#because we only get “the one”.. sure enough - nobody wanted to waste the one very specific “fuck” utterance. kids listened.

[inkskinned]

one of the things about being an educator is that you hear what parents want their kids to be able to do a lot. they want their kid to be an astronaut or a ballerina or a politician. they want them to get off that damn phone. be better about socializing. stop spending so much time indoors. learn to control their own temper. to just "fucking listen", which means to be obedient.

one of the things i learned in my pedagogy classes is that it's almost always easier to roleplay how you want someone to act. it's almost always easier to explain why a rule exists, rather than simply setting the rule and demanding adherence.

i want my kids to be kind. i want them to ask me what book they should read next, and i want to read that book with them so we can discuss it. i want my kid to be able to tell me hey that hurt my feelings without worrying i'll punish them. i want my kid to be proud of small things and come running up to me to tell me about them. i want them to say "nah, i get why this rule exists, but i get to hate it" and know that i don't need them to be grateful-for-the-roof-overhead while washing the dishes. i want them to teach me things. i want them to say - this isn't safe. i'm calling my mom and getting out of this. i want them to hear me apologize when i do fuck up; and i want them to want to come home.

the other day a parent was telling me she didn't understand why her kid "just got so angry." this woman had flown off the handle at me.

my dad - traditional catholic that he is - resents my sentiment of "gentle parenting". he says they'll grow up spoiled, horrible, pretentious. granola, he spits.

i am going to be kind to them. i am going to set the example, i think. and whatever they choose become in the meantime - i'm going to love them for it.

[vivwritesfics]

Set The World On Fire

Chapter One

Lando Norris had been incredibly angry when they met. Incredibly angry, but sweet enough to help her. Turns out he just needed somebody to talk to, somebody to be there for him.

He was easy to fall for, and that put her in a world of danger

Mafia AU

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Series Masterlist

PLEASE READ!!: While this story is a part of the NNTA universe, the reader is no longer Lando's sister. To not spoil how people read NNTA, Lando's sister will not be given a name in this story. She will be referred to, but only as his sister (because it's very key for the plot)

They went on three dates before she worked out who he was. He was attractive, sure, but there wasn't much else to him. On the third date, she worked out what a waste of space he was.

The first instance was when she wolf whistled a waitress. It was disgusting, she was disgusted, and the waitress was definitely going to spit in their food. But she stuck it out, making a promise to herself that she wasn't going to call him after that date.

"Well," she said somewhat awkwardly after they had paid their bill, splitting it down the middle (he definitely had more drinks and the more expensive meal, but whatever. If she had to pay more than she owed to get away from him, then so be it). "Are you still okay to drive me home?"

"Sure thing, babe," he said as they walked across the car park, heading towards his shitbox of a car.

She scrunched up her face at that. Why did he have to call her babe? She wasn't anything to him and she never would be.

He got into his car and started his engine. For a moment she thought he was going to drive away without her, leave her stranded at the restaurant.

She quickly got into the car, kept her small back on her lap as he sped away. Everything was a blur, to the point where she couldn't tell which way they were going.

Turns out, it was the wrong way. The car stopped outside of a building with bright, neon lights. It was near blinding, and it definitely wasn't where she lived. "What the fuck," she couldn't stop herself from saying. "Why are we at a strip club?"

"Relax, baby." There was that word again. "Just come in with me. I'll by you a drink and then I'll take you home."

Yeah, she wasn't moving from the car. Anger simmered just bellow her skin as she fished through her bag and pulled out her phone. The phone she was sure she had charged before she left the house. So why the fuck was it dead?

She was at her wits end. "Well, you can stay here if you want," her date said. "But, uh, make sure you keep the car door locked."

It was the way he said it that had her climbing out of the car with him. She kept a tight hold of her bag as she followed him into the nearly empty club. It would be nearly empty, it was 7pm on a Thursday.

As soon as they were into the strip club, her date made a beeline for the bar. She followed him, out of necessity. After getting himself a drink, he sat himself in front of the stage.

Looking a little like a lost dog, she followed him to the stage. This was his regular spot, this much was clear by the way he greeted the other men around him. "The big boss is here," One of the men said to him. He nodded and looked back of his date, but she didn't hear it.

He smirked. How was the big boss going to act now that there was a woman in the club, one that wasn't working for him. He was known for being an asshole and abrupt when talking to people in his club. Lets just say, nobody stuck around for his friendly demeaner.

Whether the pair could feel the bosses eyes on them or not, he was watching. He sipped his whisky from his private booth at the back of the club as he watched.

She wasn't comfortable, that was for sure. She looked so uncomfortable sat in front of the stage, her eyes fixated on her shoes. She didn't once glance at the girls on the stage.

Lando felt so fucking sorry for her.

But he sat back and watched for just a few minutes more. Maybe they were just stopping in on their way to do something else. He didn't take his eyes off of her though.

They weren't going anywhere. After a good twenty minutes they hadn't moved, and she still looked uncomfortable.

Lando put his almost finished whisky down onto his table and stood up. Nobody would touch it if he left it there, he knew. Not if they wanted to keep their lives. He ran his fingers through his curls, shoved his hands into his pockets, and strode over.

The men sat around her were looking around at the others girls spread around the club. When they spotted Lando they visibly stiffened up and turned back around, facing the stage in front of them.

Lando was noticeably calm as he walked over, something they weren't used to. Normally, when Lando was walking over, it was to throw somebody out of his club. Normally, when Lando walked over, he was visibly angry.

But not this time. People moved their legs out of his way so that Lando could get past them, get to the girl sat in the middle of his club. Nobody looked at him as he tapped the girl on her shoulder.

"Excuse me," he said and she turned towards him, looking up at him. Unlike everybody else in the club, she didn't look terrified of him. "Can I help you, Darling?" He asked, although he didn't quite pronounce the 'g'.

He was... wow. Dressed in a black suit with the top few buttons of his white shirt opened, his blue eyes staring into her own. His skin was naturally tanned and his hair in dark curls. He was gorgeous. Once she saw him, it was impossible to look away from him.

"I don't work here." Why the fuck did she just say that? She hadn't meant to say that, but she couldn't stop herself. If this man was after a lap dance, she couldn't help him out.

Lando chuckled as he shook his head. But it wasn't a proper chuckle, one designed to make her feel foolish. "I asked if I can help you. Are you okay?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm just waiting to be taken home."

Again, that wasn't what Lando asked. But he didn't push on the matter. Instead, he offered her his hand. "Come with me to the back office and I'll call you a cab," he said.

She didn't know anything about this man. He didn't look old enough to be the club owner, but he certainly looked rich enough to own a club. There wasn't a lot to lose at this point, she realised as she took his hand and stood up. And, if he ended up being a creep, she could always just kick him where the sun doesn't shine and make a run for it.

In the back office of the club, he offered Y/N some water. She accepted the bottle (which had never been opened) and sat on the couch opposite his desk.

She watched as he called up a cab and gave the company the address. As soon as he had confirmation, he put the phone down and looked across the desk, looking at her. "Bad date?" He guessed.

"Bad date," she answered. He kept looking at her as he came around to lean against his desk. So, she continued speaking. "I wasn't going to call him again after tonight, and I think he knew that," she muttered, resting her back against the couch cushions.

"I don't think I've been on a date in years," he said and laughed to himself. But, again, it wasn't a genuine laugh.

That was when she properly looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles beneath them. His knuckled were bruised and bloody, as though he had been punching at walls. "Hey," she said as she put her bottle of water down. "Are you okay?"

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Didn't get close. "Just life," he answered simply. But she kept looking at him, the way she moved her head towards him urging him on. "Do you really wanna hear my problems?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm just a stranger in a strip club with nothing better to do but wait. Of course I want to hear your problems."

So, Lando told her. He told her all about the arranged marriage between his sister and another man, something set up by his parents. He told her that his step mother was dead and his father was close, and there was no way to get out of it. He didn't tell her who his family was, what they did, of course. The pretty stranger in his club didn't need to know that.

When he was finished, she let out a low whistle. "That was... heavy. Do you even know the guy?"

He let out a dry laugh. "Yeah," he answered. "Yeah, we know him." But he didn't elaborate.

Suddenly his phone rang on his desk. He twisted his body, picked it up and placed it against his ear. His conversation was quick, just a few words exchanged between both parties. "That was your cab," he said to her. "They're outside."

Picking up her bag and the bottle of water, she walked out of the back office. He had his hand on the small of her back as he gently pushed her through the club, towards the doors.

Just as he had said, the cab was outside. He pulled open the door for her, holding her bag as she climbed in. "Thank you," she said before he shut the door.

He smiled, but this one seemed a little more genuine. He didn't shut the car door right away, instead leaning forward. "If you ever find yourself in need of company late at night, this door is always open," he said as he pointed his thumb back towards the club.

She looked past him, looking at the club. "Will you be there?" She asked, looking at him through her lashes.

He said something quickly to the cab driver and reached inside of his suit jacket, reaching into the inside pocket. He quickly pulled out a small white card and placed it into her hand.

"Call this number first and I definitely will be," he said and went to shut the door.

But she stopped him. "Who am I asking for?"

"Lando."

The car drove off, driving away from the club. She kept looking back at the club, looking back at the handsome man shrouded in neon. He stayed standing outside of the club, watching the car, until it turned the corner and disappeared.

Soft music filled the car. Y/N kept her head against the window as she told the driver her address as he took her home. He didn't try to make conversation, which she was grateful for.

When he stopped outside of her home she climbed out of the car and fished around in her bag for some money. But the cab driver held up his hand. "It's already been taken care of, Ma'am," he said.

"Really?" Y/N asked. How could a strangers kindness stretch this far?

The cab driver nodded his head. "Mr Norris must really like you."

Mr Norris.

Who the fuck was Mr Norris?

Permanent Taglist: @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @minkyungseokie @formulaal @darleneslane @hiireadstuff

Series Taglist (OPEN): @millinorrizz @cinnamongirlontv @sainzluvrr @urfavnoirette

[batneko]

Okay I was trying to come up with a sugar daddy bowuigi AU and I ended up spending so much time thinking about the setting that this is gonna be another long one

So! It's modern day, big city. I prefer to think of it as still a world full of magic and mushrooms and monsters but if y'all want to picture this as a human AU feel free. In this world instead of a king Bowser is the third-generation owner of the biggest demolition company in the city. They took a slight dent lately because Bowser doesn't exactly get along with the city planner... but the company is still best in the business and not hurting for work.

Then there's the Mario brothers, who run a tiny independent plumbing company and by sheer coincidence have a phone number exactly one digit off from Koopa Demolition. They're good at what they do but because they can only take at most two jobs at a time they sometimes struggle. And they can't cut costs (any more than they already have) so the only leg up they have on the competition is promising to be faster than anyone else at the same price. It means they have to work a lot harder (and will definitely backfire sooner or later) but right now they're doing pretty well. Reasonably well. They're doing okay.

Having nearly the same number as a different business means that occasionally both groups will show up somewhere thinking they're about to negotiate a contract only to find out they just wasted their time and gas money. Hard feelings build up. Once, when the bros actually managed to convince a building owner to replace the lead pipes instead of tearing everything down, Mario and Bowser very nearly got into a physical fight. (It doesn't help that Mario is dating Bowser's ex though neither of them will admit that's part of it.)

And then one night Bowser goes back to a demo site to check on something, ends up getting hurt, and Luigi happens to be working late on a job nearby and comes to his rescue. He insists on accompanying Bowser all the way to the hospital, and while he's waiting with him mentions that it turned out to be a good thing the van broke down because if he wasn't walking back to the subway he might not have heard Bowser cry out. Bowser asks how Luigi is going to get home now, since it's so late the subway isn't running anymore, and Luigi says "I'll... I'll figure something out." Bowser calls one of his people and makes them give Luigi a ride. It's awkward for everyone.

The next day a tow truck shows up to take the Mario Bros' van to a mechanic. They're like "we didn't order this??" and the driver just says it was paid for in advance. Luigi realizes what happened and, thinking about the bad blood between Mario and Bowser, tells him the client last night was really grateful for him working late. Mario says they should thank him and Luigi says he definitely will.

So he goes to see Bowser, who is still laid up with a broken foot, and brings him a fruit basket. Bowser is like, I will absolutely eat this fruit but fixing the van was supposed to be payment for Luigi's help. He doesn't like feeling indebted. And Luigi says it was too much! There must be something Luigi can do to thank him properly.

Well... there's this stupid local businessman dinner that Bowser really didn't want to go to. Having somebody to talk to will make it more bearable. Luigi says sure, and the day of the dinner Bowser picks him up two hours early to go out and buy him a suit. Top to bottom, shoes and all. Luigi is a little offended Bowser didn't think he had nice enough clothes... but once they get to the venue and see what everyone else is wearing he can admit he did not have nice enough clothes.

The dinner goes well. Luigi IS a local businessman and nobody questions what he's doing there, even if they haven't heard of his company. Talking with Bowser is surprisingly easy, especially since plumbing and demolition have enough overlap that they can chat about work without having to explain much. They have a lot of similar gripes about clients and contracts and tools.

After a pretty nice evening and maybe one too many glasses of wine, it's all too easy to forget this wasn't supposed to be a date-date and fall into bed with Bowser. When Luigi gets home, rumpled and dressed in clothes he didn't leave in, Mario just congratulates him on what looks like a successful night.

A few days later there's a delivery. A brand new set of the power tools Luigi had mentioned he daydreamed about. Luigi calls Bowser and says this is too much, he can't accept it, and Bowser just says, "keep 'em or throw 'em out, I'm not taking them back. Already wrote them off as a business expense."

Luigi keeps them, but he can't explain this one away. He tells Mario that the person he went out with last week is... from a different socio-economic bracket. (Mario is not allowed to judge, Peach pays for most of their dates too.) They both avoid using the S-D words, but Mario says he feels too weird accepting work equipment from a stranger. Better tell the guy to stick to personal gifts.

So with something like brotherly approval, Luigi starts dating Bowser. He gets clothes, a new phone, fancy dinners and nights at expensive hotels. Bowser is not a bad date (except for when he is) but Luigi always feels a little weird knowing that their relationship is transactional. Even though Bowser clearly likes him and wants to make him happy, Luigi feels like he can't speak up about Bowser being demanding or talking down to people. Because if he's not agreeable enough Bowser will just find somebody new.

Meanwhile, Bowser has NO IDEA that Luigi thinks this. Somewhere along the line he got it in his head that his affection is a burden. He hasn't thought about this enough to put it into words, but he feels like he needs to reward people for being around him or they'll leave. He's not even trying to be a sugar daddy, he treats all of the (few) people he loves like this.

It's not until they've been dating long enough for Luigi to meet Bowser's son that anything changes. Luigi immediately sees that Bowser is pulling the old "new toys make up for not actually being around, right?" and can't stop himself from telling him that NO it does NOT make up for it. Your son wants your TIME.

He's extremely surprised when Bowser listens. And after Luigi tells him that asking Junior about his day and his hobbies will make him feel more cared about, Bowser starts making an effort to ask Luigi those things too.

Eventually he starts to think that... maybe? Bowser has just been romantically incompetent this whole time? So he tests it, and the next time Bowser tries to demand he take a week off to go on a boring business trip with him, Luigi (calmly but firmly) says that he can't possibly miss that much work but Bowser can call and talk to him every day. Bowser goes for it. He actually seems really excited that Luigi is "allowing" him to have so much of his attention.

Oof. Now Luigi feels bad.

After a couple more weeks of trying to wean Bowser off buying his affection (except paying the phone bill because Luigi seriously couldn't afford to do that himself) Luigi asks Bowser if he can officially call them boyfriends?

Bowser practically falls all over himself to agree. Everything is good, they understand each other, Luigi even has his own section in Bowser's closet. He could see this relationship lasting for the rest of his life.

Now he just needs to figure out how to tell his brother...

[v-anrouge]

Just a general analysis of like yi how he would act and stuff

A lot of people seem to think vil is a narcissistic self obsessed asshole who would give ppl eds and insecurities and shit and like as someone who is hyperfixated in him and has read about every content of him available in eng server that i manage to get my hands onto it's just one of the biggest mischaracterizations of vil. his words are always meant to be of encouragement when he criticizes something, his words are rough because as a child that was the way everyone talked to him, he was a young boy thrown in the modeling world and the acting world, and although it was (half) by his choice, having a famous dad he was born in front of the cameras. it's very clear that vil masks and barely shows his emotional side and you can see that this has been going on for YEARS because as a child when he is beat up by a group for being a villain in a movie he didn't cry and just stood up and insulted the kids , a contrast to how he vulnerably asked his father for reassurance on wether or not he was a villain also in his overblot flashback. vil has said it himself multiple times but whenever he assigns a self care routine and a diet to anyone it's always with the best intentions in mind, he doesn't give them a diet so they can lose weight, and he would never, we know that because in his overblot he confessed how much he hated the diets he put himself through but couldn't help it because he was desperate to be seem as beautiful, to finally be enough. vil is a very insecure man, a type of insecurity that is hidden from anyone that doesn't know his heart, and trust me, very little people know his heart. he's not one to trust others easily and once again that probably has to do with the industry around him and people probably trying to ruin his career. vil is an extremely caring and protective person, he takes care of everyone in his dorm and the people outside of it, and he recognizes the value potential and strength in everyone, and he will comment on it when he sees someone with so much of it and wastes it all by never trying, we can see that in multiple times but ill highlight his moments with leona and how he comments on it because he, unlike many in the school, recognizes leona is amazing and extremely talented (id also like to point out leona and vil are extremely similar and have extremely similar trauma just ended up coping w two opposite extremes (leona not trying and vil trying too much)) he is shown to even stay awake late at night to make sure everything is going right with each of his students. a lot of people seem to have the misconception that vil's overblot was caused out of envy for a casting of a simple movie but the truth is the roles were never the problem, it's not like vil has a problem with villains, what he hated is that he only got villain papers because no one ever saw the worth in him to be a hero, no one considered him good enough or fit for the role and would constantly cast all his hard work and passion aside in favor of someone else's (neige's) see how it is? it's never about the actual roles in a movie, what vil craves is validation, is admiral, is being truly loved for who he is, is to have his hard work be seen and recognized and cherished, is to for once in his life not be a second best, that's why he says n his overblot, that for once all he wanted was to stay in the stage until the curtains fall, all he wanted in life, is to be able to stay, and not be thrown away once something better is found to replace him

since you write for x reader im assuming you'd like to know how he'd act with a lover so; vil would even more caring over his lover, constantly checking in on them and fussing about little things in order to make sure they're taking care of themselves and treating themselves right the way they deserve to be treated, for vil to fall in love it takes A LOT of trust in that person so rest assured you'll see sides of vil that nobody but his father have ever seen before, you'll need to be patient because vil has a lot of issues to work through but if you stay by his side, hold his hand and encourage him to better himself like he always did for others vil swears on his own name you'll be the happiest person to ever exist

[cosmicjoke]

Part 2 of the Psychological and Emotional Impact of Levi’s Early Childhood:  How Levi’s Years with his mother weren’t Idealic:

So some of the conversations and additions to my post about Levi’s childhood got me thinking and focusing a little more on one, specific aspect of it, that I wanted to delve into here.   

Again, it’s interesting, because, as we know, Kuchel was a loving mother toward Levi.  She clearly loved him and, at risk to herself, wanted and kept him.  Something which undoubtedly made her own life exponentially harder, when obviously it was already incredibly difficult.  I also talked about how this decision had an aspect of selfishness to it, though, as she knowingly brought Levi into a situation in which he would also end up suffering a great deal.  I want to reiterate that this isn’t meant to be taken as a criticism of Kuchel or her love of Levi.  It’s just a stated fact. 

Kuchel clearly struggled to take care of Levi.  The fact that Levi was at death’s door when Kenny found him is testament to this reality.  All the love in the world wouldn’t have been enough to provide the basic necessities a growing child requires.  Levi was in a state of extreme neglect.  He was starving to death.  He was filthy.  He was barefoot and completely alone, with no sign at all of anyone having come by even once to provide help, and no sign that Levi ever left to seek help.  It was pure luck that Kenny came by when he did and was able to rescue him.  If he hadn’t, Levi would have surely died.

So what I wanted to get into here more specifically is what it tells us about Levi’s upbringing with his mother, that he was left in such a state, and why when Kenny found him, it was obvious that Levi was totally isolated, that nobody came by to help him, and that he also, apparently, never left their room to find help.

What that tells me is that Levi likely never had any real social interaction outside of his mother.  That his isolation may have been so extreme, in fact, that nobody outside of their home even knew he existed.  This seems supported by the fact that Levi was socially inept when Kenny first meets him.  He barely speaks, almost to the point of muteness.  When Kenny talks to him, Levi more often than not says nothing, just stares at him with shuttered eyes.  Kenny describes Levi as “cold” or “unfriendly”.  Levi is also constantly looking at Kenny.  He rarely seems to take his eyes off of him, which could indicate a wariness of him, which, given the sort of life his mother was living, and given where they were, the Underground, makes plenty of sense.  Levi would be wary of strange men. 

Given these details, it seems likely to me that Kuchel, in the least, kept Levi as isolated and alone as she could manage, and that she likely did this out of a desire to protect him from the dangers of the Underground.  It seems likely that she kept him in their room and rarely, if ever, let him out.  Again, probably because she wanted to shield him from danger.

But as we see, there was a price to pay for doing something like this.  Not only was Levi maladjusted, but when his mother was dying, and Levi was left to starve to death, Levi seemingly didn’t know how to ask anyone for help.  Now it’s possible Levi might have tried finding help, and nobody listened to him.  I wouldn’t find that surprising either, given the environment they were living in.  The Underground is a cut-throat, dog eat dog place, where very few people can afford to help anyone else, given the general, desperate circumstances most down there find themselves living in. 

Whether Levi sought help and was turned away, or he didn’t seek help because he didn’t realize he could, and also because nobody ever came by to help either of them, either way, this would have, tragically, affirmed for Levi that neither his nor his mother’s lives were worth anything to anyone. 

I assume it took a long time for Kuchel to die.  She was completely wasted away by the time Kenny found her, essentially skeletal in her appearance.  Part of this could have been because her body was decomposing.  But the fact she’d been dying from disease would have obviously ravaged her body, too.  Levi would have had to witness this slow, no doubt agonizing deterioration for who knows how many weeks or months.  That alone would have been horrifically traumatizing for him, especially given his own, general helplessness.  And in all that time, nobody ever once, we can assume, offered them a helping hand, offered them food, offered them money, offered them medical assistance. 

It’s interesting to consider too that Kuchel must have known that she was dying, and that without her, Levi would surely die too.  She had no way of knowing that Kenny would come by when he did, or that he would come by at all.  She hadn’t seen him, I’m assuming, since before she gave birth to Levi, since Kenny didn’t even know Levi’s name when they met.  So what does this tell us?  That Kuchel knew she was dying, and that without her there to take care of him, Levi would die too?

