to the wall of the back garden. It was completely hidden and in deep nocturnal shadow, curtained on either side by frosty weeds. It smelled of foxes and piss. I pulled myself up the wall and then jumped down into the garden.

I landed in a crouch, watching the hostile shadows around me like a ninja in a bobble-hat. The orange streetlights barely lit the walls beyond the garden. The second-hand light that bounced down off the clouds only made the shadows seem more malevolent. Eventually I managed to make sense of the hostile forms surrounding me.

Everything had a thin scum of frost that seemed to grow like a fungal self-loathing. I was in a featureless square of earth with a tall brick wall on three sides, with the sheer face of the pub looming above it on the fourth side. It contained fractured concrete slabs that had once been a patio, each one a broken triangle of grainy orange texture. There was a smattering of beer tins like confetti shining in the darkness, and a roll of rusted chicken wire that lurked like a swamp monster. All of it was being swallowed down into the dirt.

The back door of the pub was covered in the same riveted metal, as were all the windows on the ground floor. It had a shine like an oil slick. My breath fogged against the metal, and as I felt the cold against my cheek I saw brief rainbows twinkle in the frost crystals I had exhaled. The second floor windows were still uncovered – not just uncovered by metal but also by glass which must have been smashed away a long time ago. They were a long climb up, and covered with pigeon crap.

I crunched my way over the derelict garden to the doorway, delicately placing my feet between the odd misshapen monochrome angles of the dirt. I jammed the blade of the crowbar into the narrow gap between the bricks and the metal, alongside one of the metal studs. I bent it several times, leaning my body weight against it. With a squeak of metal and a crack of stone, the panel shifted.

Instinctively I paused to listen for any kind of interest, beyond the garden walls. There was no unusual sound, only the distant noise of traffic on the overpass, echoing over the rooftops. There were shouts and TV noises bouncing around the wintery sky but no sirens, no screams, no alarms. The security box on the front of the pub was clearly one of those fake ones, unsupported by any kind of technology beyond a blinking blue light. The wood of the door all but crumbled as soon as it saw the crowbar. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

I pulled off my hat and flicked on my torch. It was dark, and predictably empty. Whatever remained of the carpets were fossilized under pigeon waste, the wallpaper had been ripped away along with most of the plaster, and the light fittings were just empty holes with exposed wires dangling like raw nerves. Each footfall crunched noisily in the dirt, sending up small clouds of dust. My footprints were messy and shapeless but left distinct marks in the filth. I tried my hardest to breathe through my nose rather than taste the air. I put one sleeve over my mouth, using my other hand for my torch. The shadows danced under my torchlight and it looked like the nerves were jumpy. Mine certainly were. I crept through the corridor, past the doors marked ‘ladies’ and ‘lads’. The actual letters had been taken long ago but the words were still stained onto the doors. I thought I would come back to investigate these rooms later. With a tremulous white torchlight I wandered into the main bar area – the scene of my previous embarrassment.

It didn’t look like I remembered. The mould was spitting off the walls like a hostile alien community. But some of the ancient structure was vaguely familiar. My torchlight found the bar. Apparently it had been anchored so securely to the floor that even the Halloween partiers hadn’t been able to lift it away after their illegal event. It had been left behind like the stump of an old tree. Whatever they had installed had been stripped away: the optics, beer mats, glasses, mirrors behind the bar, beer taps, and all the piping. Even the heavy ceramic jugs have been taken. The shelves must have been devoured by whatever super-powered woodworm lived in this mouldering crypt, leaving behind only the barest fragment of chewed-up wood like diseased and elderly gums. The tiny circle of my torch was dancing sideways along the bar, looking up and down for my wallet like a good hunting dog.

I didn’t find my wallet. I found my curse.

Sitting on the bar there was a shining, clean, pint glass full of cloudy amber beer with an inch of rich white foam at the top. The clouds were still floating to the top in patterns like sand drifting through water. I watched in shock as the foam floated upwards. Droplets of condensation were collecting on the glass.

An amount of time went past without anything happening. I must have been staring at the pint glass, eyes wide with terror.

Eventually a car slid past outside, and the headlights splashed through the tiny gaps in the walls.

The light slashed across the space, shining yellow and gold through the pint glass. It shone silver off a tiny circular coin lying in the filth next to it. Ten pence. My change.

“Oh shit,” I muttered. I wanted to break the tension. It sent pigeons flying from the rafters, disturbed from their nightly roost.

I shone my torch around the glass of beer. Nothing disturbed – constant filth. There were no footprints. Who had put the beer there? It was clearly freshly poured.

Through the sweat pouring out of my tracksuit bottoms I thought maybe this was some kind of TV prank show. I could only think of one alternative explanation and it made me sweat even harder.

I backed away from the lonely pint glass and its promise of sweet lager. My back made contact with the crumbling wall. I couldn’t back away any further. I shuffled along the wall until I reached the corridor, and then kept my eyes on the bar for as long as I could. I walked backwards past the toilet doors, and out into the pub garden. Very carefully, with a whispered apology, I pulled the flaking wooden door shut. I even pulled the metal panel back into position so that to the casual observer it would look entirely untouched. After that moment of sensible action I blindly ran to the garden wall, vaulted over it like a superhuman, and sprinted back to my house. I hadn’t reclaimed my wallet and the entire night was a repeat performance.

Since then, I know what’s happened. The objective explanation is that I’ve been traumatised. I know it was probably just a pint glass sitting on the bar. It probably wasn’t what I imagined it was at the time. The problem is that I’ve seen that pint glass since. Anyone standing around in a pub for long enough will see a pint glass unattended, because someone went out for a cigarette or went to the toilet or just got bored and wandered away. I’ve seen that pint glass standing casually next to a ten pence piece. I’ve watched the pint glass and the tiny silver coin, and each time they were never claimed. It was like they were waiting for me.

Now I suspect that every unattended drink is that one ghostly beer, lurking in wait, tempting me into drinking it. I’ve quit drinking.

So you see officer, that’s why I need your help. Am I crazy? Have you see that drink lying around with a casual silver coin next to it? Have you ever seen an idle drink lying in wait, and somehow felt a creeping sense of paranoia? Is it just me?

I worry about the pub too, officer. I heard a rumour they were going to knock it down to make room for luxury flats, but someone else said it had to be preserved as a historical building or something. I wish they’d knock it down. Officer, I try to avoid that end of my road. I honestly try. But sometimes I forget, or get caught in traffic, and I’m forced to drive past it. Sometimes at night I lie awake and think about the empty bar top with a fresh pint of beer, dripping condensation into the grime of years. I wonder if it is still waiting there. I need to burn the pub down. That’s why all that equipment and fuel was in my car. I was pouring it all over the building, and that’s probably why a neighbour called you. I wasn’t going to hurt anyone, I was just going to burn the bloody place down. I was trying to protect the peace. I just need to make sure nobody else gets haunted by a beer.