One might think Kuchel, once she realized her case was hopeless, would attempt to hand Levi over to someone else to care for him.  But clearly that didn’t happen.  There could be a million reasons for this.  Mainly, I would think, Kuchel didn’t trust anyone she knew enough to actually care for Levi, or that she simply wasn’t close enough with anyone to feel confident in her ability to ask them to care for her child, and that gives us a pretty good idea of what Kuchel’s relationships with other people in the Underground were like.  We can assume from this that she didn’t have any close friends, and in turn, we can assume that neither did Levi.  I would go so far as to say Levi probably didn’t have any friends.  I don’t think he ever had any real, meaningful interaction with other children, even.  Again, remembering Levi’s social ineptness when Kenny finds him, how withdrawn he was, seems to support this.  So from all of this, I think it’s likely that neither Kuchel or Levi ever got much social interaction, or had any, real social lives to speak of.  I think we can clearly see the ill effects of this in Levi throughout his entire life.  He’s famously very socially awkward.  He doesn’t really know how to express himself in words.  People often mistake him for being apathetic or rude or unfriendly because his face isn’t generally very emotive, and he often speaks in a monotone.  This in itself is it’s own kind of tragedy, because at his core, Levi is actually exceptionally compassionate and kind.  Levi’s social difficulties would also have obviously been terribly exacerbated by the way Kenny raised him after Kuchel died. 

But going back to the way Kuchel raised him, I think it’s fair to say that she kept Levi very isolated, and that she herself was probably very isolated too, and so we have to think about how this bleak reality likely impacted Kuchel’s own ability adequately care for Levi.

Again, going back to the state Kenny found Levi in, it’s obvious that something went very, very wrong in Kuchel’s ability to take care of her son.  It’s obvious that she was struggling severely to provide for him, once again not from lack of effort, but because of the desperate circumstances of their lives.  Food, clothing, shelter, warmth, etc...  We see those things were clearly not being provided to Levi on a consistent basis.  He was dressed in rags, some type of garment that was too large for him, and might be supposed to have belonged to Kuchel herself, meaning she couldn’t afford to buy him anything better.  He was barefoot, meaning she probably couldn’t afford shoes for him.  His hair was uncut and unwashed, as was the rest of his body.  They were living in what appears to be a single room with next to nothing in it.  There’s a single bed which Kuchel occupies, some pots and a pitcher for water I’m guessing, and that’s about it.  We see no toys.  We see no books.  We see nothing of any comfort or luxury.  There’s no other obvious rooms attached to the one they’re in.  No bathroom or washing area.  No doors leading anywhere else but outside.  And finally, Levi clearly hadn’t eaten anything of substance, or any kind of full meal, in a long, long time.   And he was completely alone.  So we see that, in the end, Kuchel, despite her obvious and genuine love for Levi, wasn’t able to take care of him.  Obviously Levi’s deteriorated state when Kenny finds him is a direct result of Kuchel herself falling ill, and she no doubt did her best when she was still able to work to provide for him these basic necessities.  But it’s also still obvious that it was always a struggle.  They had no money, and that’s plain.  They were living, very obviously, in abject poverty.  And already living in such a dangerous, cut-throat environment, where criminals and predators were able to openly roam the streets without consequence, since the above ground authorities rarely ventured down there, a lone mother and her very young child would have struggled all the more to survive.  With such a poor financial situation, their day to day lives must have been incredibly precarious and uncertain. 

But I’m also not just talking about providing the bare life essentials when talking about Kuchel’s struggles to take care of Levi.  Going back to Kuchel’s own seeming lack of social interaction or dependable friends, one has to consider the psychological impact of this on her, and how that in turn would impact her relationship with Levi.  Being a mother is a hard job.  It’s hard enough even in the best of circumstances.  Taking care of a helpless child that is in constant need of love, care and attention is incredibly draining and time consuming.  We often hear people joke about how mother’s should be paid to be mothers alone, because it’s such a consuming job. 

Now, you take the general difficulty of that job, and you amplify it with the sorts of difficulties and bleak realities Kuchel and Levi faced, things like abject impoverishment, a lack of any sort of real social life or friends, constant fear and paranoia of ones surroundings, the ever present reality of being surrounded by criminals, and Kuchel’s own day to day life working as a prostitute, and you start to really realize just how bad and difficult their lives together must have been.

Kuchel wouldn’t have had any sort of outlet, or escape, from the harsh realities of her day to day situation.  If she had no real friends (again, something that seems almost certain when considering everything else), then we have to assume whatever downtime she had from selling her body for money was spent with Levi and Levi alone.  So after hours and hours of being forced to let strangers have their way with her and use her body for sex, which we can pretty much guarantee also involved plenty of physical violence against her, Kuchel would then have to come home and take care of a young child who needed to be fed, clothed, washed, paid attention to, etc, etc...  all things Kuchel was clearly struggling to provide.  I don’t think the mental and emotional toll this sort of existence must have had on her can be exaggerated.  She had to have been exhausted, both physically and mentally.  With no one outside of a young child to talk to or interact with, she must have been deeply depressed and often felt incredibly alone.  Those feelings would have only been worsened by her struggle to provide enough food and shelter and warmth to keep them both alive.  They would have only be worsened further by her need to constantly be vigilant and protect Levi from the many, many dangers of the Underground. 

My point with bringing all this up is to show that it’s unlikely that Kuchel, in these circumstances, would have been able to provide Levi, not just things like food or clothing or warmth, but a healthy social environment.  It’s very, very doubtful that Kuchel would have had the time, or the energy, or even the mental capacity, to be able to give Levi the kind of love and attention she would have under even slightly better circumstances.  Realistically speaking, she was probably simply too tired at the end of each work day to really play with him, or spend time with him in any meaningful way.  She was probably too exhausted to indulge in any sort of wants or needs of his outside of immediate essentials.  Assuming Kuchel was often depressed (which I don’t think is at all a stretch or unlikely, again given her own isolation and the ugly reality of her life), that would have also impacted how she interacted with Levi.  Children aren’t stupid, they’re intuitive, and we know Levi in particular is maybe the most emotionally intelligent character in AoT.  He would have picked up on her depressive moods, and her general unhappiness, I’m sure.  He would have felt that negative energy coming from her. 

Going back to Levi’s maladjustment when Kenny finds him, to his muteness and wariness, his “cold”, “unfriendly” demeanor, I think it’s safe to assume that these problems in Levi were a result of not just the incredibly harsh circumstances of his life with his mother, but also came from Kuchel’s failure to provide Levi with enough stimulation to teach him social skills.  Again, please remember, this isn’t meant as a criticism of Kuchel or her love for Levi.  I don’t want anyone to think I’m trying to cast doubt on those things.  Again, it’s just to highlight and draw attention to the fact that, despite that love, Kuchel still wasn’t, and frankly couldn’t have been, a perfect mother to Levi.  Their situation just simply wouldn’t have allowed for it.  And so I think it’s realistic and fair to assume that Kuchel failed Levi in certain ways. 

Levi wasn’t okay when Kenny found him.  Again, not just based on the fact that he was literally dying and in a state of extreme neglect, but based on the fact that he was clearly a child who had never learned to be social.  He was strange. He didn’t act at all like a normal child his age might.  He was deeply withdrawn, almost mute, he never smiled or laughed, he was wary, probably from having been taught to be afraid of men, listless and resigned.  None of this speaks to a child who is well adjusted or who received a lot of love and attention.  He doesn’t demand attention, the way most children do.  Instead, when Kenny finds him, Levi is curled against a far wall, just waiting to die, quiet and accepting.  Think about this.  He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t making a fuss, he wasn’t even visibly upset in any way over his situation.  He was just resigned to it.  He didn’t beg Kenny for help when he came, or even talk to him, except to tell him his mother was dead, and after being promoted multiple times, to tell him his name.  Levi didn’t demand or seek attention, even from the first person to show up and offer help, likely because Levi was taught through example not to expect attention.  And once again, this isn’t a criticism of Kuchel, but an acknowledgment of the likely reality that she just didn’t have the time, energy or ability to give Levi attention beyond providing for him the bare minimum required to keep him alive. 

Levi’s state when Kenny finds him, not just physical, but his emotional and mental state, suggests a certain amount of neglect in Levi’s life from his mother. 

So again I posit that this general perception in the fandom of Levi being provided plenty of love and care from his mother in the first, few years of his life is idealized in the extreme, and fails to acknowledge the harsh reality of their lives and circumstances, as well as fails to acknowledge the state Levi was in when Kenny found him.

I say all this, and think it’s important to acknowledge, because I don’t think Levi is given enough credit for making himself into the man he would eventually become.  Very often, the credit is solely given to his mother, and sometimes even to Kenny (really don’t get that one), for Levi turning out to be a kind, caring and compassionate human being.  But in my opinion, in the face of everything we know, this belief doesn’t hold water.  It doesn’t account for just how bad off Levi was, not just physically, but mentally, when Kenny took him in. 

There’s always the question of nature vs nurture, and I’m always of the mind that how a person turns out is more a mixture of the two than any, single one.  And certainly, we see parts of Levi’s personality which have been shaped by the way he was raised, both by Kuchel and Kenny.  Levi’s social awkwardness, his blunt, sometimes rude interactions, his anger and violence, his fear and readiness to act in the face of that fear, etc... all these things were no doubt informed by Levi’s experiences growing up.  And yes, I’m sure that part of Levi’s ability to love and be loved came from his mother.  But not all of it did.  Levi, from seeing how his mother was treated, from seeing the negative results of the life she was living, not just on her, but on him, would have been sent the lesson early on in life that neither of their lives were worth very much to anyone but each other.  From Kuchel’s inability to really take care of him, Levi would have undoubtedly questioned his own worth, not because Kuchel didn’t love him, but because he would have picked up on how his existence was a burden to her, how it made her life harder, how she in turn wasn’t always able to provide him with a great deal of warmth or affection, because it was already too much to provide him with basic necessities for staying alive.  Levi knew not to expect a lot of love or attention, and that tells us an awful lot about Levi’s life with his mother.  He doesn’t throw a fit or complain when Kenny takes him in and starts treating him harshly.  He doesn’t whine or demand love when Kenny starts teaching him how to use a knife, or how to “greet people” (ala, beat the shit out of them).  He doesn’t show any expectation from Kenny at all, let alone an expectation for love and affection from him.  Every panel we see of Levi with Kenny shows Levi standing there, mute and listless, simply accepting of his new situation and the new way in which he’s being treated.  He just... takes it.  This isn’t a child who’s been taught that he deserves better.  This isn’t a child who expects to be treated with kindness or respect or gentility.  This isn’t a child who is used to getting his way, or who expects to be paid attention to.  This isn’t a child who expects much of anything at all.  Again, the fact of Levi’s immediate acceptance of the way Kenny treats him tells us a LOT about what his life with his mother was like.  He wasn’t spoiled, he wasn’t treated as special, he wasn’t given an excess of attention or love.  If he had been, that would have made itself evident when Kenny took him in and started treating him the way he did.  And once more I reiterate, this isn’t meant as a knock on Kuchel, or to cast doubt on the love she had for Levi.  It’s just a simple acknowledgment of certain facts.  When Kenny leaves Levi, Levi just accepts that as well, though obviously it hurts him immensely.  He doesn’t chase after Kenny, or beg him to come back.  He just stands there and watches him walk away.  He just accepts that he’s being abandoned.  Again, this isn’t indicative of a child who has a particularly strong sense of self-worth or importance, or a child who was taught to fight for his right to love.  He was taught to fight for his life by Kenny, sure, but he was taught the exact opposite regarding other people’s lives in turn.  And we know, bizarrely, from how resigned he was to his own death after Kuchel died, that Levi’s experiences in the first years of his life with his mother didn’t teach him to fight for or value his own life, though I’m sure that isn’t what Kuchel ever intended. 

And so when we take this all into account, when we take into account that Levi wasn’t ever really taught to value or fight for his own right to love and compassion, or even life, how he wasn’t taught to even expect those things, on top of which, taking into account how he was taught not to value the lives of others through Kenny’s lessons, and then you reflect on how, DESPITE all that, Levi was open enough to make, on his own, his first, real friends in Furlan and Isabel, to form an actual family with them, and to make more friends after they died in Erwin and Hange, how he fights with everything he has to protect the lives and dreams of others, how he has so much deep compassion and care for others, how deeply affected he is by the deaths of others, how hard he tries to keep everyone around him alive, how much he values life, values the lives of others, and their right to life, you realize how remarkable that really is.  You realize that nothing in Levi’s life growing up can really account for that ability to care, or that deep compassion he holds.  It comes down to his nature.  Levi is just an innately caring, kind and compassionate person.  Rather than inheriting that ability from Kuchel’s example, I would rather say Levi inherited that ability from Kuchel’s nature.  He wasn’t taught to be loving and compassionate.  He just was.  And so was his mother.  Both of them maintained that capacity despite their horrible circumstances and experiences, not because of them.  Just like how Levi and Mikasa are innately loyal, Levi I would say is also innately, inherently kind and compassionate.  Some traits of our personalities are just inborn, not taught.

I think Levi deserves so much more credit than he generally receives for being the kind, caring man he is.

[noya-noya-noya]

one of my favorite things about the whole buddie dynamics is the fact that while Buck is healing and beginning to choose himself (armchair scene) there's still a part of him that thinks he's only going to get love by risking his life, and that his life IS expendable. an "if I die, that's fine, but i sure would be sad if someone else dies" mentality.

it reminds me of that one line in inochi no kirawareteiru "Frankly, we don't care a bit if we, ourselves died but we'd be pretty said if the people around us died".

and Eddie... Eddie has been assuring him consistently that he is cherished, he is important, and he gets him out of his head when he's starting to spiral.

1...

Buck: I just, I wish I could- Eddie: Fix it? Buck: Yeah, yeah. I know I'm the guy who always wants to fix everything. Eddie: Hey! It comes in handy when you have a bunch of holes in your wall.

2...

Buck: They never wanted another kid. They just had me for parts. Defective parts, as it turned out.

Eddie: Hey, that's not on you.

3...

Eddie: I'd eat a couple extra slices. You look like you're wasting away to nothing.

Buck: Eddie--

Eddie:I will say, honestly, you being laid up is working out for me. I mean, you're no abuela, and you're half a Carla, but you'll do in a pinch.

Buck: You want me to watch Christopher?

Eddie: It's easy. He's not very fast.

Buck: After everything that happened?

Eddie: A natural disaster happened, Buck.

Buck: I lost him, Eddie.

Eddie: No, You saved him. That's how he remembers it. And now, it's his turn to do the same for you.

Buck: I was supposed to look out for him.

Eddie: And what, you think you failed? I failed that kid more times than I care to count, and I'm his father. But I love him enough to never stop trying, and I know you do too.

Eddie: Buck...there's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you.

Eddie: Thank you for not giving up

4...

Eddie: Are you hurt? (shooting scene)

5...

Buck: Now, listen, I had an entire fire truck fall on my leg, and hey, look at me now.

Eddie: *shakes his head*

Carson: That sounds horrible.

Buck: No, horrible was the blood clots you get after. Mine was in my lung. I was coughing up blood. And they put you on these blood thinners and...

Eddie: Buck.

(I always saw this as Eddie shaking his head because Buck was making fun of what happened to him and not because Buck might scare Carson because Carson wasn't really that scared anymore at that time)

6...

Bobby and Buck arrives at the firehouse, Eddie is alone and opens his arms, waiting to hear the news.

Bobby: Clean bill of health from the docs.

Eddie: Glad to hear it.

Eddie: Show-off.

Buck: I had to do it.

Eddie: No, I know you did.

7...

Doctor: We'll do our best.

Eddie: Do more!

and of course 8...

Eddie: Because, Evan you came in here the other day and you said you thought it would have been better if it had been you who was shot. You act like you are expendable, but you’re wrong.

there's probably a lot more but these are the top ones that I can think of.

i think for someone who lived their whole life looking for purpose (and somehow putting themself in harm's way is something they are accustomed to do) and having someone who has their back, defending them not just from others but their own mind as well, consistently, is a match incomparable.

[agent-cupcake]

Dramaturgy

Ah yes, another commission to fund my gamer lifestyle from the incredibly lovely and patient @novcaine (thank you <;3)

Pairing: Vampire! Claude von Riegan x f!Reader

Synopsis: Trying to cope with the sudden death of your eccentric father, you fall down a rabbit hole of conspiracy, curses, and your very strange (and very tragic) family history, leading you to the small town of Old Derdriu—and its darkest secret.

Warnings: explicit smut, dub/noncon, kidnap, drugged sex

Tags: horror elements, urban fantasy, blood kink, very unhealthy romantic dynamic, overstimulation, "orgasms make your blood sweeter" trope

Word Count: 27.3k

Notes: I read a few horror stories in an attempt to get the tone right for this one which, as I'm sure you'll notice, heavily influenced me while writing. I really got caught up in lore crafting for this one as well, although the real fun was matching up the serious stuff with Claude's personality.

Act 1

“Thither, full fraught with mischievous revenge, 

Accursed, and in a cursed hour, he hies.”

I.

9th day of Verdant Moon 

As long as I can remember, it’s been just us two. Me and dad against the world. Explorers, adventurers, wanderers. Rogues who chase the horizon to keep the sun close, that’s what he says. Said. There’s always been somewhere new to go, we never stayed anywhere long enough to cast too long of a shadow. 

That’s, more or less, what I said over his ashes. Not that there was anyone around to hear it. A eulogy for nobody. But it was true. It is true. 

Once upon a time (that’s what people say, right?), it must have been when we spent a summer in Arundel living out of a camper trailer because we didn’t have an air conditioner and spent most of the time outside, I asked him why. I don’t know why I remember it so well, but the air smelled like bug spray and pine and campfire smoke. Not ours though, we hardly ever have fires. Dad claims it’s ‘reasonable’ caution. Claimed. 

That night, I don’t know what compelled me to ask, but I did. I asked, “Why do we move so much?” 

He said to listen carefully, and I did, because he never sounded so serious. He said that we have bad luck. He said that it was like water, that it’d pool up around us like a puddle if we stayed still. And I asked why, of course, because that was a confusing thing for him to say. 

And he said, and I’ll never ever forget this, “it’s in your blood.”

I think. Back then, the distinction between ‘your’ and ‘our’ was virtually nonexistent. And maybe, just maybe, my memory is faulty, and he didn’t switch from a collective pronoun to a singular one. I could be seeing ghosts that aren’t there, convincing myself of untruths to explain some of this. It could have been ‘your’, and it could have been ‘our’, but the point is the same no matter how I split it apart. 

I’ve got bad luck. It’s in my blood. I try not to think about that because I don’t want it to be my fault somehow, I don’t even know what I would do if it was. 

But I have to know.

II.

“Excuse me, are you Cheryll Bates?” you asked hopefully, standing at the side of a table where an older woman in a bright pink cardigan sat. Nose crinkled and mouth slightly open in the way only people of a certain age could mimic, she adjusted her blocky red glasses higher to peer up at you. The lenses magnified her small, dark eyes like a bug, not helping the discomfort you felt beneath her unwavering gaze as she scanned you from head to toe. 

“You’re the Macbeth girl?” she finally asked. It took you a moment to realize what she meant. Macbeth, your mother’s last name—a name you only learned of, along with the woman herself, a month previous.

“Uhm, yeah, that’s me,” you said, hoping you didn’t sound as immediately unsettled as you felt. “May I sit?” 

“Be a waste of time if you didn’t,” she said with a slight tinge of an accent, gesturing to the opposite seat with a plump hand. It was the wooden kind with a quilted cushion and long skirt, matching the borderline stifling cozy atmosphere of the cafe. The kind ripe with this musty, dusty, patchouli and tea leaf smell you associated with old women and antiques.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” you said as you sat down, anxiety making your movements awkward. Although Cheryll Bates wasn’t your blood relative, knowing you were related at all was surreal. Throughout your entire life, you’d never heard a single mention of family, of a mom or uncle or grandparents or even a stray cousin twice removed. You should have felt excited, and a part of you was, but you couldn’t stop messing with the cardboard sleeve on your tea, your eyes flitting around the small cafe every few seconds. 

The answers that had gotten you this far had only served to unravel the very fabric of your existence, but you sought them all the same. You had to. Dad used to say that knowing was often uncomfortable, but ignorance was an agony like no other. He said all sorts of wise things, although you learned recently that the truth was not one of them.  

Cheryll’s mouth worked like she was sucking on something, fine lines fanning out around her lips. The sluggishly swaying Tiffany lamp above cast her in an odd, unflattering light, her dark eyes that much more unnerving beneath the shadows. 

“I liked your mama, she was a sweet girl. How much did Indy tell you about her?” 

Indy, as in, your dad. The man who raised you, who cared for you. It was a nickname he had earned in school, apparently, after the titular adventurer and archeologist from an old movie.

“My dad never told me a single thing,” you said, trying not to sound too affected. If you thought about this all as some sort of research project, it was easier. If it wasn’t your life, you could view it dispassionately. So that’s what you tried to do. “I am… aware of what she did though.” 

“It was a terrible thing,” Cheryll said gravely. “Of course she’d already left you in Enbarr with Indy at that point, came home crying that she had a baby girl, that she couldn’t trust herself to even hold you. Nobody had any idea of why she was so upset, we thought she had lost her mind. And then your daddy came to try and bring her back and… well. I can’t imagine how a person could do such a thing.”

Something within you twisted in sympathy of that statement. Even reading an abstract report made your stomach churn. Self immolation as a means of murder suicide wasn’t very common, mostly because it wasn’t practical. The report had no answers for the hows and the whys, only dry facts.

“Do you think it was postpartum depression?” 

Again, Cheryll stared at you with that sour purse of her lips, almost like she was sizing you up. “It was that family of hers,” she said. “I’ll tell you straight, the Macbeths weren’t quite right. Not to say it was their fault, what happened to them, but I won’t glorify the dead, neither. I don’t believe in it. I never wanted my Liv to marry that boy, I knew only bad things would come of it.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“Didn’t you read about what happened to them?” Cheryll asked, an edge of indignation in her voice. “One after another…” She didn’t finish that statement, closing her eyes to visibly, even theatrically, shudder. Then again, having seen the string of death certificates, you didn’t exactly blame her. “I went to a psychic when Liv told me she was getting married to that Macbeth boy, and do you know what they said? Don’t let it happen. But I did. I let her marry into that family, and I’ve had to live with that every day since.”  

“But none of it was on purpose, was it?” you asked cautiously. “The fire was an accident.” 

“An accident,” Cheryll scoffed. “An ‘accident’ that happened right after the two of them had a baby girl. Just like the ‘accident’ that killed your mama’s baby sister. Do you think what happened with your mama was an accident?”

“I thought,” you said slowly, trying to remain calm, wiping that thought from your head and your palms on your jean-clad thighs, “that my mother committed suicide.” 

“All that girl ever wanted was to be a mama. I’m telling you, there was something wrong with the Macbeths and she realized it too late. They were cursed, all of them and especially the girls.” Cheryll paused, contemplating her tea. “That’s why your parents met in the first place. Indy was doing research into the families involved with that tragedy in Derdriu and they were the only two he could find.” Cheryll took a sip, frowned, then continued in an even softer voice. “I s’pose your daddy must have been just as cursed as your mama, but I didn’t know him very well.”

“What tragedy?” you asked.

“The Rain of Blood, they call it.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” you said, getting out your diary to write it down. 

“Reign, not rain,” Cheryll said, peering at your notepad. “Like a king, reign.” 

You erased the word, rewriting it. “Is it a story, or something that happened?” 

“It happened,” Cheryll said. “He and your mama always had a laugh about that, said it was why they had such rotten luck.”

“Rotten luck,” you repeated under your breath, more to yourself than to her.

“They thought it was real funny,” Cheryll said, pulling you from your thoughts. “Indy scorned all the ghost stories, he said that it was a matter of history waiting to be uncovered. It seems like he changed his tune as soon as he saw what happened to them.” 

You thought about your dad who got itchy when you stayed in one place too long, looking over his shoulder like he was being chased by something you couldn’t see. You thought about the puddles of bad luck forming beneath your feet. 

“He might have,” you said, not wanting to think too hard about that. “Do you remember what he said happened? In this Reign of Blood, I mean.” 

Cheryll impatiently waved her hand. “You’d have to find a book or something, I couldn’t tell you other than that. The town burned down after. That’s why you’ve got Derdriu and Old Derdriu. They were connected before the incident, but Old Derdriu had to be completely rebuilt later.”

“So Old Derdriu is newer than Derdriu,” you said, unsure if you were understanding her correctly. 

“Oh, except for the ruins, they kept those,” she said, her head tilting as she remembered. “The castle from way back when Leicester had Kings and Dukes and the like. But I couldn’t tell you any more than that, I’ve never been.”

You wrote that down too, tapping the eraser against your lip as you contemplated all of this new information. Cheryll was drinking her tea, obviously wanting to finish this up. 

“Thank you so much for meeting with me, I really appreciate it,” you said. “Is there anything else you can think of about my dad or…?”

“I’m going to tell you what I wish I had told my daughter,” Cheryll said, looking at you head on. “Leave, now. Go spend the summer on a beach in Enbarr with other kids your age. There’s nothing for you here.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, I… Yeah. I’ll think about it, thank you.”  

III.

21st day of Verdant Moon

Being alone is worse than I thought it would be. Having to do everything by myself, figure out how to buy tickets and schedule stuff and all of that, it’s exhausting. But if I think about that too much I’ll cry and if I cry I won’t stop so all I can do is try to figure out what the hell any of this means. It has to mean something, doesn’t it? Or it’s all just insane nonsense and I’m the unfortunate product of a long line of nonsensical insanity, left to drift through this world with nothing but a payout from a trucking company and ghost stories from an old widow and some undiagnosed madness that was never treated because I had no idea I had a family history of mental illness because I was lied to, over and over again.  

I can’t think like that. 

Earlier, after I left that cafe, I remembered something. It’s weird to have all of these little memories popping up now, things that seemed so insignificant at the time. Maybe they are and I’m just trying to backfill information to explain all of the crazy things I’m learning about my dad and my family. I don’t know. I was just thinking about how during my first year of high school, my dad had a brief stint as a mechanic northwest in Elidure before working through the various little towns scattered around the old border between Adrestia and Faerghus as a construction worker—he even let me borrow the Indech branded pickup truck he’d gotten as a property manager on Lake Teutates to drive to my junior prom. The same truck where I got my first kiss playing spin the bottle with some people I was sort of friends with. I can’t even remember his name. It’s funny, almost. I remember that he tasted like the shitty booze we were all drinking and got way too slobbery and wore a purple tie and that I could see the Big Dipper right above his head but I don’t remember his name. Moving around so much, I guess, I never really bothered to remember things like that. After I graduated, dad and I left it all behind to spend a year on the Rhodos Coast. I liked it there. It was charming. But I always knew we wouldn’t be there long, dad got these twitchy sorts of tics when we stayed anywhere too long.

Anyway, the point is, I mentioned wanting to go east, to Gloucester or something because I heard they had mild summers, and he said no in a completely flat voice, nothing like I had ever heard from him. He didn’t even look me in the eye, just said no. We went to Gwenhwyvar pretty soon after that, and I didn’t bring it up again. Again, it could all be innocuous. It could all mean absolutely nothing. But I wonder.  What if it did? What if there was a reason he wouldn’t take me here? A real, true reason that didn’t have to do with the horrible things that happened to my family? If he seriously thought I was cursed, why didn’t he tell me? What was he hiding? Well, I’ll never know that.

I looked up the Reign of Blood and barely found anything, it’s all some witchy weird occult stuff and ghost stories. The castle itself is called El Dorado, and it’s this sort of icon of superstition, but especially the Reign of Blood which is used as an explanation for why so many people disappeared in the fire. People debate if it happened more than they discuss what might have actually taken place. A part of me thinks that Cheryll was just messing with me, or lying. I don’t know why she would, but it makes more sense than the alternative. Who am I to believe that somehow I’m involved with this huge conspiracy? People who are hurting make up all sorts of weird things to try and come to terms with their pain, I’m just feeding into that. 

I should leave. If dad didn’t think it was a good idea to be here, maybe it’s not. I should move on, that’s what he’d want, right? Keep on moving, never look back, chase the horizon. 

I’ll leave. There’s no point in any of this, it’ll just keep hurting. I’ll leave. Tomorrow. 

IV.

Before you left the city, destination TBD—but that was a lie, wasn’t it? You knew exactly where you were going, you just didn’t admit it because you knew it was stupid and the mark was the last person to admit they’d been conned—you stopped at your mother’s childhood home. It was a white farmhouse style place on the very edge of what used to be a suburban neighborhood but was now quickly giving into the urban sprawl. The Macbeths hadn’t lived there for over twenty years. You could see each of those years weathered onto the house. It was where your aunt died as a young girl. How? You weren’t so sure. Cheryll mentioned illness, but the official record only gave the date of her passing. That was a few years before your grandparents followed. 

If you expected to feel something upon seeing the place, you were disappointed. Not even a twinge of disquiet that’d come with seeing a place possibly haunted by the dead. 

You felt nothing other than a vague curiosity, a pang of regret, or melancholy. Never, not once in your entire life, had you lived in an actual house. The longest you had ever stayed in one place was Enbarr, where most of your earliest memories took place. And then there were a few years in Mozghuz where your dad taught history, and another few in a small Varley town where he worked as a consultant for a local museum. But those were apartments and townhouses and just you and him. No family, few friends. A life of transience, of existing ephemerally, always in a state of maybe or going or somewhere else.

A tingling sense of unease settled through you right then, although not because of the entirely benign house with which you were having an intense stare down. Why were you here? Not only at this long abandoned home, but in Leicester, in Edgaria. What were you searching for other than ghosts? Were you seriously going to believe in the superstition of an old woman who went to psychics and still grieved for her daughter? Bad things happened, sure, but that was true in a lot of families. That didn’t mean anything, you just wanted to assign meaning retroactively because of your pain.

And it did hurt. It always hurt. You lived in a state of in-between and those gaps were yours to fill all by yourself, overflowing with the pain you pretended you didn’t feel. Staring at the old house, you were acutely aware of the in-between. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine him standing next to you, filling up that empty space. 

“Are you lost, Mr. Jones?” you would tease. “I doubt you’ll find the Lost Ark all the way out here.” 

He would groan and ask who told you about that embarrassing nickname, and you would tell him that it was-

Well, you wouldn’t. Because if he hadn’t died, you would never know Mrs. Bates or that you weren’t actually his daughter or that his friends called him Indy. 

The sound of rattling plastic on concrete startled you out of your increasingly dangerous thoughts. The next door neighbor was dragging in his trash bins. He was an older man, his face wrinkled and tan like leather, his posture a little hunched. 

“Excuse me,” you called, trotting over to him. It was a long shot, but better than nothing.

“Huh?” he asked, looking at you with his thick, bushy eyebrows furrowed. 

“Sorry to bother you,” you said. “I was just wondering how long you’ve lived here?”

“How long?” he clarified, his big eyebrows shooting up. “Huh. Gotta be fifty years, give or take.” He laughed, a dry, crinkly sound. “Too long, I say.”

“Did you know the family that lived here about twenty-five or so years ago?” you asked, gesturing to the big white house. “The Macbeths.” 

As soon as you said the name, he tensed up, his friendly demeanor freezing. “Why do you want to know?” 

You raised your hands innocently, surprised by the instant reaction. “I’m their… their granddaughter,” you told him. “I don’t mean to trouble you at all, I’m only curious.” 

His cheeks puffed before he let out a big breath, that defensive posture shifting. “I hate to say that I can’t tell you much. They were always a real private family, kept to themselves mostly. It caused one heck of a scandal, the way everything ended. Don’t s’pose it sat right with anyone, not after-” He cut himself off, thin lips drawing inwards. “No, it’s not my business.”    

“Please, I just want to know,” you said, still placating. “Anything you can tell me, I’d appreciate.” 

He nodded, but his eyes were still cautious. “I’ll tell you this, the missus was very unwell,” he said. “When the youngest daughter died, people spread all kinds of nasty rumors about her involvement. Completely outrageous, what they said. But towards the end, she wasn’t quite right in the head, always talking about some curse. It was no thing ‘sides the agony of a grieving parent, but people took it as an admission of guilt.” 

“It was all an accident though, wasn’t it?” you asked. “Nobody was at fault.” 

“Exactly. If you want my honest opinion, the family had bad luck. There’s nothing more to be said, what with all those little ‘uns involved.” 

Bad luck. The sun beat down on your skin, sweat beading up on your spine and hairline, but you shivered, casting a sidelong glance at the house as if it was somehow watching you, as if talking about these things was dangerous in any way, as if there was a looming manifestation of a bad luck over your shoulder, drooling in anticipation of getting you now that you were the last Macbeth left. 

“I see,” you said, forcing a smile for the man. “Thank you so much for your time and honesty, I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course, have a good day, miss.” 

Act 2

“Who now is plotting how he may seduce Thee also from obedience, that with him, Bereav’d of happiness, thou may’st partake His punishment, eternal misery”

I.

Essar, Hanneman, “Final Look at El Dorado.” 

Excerpt from National Geographic, Vol. 162 

September, 1991

“It was with great honor that I accepted the final invitation to visit El Dorado, the famed yet forgotten home of Leicester’s Duke, and eventual king, Claude von Riegan. The massive, not to mention opulent, castle sits in the cradle between Riegan and Albrecht, kept safe by the steep basalt wall to the south and acres of privately owned forest. For all of its grandeur and majesty, these gilded halls hide dark secrets, secrets that may never be truly known. Historians quibble over the voracity surrounding the chilling Reign of Blood. Was it, as many say, a tragic plague sweeping the population? Could it have been a cult formed following a period of famine? Or, as some fear, does this golden fortress hide a terrifying past of human sacrifice and Faustian bargains? These secrets are what has led to the permanent closure of El Dorado and…

“…For my tour, and indeed, the last ever tour of El Dorado, I was given a set of very specific instructions for the sake of my safety and the conservation of the historic site. The first demanded I stay close to my guide. The second instructed me to only enter rooms filled with natural sunlight. This, I was told, was the surest method of determining which rooms were safe. Truly, health concerns are as much a part of the closure as anything else, it is simply too risky to maintain. I was…

“...Despite the stories of prowling monsters and dangerous curses, nothing came of the tour, save for these beautiful photos I was able to capture in the hopes of memorializing what was once a golden beacon of wealth, nobility, and power. As of today, El Dorado is entirely inaccessible. Trespassers will not only be gambling with their own safety should they wish to enter, they also risk severe jail time and steep fines. As I…”

II.

The Sagittarius Express left Edgaria at nine the morning, and it would arrive in Derdriu around eight that night. Named after the starry archer, it was a fairly straight shot connecting the two major cities. It would be shorter in a car, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get in one of those. After spending the night in Derdriu proper, you would take the gondola up to Old Derdriu.

Settled into your compartment with only two other people—and one of them had been passed out cold ever since you boarded—you continued your research. In general, you were poorly versed in Leicester history. You knew there had been something going on with one of their dukes wresting power away from the nobles to consolidate power and drive out the domineering Church of Seiros, going so far as to annex some of Faerghus’ land, but not necessarily any details beyond that. 

When you looked into the Reign of Blood and Old Derdriu, the castle El Dorado showed as the first result. It was the only structure that remained when the rest of Old Derdriu was razed to the ground. Those were the ruins Cheryll mentioned, the home of Claude von Riegan, duke turned king. Information about the event was sparse. Even when you did find information about El Dorado or the Reign of Blood, to say there was discourse surrounding it was an understatement. And that was assuming you could find historical facts rather than ghost stories. None of this was helped by the fact that, a hundred or so years before the Reign of Blood, King Claude von Riegan mysteriously disappeared. Such a tantalizing yet inexplicable vanishing act gave rise to stories about his occult dealings. Some people said he was cursed by the goddess Sothis for his vendetta against the Church of Seiros. Since El Dorado was his home, his story muddied the waters when it came to researching the Reign of Blood.

As the train pulled out of the station, you pulled up one of the more promising sources you had found: a Xerox of an old Life magazine article penned by some old guy named Hanneman Essar. The quality was terrible, compressed and squeezed dry of detail, but looking at the photos of the once grand castle made you more certain than ever that it was important. Something about the place drew you in, even as you glanced over your shoulder for the cold claws of whatever bad luck your father warned you of. There was no point in asking yourself why, or if you should or shouldn’t—you already knew you shouldn’t—because your course was set in stone. Carved out long before you arrived in Leicester. 

Those sorts of thoughts, the ones that toyed with the idea of fate or destiny, were entertained in the back of your head, the place where you pushed every other unpleasant or undesirable or stupid thought. 

It was better to focus on facts. 

“Are you interested in El Dorado, young lady?” the man sitting next to you asked. You slowly lowered your tablet, looking up at the speaker. A mustached blond man with blue eyes, his eyebrow quirked curiously. “It’s rare to see someone your age taking an interest in history.” 

That bristled you a bit, both his pompous tone and the implication. Even when your father worked other jobs, his fascination with history never waned, and it was the only area of your education that never faltered from constantly moving schools.  

“It’s an interesting place, don’t you think?” you asked in a measured voice. 

“Yes, it most certainly is,” he agreed. “A place most ripe with curiosity and fiction, a paradise for the easily fooled tourists they usher in.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“I should think my meaning is clear. The people in Old Derdriu spread ridiculous stories about El Dorado to stimulate their tourism, all for a place that they have shut off to the public,” he said. “As for the source of my interest, I am Acheron Phlegethon. I don’t doubt you’ve heard of me. I’ve debunked several famous hoaxes across Fodlan, including the fiction of Shambhala’s subterranean civilization. Now I have set my sights upon the legendary vampires of El Dorado.”

“Vampires?” you asked, your eyes widening. 

Acheron squinted at you suspiciously. “I thought you said you had done your research.”

“I only just started,” you said, shrugging in an attempt to hide your ignorance. “I guess that explains why it’s called the Reign of Blood.” 

“Bah, a fiction,” Acheron said, waving his hand. “There is no evidence of the cult they claim existed, let alone of the vampire they insist was the leader. Tell me, if the town or its people were truly cursed, why did retribution stop with a single fire that could easily be attributed to a natural cause? The deaths are the same, nothing more than a result of the violent beasts that are known to prowl that area. As I said, they sell these stories to bring tourists into their town. It really is the most insidious scheme, one that I will not tolerate. My next book will be the most comprehensive look at this scam to date, it’s sure to be a hit.”

“How do you know?” you asked. “Do you have any evidence that it’s a lie?” 

“Evidence?” he asked, baffled. “Why, common sense. There is no such thing as vampires or curses, need I any better evidence than that?”

“Yes.”   

Acheron’s eyes narrowed further, his mustache twitching. “It seems you are too young to be sensible. I recommend you continue to study historical facts instead of believing in superstitious bunk.” He paused, his head tilting. “If you give me your email address, I can add you to the preorder list for my next book. I’ve no doubt that you would find it most edifying.”  

“No, thank you,” you told him. 

“Hm, very well. I shan’t disturb you further,” Acheron said, pulling a pillow around his neck and a set of headphones from his bag. “Oh, and good luck with your research, young lady.” 

“Thanks, you too,” you told him, although he was already pulling on an eye mask and probably couldn’t hear you. 

You turned away from the man to look out the window, your thoughts whirling. If you believed that your family could be cursed, couldn’t you also believe in vampires? The logical side of your brain said no, emphatically rejecting the notion because it was ridiculous. Utterly insane. 

Something in your gut said otherwise. The tight lead ball of anxiety burning in your stomach, the thing drawing you towards Old Derdriu despite everything that screamed at you to stay away. You looked again at the distorted photos of El Dorado, trying to imagine it in its prime. It must have been a sight to behold, unlike anything you had ever seen before. 

It didn’t matter what you did or did not believe. It was just like you told Acheron, you needed evidence first. Rubbing a hand over your face, you returned to your reading. 

III.

24th day of Verdant Moon

I had a dream last night. Sometimes I get these wicked nightmares which I guess makes sense considering what happened but last night it wasn’t a nightmare which almost makes it worse because when I woke up crying, it wasn’t just because I was alone, but because I feel so alone that it hurts, it hurts bad. People aren’t made to be alone. I don’t know how to be anything else than a set, a pair. It was always just me and him and now that he’s gone I have a gaping hole in my chest and I think that if I chase down answers it’ll mean something but I know it won’t, I’ll wake up just as alone as I did this morning. 

My brain conjured this idea of a man just to taunt me, I think. A beautiful man who looked at me like he knew me, and I knew him even though I don’t. I woke up the second before our hands touched and just like that we (we, us) were out in the nothing of Fodlan’s great empty flatlands and there was a high wind warning and a great big semi-truck with Ernest Shipping painted on the side and a “rate my driving” sticker on the back. And then there were squealing tires and creaking metal and crunching glass and so much noise from all sides as the world closed in around me, the cab of dad’s vintage SUV giving way to make room for something else crudely forcing itself through. The wind was screaming, and so was I. But dad wasn’t, he didn’t make any noise as his body got crushed. Dead on impact, the first responders said. And yet, after I wriggled out of the mangled mess of what must have been a car—moments before it caught fire—I was relatively unharmed. A miracle, they said. Lucky, they told me. If dad hadn’t swerved the way he did, it would have been me who died. And it’s not even like I’m traumatized, right? I can write about this all I want, I told it to the police and the lawyer and everyone about it and it’s all fine, I’m perfectly fine, I’m well adjusted and alone and accursed, and I want to scream and be angry and cry until I’m all dried up but nothing, nothing is going to make it stop, all I can do is chase down this fantasy and shove all of this down because if this is what sanity feels like, I don’t want to be crazy. 

In that dream, the man I saw had beautiful eyes. Blue green, like a sea breeze or something else equally poetic and reckless, surrounded by these thick, dark eyelashes. Now that I’m awake, all I can do is ascribe meaning to the meaningless, but it was like he was inviting me to him. I’ll be in Old Derdriu tomorrow and I’m probably just losing it but I keep thinking that it's where I need to be. 

IV.

Old Derdriu was more or less what you expected. Small, quaint, and beautiful. It had the unique mixture of mountainous charm and oceanic appeal, giving the fresh air a green, salty weight. You spent the first day getting a measure of the place, glad for the mild weather. There was some displeasure when you realized one Mr. Phlegethon had checked into a room right next door to your own the day before—he even attempted to catch you in another conversation before you excused yourself—but you were quickly absorbed into your preliminary attempts at researching the small town.  

Although all of it was only a prelude to, or maybe a distraction from, what you truly wanted. After lunch, you rented a pretty metallic bicycle at a place on main street. It fit the scenery, looking a little dated with its tall handlebars and a basket. An uncomfortable reference considering why you were here. All the same, hi-yo silver away, you left town to follow the northeast highway as per the directions on the map you bought earlier. Unfortunately, you quickly realized what you had already known to be true. El Dorado was exactly as inaccessible as Mr. Hanneman explained in his old article. The dirt road turn off was gated and locked, the rusty fence adorned with a large, angry “PRIVATE PROPERTY” sign. Even the famous golden tower could not be seen through the overwhelming barricade of trees.

Standing there on the empty road, the bike propped between your legs and dust and the thick scent of pine filling your lungs, unease worked through you. It came upon you slowly, and then all at once. The world was telling you to leave. Winds quieted, birds hushed, even the sunlight dimmed a shade. But something else beckoned you, calling out so vividly you felt yourself lurch forward a step, the bicycle wheels turning a notch. A wild and insane part of your mind was prepared to abandon it right there and break past the intimidating tree line, damn the consequences or legality. You even thought you could probably find El Dorado yourself, no matter how deeply it was buried, that its call would lead you directly to it. Blood following blood, an innate tracker buried in your DNA that had gotten you this far.

To spite the heavy silence, you laughed at how ridiculous that thought was. A wild, uncomfortable laugh. The trees swallowed the sound whole. 

Turning around, you rode back into town. Only a part of you truly understood the choice you made while standing there in the stillness of the forest, although you knew absolutely that it was the only possible ending. 

V.

28th day of Verdant Moon

I looked it up. People can create false memories, it’s a symptom of trauma or mental illness, our brains are suggestable and weak and we just make stuff up by mixing real things with other information. Other information, like all of this weird shit I’ve been reading about El Dorado and Old Derdriu and the original Lady Macbeth and everything. Witch, wiccan, whatever. Vampires aren’t enough, curses aren’t enough, why not just add in a witch? Why the hell not. 

The dreams I’ve been having, I think it’s something like that. Constructed memories of El Dorado and that same guy, the one with the pretty eyes. It’s weird though, maybe normal, they’re not bad dreams. Just about the castle, and him. It’s a break from feeling like I’m going to suffocate on all of this. They don’t feel real, exactly, just…

I don’t know, there’s no point in dwelling on it, I’m probably doing more damage by thinking about it so hard because then I just remember how alone I am and start tearing up and it’s so stupid. This journal is going to be used as a case study one day. People go wild for crazy women, right? There’s a whole cast of them flowing through my veins.   

VI.

Acheron’s premise that the people in Old Derdriu hoped to make money off of the notoriety of their past was ridiculous. Questions regarding El Dorado were answered bluntly, but icily. Most people seemed like they wanted nothing to do with the dark history, especially not to make a profit off of it. You could say that you understood and respected it, but your frustration only mounted the more you realized how inaccessible the truth was. Your entire life had been built on convenient ignorance of unsavory history, and here you were.

Again.   

That was fine. Your dad faced all sorts of difficulty in his historical research, you remembered him complaining about it on more than one occasion. So you did the thing that wasn’t committing felony trespass and went to the library to gather information. Research. 

The library in Old Derdriu was easy to track down, within a short ride from the inn. What you didn’t expect was what you would find. In the front, it was fairly typical. The reading area and magazine shelves and receptionist desk, even a few computers along the wall. But, behind the front desk was what you could only describe as a tower of bookshelves. The unconventional arrangement had you craning your neck to look up, shocked at how the shelves expanded upwards for what looked like three floors with twisting stairs and platforms providing access to the collection. Every place that could store a book, had a book. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how they were organized.  

A lone girl sat behind the desk in front of the tower of books, the only other person in the front. Her name plate read Flayn, and she twirled one of her long curls around her finger as she idly flipped through a magazine. When you approached, she looked up with a big smile.

“Hello!”

“This is… the library?” you asked. 

“Yes, it is. Welcome,” Flayn responded sweetly. “If you need assistance finding anything, I would be more than happy to help.” 

“I would really appreciate that,” you said, tearing your eyes from the tower of books to look at her directly. “I’m looking for books about the history of this town, specifically El Dorado. I’m not particular, whatever seems the most informative.” 

She blinked, her smile lapsing somewhat. “Of course,” she finally said, standing up. “If you take a seat at a table over there, I will see what I can find.” 

“Thank you so much,” you said with a nod. Slowly, admiring the scope of the library, you walked over to one of the tables and sat down. While you waited, you pulled out your tablet to continue flipping through websites that had mention of El Dorado. This one was old, the kind with a black background and dark red cursive font. There was very little to actually be learned, it was a ghost story that told a risque tale of blood sacrifices and a sex cult.

It was all ridiculous, of course, but one line gave you trouble, made your stomach turn uneasily.

Why was it fire? The author wrote. Not, I think, to rid the town of some undead threat. After all, the vampire was hiding away in El Dorado. No, they chose fire to burn the witches.

“Excuse me,” somebody said, calling your attention away from the unsettling words and up to the narrowed green eyes of an older man.

“Yes?” you asked, trying not to look guilty beneath his piercing glare. You hadn’t done anything, but something about him made you feel as if you had, you just didn’t know what it was yet.  

“From your request, I can only assume you are researching El Dorado,” he said, his voice as stiff and stony as his demeanor. 

“I am.”

“And what, may I ask, is your reason for conducting such research?” 

You floundered for a moment, caught off guard and confused. Finally, you shook your head and shrugged. “Curiosity, I guess,” you said.

“Are you in any way associated with a man who calls himself Acheron Phlegethon?”

“What?” you asked, confusion replacing the discomfort. “No, not at all.” 

“Are you sure?” he pushed.

“Well, I’ve met him. He tried to sell me his books,” you said, frowning. 

“Are you sure that’s all?” 

You realized pretty quickly what this man was actually asking, what he wanted to hear. “I’m here for… personal reasons,” you explained. “This place has meaning to me. Er, it had meaning to… someone very important to me.” 

“I see,” the man said. You could practically see the calculations going on behind his stare, your words reduced down to ones and zeroes as he analyzed them.  

“Is that okay?” you asked. 

“Yes, of course. I would never withhold knowledge from the genuinely curious. I suggest you start with this one,” he told you, setting down a large book bound in green. “It offers the most comprehensive history of Old Derdriu. These,” he set down two more books, “are supplementary material. While I cannot vouch for their factual integrity, they provide further insight as to what researchers have discovered about Old Derdriu.” 

“Thank you,” you said, pulling the books towards yourself, almost afraid he would take them away. There was that feeling, that possessive need. A craving, even.  

His lips thinned out as he considered you, his icy expression locked in place. “I ask that you do not cause any trouble while you’re here. The people who live here have suffered enough harassment.”

“I understand, honestly,” you said emphatically, although his warning made your stomach clench and you weren’t lying, but was it really the truth that you weren’t going to ‘cause trouble’? Did you mean that? Could you? 

VII.

[The following text are segments taken from letters found in the attic of a Derdriu home with other antiques. Forensic analysis can date them as being contemporaneous with the burning of Old Derdriu, however much of the contents have suffered such severe decay that entire sentences and paragraphs are illegible. Due to this, it is impossible to determine the author or glean any further context. Notes have been added in an attempt to clarify certain points, but without support, all researchers can offer is speculation.]

“My dear sister...discovery, but I fear I will not…seems that my death is inevitable, all I can do is…she offered me a chance, a slim hope that is buried beneath the earth…” 

“...sister… bad news… if something good came of it, does that make it right?... better left buried lest we… believe in such stories?... truly be Claude? [this is possibly a reference to Claude von Riegan. The mysterious circumstances surrounding his disappearance have long been a point of interest for those interested in the occult—See page 127 for further information]... put my trust in legend, or… risk my soul for… shall sleep, tomorrow we will return to the site and search for…”

“…I know nothing of the truth, it is obscured by… can trust, she claims… of the Agarthans [The “Agarthans'' are another popular yet unproven occult group based upon an ancient civilization. Artifacts supposedly associated with them were found in El Dorado]... and Lady Macbeth hopes to… blood and soul, I…” 

“...forgive me… of my selfishness and hubris. I am frightened… a blight upon us… she will suffer the curse of Seiros [The goddess of the Church of Seiros, who has historically been used as an occult figure following the purge of faith from Liecester]... and yet it is too late…” 

“He is awake. The Reign of Blood has begun.” 

[This line is one of the most contested within these letters. Since it is on its own page, with this single preserved sentence written in a shaky hand, there are those who argue it was included in order to bolster the cult and supernatural narrative surrounding El Dorado and the burning of Old Derdriu. If these letters are accurate, it is the last communication documented from any of the 257 people who disappeared, likely perished in the fire that reduced the town to ash.]      

VIII.

“Hold on a moment, young lady,” a familiar voice called. You paused, turning to face Acheron as he hurried down the hall, stopping you from entering your room. 

“Yes?” you asked, more than a little suspicious. With the key in the lock to your room, at least you had a swift method of escape. 

Acheron came to a stop, dramatically swiping at his shiny forehead. “I have a proposition for you.”

Your jaw dropped a little at the blunt statement. “I-I don’t think-”

“We have the same goal here, no?” Acheron asked, steamrolling over your obvious conclusion without the slightest shred of self awareness. “To discover the truth behind the infamous El Dorado. And yet we are waylaid by these pesky townsfolk at every turn. I have had enough of it, I say. It’s time to take action.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked around the empty hallway before leaning forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I have it on good authority that the castle’s security is not as good as they would have us believe. If one knows how to circumvent it, that is.” 

You considered him for a long moment, chewing on your lip and refusing to openly indulge your immediate excitement. “What are you saying?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Acheron asked. “I would see the famed El Dorado for myself.” 

“It’s dangerous to go inside, people get sick,” you said.

“Bah. The stories about any sort of lingering sickness within its walls are wildly exaggerated. The local youths brag about having visited as a rite of passage. If those scamps can make it in and out, I see no reason to believe I should be capable of anything less. I, of course, am extending the offer to you only out of courtesy. You hunger for the truth as desperately as I, do you not?” 

You considered him for a long moment, wondering if this was some sort of setup. 

“When do you intend to go?” you finally asked.

“Tomorrow night,” Acheron told you. “I would quit this dismal town as quickly as possible. All I need is good footage and photographs of the inside.” 

“Do you have the right gear?” 

“Gear?” he asked, frowning. 

Of course it would have been too much to think that a man like him would think this through. “Yes, gear. Flashlights, a map, the right kind of clothes—”

“Is all that really necessary?” he asked, cutting you off. 

“Have you ever done something like this?” you asked, omitting the fact that you hadn’t. But, unlike Acheron, you had common sense and some experience with night hiking. “You can’t just rush in unprepared, you’ll get hurt.” 

“Hm.” Acheron’s mustache twitched and you could tell he was thinking up some way to argue with you. But, eventually, reason won out. “Very well, I shall procure whatever is necessary tomorrow.” 

“If you buy this stuff town, they’ll know what you’re planning.” 

Acheron’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then I shall make a trip into Derdriu and return in the evening, we can meet at the road leading to El Dorado upon my return.” 

You wanted to argue, to deny your interest on the basis of not wanting to break the law. The risk factor was far too high, you were a fool to go along with it.

“I found a book today that has the plans for the inside, I’ll find a way to make a copy of them,” you said, anxiety and anticipation going wild in your gut because you knew how wrong this was, but you also knew that it was what was bound to happen from the start, something you couldn’t change or control. “Let me give you money, I’ll make a list of what we’ll need.” 

Act 3

"The monstrous sight

Strook them with horror backward but far worse

Urged them behind: headlong themselves they threw

Down from the verge of Heav'n" 

I.

31st day of Verdant Moon

This will only end in the hallowed halls of El Dorado, an owed price for the folly of Lady Macbeth, damning her bloodline, bringing a curse to us all. 

Yeah. Like this is some sort of fucking movie or something. I wonder if insanity is a legal defense for criminal trespass. I don’t think I’m insane, but isn’t that what crazy people all say? Yes officer, I only broke into this blocked off historical site because I had a dream where a beautiful man told me to. Also, incidentally, I had to figure out if I’m cursed or not so I can decide if I’m the cause of my dad’s death. Oh, and you might be interested to know that my great great great great whatever grandmother was a witch and vampires might be real.

It’s foolproof. 

II.

Acheron was right that sneaking into El Dorado was easy. Too easy. Disturbingly easy. After you got past the gate, there was only a security booth to creep past which should have forced you into the view of security cameras, but a convenient hole in the fence circumvented that obstacle. If you were even slightly more worried about getting caught, or maybe slightly less desperate to see inside, you would have given up right then and there on the grounds that breaking and entering shouldn’t have been as simple as ducking through some trees and making a tense, but relatively short, trek through the woods.

All sense left you when you broke the clearing into what used to be the grand lawn of El Dorado, the vague threat of getting caught by angry landowners falling far to the wayside as you stood in front of the grand majesty of King Claude von Riegan’s personal castle, staring down the centuries old castle with equal parts trepidation and excitement. 

Other than the cicadas and frogs and slight wind, the night was very quiet. Acheron fiddled with his camera, getting ready to take footage of the inside. All you had to potentially take photos with was your phone, although you weren’t inclined to gather evidence of your crime. It was enough to watch, to look, to commit this sight to memory. 

And what a sight it was. Nothing like you had ever seen, except in dreams that were not dreams but you didn’t dare call memories. Overgrown with thick, possessive greenery and fallen into a state of dull disrepair, the castle was truly a breathtaking spectacle, the years of ruin only added to the sense of tragic mystery. It was nothing like the stout fortresses of the west, or the elaborate Imperial complexes in the south. Terrible with its jagged maw of an entrance, the intimidating golden tower looming above. Beautiful, the result of long lost artistry. Foreboding and alluring. 

No longer were you looking over your shoulder out of paranoia, but staring down each window and shadow of the castle’s aged, inscrutable countenance for some sign of the life you could practically feel thrumming from within. But, even suffering from the hyperactive state of distress, you knew you couldn’t leave. It wasn’t interest or curiosity, it was a fixation, an urge, a compulsion. 

You had to go inside. 

You had to get away.

“Wait, before I forget-” You pulled out the set of walkie talkies you had brought. They were the ones you and your dad used when you went hiking. You didn’t want to think of that. “Testing, testing, one two three.” Your voice, crinkling through the static, exited the other walkie talkie. 

“What is that?” Acheron asked, raising a thin eyebrow. 

“Walkie talkies,” you said, handing him the second. “In case we get separated somehow. There’s no cell service out here.” 

“Do you intend on making a private excursion?” he asked.

“No, but…” you looked at El Dorado, uneasiness once again sinking through your gut. It was as if the castle itself was watching you, the eyeless windows winking in the moonlight. “Just in case.” 

“Hm.” Acheron clipped the walkie talkie onto his belt, and so you did you. It was too bulky for your little sling bag. “Well then, after you.” 

“What?”

“You have had more time to familiarize yourself with the layout, it’s only natural that you should lead the way.” 

You wondered if Acheron was scared. It was difficult to tell if he was any more pale than usual, and he wore the same blustery confidence as usual. It didn’t matter. If he got scared and bolted, you would do this alone. You were getting used to that, right?  

“Okay,” you said. You weren’t scared. Maybe you felt a little nervous. But you weren’t scared. 

Staying vigilant for any strange movement or sounds, you ascended the cracked, overgrown steps, telling yourself over and over that you were not afraid. There were no such things as vampires, ghosts, or curses. And if there were, you would know for yourself. Answers. You would get answers. 

The large door was mostly intact, but it was stuck in a perpetual state of half-open. Almost like an invitation. A horror cliche. There was a pinch in your bladder and your heart thudded too heavily in your chest and the animal part of your brain didn’t want to breach the shadows and go inside. You were propelled not of your own free will, but of some existential force that tugged you forward. Step by step by step until you were inside the breezeway, the central entrance hall of El Dorado. 

The general plan that the two of you had discussed before sneaking into the private estate was to get into the Golden Hall, the three story vaulted ballroom off of the northern wing. It had been the jewel of the gilded paradise of El Dorado, but nobody had seen it for decades because of the infection that supposedly filled the inside of the castle. The path there would take you through the breezeway, the atrium, the courtyard, the pleasure plaza, and the dining room. Not into the heart of El Dorado, but deep into its rotted guts. 

A very quiet, but incredibly persistent, part of your mind pushed you there with the hushed notion that it was where your dreams took place. You had to confirm for yourself that it was completely different in real life, that your mind was making things up. Even if you gleaned no further insight from this misguided exertion, settling that fact would go a long way in convincing you once and for all that you weren’t cursed, just a little mad. At least one of those problems could be solved with medication.  

Broken glass littered the breezeway, hidden like little jewels within piles of leaves and refuse and the broken bits of castle that had wilted to the ground. You tried to imagine El Dorado’s beauty in its prime, shining gold and inviting, sunshine filtering in through the dome ceiling and high windows, wind playfully teasing the long curtains. But you couldn’t, it was too dark. Darker than you might have thought, darker than the thickest section of the woods, so dark that the places outside of the range of your ThruNite seemed to be physically encroaching shadows rather than void of light. 

Hanneman had been told to only go into rooms where the light touched, that it was the only way to stay safe, but that didn’t seem factually sound, did it? Surely that wasn’t the most accurate method of determining which areas were safe. The only thing that actually feared sunlight, if myths and legends were to be believed, were vampires. There was no sunlight now, and you doubted vampires feared LED’s. 

Gripping your light in a sweaty fist, you forced yourself forward, the ground crunching beneath your boots. The terrible, heavy dread got worse with each step. It sat like a weight right behind your sternum, beating behind your eye. The other part of the feeling, the insidious part, was the familiarity. 

Bad. Bad. Bad. 

You wanted to explain the feeling as nothing more than animalistic paranoia and some malignant fear of the dark, but it made the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, your breathing picking up. All across the breezeway—throughout most of the castle, really—balconies lined the halls and rooms. You couldn’t see what was above, there was no light coming in, not even diffused moonlight. Somebody could have been watching from above and you’d never know. 

Keep going. It was fine. Everything was fine. 

“I told you that this place was safe,” Acheron said, startling you. “If it weren’t, this level of upkeep would be impossible. I have little doubt that they hire people to ensure the roof doesn’t cave in for occasions just like this.”

 You exhaled, looking around with that thought in mind. He had a point, the place did seem a little too well maintained for the number of years that had passed. Then again, maybe it was just good construction. Or maybe something that still lived here. Something ancient, something immortal.  

The two of you left the breezeway, entering the main atrium hall. Hanneman had featured many many photos of this room in his article; he had been fascinated by the intricately carved stonework. It was too dark to see much of that now. In fact, you very badly wanted to get out of the atrium as soon as you entered it because of how unnervingly dark it was. Two tiers of balcony circled around the ground floor, shadows lurking ominously right behind what was left of the railing. Every little sound echoed, rippling through the motionless air. High above, a chandelier caught the shine of your flashlights, moving with some breeze you couldn’t feel.  

Something made a sound, a scuffling. To your right, on the stairs. You flicked your flashlight to it quickly, your hands shaking with adrenaline. 

“Did you hear that?” you asked breathlessly, nervously holding the light on the steps as if to keep them from moving. But there was nothing, just the large stone staircase and decaying walls and long-abandoned artistry memorialized and forgotten in some old Life magazine article.   

“Hear what?” Acheron asked. 

You exhaled harshly, looking away from the empty stairs and kicking yourself for being so jumpy. It could just be a stray animal. That’s what you told yourself. Rats, racoons, birds, any number of things could have made El Dorado their new home. 

“Nothing.” 

There was some relief when you entered the courtyard, even if the scent of overbearing foliage and vivid green rot was nearly suffocating. At least there was more air, and you could see the stars twinkling above. Full, or almost full, the moon draped the open space in silvery light. Ignoring the overgrown shrubbery, flowers, and grass, you looked around at the balconies wrapping around the second floor. The construction of El Dorado was almost made for someone wanting to spy on guests. Or intruders. Acheron was talking to the camera but you weren’t really listening, too busy focusing to hear any sign of movement, trying to find what was making you so uneasy.

Vampires in El Dorado. Lurking in the dark, in the moonlight, waiting for ignorant fools to wander in. A missing king, a goddess’s curse, a burning witch. The Reign of Blood. You could almost smell it, the tangy iron of blood and the thick smoke of a town burning to the ground.

“Are you coming?” Acheron called. 

You shook your head in an attempt to cast out those thoughts before scurrying to catch up, passing the large stone fountain that had once been the featured centerpiece of the courtyard before the ripe overgrowth took over. The standout piece was a large, intricately carved deer. Once, it must have been a magnificent beast, but now its head was cracked in half, the prongs of one set of antlers sticking out of a murky film covering the stagnant water settled in the basin. Something dark grew over the broken statue, starting on its fragmented head and dripping down to give the gruesome illusion of blood. It watched you pass with the remaining stone eye, forever frozen in a proud, alert stance.

A breeze trembled throughout the courtyard. The castle taking in a breath. You shivered, pointedly forcing your gaze forward.  

Acheron lagged behind to force you to take the lead under the pretense of messing with his camera, leaving you to enter the so-called pleasure plaza first. Careful to not get caught by the jagged row of broken glass and wooden teeth attempting to bar your entrance, you stepped into the decaying mouth of El Dorado’s recreation wing. This was the place where Leicester’s elite once came to enjoy themselves, a yawning space that time had seen to shambles. Because of the many doorways and hiding spots, this room was even more unnerving than the atrium. You would have to cross it to get where you needed to go. 

If you were being entirely honest, you weren’t sure you had any desire to see the Golden Hall anymore. Rather, you weren’t sure it was worth the stress of getting there. Considering the unreasonable fear you felt going through areas you knew to be safe, you worried what you might find in a place nobody had seen for so long, worried about what secrets were better left to die. And that pulsing, pounding, beating of familiarity just kept getting worse, harder, closer. Louder. 

You needed to get out.

You needed to know. 

Inhaling the sweet scent of rot and age, you continued onward, your footsteps hollow against the sinking floor. Each sweep of your flashlight caused the shadows to move, to crawl away from you as if to hide. It hit each object without any subtlety, erasing details and making the darkness that much darker.

You forced yourself to carry on. Carefully, cautiously, unafraid. That’s what you kept telling yourself. Show no fear and all that. Although, that began with the presumption that there was something around to see your fear. 

Your skin erupted in painful prickling chills almost as soon as that thought came to you. And then, in the same moment or before or after or so close you couldn’t tell the difference, you saw movement out of the corner of your eye. You flashed your light quickly around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of a rat or some other disgusting but inoffensive animal to reassure yourself that you were safe because you still had hope that this was all innocent, that you were the crazy one for believing in ridiculous stories of the supernatural. 

Something retreated behind the doorway. 

Your stomach sank with freezing cold ice and panic. That was no rat. 

A person? It certainly seemed human sized. Those were footsteps too, weren’t they? Disguised beneath the sound of your own? And if it were somebody with authority, somebody who wanted you to leave because you were trespassing, they wouldn’t be lurking around watching you. So that meant it was somebody doing the same thing that you were. But, somehow, you didn’t feel as if it were another trespassing explorer. You felt it in your gut.

“Acheron, hold on,” you said quietly, stopping. 

“Yes? What is it?” he asked loudly. Too loud, bumbling around with his footsteps echoing against the walls as he turned to face you. You winced, holding up a hand to shade your eyes from the glare of his light. 

“We need to leave,” you told him, speaking softly and calmly. “Now.” 

“But we’ve hardly seen anything,” he said. You couldn’t see his frown, but you could hear it. 

“I’m telling you, we need to leave,” you said softly, desperately trying to remain calm. “We’re not alone.” 

“Someone is here?” he asked loudly, shining his light in a large circle, catching it all on camera. “Show yourself!”

“Acheron!” you hissed. 

“Don’t you want a head start?” an unfamiliar voice asked. No. Not unfamiliar. Jarring though, because you didn’t recognize why you would know it. What memory was attached to that disembodied sound. 

Acheron let out a high pitched sound of terror which scared you nearly as bad as the voice, almost causing you to fall over.

“Who is that? Show yourself!” he demanded. No answer. Of course there was no answer. No sound, not even the faint echo of footsteps. 

“We have to leave,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Acheron, your voice an octave too high with stress. “We have to get out of here.”

“It’s nothing. I told you that the local youths often come here, did I not?” he asked, maintaining that feigned sense of control. “I demand you show yourself!” 

“Acheron, please,” you begged, tugging at his jacket. He kept his camera fixed on where the voice had come from. It was from the hall branching off of the entrance out of the pleasure plaza and into the courtyard, essentially barring your most direct route of escape.

“You really ought to listen to the lady,” the voice said, just as casual, just as playful, just as recognizable. You hadn’t really been aware of a distinct echo beforehand, but the room was large enough to cause the voice to bounce around, to obscure the speaker’s location. Not only disembodied, omniscient. And you were stupid and crazy but you were acutely aware of how dangerous this was, it was a primal instinct to recognize danger. 

Freeze finally ran its course, returning some semblance of sensation to your numb limbs to take flight. You didn’t think, you ran, turning away from the voice to bolt in the opposite direction. Right then, you didn’t care whether or not Acheron decided to follow. Since you couldn’t leave the way you came in, you picked the nearest door. Terror thundered in your chest, a compliment to the sound of your footsteps on the rotting floor. You, with Acheron right on your heels, entered into a music room or another sitting room, or some other area where the wealthy and powerful whiled away their hours of excess. You shouldn’t have looked behind yourself, but you did and you could see, silhouetted in the moonlight from the courtyard, the unmistakable form of another person. And then you were pushing Acheron further into the dark with a fistful of his jacket, driven only by the need to get away. The door was intact enough for you to throw it closed behind you, and the sound rattled through the air.

The scent of wet rot was stronger back here, but you didn’t even think about stopping. The door didn’t open as you both scrambled through the room and into the hall, but you knew from the plans that there were other ways in and out of most rooms in the castle. If not directly, then from above, or even from below. 

“This is the wrong way,” Acheron told you crossly, although his control was fraying with his labored breathing. 

“Just run,” you told him, pushing at his back. You could have let go and run past him, but you were too scared of being alone, of having to navigate this dark, creepy place by yourself. 

He didn’t argue. Or maybe he did, you didn’t even know, couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of your heart and harsh breathing, your body synthesizing musty air into iron-tanged rasps that cut up in the inside of your throat. You had no idea where the hallway you ran into led, but it didn’t really matter. Away, that was what mattered. The hallway was narrow and stank of humid rot, entirely dark save for your flashlights, but the room at the end had windows, filling it with blessed moonlight. Slamming the door behind yourself again, you continued forward, stumbling to keep up with Acheron. 

Until you were yelping in surprise, the floor giving out beneath your feet. There was a brief moment where gravity hooked beneath your bellybutton and yanked, and then the floor hit, and it hit hard. Although you instinctively tried to fall in a slightly upright position, the momentum dragged you into an awkward roll, your body curling so as to protect your head. For a miniature eternity, there was no air, there was no thought in your head, there was no light save for the blinding radiance as impact blazed white hot agony through your head. Gasping, writhing on the cold, hard floor, you blinked teary eyes, staring at the hole that had just eaten you with some vague idea that you were dreaming, that this was all a made up fantasy. It was unreal, and it was painful.  

A moment later, a beam of light hit your face. So bright, like a little sun. You sucked in a lungful of air, tasting blood. Then, almost unconsciously, you jerked sideways and lurched around onto your knees. The pain enveloped you in a mad rush all once, your empty body dry heaving with nausea. Only, there wasn’t enough air to expel the sour bile in your stomach, leaving you to choke and suffocate on nothing instead. That tapered off into a few pathetic coughs a moment later, your entire body shaking and clammy. 

“Oh dear,” Acheron said, his voice thin with fear. “Are you hurt?”

All you could manage in response was a groan, and then a broken sob. But fear was a good motivator to get moving, and adrenaline shocked your system enough to force you upright. Now that you could remember, more or less, how to breathe, the worst of the damage was where you had initially landed on your hip, your shoulder hitting nearly as hard a second later. It sent violent, lurid pain straight down your arm and leg, the entire left side of your body alight as if from a branding iron.

“I’m fine,” you croaked out, not knowing if it was true but knowing that it needed to be true. 

“Thank goodness,” Acheron said, his voice heavy with relief. “I don’t suppose you see any way to climb back up?” 

You couldn’t see anything outside of the hot spotlight from above, your ThruNite had gone dark and skittered away somewhere into the shadows. At first, you only felt panic at the realization, terror that you were stuck in the darkness. It took you a long moment to think past the pain and the dark and the fear to remember that you had a backup light. After a few tries of fumbling with the zipper on your sling bag, you got your sweaty fingers around the yellow plastic base of your second flashlight. It was nothing so good as the hefty ThruNite, emitting a buttery yellow glow, but it was something. You waved it around, although you knew it was a lost cause before looking. The hole you had fallen into was rotted all the way through, leaving a few jagged boards around the edges, some of which you had brought with you on the way down, and parts of which were embedded in your hands and knees. There was no way back up. 

“No,” you said, painfully staggering to your feet and brushing yourself off as best you could. “I’ll have to find the stairs, I think… I think there’s some in the southern wing. Meet me there and we can—” 

“And stay here?” he demanded. “Are you mad? No, no, I simply cannot. I shall… I shall run and send help. Yes, that is the best course of action.”

You squinted against the blinding beam of his flashlight, mute with confused shock for a long, silent moment. 

“Acheron, you can’t do that,” you said softly, more bewildered than afraid. 

“You cannot expect me to retrieve you myself,” he said defensively. 

“No, no. You can’t just… just leave me here,” you said weakly, panic closing in around your heart, ice fizzling out like bubbles in your head. 

“I will not put myself at risk for your own carelessness,” he told you harshly. “If you remain there, the rescuers should find you quickly.” 

And that was it. His light disappeared, leaving you blind and blinking up at the hole in the desperate hopes of seeing his face, of seeing some sign that you weren’t actually alone. 

“Acheron,” you called, unable to keep your ragged voice soft. “Please don’t leave me here.” Nothing. You called out again, and nothing. No footsteps, not even the sound of doors opening or closing, although the violent rush of blood could have covered noises like that. And then there was only your heavy breathing and the sour bite of vomit in your throat and the creaking sound of the castle’s breathing in time with your own. 

With shaking hands, you got out the walkie talkie. It took you two tries to find the button, and then the sound of static. “Acheron?” you asked. “Do you copy, Acheron?”  

You didn’t get an answer. At least, not from the walkie talkie. You heard something. From far away, up above, you heard this howling, like an animal, but very distinctly human. Your guts lurched, a shiver slithering down your sweaty back, all the way through your body. 

You quickly pressed the button down again. “Ah-Acheron?” you asked, looking around the empty room. The shadows of decaying furniture followed your yellowy light, almost mockingly avoiding it. “Acheron, are you alright?” 

The speaker let out a little burst of static, startling you. “Sorry, he’s pretty busy right now,” a crinkled voice on the other side said. “Can I take a message?” 

You paused, your chest clenching. “Who is this?” But you knew. You knew very well, you just didn’t know. 

“Your guilty conscience. Trespassing is a serious crime.” 

“Where is Acheron?” you asked. “What did you do to him?” 

“Do to him?” the man asked, sounding like he was offended by the question. “Nothing. He ran off as soon as he saw me, so now we’re playing a little game of hide and seek. Sorry, no girls allowed this round. You and I can have a match when I win, okay? Okay, so you’d better start looking for a really good spot.”

Your mouth was open, gaping with no sound coming out. You felt nearly as winded by this as you did from the fall, unable to think, to formulate any rational reaction. “I-I don’t understand.”

“You’ve never played hide and seek? Oof, your childhood must have been a real bummer. The point of the game is that you hide and I seek. Simple, right?” 

“I’m not… not playing,” you said. “I just want to leave. Please… Whatever this is, I… Please stop.”

“Come on, where’s your sense of sportsmanship? Even this coward is giving it a chance.” He paused, and then raised his voice, calling out to someone else. “Isn’t that right? Why don’t you tell her what a good time we’re having?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... We’re sorry, so please don’t… don’t hurt him,” you begged, your voice wobbling with tears and panic.  

“I’m not sure I get why you’d defend a guy who was willing to abandon you here. I mean, who knows what could happen to a girl like you in a scary place like this. It’s practically falling apart. Not to mention all of the creepy and dangerous things that could be lurking around.” 

You shook your head, blinking back tears. “Please,” you said, although you weren’t sure what you were pleading for. 

“I’m in a good mood tonight, so I’ll give you some advice. First of all, the basement is no good. There aren’t very many escape routes, you’ll definitely get cornered. And, I don’t know if this is true or not, but I’ve heard that it's haunted.” 

“Please stop,” you begged. “I’ll leave, I’ll leave and-”

“Hey, hey, don’t panic,” he said soothingly. “You’ll need to save up all that energy for running. Oh, and you might wanna ditch the walkie talkie, it’s a dead giveaway.” 

All this time, you had worried about vampires. But it made more sense that some lunatic would use this place as hunting grounds. Preying on the stupid and reckless and your delusions that you were somehow cursed and connected to this place. You were cursed alright. It was the worst curse of all—blind naivety. 

“Please stop,” you begged again. It wasn’t that you wanted to talk more with the potential lunatic, but hearing his voice was better than not hearing it because at least it meant you weren’t entirely alone down here in the dark. But there was no answer, just some static. “Hello?” You asked, your voice even weaker. “Hello?”

No answer, over. Over and out. Ten-four. 

You stood there for a long moment, sore and sweaty and trembling, your body all at once wrung out and over energized, your heart beating way too fast. The light didn’t reach far enough, it was like the shadows were gnawing at the edges of it, attempting to retake their territory. A little part of your brain understood that you weren’t capable of thinking rationally, the part that recognized the insanity of all of the actions that led you here. But knowing that and overcoming blind, animal panic were two different beasts entirely. 

Escape. That was all you could do. At first you thought about searching for your fallen ThruNite, but you were afraid to linger in here too long. You had no idea where it had ended up, there were too many places in the room it could have been hiding. That left you with the weaker incandescent light and, if that failed, your phone’s flashlight. 

Your past self was a lot smarter than your current one, thinking to bring some water. That cured the rancid tang of metal in your mouth, settling you somewhat as you considered your options. Rather than abandon the walkie talkie, you shut it off. It was stupid, but you couldn’t just abandon your sole source of connection to any living beings. You checked your phone as well, but the same NO SERVICE bar sat at the top. 

There was no other way than forward. The room that you fell into didn’t have doors, only dark, decaying holes where doors might have once been. The one on your left was the source of the dank, rotting scent. It was completely flooded, the water covered with an inky, oily film, your light reflecting off of it unnervingly. When you steeled yourself to venture forward, you realized that the hall was slightly flooded as well. Not more than an inch or so, but enough to make your boots wet, and enough to make each footstep splash and squish, rendering stealth impossible. Then again, the light made that impossible anyway. Shining your light both ways, you debated which way to go, trying to remember the castle plans. The trouble was that you had no idea where you might have fallen. Everything was dark and creepy and awful and you just wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. To close your eyes and imagine your way out of the situation, to stay right there without ever moving and escape. 

After a second of despair and terrified self pity, you went right. 

If you followed the hallway, you would find a way upstairs. That made sense, there had to be some practicality to the design of this forsaken place. Or, that was all you could hope for. In reality, the dark and uncertainty threatened to turn your guts inside out, vomit biting your throat as you skirted along the wall. It was so quiet, unnaturally so. In the silence in the absolute void of light, your mind conjured noises. Extra footsteps, the sound of breathing. Echoes where there shouldn’t have been. 

You were afraid to blink, that when you opened your eyes something would appear in the beam of your flashlight. But you didn’t want to see anything, either, it would be better to face death ignorant to its face. You wanted to shield yourself from whatever horrors might exist. 

Staying in place was a death sentence, going any further was uncertain terror. The man said the basement was haunted. By what? Ghosts? Witches? Vampires? Murderers? 

Did it even matter?

Each open doorway you passed came with the anticipation that something would jump out at you. Or, worse, that you’d look in and see the dark silhouette of something inside. Somehow, that thought was almost as terrifying as being assaulted. Animals attacked on sight, true predators were the ones who were patient enough to lurk, to wait, to watch, to toy with the fear of their prey. And that’s what you were. Prey.  

On and on. Down the deep dark hall, your footsteps squelching on the damp floor, down down down to the corner where you turned, your light terrifyingly weak, nothing more than a pathetic glow against the all consuming darkness. The moment you saw a set of stairs, you could have wept with relief. Maybe it was stupid because it wasn’t as if they would lead you anywhere good, but those stairs were the best thing you’d ever seen. You gave into the spine tingling fear and ignored the pain of your body to run to them, splashing out of the water and taking the steps two at a time. 

There was no door at the top, just a sharp bend leading into a wider hall, the stairs tucked away and likely used by the servants. You didn’t care. This hallway wasn’t flooded, and the scent of death and decay wasn’t nearly as strong. It left you with the same problem though. Where did you go from here? Where were you? 

Relief soured into dread. Now that you were upstairs, the game had begun. 

It would have been smarter to shut off your light, but without any source of ambient illumination, you would be completely surrounded by the darkness. You stayed very, very still, straining your ears in an attempt to hear any stray sound, anything out of the ordinary. But there was nothing. The castle creaked and groaned, and your heart raced, and your ears rung faintly. 

Indecision and fear nearly paralyzed you. Like drowning, you had no idea of which way was up, you were merely thrashing in the blind darkness, hastening your own demise in your desperation to live. 

You found yourself walking without thinking about it, clinging to the wall with some idea that it would protect you. Just keep going. There was a sharp turn and then you realized that there was a light ahead. At first you thought it was a trick of your imagination, but you switched off your flashlight and blinked fast to adjust to the darkness, eventually making out that it was light. Soft, pale moonlight. That meant outside, that meant escape. 

Continuing to cling to the wall, you hurried towards the opening, eventually turning to the corner and finding yourself within your originally stated destination. At least you knew where you were. Nowhere near the exit. 

What rotten, twisted irony. You could almost laugh if you weren’t so close to tears. The Golden Hall, now flooded with thin silver moonlight, was exactly as beautiful as the name suggested. You knew it not from the second hand descriptions—they didn’t even begin to accurately describe the sweeping, luxurious ballroom—but because you had seen it before.

Far above, the cold moon observed you through panes of broken glass. So close, yet impossibly far. Taunting, tempting, representing an unreachable whisper of freedom. Your knees almost buckled, giving into the pain and exhaustion as you considered having to brave even more of the castle if you were ever going to get out alive. The Golden Hall echoed your own personal despair, a decaying corpse of what it once was, its profoundly decadent construction fallen to ruin. But you could imagine—remember, it was a memory, constructed or otherwise—how it looked in its prime. Shining, lustrous gold. And a man, one with entrancing eyes and a sly smile. His hands had been cold but the feeling was so warm, your own heat igniting you both. 

“The point of the game is to hide, you know,” someone said from behind you. In your despairing trance, you had gone further into the ballroom. Now you whirled around, clutching your chest in terror. “Although I am impressed you found your way up. Even I get the creeps going down there. Somebody really ought to do something about the flooding.” 

Shaking hard, you flicked your flashlight on, illuminating the man in its weak, yellow glow. He didn’t shy away, looking at you head on. His footsteps were slow and measured, impossibly graceful. Yes, yes of course. So obvious, so brutally, painfully blatantly obvious that it would be him. In the dim glow of your light, the most you could make out was the gold wink of his earring, but you knew without seeing that his eyes were that lovely shade of green, tinged with the romantic oceanic blue, so striking against his tan skin and black eyelashes. You knew that as surely as you knew the creases of your palm, or the constellations in the sky. 

“I admit,” he said, breezing past your silence, “I do have a slight advantage. You hurt yourself when you fell, right? I could smell your blood all the way from the catwalk. I’ll let you know if it tastes as good as it smells.”

“Stay away from me,” you demanded, surprised at how clear the words sounded despite the saliva pooling on your tongue. 

“I mean it, you smell really good,” he said, ignoring you and continuing forward. “Hey, why don’t you make this easy for me and put down that light? Nobody likes a sore loser.” 

“I told you-”

“Yeah, yeah, stay away,” he said flippantly. But he did stop, tilting his head in consideration. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you? Fine. If you’re going to run,” he gestured behind himself at the exit into the dark hall, “now’s your chance.”  

You didn’t think about the cheeky smile he wore, or the mocking tenor of the offer, or the reason he might let you run in the first place. You just did it, just ran, not looking back. There was blood in your throat and your entire body ached and you weren’t entirely sure you knew where you were going, but you didn’t pause. 

Step after pounding step, your heart racing, your breath coming out in sharp little gasps. Through the hall, which spanned miles and miles and miles, into the dining hall with its dust and cobwebs and ruined finery. You hit your bruised hip on the doorway which nearly sent you tumbling onto the ground. The red hot pain was so intense you had to stop and lean on the wall, your body physically refusing to go forward. 

Could you hear him? Were those his footsteps coming down the hall or your own telltale heart with its madness inducing beat? 

There was no time for your pain. If you couldn’t get away from here, you would die. That was a fact. Rubbing your sweaty palm on your hip as if to soothe it and sobbing dryly with all the pitiful disgrace of a child, you took off again. 

When you burst out into the pleasure plaza, the place of that first confrontation, hope reignited in your heart. It didn’t matter that there was still a significant dash to the exit, at least you knew where you were. Ignoring all else, you retraced your original ill-fated steps out into the courtyard. The moon was hidden behind the golden tower, peering into the front of the castle and leaving the courtyard nearly as dark as the halls. It didn’t matter. You raced across, blindly passing the one eyed deer in his long night vigil.

Until your toe caught on a loose rock, and you launched forward onto your elbows and knees, skittering forward across the ground. Once more, your flashlight was flung from your grip and landed somewhere ahead in the dense foliage. A harsh yelp left your mouth and you collapsed, completely boneless and exhausted and in genuine, insistent agony. Everything ached and the terror was relentless, pain consuming every panicked thought and infecting every inch of your body. You were doomed. Damned. Dead. 

Footsteps approached from behind. Easy, casual, measured. You flipped onto your back, wincing at the weight it put on your bruised hip. Your pursuer didn’t look dangerous. The outline of his messy curls gave him an innocent silhouette, and his hands were empty of any weapon. 

“Ouch, that must have hurt,” he said. “You should be careful, you could injure yourself if you don’t watch where you’re going.” 

“Stay away from me,” you got out between gasping breaths. 

“I bet you’re tired from all that running, huh? That’s fine, I think we’ve had enough fun for the night.” Without pausing, he dropped down onto his knees, one between your legs and the other astride your hip. You cried out in protest, getting your trembling arms beneath yourself to crawl backwards, but he caught you by the strap of your sling bag, and then with a fistful of your shirt to keep you in place, caging you in with his body. You couldn’t see the color of his eyes, they were only dark as he leaned down over you. 

“Stop it, please,” you begged, weak and trembling, tears sliding down your flushed cheeks, mixing with the sweat. “Just let me go, please.” 

“I’m sure you get this all the time, but you smell unbelievably delicious,” he said, his nose brushing your sweaty neck. You could feel your pulse jump against the thin skin there and you held completely still, a million thoughts slamming into each other all at once in your head. Vampires, murderers, insanity—anything and everything but most of all was just the mindless, irrational terror and despair. You were going to die. In a final spasm of rebellion, your back arched and legs kicked, but your body was caught between the jagged ground beneath and the firm press of his body above, pinned flat. And your hands weakly pushed at his chest, but it was a lost cause, and he wasn’t listening to your constant mumbling pleas to stop. 

Another pathetic sob hiccupped in your chest. You wanted your dad, you missed him. You needed him. And then you went limp because, now and forevermore, you were alone. 

“Come on, you don’t need to cry,” he murmured sweetly, a smile in his voice. You didn’t respond, staring up at the starry sky above. They were cold and without shape or form. Indifferent to your pain. 

The touch of his lips on your neck was shockingly cool, you almost wouldn’t have believed it was a mouth until you felt the needle-like puncture of fangs. That made you jump, squealing, but he held you in place which was probably a good thing because he was biting your neck and that could get dangerous fast. The pain sharply worked down through the rest of your body, the unnatural intrusion of something beneath the skin sending you right back into high alert. And then his lips closed around the created wound to suck.

A little whimper left your mouth, almost confused because even with the unambiguous pain of being bitten, there was something more. The wet release of sensation that followed the bite bloomed out from the point where his fangs pierced your neck in a flizzling wave. He sucked hard for a moment, but then went stiff against you, pulling back with a sharp intake of breath to stare into your eyes. 

He looked shocked, almost innocent if it weren’t for your blood smeared across his mouth. “You’re…” He breathed out that word faintly, reverently. There was meaning there, a meaning that you understood. Letting out a little laugh, a bubble of genuine exuberance, he released your shirt so that hand could delve into your hair, so he could pull you into a kiss. 

His skin was impossibly cold, unalive, and you could taste your own blood as he licked between your lips to part them. While his eyes were squeezed shut, dark eyelashes resting on his cheekbones, yours were wide open.

The kiss wasn’t violent, it was amorous. And familiar. He held you, practically cradled you against him. He felt it too, he understood what you had known from the moment you saw him.  

There was no way to escape the violently seated weight of your own body, of every sensation and feeling he inspired within you. Although, in another situation, the kiss might have seemed sensual, it was only grotesque and terrible. A display of affection in a moment of horror. You didn’t want it, your body thrummed with fear and pain, but you also felt yourself giving into the overwhelming wave of defeat. Even with all that was unnatural and terrible, this man’s kiss was imbued with some sort of cosmic sense of belonging. 

If the pain weren’t so sharp, you probably would have relented. 

Instead, you used it as an opening, as your final chance to reject this twisted insanity. Your hand scrambled out to the side, blunt nails scraping the ground and open wounds packing with dirt. But you found what you were looking for. Stray rubble, forced up and broken by the relentless roots of new growth, nature overcoming manmade structure. You wrapped your bloodied fingers around the chunk of displaced stone and swung at his head, thrashing against his grip at the same moment. 

It was enough to displace his body from on top of yours, maybe out of surprise because you certainly didn’t feel any human give of flesh and bone beneath the weight of the rock. You didn’t stop to consider that, or anything. He grabbed the strap of your sling bag as you scrambled away and you unclipped it without thought, refusing to let it catch you, to keep you trapped. It didn’t matter, you didn’t need it. You needed to escape. You were little more than a wild animal, the taste of your own blood on your lips, blood dripping down your neck, fear infecting every cell of your being. 

“Wait a second,” he called. Disgruntled, not pained. 

The first few steps, you were practically crawling, your back hunched like a beast as you used pure momentum to carry you into the atrium. And from the atrium to the breezeway, your back painfully straightening out, hip screaming in agony. You didn’t think about it, you just continued forward. Ran out into the night, ran through the woods, sticks and foliage catching your clothes and skin, ran down the dirt path to the road. There wasn’t a single thought in your head to get help, just to get away. And then you were flying through the night on your silver bike, your body pushed past the point of weary, into some territory where you weren’t even sure you were actually alive anymore, just acting because you had to act. Although it seemed to take hours of cycling down the dark road, there was this vague impression that no time at all passed before you were coming up to the inn, the bicycle’s wheels crunching across the gravel alley before you ditched it. 

Your room’s window was still open, the way you left it so you didn’t have to sneak in and out the front. The lights were on and they were warm and bright, inviting. You scrambled in, bloody and filthy and sweaty and shaking, and slammed the glass pane shut so hard it rattled, pulling the blinds shut to protect you from the night. 

And then you wept, and you retched, and you waited for sunrise.  

Act 4

“Die he or justice must; unless for him Some other able, and as willing, pay The rigid satisfaction, death for death.”

I.

1st day of Horsebow Moon

It’s all real. There is something living in El Dorado. He got Acheron, I waited all night and he never came back and they’re saying that he left yesterday but I know he didn’t. I left him there. I abandoned him there. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. 

If you find this, it means he came for me too. 

II.

A woman sat in the waiting room of the police station when you entered, her legs crossed as she casually read the paper. There was nobody else around, not even at the desk. A lazy fan swiveled in the corner, whirring loudly but not doing anything to cool the room so much as it just pushed around the warm air. It made the high necked shirt you were wearing that much more uncomfortable. Trying very hard to hide your limp—your hip wasn’t seriously injured, but you’d have a hell of a bruise for weeks—you walked up to the desk, peering into the back to check if anyone was there. No luck. It was almost eerily quiet. 

“Are you here to talk to the police?” the woman asked, looking at you over the top of her paper. 

You opened your mouth to respond before settling on nodding instead. 

She turned to the next page, her attention drawn back down. “What about?”

You hesitated, not knowing how to answer, or even if you should. Before leaving the inn, you hadn’t thought very hard about how you would present your story. The only evidence you had was your sore body, but you had to do something for Acheron. Even if he was annoying and rude and unpleasant, that didn’t mean he deserved to be dead and forgotten. 

“I know all of the folks on the force,” she explained. “I’m sure I could help you out.”  

“I… I’m here to give a statement, that's all,” you told her, aware of how hoarse your voice was. You sounded and looked rough, there was no hiding it.  

“Well, they’re at lunch right now,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down and wait with me?”

You looked at the empty desk, and then at her, and then sat down, once again trying not to wince at the way your hip complained. Really, your entire body complained. You used practically half a bottle of Bactine trying to clean up the mess of shredded skin on your hands, elbows, and knees. Not to mention the bruising. 

“I’m Judith, by the way,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. 

“I take it you don’t know who I am,” Judith said, a hint of amusement in her eyes. That perked you up, just a bit. Not in a good way. So lost in your own miserable anxiety and fear, you hadn’t really considered how off putting her demeanor was before now. 

“Should I?” you asked. 

“You might be interested, at least. I’m the owner of El Dorado and the surrounding property.”  

You felt the blood fade from your face, your empty stomach twisting with guilt and fear, the sore muscles clenching uncomfortably.

“Don’t make that face,” she said, folding up her paper. “I’m not here to report you.”

“I-”

“That’s not to say I couldn’t,” she said, cutting you off, “but I figured I’d give you a chance to do the smart thing first. It’ll save both of us a lot of trouble if we agree that nothing happened last night and move on with our lives.” 

You froze. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Do you know the punishment for felony trespass?” she asked. 

“Acheron’s still in there,” you whispered, adjusting your high necked shirt again. “They have to save him. Somebody has to do something.”

“I heard your friend left town,” Judith said. 

“No, I saw him. He was real, and he got Acheron,” you insisted, tears welling up in your eyes. The words didn’t make any sense, even you weren’t entirely sure how much of it you meant. What you thought, what you felt, what you believed. Your head pounded with a violent headache, your entire body sore and clammy. 

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but hallucinations are a side effect of things like black mold,” Judith said, her eyebrow arching. “It’s dangerous. There’s a reason that place stays locked up.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it. Could that be true? Maybe Acheron had left after all, you weren’t exactly in the clearest of mental states. He could have escaped, it was what he intended. And the rest of it, the man who stalked, taunted, and attacked you, maybe there was some other explanation for that. Maybe you really were losing it.

“You can go ahead and make a report, if you want,” Judith said. “It won’t matter. All of the evidence points to your friend packing up and leaving. Without a body, the only crime here is yours. They’ll bury you in whatever charges they can make stick.” She paused, giving you a sideways glance to make sure you were listening. “None of that has to happen. No report, no paperwork, no crime. You go back to your inn, pack your bags, and leave town. Everybody’s happy.” 

A couple of answers came to mind, and then a couple of complaints. Eventually, you just nodded. 

“See? I knew we could handle this peacefully.”

“I’m scared,” you said softly, the pitiful admission leaving your mouth without thought. 

Judith sighed, looking at you with a disapproving mixture of compassion and pity. “Don’t worry. Even if there was something there, I promise you that it’s not getting out any time soon,” she said, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. That passed quickly and Judith stood up, tucking her paper under her arm. “I have to go. It was nice meeting you. I’d say that I hope to see you later, but-”

“I’m leaving soon. Tonight if I can,” you said quickly, getting to your feet as well. 

“I thought that might be the case. Well, then. Have a safe trip.” 

III.

1st day of Horsebow Moon

I took a nap earlier, while the sun was still out, and dreamed of him. He wants me to go back. Maybe I should, maybe it’d be better if I did. When he kissed me I… I don’t know. I think about it and I’m not scared, I just want to cry. My heart hurts. Why? 

I wish it had been me too. I really do. We could have gone out together in a blaze of glory, us rogues. At least I wouldn’t be alone, I wouldn’t be thinking that when he touched me, I didn’t want anyone or anything else, and I felt-

I can’t think like that. 

The past is written in ink and stone and blood and ash.  

I’m leaving tomorrow morning, it was the earliest time I could find to get out of here. I’ll have to get back in a car. Thinking about it makes me sick, but there’s no choice. She says it’s not real and I know that’s a lie. The bite on my neck is real, I couldn’t have made that up. She’s lying. They’re all covering up for this, that’s all I can think.  Earlier when I ordered food, the delivery guy acted so strange, like he knew. It’s insane to think, but I swear, everybody in this awful little town is in on it. 

I put the note from earlier under my mattress, just in case something happens tonight. For some reason, I keep thinking that it will, jumping at every little sound. The walkie talkie keeps bursting out static, like it’s connected to the other one, but that’s impossible because Acheron had the other one and the range isn’t that long. I could have sworn I heard a voice from it while I showered too. Maybe it’s connected to another channel. Maybe I’m insane. Maybe I’m going to die. Maybe he’ll come for me. 

Death doesn’t scare me, not really, but I don’t want to die alone.

Act 5

"And should I at your harmless innocence

Melt, as I do" 

I.

Fiercely clawing your way out of the heavy shackles of sleep, you shouted yourself fully awake, thrashing in an attempt to escape an unknown threat, sickness churning violently in your stomach. Being awake hurt. Why had you been asleep? Everything hurt. Fear was more potent than pain and you forced yourself to breathe, to focus on your confusion and make sense of the world around you. Unfamiliar, although that in and of itself wasn’t dangerous. You had always existed in a state of ever-shifting unfamiliarity. What was wrong, what was dangerous, was that you knew where you were. Rather, you had a feeling. 

“Woah, woah, easy,” he said, backing away with his hands up. You blinked rapidly, panting, trying to fight your way out of the haze. The tide of unconsciousness threatened to consume you once more, lapping at your heavy head, urging you back down. It was nearly more than you could take to keep your eyes open, but you fought it. Something was wrong, you needed to be awake. As your vision brightened bit by bit, you met a pair of green eyes, and your blood turned to ice.

“It’s you,” you said, your voice soft and close to breaking, mushy in your mouth. Nearly inaudible. Everything was sore and stiff and painful, and it was so unbelievably hard to keep yourself from drifting again. It had to be a drug in your system, but you couldn’t think properly to know how or why. “You… You’re-”

“I usually go by Claude,” he told you with a winning grin. And it was a smile you knew. Intimately, honestly, a smile so familiar you ached. 

You blinked hard, shaking your dizzy, heavy head in frustration, unable to accept what you were seeing and hearing. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t remember the last thing you’d been doing before you woke up here, the squishy bit of brain behind your eyes pounded at the effort. And that name. You knew it, you had long attached it to the man in your dreams no matter how little sense it really made.

Or maybe it all made perfect sense, and that was why you were so scared. Claude von Riegan, resident vampire of El Dorado. 

“I… What happened?” you asked weakly, tearfully. “Why do I…? Dizzy…” 

“Don’t worry, that’s from the little concoction I slipped into your food before that kid dropped it off,” Claude said. “It’s not poisonous or anything and, trust me, I would normally never use such underhanded tactics, but I couldn’t have you ruining things by making a big fuss. It’ll wear off soon.”

“No no no,” you muttered, your words bordering on incomprehensible with the effort they took to get out, “this can’t be happening. This can’t…” 

“Would you feel any better if I told you it wasn’t?” he asked nonchalantly, sitting on the sofa across from the bed, his arms spanning the back in a casual position. 

With blurry vision, your eyes took in the room around you. It seemed normal enough, if lavish. Big bed, large furniture. The smell though, that was distinct. Not rot, but old. Aged. 

“You have been having an awful lot of weird dreams lately,” he continued thoughtfully. 

You exhaled harshly, going still. Then, slowly, you met those playful green-blue eyes. They danced with candlelight and mirth. Enticing, exactly like in your dreams.

“I hope you don’t mind, I got bored while you were asleep and had a little peek at your diary,” he told you. “I’d love to hear more about that strange, beautiful man who haunts you in the night. He sounds intriguing.”  

Had you written about those dreams? You couldn’t remember what you might have put down, usually you just went in and dumped as many thoughts onto the page as possible. The invasion of privacy was like a knife to the bone, but you couldn’t think of what you should do about it, the world was too abrasively heavy to know what to do with anything. Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. Tears! Like you were going to cry! It seemed impossible to fight, like you were just as helpless to yourself as you were to what was going on.  

“It was fascinating to see how much you pieced together. I’m glad you’re smart, I really am. It’ll make this a lot more fun.”

You shook your head again, which didn’t help the dizziness. “I want to leave,” you said, “I don't want to be here, I can't…" Your voice slurred a little, like you weren’t in complete control of your body. Your thoughts too, they kept getting away from you, slipping out from your grasp. 

"Out of curiosity, where would you go?" Claude asked. 

You sniffed pathetically, your thoughts falling to an abrupt halt against the question. "What?"

"If you left town right now,” he said, “where would you go?"

You stared at him, unable to figure out what he meant. 

"You don't know, do you?" Claude asked, but his tone was all-knowing and smug. "I thought as much."

"I do, I just…" you said. But you didn't. You had no idea about anything. What you would do, what you were doing, everything was a confused mess and you just needed to get out of here, get away. Your breathing was picking up, your heavy head spinning with it. 

“Shh, calm down,” Claude said gently, switching from the couch to the bed. It dipped with his weight and you didn’t think to move away, just stayed where you were and looked at him, attempting strength but only managing desperation as you tried not to break down completely. “I can tell you’re scared, but I’m not going to hurt you.” He paused, smiling non-threateningly. “And, you know, I wouldn’t have had to do any of this if you didn’t play hard to get last night. So why don’t we agree we were both in the wrong and move on? Forgive and forget, no harm done.” 

“I-I want to-to leave,” you insisted, taking inventory of yourself to figure out if you were even capable. Everything was so foggy, disoriented, your body unbelievably heavy. It was getting better, but slowly. You weren’t sure you could leave the room, let alone escape. 

"Sorry, but that's not gonna happen," Claude said, and it wasn’t a threat but the casual way he spoke made the statement that much worse. He was simply telling you something that was. A fact, a forgone conclusion. 

"Someone will… will come looking for me," you said with more confidence than you actually felt, grasping at straws to make your case because you didn't have anything else. 

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Claude said. "They still think that I'm too weak to leave, seeing as the Macbeth bloodline has completely died out and all." He smiled at that, meeting your eye knowingly, unflinchingly. "Without the blood that roused me from my accursed slumber, there's no way I'd have the strength to steal somebody all the way from town and back."

Pieces began to shift into place. Slowly moving, scraping together as your fogged brain did its best to comprehend what he was telling you. The vague outline existed, but you couldn't quite pin it down, couldn't quite see the whole. 

"My blood…" you mumbled, pressing your hand to the puncture wounds on your neck.

"But," Claude continued, ignoring you, "let's say that they know you're here. It's not impossible. Are you really going to place a bet on complete strangers risking their lives for you when they can't even be sure you're still alive? Personally, I wouldn't."

Your breathing, already unsteady, was only getting more out of hand the longer this conversation went on, the pressure behind your eyes mixing a headache with the threat of tears. A hot flush worked its way through your body, a sure sign of genuine panic, some potent mixture of terror and the effect of whatever drug he'd given you. 

“Hey, calm down. I'm not trying to scare you,” Claude said, “but I'm not gonna lie to you either. So let’s get to know each other a little. I’m sure I’ll surprise you.” 

Surprise you? The enormity of what was happening finally settled somewhat. He had kidnapped you, presumably by drugging you. He had killed somebody. Many people, maybe.

“Are you going to kill me?” you asked, your voice trembling and small.

Claude huffed, slight irritation wrinkling his brow. “No,” he said. “Frankly, I’m offended you’d even ask.”

“You’re crazy,” you said. “You… you killed Acheron, you…” You put a hand to your neck again. The needle-like punctures had bruised, the skin tender and sore. 

“Okay, okay,” Claude said, trying to placate you. “I know I might have gone too far, and I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do that again. I was just a little excited, you know? I’ve been stuck in this place for centuries all on my own, too weak to leave and haunted by the ghost of my terrible, yet sympathetically tragic past.” 

He paused, eyebrows up as if expecting you to say something, prompting you to say something. How could you possibly respond to that? He spoke so fluidly that you could almost miss the way he casually threw around the word ‘centuries’ as if it were normal, as if it made perfect sense.

“Doesn’t that make you sad?” Claude pushed. “Doesn’t your heart just ache for the pain I must have been feeling all this time?”

“You’re crazy…” you whispered again, unsteadily sitting up against the headboard, drawing your legs closer to yourself to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. You couldn’t ignore the evidence that there was something weird going on here, but you couldn’t ignore reason either. A crazy guy with razor sharp teeth living in a castle famous for its vampiric and occult ties hunting and killing trespassers was more reasonable than the alternative, wasn't it? You couldn’t just give up and submit to the fantasy, not entirely. You needed to make this make sense, to find a valid explanation other than the impossible. 

“You already tried that one,” Claude told you. “And, for the record, I’m not crazy. If you think about it, and I know you have, this is meant to be. Who are we to deny fate?"

“Fate?” you repeated. “No, that’s…” Crazy. It was crazy. Everything about this was insane.

“Then why are you here?” Claude asked, raising an eyebrow. “Ah, actually, don’t answer that. I already know. Oh! Speaking of which…” He stood up to find something, pawing through the mess haphazardly left on one of the tables before straightening up with a phone in hand. 

“That’s mine,” you said, tensing up.  

“Yeah, you left it here. Aren’t you glad I took care of it for you?” he asked, waving it around as if to taunt you into lunging for it. 

“Give it back.” 

“What’s the magic word?” 

“Give it back.”

“Ooo, how very charming,” Claude said, oozing sarcasm. But he gave it to you anyway, tossing it onto your lap casually before sitting back down. “You know, if you’re going to break into creepy forbidden castles, you probably shouldn’t take something so important. Especially the thing that has all of the information about where you’re staying, what you’re doing, who might care if you go missing suddenly… Or, actually? You should do that, it makes things easier for me.” 

You clicked the home button, greeted with your familiar background, a flower your dad found for you on the lake. That was last year. Not so long ago, but it felt like a lifetime. You weren’t sure what you were looking for as you swiped the screen to unlock it. There was no service here, you already knew that. The phone may as well have been an expensive brick for all the good it did you. 

“I’m astonished by how much information can be crammed into such a tiny little device,” Claude said. “Although, in your case, there wasn’t very much to find. No friends, no family, no home… I’m sorry about your dad, by the way.” His voice lacked all levity when he said that, almost like he meant it. 

“Don’t,” you said, stiffening. But it was a weak kind of anger. Whatever he had used to drug you sent your emotions way out of whack, fear and anger and sadness getting all knotted up and leaving a lump in your throat.

“Nobody to worry that you’ve gone missing. Nobody for you to miss,” Claude continued to muse. “Nothing for you to leave behind. If I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder if you weren’t waiting for this exact thing.” 

“That’s… You’re wrong.” 

“Of course, I do know better,” Claude said, ignoring you, “I know why you risked life, limb, and the law to break into my humble abode. Rather, I know why you think you did. You want to know why you’re cursed, and why all of these terrible things happened to you. You think that when the truth is laid bare, it won’t hurt anymore. Once everything makes sense, you won’t feel so alone and scared. You and I are pretty much the same in that regard. I can’t stand not knowing things.” 

You shook your head quickly, refusing to hear his words. He wasn’t right anyway, he was just assuming, just pretending like he knew you for the sake of some twisted power trip. Then again, he was right, wasn’t he? Your brain wasn’t so focused that you could simply deny the truth, deny that you thought answers would make the pain stop. 

“Amateur prose aside, you’re right about almost everything—the curse, Lady Macbeth, Old Derdriu, me. You are cursed, Lady Macbeth was a witch, I am a vampire, and so on and so forth,” he said flippantly, disregarding the supernatural as if they were matters of tired fact. “But I have to say ‘almost’ because you’ve misunderstood something very important. Honestly, your little tirades border on willful ignorance sometimes. I can’t tell if you’re intentionally missing the point or if you’re just that obtuse… Er, no offense. You know what I’m talking about, right?”

“No,” you said. 

Claude huffed, frowning. “You’re probably the only girl in the world to come face to face with the literal man of her dreams and still insist that you don’t believe in fate. I’m actually a little amazed right now.” 

“You’re lying,” you said. “You’re lying so I… Because I’m…” 

“You’re not insane, if that’s what you’re going to say,” he told you bluntly. “You’re not weak either. No, you just want a way out, don’t you? There’s nothing for you out there, you know that. You’ve been searching desperately for someone to swoop in and give you direction again.” 

“No,” you said again, refusing to hear those words or to believe them.

“Careful,” he said, “if you lie too much, I might just feel compelled to do something about it.” 

Your breath caught, your body freezing in place. “You’re crazy,” you whispered, tears burning your eyes. 

“Aaaand back to square one,” Claude said, rolling his eyes. “Okay, I see we’re not going to get anywhere like this. Time to move on to Plan B.” He twisted up onto his knees, like he was going to crawl towards you.

“Don’t come near me,” you said with wide eyes, clumsily scooting away, covering your neck defensively. Your body wasn’t moving correctly, your limbs awkward and ungainly. Although, if you were honest, he didn’t look that intimidating in the warm light. No, he looked beautiful. That was the point, wasn’t it? Those green eyes, the soft hair with one little curl flopped over his forehead, the pretty face, the little gold earring, all of it was meant to entice. Vampires were beautiful on purpose, they were both bait and trap. 

“I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you. All I want is to get to know you a little better,” Claude said innocently. “Thing is, I’m a hands-on kind of learner.” 

“Stay away from me,” you told him as firmly as you could manage, watching him distrustfully with this terrible tingling sense of anticipation. Like you wanted him to do something.

“I mean it. Fear and pain makes your blood all sour. Pleasure, on the other hand…” He trailed off with a grin, letting the implication speak for itself. “Well, we’ll get there.”

“No,” you said, winding up your arm to throw your phone at him. It was hard to keep your arm lifted, the muscles were so heavy that they trembled with the strain. Claude’s eyes widened, and then narrowed, his irritation obvious. 

“Oh, come on. There’s no need for that.”

“Stay away from me,” you said again, your voice coming out more like a whine. At this point, your thighs were clamped so tightly together that the muscles ached, your arm wavering from the weight of your phone. Claude reached for your wrist, but you dropped the phone before he could do anything, deciding to make your escape instead. 

There was no surprise that you, unsteady and dizzy and drugged, nearly fell off of the bed when you tried to jump onto the floor. You definitely would have face-planted if a set of cold hands didn’t catch you.  

“I know this is happening pretty fast,” Claude said, gently pulling you against him. You couldn’t do much to stop him, your head spinning, your mind on the fraying edge of sense from the sudden shake up of blood. He was inhumanly cold, but the fabric of his buttoned shirt was soft. The smell was wonderful, clove and orange and something lower, masculine. “Believe me, if I could give you more time, I would. But we have to make do with what we’ve got, right? And I’m…” His arms tightened around you, not that you were at risk of escaping. When you nervously peered up at him, Claude caught your eye hungrily. His throat worked hard as he swallowed. “Honestly, I’m starving.”

“Stop,” was the most you could offer, slurring the word. You realized that there was no heartbeat in his chest. Of course there wasn’t, he wasn’t alive. His cold hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing along the warm, sensitive flesh of your back, to your ribs. “No,” you protested, squirming. His body was unyielding and firm against your own in the most intimate of ways. You had never been this physically close with another person, not like this. 

“It’s okay,” he told you, his nose brushing the crown of your head. 

“It’s not.” 

“It is,” Claude affirmed, unendingly gentle. He was tracing little patterns on your back that made you shiver. You should have been fighting to get away, but the scent of him was intoxicating, and you felt… Not peaceful, there was too much about all of this that was uncomfortable and scary to be peaceful, but you didn’t feel displaced. “You don’t want to be alone anymore, do you?”

Your composure finally collapsed, tears welling up in your eyes. You hid them against Claude’s cold, empty chest, clinging to him because you had nothing else. 

“It’s okay to let it all go,” Claude told you, continuing to pet your skin sweetly. “I’ll make you forget, at least for a while. I don’t want to brag, but I’m the best you’ll ever have. I’ve had a few years of practice to really hone my technique, you know? You won’t remember a thing by the time I’m done with you.” 

Your heart pounded heavy and hard once, twice. 

“What do you mean?” you finally asked, mumbling the words against him to hide your red face because you had a feeling you knew what he meant, the price he’d demand to cure your loneliness. In a way, it made sense. Another piece of a puzzle that would fit in just as it was meant to, as it had been destined to. 

“Wait…” Claude pried you away from his chest, gripping your chin to force you to meet his eye. You tried to avert your gaze, but there really wasn’t anywhere else to go, anywhere to hide. “What do you think I mean?” 

Your thighs squeezed together, heat rising to your face.

“I dunno,” you said, trying to squirm away, overly aware not only that you were in his arms, but practically cradled in his lap. 

“I can’t tell if you’re being coy or not,” he said. “I guess it doesn’t matter either way.” 

“What doesn’t?” you asked. 

“I’m talking matters of the heart,” Claude said, letting go of your face to wrap an arm around your waist, his grip impossible to fight even if you weren’t still dizzy and leaden from the drug. “And matters of the body. More specifically, your body.” His other hand delved down, slipping beneath the elastic waistband of your sweatpants to press against you through your panties. You hissed out through your teeth, thighs clamping down around his hand like a vice. Claude only groaned, his palm grinding against you. “I’ve gotta say, it’s awfully cute. You’re so warm and soft.” 

“Stop,” you protested, your voice thin and your face hotter than ever. 

“Pleasure makes your blood sweeter,” he said, the air of his words brushing against your ear. “The more, the better.” 

You shook your head, hiding your face against his chest. “I… I don’t…” 

“It’s a fair deal, don’t you think?” Claude asked, his fingers teasing you through the thin fabric, curling to press between your folds, skimming over the sensitive flesh beneath. You squirmed, your hands weakly tugging at his wrist. “We both get something out of it.”

“I… don’t…” you stammered out again, not sure where you were going with it. 

“And it’s much more respectable than a messy quickie out in the courtyard. Blood as precious as yours deserves to be savored in its finest form,” Claude said, dragging his finger over your clit, the extra friction of the fabric adding to the sensation. You shuddered hard, heat sinking low in your gut. “I think we’ll start with three and go from there.” 

“Three?” you asked breathlessly, your head spinning so hard you had to rest it against his chest.  

“Yeah, I’m going to make you come three times,” Claude said, his tone more than a little indulgently condescending. “To start with, at least. You know, to sweeten you up. It’ll soothe your nerves too. As for what happens from there…” He shrugged, the movement impeded by the way he was cradling you. “I like the spontaneity of figuring it out as I go. It’s more romantic, don’t you think?” 

“Nn…no…” you said, your stomach sinking, sickness and something else—something that was decidedly interested in the proposal—swirling dangerously low within you. Claude hadn’t stopped teasing you through your panties, and you weren’t really pulling at his wrist anymore so much as just holding on.  

“What, are you thinking more along the lines of four? Five?” he teased. “We’ve got more than enough time to kill.” 

“That’s not…” You whimpered, holding tighter against him when he wedged the fabric between your pussy’s outer lips to grind even harder against your clit. It bordered on too rough, but it was working as intended, your clit swelling hot and needy, your hips jumping forward in an unintentional chase for more. “I can’t… do that.” 

“Did I mention how good I am at this?” Claude asked. “Not that I get the impression you’ll be too terribly difficult.” 

You whined in objection, squirming in a half-hearted attempt to escape. 

“That’s not a bad thing. The opposite, actually. Like I said, the more, the better,” Claude said, his other arm wrapping around your waist to adjust you, to make it easier for his other hand to work between your legs. You were too sensitive and you didn’t know how much of it was natural and how much of it was from the drug, only that pleasure was pooling up quickly in your core. 

You swallowed against the excess saliva pooling on your tongue, past the lump in your throat. “I… I don’t…” 

“What?” he asked. “You don’t… something. Sorry, I didn’t catch the last bit.” 

“I…” 

“You weren’t going to lie and say you don’t want this, were you?” Claude asked, his cold lips brushing the shell of your ear. Your hips jerked, your mouth falling open. You could feel the way your body was coiling up tense, desperate to come. It would be a quick flash of pleasure, hidden and tight beneath your clothes, but it was still pleasure, it was still good. 

“I’m—mmm…” You pressed your lips together to stifle yourself, holding even tighter against him. The wave of heat was building too fast, too frantically. Exhaustion, drugs, your general mental degradation, you could pin the blame on any number of external factors so you didn’t have to take responsibility for what you felt. The result was the same though, and it was you and you alone who chased the tantalizing build of pleasure.

“Do you feel that? That’s the sweet, sweet feeling of me being right yet again,” Claude said, saccharine and smug. “Feels good, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”  

It was the pet name that really did it. Nobody had ever said something like that to you, and the heavy weight of it in his voice pushed you over the edge with an anxious little jerk of pleasure and a choked noise in the back of your throat, with a hot flash that made your clothes feel too tight, that made your clit pulse beneath his touch, rubbed raw with the friction of fabric. It was awkward and cramped and thin and it was everything, you clung onto him as the fizzles of heat sparkled out, your muscles contracting, your mouth open and silent. 

When it was over, when Claude quit rubbing those evil little patterns over your sensitive clit, you let out a shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself down. Without the distraction of pleasure keeping you on edge, you felt the bite of nausea in your throat. The recognition that this was wrong, and that you had no idea what to do to fix it, or even if that was possible. 

“The thing is that when you come, your body releases all sorts of hormones. It’s a fun little cocktail that behaves in basically the same way as sugar. For me, at least,” Claude explained, unceremoniously dumping you onto your back in a boneless splay. “A couple of orgasms is… It’s like the difference between gnawing on a day-old biscuit and savoring a cinnamon bun with icing.”

“What are you doing?” you asked. You tried to hold onto him, but Claude easily knocked your arms away so he could pull your sweatpants off. They were cast somewhere to the side before he hooked a cold hand under your knee, lowering himself between your legs. “What-”

“I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth,” Claude explained, looking up at you with bright eyes. He looked so innocent, so sweet. So mischievous. “You don’t mind, right?” 

“Mind what?” you asked, trying to close your legs, to hide yourself from him. The panties you were wearing were old and plain, far from anything even approaching sexy. But the idea of removing them was worse, you couldn’t stand thinking of him looking so forwardly at your bare pussy. The humiliation would kill you. “Please stop,” you said, your voice pinched and small. 

“Oh, wow, would you look at that?” Claude asked, his finger tracing the wet spot soaking through your panties. Your hips twitched, the muscles in your thighs tensing. “It looks like you don’t want me to stop.”

“Don’t look,” you said, squirming in an attempt to get free. 

“Don’t look?” Claude repeated, feigning guilelessness. “So it’s okay if I touch, but only so long as I keep my eyes closed? Good to know.” 

“No, that’s not-” 

He cut you off, his tongue replacing his fingers, dragging over the wet spot with a depraved sort of intensity. And his eyes, as he said, were closed. Already, the sane thoughts of sickness and doubt were beginning to scatter anew, your body responding to the promise of new pleasure. Claude exploited that, continuing to lickyou through the damp fabric of your panties while you squirmed, settling for covering your face in place of fighting him off. Not that he was looking. 

“You’ve been alone for a long time, haven’t you?” Claude asked, hooking his fingers beneath your panties to slowly peel them off. You fought that, but it wasn’t hard for him to wrench the cotton from your grasp, the elastic tearing before he got them all the way down and off. When he ghosted his cool fingertips over the bruise on your hip, you shivered. “I’ve barely done anything and you already came once. Every time I touch you, it makes you twitch. I thought you were just discrete, not writing about any boys in your diary, but the truth is that you’ve had nothing to write about, right? Well, until now, that is.” 

“What are you doing?” you hissed down at him, finally panicking enough to grab his hair, trying to pull his head out from between your legs, shame raging a horrible storm within you. Claude groaned, flashing a grin up at you as he casually tossed one of your bare thighs over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, you can pull my hair all you want. I don’t mind,” he said, his cold lips brushing your inner thigh. You thought of his fangs and how easily they had pierced your neck, falling still as he passed the artery there. But that wasn’t his destination, you realized. Claude separated your outer lips, staring at your bare pussy for a long moment before his head dropped forward. 

You yelped when his cold tongue began to draw relentless patterns over your swollen clit. His fingers kept you spread open for him and you couldn’t breathe, every single muscle in your body pulled taut in preparation for the orgasm you were being enticed into. Disgust and humiliation remained constant, sure, but it wasn’t enough to dissuade your body from the pleasure. 

Even when your thighs closed around his head, certainly suffocating him, Claude didn’t falter. Even when you pulled at his hair, even when your hips jumped against his face, he just groaned, doubling down. He had to have been putting on a performance, considering how loud he was, eating you out as sloppily as possible so you had no choice but to revel in the depraved noises. The rest of it was all you. Your moaning, your whimpering, your gasping. Your body didn’t belong to you, you couldn’t force yourself to stay still, couldn’t stop the noises from leaving your mouth, couldn’t stop the hot coil of pleasure from building and building and building. 

“I c-can’t,” you got out breathlessly, “I-I… I can’t.” 

“Just keep telling yourself that,” Claude said, looking up at you from beneath thick, dark eyelashes. “It’ll make this a fun surprise. For you.” 

Forcing your hips flat against the bed, his wicked tongue continued to push you even closer to the precipice. You whimpered, tossing your head back because there was nothing else you could do. It was embarrassing and awful and you hated it, but you knew you weren’t far off. Heat ballooned up in your core, all of your blood seemingly rising to the surface and making your entire body too hot, too tight, too tense. 

Claude’s lips closed around your clit and sucked and you came with a helpless cry straight out of some trashy porno, your entire body tensing and shuddering and completely overcome with nothing except for the raw sensation of pleasure. By the time you were spent, your fingers were twitching, the rest of your body limp and sweaty. 

“See what a difference a can-do attitude makes?” Claude asked, looking up at you with a big smile. You shook your head, breathing too hard, too fast. Unable to meet his eye. “As in, I can make you do anything I want. Funny how that works out.”

“I-I need… a moment.” 

“No you don’t,” Claude said. Messily, hungrily, he moved up from between your legs, his lips tracing your abdomen, your stomach, your ribs, pushing your shirt up to gain access to more and more of your bare flesh. When you realized he was trying to remove your shirt and bra, you fought it, desperate to retain some modesty. 

“I don’t want-” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Claude scolded. “Remember what I said?” 

With his supposed can-do attitude, it wasn’t difficult for him to get your shirt and bra up and off, shoved past your shoulders and arms until the knotted wad of fabric dropped onto the floor. You tried to cover your bare tits, but Claude barely paused, simply slapping your arms away so he could map your chest with his mouth too. Palming one breast, pinching the aching nipple between cold fingers, he wrapped his lips around the other. 

“Claude, I don’t-”

He effectively shut you up by biting your nipple. Not with his fangs, and not hard, just enough to make you squirm, writhe against him like you had last night, stuck between his unyielding body and the mattress. Sweaty and hot and desperate, but now for completely different reasons. 

You made another sound that was intended to be his name but didn’t come out that way, it was barely language, and far from comprehensible. 

Claude groaned, the fingers of his other hand pushing into your pussy at the same moment, driving right past the tense muscles of your entrance and deep into you. The weight was enough to make you really moan, the feeling of him stretching out your inner walls electrifying your entire body. You could hear how wet you were for him, feel how easily his fingers curled and scissored inside of you, reigniting the little ember of need low in your core. His mouth switched to your other nipple, leaving the first red and aching, and all you could do was hide your face, one hand threaded through his hair as if looking for an anchor point. You thought you needed a break, but already you were back in it, already wanting to come again.

His fingers fucked into you with a sloppy sound. In and out, curling and scissoring and not at all gentle. Not that it mattered. Your body was entirely pliant, moving with him. More than that, responding to each swipe gleefully, needfully, pulsing around his cold fingers and sucking them deeper, your back arching to press your chest harder against his mouth, your thighs squeezing his hand to keep him in place.  

“You’re tight,” Claude said, pulling off your nipple with a slick pop. “Is it possible that you’ve been saving yourself for that special someone?”

You shook your head, more than a little aware of the way his taunt made you tighten around his fingers. So close. Just a little more and you were going to come for him, the heat having gone from a smolder to hellfire beneath your blushing skin, your entire body wound up.

“Do you mean to tell me that you haven’t been suffering all by yourself, waiting for your prince to show up and take care of you?” Claude asked, making his point with each hard thrust. “Cause, I’ll be honest, that’s what this feels like to me. Sensitive, tight, needy… Those are all classic symptoms of neglect.”

It was difficult to breathe. Difficult to think.  

“Please,” you breathed out and you weren’t sure how he heard you, you could barely hear yourself over the crushing thrum of blood in your ears, but Claude responded with a groan. 

“By the way, that is the magic word,” he said. Despite the quip, he fingerfucked you roughly and carelessly. His mouth on your tits was beyond pleasurable. It was exquisite, terrible. You came again, your entire mind clearing out as pleasure shuddered through you, stoked by each thrust of his fingers. They kept on curling, teasing, grinding against your g-spot, going as deep as they could each time. Your orgasm felt like it lasted too long, leaving you wrung out, shaking and almost confused. Maybe that was just because of how hard you were breathing, your brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen.  

Sweat slicked your skin and tears had dripped down your cheeks into your hair and everything glowed when you managed to blink your eyes open.

“You don’t mind, right?” Claude asked, his mouth moving up from your sore nipple to your neck. His hand hadn’t stopped moving, fucking into you. He pulled his fingers out only to add a third, to add that much more impact to each thrust. 

And he. Didn’t. Stop. Claude didn’t so much as pause when he bit into your neck, pushing you past numb overstimulation, past the discomfort, and right back into the cruel build of yet another orgasm. Unlike last night, the piercing sting of his fangs into your flesh was only good, hazy bright red and sharp, followed by the sweet, cool release of his mouth fixing around the wound to suck. It hurt, but the pain was only an aspect of pleasure. And when Claude groaned happily, his tongue lapping at your blood with the same desperation you felt beneath the assault of his fingers, you moaned openly. 

You came again when he bit into your neck a second time, his fangs digging into your flesh mercilessly. The needling sting made you writhe, but his fingertips curled at the same time to press against your g-spot and you couldn’t help it. At this point you were so wet it was dripping past his fingers, slicking your thighs and the bed. Claude sucked even harder at your neck, enough to make you lightheaded. 

Whining, you pulled halfheartedly at his hair. Not for him to stop, but because you wanted him to fuck you. Actually fuck you. At this point you probably were insane, but you didn’t care, all you could imagine was how full you’d feel, pierced by both his fangs and his cock. 

“You want another?” Claude asked, pulling away from your neck. When he pulled back, his lips were wet with your blood, his green eyes alight. “Some girls would be begging for a break right about now.”

“I…” 

“No, no. It’s okay to be a little greedy sometimes,” he said, grinning, the picture of poise and control despite the lunacy swirling within his gaze. 

“Nn-no, I want you-you to—” You let out a high pitched mewl when his other hand dropped to touch your clit in time with his fingers inside of you, writhing desperately, helplessly. This wasn’t what you wanted, you didn’t think, but already sense had flown from your mind, replaced by the intense dread and need that had reduced you to a babbling, mindless thing.  

He had to have known what he was doing to you, how far your mind had degraded, but that didn’t seem to matter to Claude at all. Torturing you with the dual assault of his fingers, he moved back down your body, muttering for you to hold still before his fangs punctured your inner thigh. Biting the sensitive, giving skin hurt in a different way than your neck, but you were already on your way to coming against and when he sucked hard on the wound, you just whined, gripping his hair in a desperate attempt to stop yourself from falling apart completely.  

Claude moaned, sucking hard as you sobbed and moaned and trembled through another orgasm, dripping and squeezing his fingers, twitching with overstimulation and pain and pleasure and the raw rush of ecstasy. He finally let up when you whined, his mouth releasing your thigh and pulling his fingers out of you with a final little press against your g-spot that made your legs jerk. What little sense you might have had before was long gone. 

“Now… What was it you wanted me to do?” asked as he sat back. “You were mumbling, I couldn’t quite understand.”

You turned your face away from him in embarrassment, still trying just to breathe, let alone speak. Claude laughed indulgently. Warm, sweet, even affectionate. He leaned over you to press a kiss to your neck, lapping at the beads of blood that had welled up. Even as you burned, he was cold.

“Look at me,” Claude told you softly, sweetly. 

And you did, meeting his eyes again because you were beyond refusing. What you didn’t expect was for him to take advantage of the way you were gasping for air and shove his fingers in your mouth. They tasted like you and maybe a distant part of your mind was disgusted by that, but it was so much easier to do what came naturally and suck on them, your tongue cleaning his skin of your wet arousal. The reaction seemed to amuse him, and, curiously, he pushed his fingers a little deeper. Predictably, you choked. Claude pulled them out with a spill of saliva. Filthy, but everything was already so wet, the added mess made little difference. 

“Oop, sorry,” he said without the slightest shred of repentance, sitting up and unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it aside. You could barely remember what had happened to your own clothes. “I’d hate to put words into your mouth, so why don’t you tell me what it is you want.” 

You shook your head, closing your eyes in an attempt to collect yourself. More than ever, reality loomed as a detached concept, floating above you and below you but not quite stable. There were reasons that was probably dangerous, but you couldn’t think hard enough to know. Every time you tried, it was just the heavy thump thump thump of your heart, and sweat, and your heavy, heavy head. 

“How about I tell you what I want, and you can let me know if it's agreeable to Her Highness?” Claude asked playfully. You peeked at him from beneath your eyelashes, barely coherent enough to be surprised that he was naked. Beautiful, the warm tan of his skin belying the bloodless cold beneath. Vampire biology, as it turned out, was comparable enough to human biology. “I want to see how many times I can make you come on my cock before you either beg me to stop or pass out. Preferably while enjoying a little more of your blood.” 

You blinked, some sense returning to your head as your eyes followed the trail of dark hair down his abdomen to his cock. A bit of fear because the sight of his hand stroking it made you very aware of what was about to happen, and then his words registered and you froze up entirely. 

“Oh, don’t make that face, that was a joke,” Claude said, scooping you up. The world rolled, your head heavy and limbs limp. “I won’t let you pass out, you’d miss all the fun.” 

“Dizzy,” you muttered, trying to hold onto him for stability, everything he just said fleeing your head as the reality rolled and twisted and shifted incomprehensibly. You couldn’t be afraid of what was happening when you didn’t even know what was happening, although that was distressing in and of itself. 

“You’re okay,” Claude said sweetly, brushing a lock of hair from your face, capturing your attention back onto him. Something to hold onto. “I’ve got you. Just relax, let me take care of you.” 

Amidst the blurry, disorienting world, his eyes were familiar and clear. Beautiful. You must have muttered something in the affirmative because it made him laugh, the sound rumbling in his bare chest. Claude kissed your lips, your cheek. Then you were turned around and falling forward. It was difficult to balance on your hands and knees. He had to settle for your knees and elbows, your arms were trembling too much to hold you. 

“You really are gorgeous, you know that?” Claude said, his hands tracing over your waist, down your hips. He didn’t put any pressure on the hurt one, simply tracing the very tips of his fingers across the ugly bruise. With how sensitive the skin was, it actually felt good, tugging a harsh shiver down your spine. “I’m serious. I mean… Look at you. Not that you can. I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.”

Shame made a brief reappearance as Claude groped your ass, playing with your body a moment before spreading your cheeks, exposing you enough to run the tip of his cock through your slick folds. That made you shiver even harder, your body tensing up, your pussy squeezing around nothing, dripping a little more in anticipation. 

“A meaner man would make you beg,” Claude said, nudging the blunt head against your hole. You exhaled shakily, desperate and nervous and filled with red hot lust. 

“Claude,” you said.

“You’re lucky I’m so nice.” With that as your only warning, he nudged his hips forward. Once the head was in, you were more than wet enough for him to slide in smoothly. 

But Claude still took his time, holding you tightly against him to fill you with little rolling thrusts, his cock dragging against your fluttering inner walls bit by bit so you could feel everything. He held onto the headboard with one strong arm, the other holding your back flush against him which was good because, especially now that you were so full, you had no control over your body. In contrast to your feverish, sweaty skin, Claude was cold and smooth, his flesh unyielding and hollow. Your pussy worked around his cock, adjusting to his size. Any discomfort was easily smoothed out by how right it felt. How perfect.  

“Scratch that, you’re going to be lucky if I ever let you leave my bed,” Claude said, his voice a bit harsher, more affected, his arm tightening around you. 

You whimpered, your body unintentionally responding to what should have been a threat but only registered as a delicious promise. Claude still hadn’t moved. Every little movement made you tighten and flutter around him, a new reminder of how deep he went, how completely full you were. Claude groaned in turn, the sound muffled against your neck. 

When he bit you again, you could feel the way your cunt clamped down around him, your hips desperately twitching in an attempt to make him move. The piercing ache of his fangs spread through your skull, your spine, and then his lips latched onto the wound as if to soothe it. The sound of Claude sucking against your skin was beyond lewd, sloppy and wet and needful. 

“Please,” you whimpered. Not to make him stop, but to make him move, to fuck you properly. He pulled off of your neck with a slick pop. 

“I thought you’d want me to be gentle,” Claude teased, pulling out of you slowly. He didn’t take on the sensual tone of a lover, remaining playful despite what he was doing. “But that’s not true at all, is it? You want to be used. You want me to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk, let alone escape from my devious schemes. Then you’ll have no choice but to be a pretty little blood bag for the mean, mean vampire of El Dorado. Am I right, or am I right?”

The words made your cunt tighten despite yourself. “I-” When he thrust back into you, his hips smacking loudly against your ass, you could feel everything. Every ridge, every vein, it was rough and rocked you forward. Only, he held you in place, leaving you with no escape. 

“Exactly, I’m right,” Claude said, repeating the motion, making you cry out pathetically. “Of course, I almost always am. You’d think I’d get sick of it at some point and say something wrong just for a change of pace, but…”

You weren’t really listening to him. How could you? Each thrust was hard enough to practically throw you forward, but the cage of his arm kept you in place so he could keep up the rough pace, fucking into you like you were little more than a doll. You wanted to meet him halfway, wanted to participate, but you were too far gone to possibly keep up. Luckily, Claude didn’t seem to mind either way. 

His fangs buried into your neck directly on top of the wound from last night and it should have hurt horribly, but instead it threw you over the edge, your pussy tightening around his cock and your body trembling as you came. The sensation was hard and rough and completely physical, pleasure blooming out from the place where his cock slammed into you and spreading outwards in wonderfully sensitive sparks of heat. 

Claude growled. You could feel the vibrations in his chest, his throat. The iron tang of your blood mingled with the filthy scent of sex, and the sound of him slurping at the skin of your neck was nearly as lewd as when he ate you out, like the sex was the same as the blood drinking, the two acts intrinsically linked.

The inside part of your consciousness remained in the heavy, hot confines of your body, desperate for a break so you could come down from the orgasm but unable to deny some hot, painful desire for more. The outside part of your mind floated above, like a balloon, disconnected and distantly interested in what was happening, almost like this was a dream. The two parts warred. One mind focused only on Claude and the pure physicality of it all, the other in a state of disbelief that any of this was happening at all. 

Neither mattered, really. Within your chest, your heart raged in a double time beat, racing against the blood loss and the syrupy thick pressure of exertion. Superficial pleasure raced over your skin like electricity. Claude bit into your neck again, drinking even more of your sweetened blood with desperate fervor. You tensed up, realizing that you were going to come again with a twinge of panic. Your body rebelled at the idea, but it would be more painful to deny the pleasure, it would leave you shaking and wanting and desperate and it would hurt. 

“You just can’t get enough, can you?” Claude asked. You moaned wetly, pathetically. He licked a wide stripe up the side of your neck. Even now, his tongue was impossibly cool against the bleeding wounds. 

He let you fall down, pushing your torso into the mattress. You went without protest, boneless and limp. Claude held you up by the waist, his thrusts slowing down as he experimented a few times. You didn’t really realize the point until your body jerked with intense, almost aggressive, pleasure. 

“That’s it, right?” Claude asked, a smile in his voice. You weren’t sure why he asked in the first place, your body’s reaction to him hitting your g-spot was more than telling. It felt good, beyond good, but it was in an electrified, panicked sort of way because at this point you were overstimulated and dizzy and every time he fucked into you it was unbelievably pleasurable, so much that it hurt. It didn’t help that Claude was being so rough, his thrusts losing tempo. And you just took it, jerking each time, spasming around him, moaning helplessly, that coil of heat building with too much intensity, with too much raw-nerve pressure. 

“C-aa-n’t,” you gasped out between thrusts, your voice heavy and wet.  

“Can too,” Claude told you, twisting your hips a little, enough to add that little bit of extra sensation. You pressed your face against the sheets as you came, your moans coming out practically as sobs because of how utterly overstimulating it felt as your pussy unintentionally clamped down around Claude’s cock, forcing more pressure on your g-spot, cruelly dragging out your own orgasm. He was muttering something, praise maybe, but you couldn’t hear it above the roaring of blood in your ears. 

Pretty soon Claude moaned loudly, layering your name with the heavy sound of pleasure. You realized that he was coming too, slamming into you roughly before his hips stuttered, flush with your ass. You shook and gasped and whined, your pussy fluttering and squeezing him, accepting the torment. Inviting it even, dripping around him even as he buried himself too deep inside of you, finishing with a few heavy thrusts. 

Claude laughed lightly after a few moments, although it sounded more like a sound of exhilarated joy than humor. You hoped he wasn’t laughing at you, although you couldn’t do anything even if he was.

He kneaded your ass, spreading your cheeks to watch himself pull out of you with a rush of wetness. Shame had burrowed deep into your gut, but you felt enough to pull away, to press your thighs together as soon as you had the chance.  

“I may have gotten a teensy bit carried away,” Claude admitted. 

You didn’t open your eyes or respond, not even when he threw himself down onto his side and gathered you against him. He was cool and smooth, his flesh inhuman against your own. You were the feverishly sweaty one, although you realized as he held you how cold you felt on the inside. Cold and sore and empty. 

“I know you’re not asleep,” Claude said, nuzzling against the side of your neck, lapping up the blood before sucking lightly at the freshest wound, groaning at the taste. 

You didn’t move. If you did, if you acknowledged the cold or him or the discomfort or anything, you would have to deal with how awful you felt. Blood loss felt a bit like altitude sickness, at least insofar as it left you lightheaded and nauseous. The sore overstimulation was different, but you definitely didn’t want to deal with that. Mostly, you just wanted to stop existing and shirk the discomfort and pretend that none of this was real. 

Claude pulled away from your neck, smacking his lips contentedly. 

You continued not to move as he adjusted himself, his arm leaving your waist to reach for something off to the side. “Can you sit up a little?” Claude asked. Your head spun as he pulled you upward regardless of your answer, the world lurching. Your pussy leaked uncomfortably, coating your thighs and the damp sheets. Every inch of your body either ached or felt clammy and sour. Your head pounded with a headache. Your skin was too tight, sweat dripping into the scrapes and bitemarks. A straw appeared at your lips, urging you to finally open your eyes. “Here—drink this.” 

You looked at him from beneath fluttering eyelashes, meeting those pretty green-blue eyes before looking at the bottle he held. 

“Whassit?” you asked, your voice slurred and barely recognizable. Your stomach protested at the thought of taking anything, but your mouth was bone dry and tasted like blood. 

“Water,” Claude said, pushing the straw past your lips. You just accepted it. Maybe you shouldn’t have, he already admitted to drugging you, but you weren’t thinking clearly and it was easier to just do what he said. “Humans need a lot of water. Especially after losing so much fluid.” He paused, smiling playfully. “Do you always get that wet or am I special?”

You blinked at him, taking in a few more mouthfuls of water before dropping the straw. Claude set the cup aside, wiping the excess water from the corner of your lips, and then smoothing over your hair, pulling you against his chest happily. It was easiest to let it happen. He really did smell good, spice and citrus and musk and Claude. The man of your dreams, he called himself.   

“They thought they could trap me here forever. After their massacre and the fire, they…” Claude didn’t finish that thought, his voice troubled. There was no heartbeat in his hard, muscled chest, but you could feel the rumble of his voice. “She had family, sure, but her blood was cursed. No Macbeth woman would be able to release me from this place ever again. And then you came.” He paused, petting your hair again. “More than once, if I recall.” 

You groaned softly, eliciting a laugh from him. 

“Yeah, that was in poor taste. Unlike you, who tastes excellent,” Claude said affectionately. A moment later, he sighed, returning to a somewhat serious tone. “Anyway, the point is that, vampire or no, I’m man enough to admit that I needed saving just as badly as you. That’s enough, isn’t it? We really should stick together, us accursed outcasts.”

You didn’t say anything, you weren’t sure what you were meant to say. Your thoughts, still, were little more than confused slush. And, more than that, you weren’t sure that was the sort of thing that needed a response. 

Claude accepted your silence and kissed the top of your head. And then he just held you. Not like he was afraid you would leave him, but like he was afraid you would cease to exist altogether, his arms nearly desperately keeping you pressed against his chest, his hands brushing your back or nose ruffling your hair as he reminded himself that you were still there.

And maybe those thoughts were just projections, but you didn’t think they were. 

II.

1st Day of Ethereal Moon

Now it’s just us two. Me and Claude ruling the world. Explorers, adventurers, wanderers. Rogues who hide behind the horizon to keep the night close. I told him that the other day and it made Claude laugh. It didn’t hurt even a bit to say, either. Dad would like him, I think. Claude likes discovering things and chasing mysteries and all that too. There’s always somewhere new to go, we never stay anywhere long enough for people to notice our shadow. It can be hard sometimes, but I’m not alone. It’s as good an ending as any. 

Happily ever after. 

[thebluestbluewords]

Anything You Like - the soulmate theology part

*

“They’re a gift from God,” Claudine says confidently. “He sends them to us so we know where to find the good people in the world. The ones who are meant for us, for us to love and learn from. That’s why so many parents will mark their children.” 

“That’s stupid,” says Mal, who is eight years old, and has exactly two soulmarks, one from her mother and one from her future-henchman in training, Jafar’s son. “My mom’s the worst of the worst. She’d never let some silly god tell her who to mark.” 

Claudine glares at Mal from behind her thick glasses. The effect is a bit like being glared at by an especially nervous monkey, one of the creepy ones with huge eyes who sometimes come on TV in the hours-long marathons they get of the stupidest children’s shows imaginable. 

With all of the fury in her six-year-old body, Claudine sticks her tongue out at Mal. “Then you’re stupid, and so’s your mom!” 

“My mom could crush you dad like a bug.” Mal says carelessly. “And probably his god too, if he’s wasting his time giving people soulmarks. My dad’s the most powerful god on the island, and he doesn’t have any soulmarks.” 

“That’s because nobody loves him!” Claudine says, full of confidence in her own correctness in a way that only children can be. Mal would punch her teeth in, if she thought she could get away with it. “If God made somebody to care about your dad, he’d have found them by now and you wouldn’t even be here.” 

“Take it back!” 

“No!” 

“Take it back right now or I’m gonna hit you!” Mal shouts, clenching her hands into fists so tight that she can feel the tiny points of her nails start to cut into her palms. “My dad’s the most powerful god on the isle and he’s gonna hurt you if you don’t take it back!” 

Claudine frowns, screwing up her whole face. “My God can protect me,” she says, but they’re a shadow of doubt to her words now, and Mal knows that she can win this. “He’s the most powerful of all time, not just here.” 

Mal, with the honing instincts of a child who has never been told to shut up, goes for blood. 

“Then why don’t you have a soulmark? If your god is so powerful and cool and loves you so much, why didn’t he make anyone who loves you back?” 

“I—“ Claudine sputters, face crumpling behind her glasses. “I— I, um, I’m waiting. For the right person.” 

Mal frowns. She’s more evil when she pretends to care about people first, that’s what her mom says. “I thought your god was supposed to show you the right person. If he didn’t give you anyone, I think it means you’re just an unlovable freak.” 

“You’re mean,” Claudine whispers, her face damp behind the shield of her glasses. “I’m gonna find my person someday, and you’re never gonna get any more soulmarks because you’re mean and  God hates you.” 

Mal laughs. “There’s no god on the island, stupid. Your dad just lies to you because he doesn’t want anyone to know that you’re a freak.” 

Claudine sniffles. “You’re mean and that’s worse.” 

Mal takes a step back. Crying is disgusting and only for babies, and at eight years old, she’s very much not a baby, and being seen with someone who’s crying could hurt her burgeoning schoolyard reputation. Making someone cry because you hit them is one thing, but standing next to someone who’s crying is a sign of weakness, and there’s no space in Mal’s world for acting weak. 

“Says who?” she demands, from a safe distance away. Bullying distance is further than comforting distance, and it should be clear enough to any onlookers which one she’s standing at. 

“My— my dad,” Claudine manages, sucking in an enormous snotty breath. “And all his followers. Being mean is the worst thing ever, that’s what they said.” 

Mal laughs wickedly. Or at least, close to wickedly. She’s still practicing her Evil Laughs. “Well, my mom says that being mean is how you get ahead in the world. And my mom’s the ruler of the isle, and yours is dead, so I’m pretty sure I know better than you.”

[rubyreduji]

i have nobody to tell my thoughts to… but ceo!woozi has been on my mind non-stop lately 🤭🤭 like do you know how hot sounds??? ugh.. it’s been plaguing my mind… or like being rival coworkers with him at a successful company 😩😩>>> i feel like you’d understand me tbh

[minors dni]

no because you are SO right like imagine young but strict jihoon who became a ceo early on in his career after the old one spontaneously retired to go live on an island and you've been with the company for a while now (at least long enough that you were there when the old ceo was in power) and despite being one of the best employees the company had jihoon hates you

you don't know why either, it's been like this since he got the job, shooting down your ideas, scoffing at your reports, always making you redo your projects, nothing you do can make him happy, in fact it does the opposite, everytime you interact with him a look of discontent settles deep onto his face

your breaking point is during your latest office meeting when jihoon not only makes an unnecessary comments about the state of your outfit, embarassing you in front of the whole room, but also he shoots down another one of your ideas only to accept an idea from your co-worker, an idea that you pitched last week that he turned down

at this point you can just tell that he's targetting you, that he has something against you when you've done nothing but being kind and hardworking

after the meeting you're fuming and you decide to storm right up to jihoon's office, not heeding the protests from his secretary

you walk right up to his office and fling the doors open to find jihoon sitting on a phone call

he flicks his eyes up at you before saying into the phone, "ah, something has come up, i'm sorry to cut this call short, yes sir, i'll call you later, yes, thank you," before placing the phone down and standing

he walks past you and looks out the door to his secreatary, "clear my schedule" and then he closes the doors

finally he turns to you, "mx. l/n do you know how incredibly rude and unprofessional it is just barge into my office and intterupt a very important business call" he's looking at you down his nose and you suddenly feel very small

you regain your composure and stare right back him "we need to have a talk, mr. lee"

"is that so?" jihoon tuts as he walks back over to his desk "so tell me y/n, what's wrong?"

you hate him so much, his cocky attitude and asshole demeanor

"you have been nothing but unkind to me since you've taken position and i demand that it stop. it's unfair and there is no real good reason for your mistreatment against me"

jihoon looks at you bored, "i have no clue what you are talking about. if you are just here to waste my time, then i suggest you get back to work"

you want to stamp your foot like a child but you know better than to throw a tantrum "sir, every meeting you shoot down my ideas only to accept them a week later by a different person. i do twice the work, if not more, than everyone else just because you make me redo every project i work on. i'm sick and tired of it and if it doesn't stop then i'll quit"

you didn't mean to say the last part, it just slipped out, but it seems that this statement takes jihoon's interest, the look on his face changing to something unreadable

slowly jihoon stands and walks over to you, despite his height he has a dominating presence as he stares at you with firey eyes in his crisp suit, he's the perfect image of power

"do you know why i do those thing to you?"

"because you have something against me, i'm not sure what, but you do, and you can't deny it"

"i do it you because you need it. you are one of the best employees here, which means we cannot risk your work quality decreasing. every comment, every redo, every shut down has a purpose my dear y/n. i push you do your best because i know you can be better. everytime you're put down you come back stronger. that's what's so fascinating about you" jihoon grabs your chin and forces you to look at him "do you understand now?"

his grip is tight, a bit painful, but you can't ignore the way it turns you on

you've always thought jihoon is incredibly handsome, too handsome for his own good, and you've shamefully has some thoughts about him before shooing them away, reminding yourself not only is he your boss but he's also a raging asshole

"you're such a good employee, so diligent and obedient, makes me wonder what you're like outside of work. i've always had my eye on you y/n, whether you realized or not. you allure me. so pretty" jihoon mutters as he strokes your cheek with his thumb

"j-jihoon"

"that's sir to you"

"t-this is very il-illegal" you stutter out, but you already know that he knows that

"i don't see you trying to make a break for it though, now do i?" he's right, you're too turned on now, desperate for him to continue "that's what i thought. on your knees, now."

you don't waste time kneeling down in front of him, the bulge in his pants apparent now that it's at eye level

"now be good and suck" jihoon unbuttons his pants and pulls his cock out and you quickly take him into your mouth

his hands grip tight into your hair as you bob up and down on his massive cock

you move your tongue to press against the bottom of his cock as you do your best to deep throat him, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you try not to choke

"that's it, so pretty like this, go good for me," jihoon coos as you continue to work at him, tears filling up in your eyes

it doesn't take long for jihoon to cum down your throat, groaning as he does, and you do your best to swallow down his cum

you're aching between your legs now as jihoon tucks himself back into his pants, you're a bit worried he's going to leave you as you are, but then he orders you to strip and lay down on his desk

his hands find your most sensitive area and he starts to play with you, you whimper as he touches you, feeling good but wanting so much more

you're just about to get off from jihoon's touch when he pulls away and you audibly whine, you're not left without his hand for long though because soon a finger is tracing your entrance before he slowly inserts one finger into you

his fingers are thick and strong and you can feel yourself stretch out as he pushes a second one in, thrusting into you a bit

"s-sir, please" you beg

"please what? use your words properly"

"please, n-need you to move more sir, harder, faster" you pant out

you hear jihoon chuckle a bit before he does just as you asked, digging his fingers into you even more, it doesn't take long for you to open up and he shoves a third finger into your stretched out hole

he picks up the pace of his fingers and quickly pistons in and out of you, his fingers curling right into your sweet spot, the wet sound of your hole filling the room

you're a mess now, whining and squirming around on his desk as he fingers you to completion, you climax with a loud moan of jihoon's name, your cum going everywhere

despite the mess jihoon smirks down at you, happy with a job well done

"you know y/n, you really have always been my favorite"

[sorry it took me so long to answer this and i know technically you didn't ask for a fic and technically im not taking request but yall know i cannot resist jihoon]

[wyattjohnston]

daisy & birdie take miami - jack hughes | andrei svechnikov

series: we don't have no time to waste & starting at the end

word count: 1,345

note: this is such self-indulgent world building that idec that i’m shadowbanned and it won’t show up in the tags. i haven't finished birdie & svech's fic yet.

i made some insta edits at the bottom too :)

Daisy didn’t skip class very often—her degree was important to her and the effort she’d put in to get transferred to Columbia could not be wasted.

However.

She made exceptions for the All-Star Break because there weren’t many other times during the year where Jack was actually able to relax. Not that the All-Star Weekend resulted in much relaxing at all with a tight schedule and handlers making sure they stuck to it.

Daisy, though—Daisy got to enjoy herself.

She was enjoying the free alcohol that had been set up in a sectioned off area at the Resort for the players’ guests who hadn’t ventured out into Fort Lauderdale by themselves. Daisy had thought about taking herself around, but she was no stranger to Florida and it was easier to just drink where it was free. There was also the fact that she was only a quick walk away from the hotel room if she got antsy about the unfinished assignment waiting for.

It wasn’t even a big deal to be sitting by herself, alternating between scrolling through her phone and taking off-angle, long distance shots of the little rink or interview tables that had been set up.

“Can I sit here?”

Daisy lifted her head, already readily agreeing, and was a little shocked when she half-recognised the person standing in front of her.

It took a few moments for Daisy to realise that it was Birdie Jones—an Instagram model she followed, known for her bright, colour-blocked outfits with matching vibrant makeup. She looked completely different in jeans and a tank top.

Birdie relaxed into the free chair beside Daisy, immediately stretching out and craning her neck to see everybody in the area.

“Someone got married last year,” she said when she was looking back at Daisy. “I want someone else to do something insane this year.”

“I was the one who got married,” Daisy said, a shocked smile on her face. Nobody but Jack had brought it up and she fully expected it to just be something that had happened that wasn’t interesting enough for anyone to remember.

“It was you?” Birdie asked, her voice increasing in pitch considerably and she sat up straighter. “You’re my hero.”

“We’re not really married.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t matter. Someone had to; it was Vegas.”

“That’s what we thought!” Daisy said, slapping Birdie’s arm in excitement. “Some people didn’t find it very funny, but we’re young and dumb so I think we got a free pass.”

“Which one’s your husband?” Birdie asked, gesturing to the hockey players.

Daisy pointed to Jack in the crowd of players, staff and media, leaning in so she could make sure Birdie knew where she was pointing, “Jack, from the Devils.”

“Oh, nice, I’m with Andrei from the Hurricanes.”

“I know,” Daisy admitted. “I really like your Insta.”

“Oh my god! Thank you, that’s great and really nice of you, but, like, I have an idea and I need a friend who will be in the post with me. I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone, so we’ll need to do a quick run to some stores but I have an idea.”

“Me? In one of your posts? I would be honoured but—”

“No buts! Whatever you’re about to say and put yourself down is not true and I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t serious.”

Daisy stood up before Birdie did, the excitement of their afternoon already getting to her.

She hesitated only briefly before shooting Jack a text to let him know she was heading out, she knew that his phone hadn’t left his hand all day even as he sat in front of the media and that he was incapable of letting a notification go unchecked. That was a him problem, though, and part of her hoped that his reaction to seeing a text from her would be caught on camera.

Birdie had gone into the weekend with the intention of taking break from work. A lot of people would, and did, argue that taking photos and posting them to Instagram or making videos and posting them to TikTok didn’t constitute work but Birdie’s 3 Million Instagram followers had not appeared overnight.

There was one idea she wanted to do, though, far less formal and intensive than normal but otherwise much the same—Daisy was the final piece to that puzzle.

Birdie dragged Daisy through Fort Lauderdale, in and out of stores trying to find the perfect baby blue outfit to match the baby pink one she’d brought for herself.

“How did you and Svech—Andrei—meet?” Daisy asked as she pulled a face at a skirt Birdie was holding up. “Does it have to be a skirt?”

“Course not, we can find you something else.” Birdie hung the skirt back up and searched for the next baby blue item. “I met Drei through a friend of mine meeting a guy on the team. How did you meet Jack?”

“High school sweethearts; we’ve been together since junior year.”

Birdie’s smile was real, the sweetness of it all hitting her right in the heart. It was made all the sweeter by the lovestruck look on Daisy’s face. She hoped her own face looked like that when she spoke about Andrei.

They didn’t find anything that they both loved enough to make it onto Birdie’s feed, and wandered in and out of a few more stores—including a pit stop to get some mojitos because it was happy hour at the bar they passed.

“Do you know who Andrei is just from my Insta? Or are you into hockey?” Birdie asked, having clocked a few things Daisy said throughout the day as the latter but not being a hundred percent certain.

“I’m a Red Wings fan, born and raised. I was into hockey long before Jack came around—but the school I went to had quite a few of the US Development Team kids so I think I was doomed to love this stupid sport. Are you into it?”

Birdie laughed. “I love the Canes as, like, a little family, and that’s about it.”

Daisy agreed, at least, that it must be pretty bizarre to get thrown into the world of hockey if it wasn’t something you were interested in.

After a couple of mimosas, and a few texts from Andrei that moved from him being lonely in the hotel room to being less lonely at the hotel bar, the girls found the store that worked for them. The perfect colour caught Birdie’s eye as soon as she walked through the door, and she held up a pair of blue pants—that had a matching blazer—to Daisy who instantly agreed that it was perfect.

“This is so wild; I’m going to be in a Birdie Jones post. I know that you’re human, and I went through this exact thing with Elena Rubio where I like met her and was so uncool about it and now she comments on my Insta posts and it’s normal.”

Birdie snorted, loudly, “You did not just compare me to Elena Rubio.”

“I mean, like, you’re both famous or whatever and I’m a nobody college kid.”

“I’m not ‘famous or whatever’,” Birdie said as she rolled her eyes. Daisy protested.

They were back in the hotel lobby when Birdie said, “We’ll probably have to take the photo in the morning, I need Drei to take it but he’s out having fun somewhere.”

“No way! Like, I thought he was taking some of your photos but he’s like a full Instagram Boyfriend?”

“He’s pretty good, isn’t he?”

“Jack’s useless. I’m going to steal Svech for a little bit. Just a day or two, build up a backlog.”

“We should hang out in the summer or something—you don’t need Drei, you need me.”

There was some squealing, and some earnt glares from the older men in the lobby, before Birdie was catching Daisy who flew at her with an unexpected and excited hug. It was easy to be swept up in the excitement.

Please consider leaving feedback—reblog and write in the tags or send an ask, I’m not fussed. I just want to know what you’re thinking!

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[g3arb0y]

When Natalie comes to her realization, she’s with Misty cleaning up Shauna’s mess.

Said realization is that she may be falling in love with Misty fucking Quigley. The same Misty Quigley who stalked her, put a camera in her room, and wasted $300 of coke trying to stop nat from relapsing.

The Misty who has always stuck by Nat even when she pushed her away and hurt her in so many ways.

Natalie starts to feel guilty as she watches Misty move Adams body.

Why does misty do so much for this broken team when its so clear nobody enjoys her presence. Natalie, for the second time today comes to the realization that misty loves to try and mend broken things. That misty has this fucked up sense that she needs to be a savior to any and all people she can.

And Natalie for a brief second wants Misty to be her savior. Wants Misty to try and put her back together, but that thought is quickly pushed away.

She knows that letting her live out the delusion that she can fix Natalie wouldn’t be good for either of them. Only Natalie can fix herself and maybe she’d like the company of misty while she does, just as a friend or something more. Not as a savior.

Natalie is then jolted from her inner monolog by the very person she was monologging about.

“Nat? Natalie? Are you going to help me or just stand there.” Misty says with a slight smile.

Suddenly remembering what she’s here to do. “Huh? Oh fuck, yeah sorry.”

Natalie isn’t one to become nervous around women. But sitting on the floor and scrubbing blood off of it with Misty, she is. Nervous that they might get caught covering up a murder.

And nervous that after cleaning up this body, misty will go back to ignoring her. Something Natalie unexpectedly hates thinking about.

Yes misty is annoying, and way to cheerful about cleaning up a body, but Natalie, as she hates to admit. Likes having misty around. Though she’d never tell Misty that.

Something about Misty’s stupid laugh and weird interests endears Natalie. The way misty is always so excited to see Natalie. Not to mention Misty isnt ugly, she’s very pretty actually.

Natalie sneaks a glance at misty’s face and she feels a ping of want in her heart, and she now realizes something for the fifth time today, she is about to make a mistake.

She clears her throat, which draws Misty’s attention.

“Uhm Im sorry. About being such a dick to you. Don’t fucking say anything stupid about it or I’ll take it back.” She mostly adds that last part because she feels, weird. About this thing she’s trying to do right now.

“Mm, its okay! I know its mostly because of some unresolved trauma or whatever, and what happened out there! I never hold it against you.” Misty says back still scrubbing the floor.

And Nat hates, how misty can just brush it off, not care about how horrible Natalie has treated her. She also hates that Misty called her out, because she’s right. It is unresolved trauma. But she stops herself before she can get to deep into such a depressing thought.

“Right. So i was, wondering is you wanted to hang out or whatever after we get this done..?”

Surely misty would jump at this chance so she doesn’t understand why she’s so nervous.

Sure enough misty does jump at the chance. Literally.

She gets off her knees and starts jumping in place.

“Really? Okay okay, uhm how about going for coffee? No, to conventional. Theme park? No you definitely wouldn’t like that…”

Misty starts to ramble, and Natalie begins to regret it but pushes that down. Misty deserves to be treated well after how Natalie treated her.

“Just fuckin pick something please.”

“Sleepover!” Misty squeals like she’s 17 again.

Natalie figures she never got to have a sleepover so she just nods and they finish doing their part of the Adam situation.

.

.

.

.

Natalie pulls up on the beat up motorcycle she bought after she sold her car.

She figures she could’ve walked to misty’s house but she does still like her, so she might as well try to impress her a bit.

Natalie can see misty looking outside, probably waiting for her. She smiles a bit thinking about Misty setting up and eagerly waiting for her arrival.

She walks up and doesnt even have to knock on the door before it opens.

“Hi Natalie! Cool bike by the way!”

Misty is practically jumping for joy.

Natalie gives a hum in response.

“Can i come in?”

Misty steps aside, signaling for her to come in. She can see that misty has cooked dinner, and has netflix pulled up on the tv.

“You really prepared for this huh?” Only slightly teasing.

“Well its not everyday Natalie Scatorccio says yes to a sleepover.” She can see misty has a smirk on her face. Natalie thinks its not the most unpleasant thing she’s seen.

“So uh, what are the plans then?”

“Okay so first dinner, obviously. Then if you want theres ice cream for dessert. Then i figured we’d watch a movie? Then bed and i’ll make breakfast in the morning?”

This actually isn’t such a bad plan. Natalie nods.

“So whats for dinner?”

“Spaghetti.” Misty smiles that Misty smile and leads her to the dining room.

.

.

.

After they’re done eating Misty brings out the ice cream. It is a huge pint and, mainly strawberry. Natalie’s favorite flavor.

“Did you do this on purpose?”

“What ever do you mean?”

“..Dont play dumb.”

She’s looking at Misty and with the way she’s smiling at Natalie she definitely knew this was her favorite flavor, but then again misty might know Natalie better then she knows herself so she’s not surprised.

“Okay yes, now cmon.”

Misty grabs nat’s wrist and leads her to the couch, just like she did leading her to the dining room. Misty lets go when they get to the couch and Natalie finds herself missing the contact. She doesn’t say that though.

She sits close to misty. Trying to close the gap just a bit before they choose a movie.

Misty, to engrossed in trying to pick a movie they’d both like, doesn’t notice.

Natalie sees an opening and stares at Misty. Admiring her features, how her hair falls around her face, how her nose curves, how soft her lips look. She wonders if misty wears lip balm, wonders if her lips have a faint fruity taste.

Natalie has to stop herself from finding out on her own.

She shakes that thought and focuses on choosing a movie that would scare Misty.

“Lets watch Texas chainsaw massacre.” She says

“Mm i’ve never seen it!”

She watches misty search it up and press play.

Her plan was for Misty to get scared and for Natalie to comfort her, but she should’ve known better. She’s misty.

She’s staring at the screen while putting a scoop of ice cream in her mouth once and a while. Not scared at all, more interested in the plot then anything.

So her only plan failed. She figures its best to just let the night play out then.

.

.

.

The movie finishes and they get up, but not before misty grabs Natalie’s wrist again.

Natalie’s whole body becomes warm at her touch. She figures misty is only holding her wrist to lead her to the bedroom.

She heats up a bit more thinking about what this could be seen as. She likes the thought of misty leading her to bed, just to tear her to pieces and put her together again. To touch her in ways Natalie has touched herself.

She shakes the thought. Not the time.

.

.

.

“Alright bedtime!” Misty had led her to the bedroom like Natalie thought she would.

As she watches misty get ready for bed she realizes she didn’t bring any clothes to sleep in.

“Misty?”

“Hm?”

“I forgot clothes.”

Misty giggles and Natalie feels a bit embarrassed.

“Hold on, i’ll find you something!”

Nat watches as misty rummages through her drawers until she finds a plain black shirt and some pink shorts.

“Here ya go! I figured you wouldn’t want a sweater or a cat shirt or anything.”

Well misty was right, she would’ve hated a sweater.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!”

Then misty pulls her shirt over her head and turns around to find a shirt to sleep in.

But Natalie freezes, and she stares at Misty’s back. Of course misty isn’t shy to show her body, but it drives Nat a little crazy. Seeing how Misty’s body curves, how smooth her skin is.

And Natalie for the second time tonight, wants to touch her, to caress her waist, hold her close to her own body. To hold her hips down while Misty is in a compromising position.

She wants to fantasize more but the thoughts are interrupted.

“Stop staring.”

Misty has that smirk she had earlier tonight, like she knows what she’s doing to her. She slips a shirt on.

Natalie scoffs to act like she wasn’t gawking and imagining eating Misty out.

“Like i ever would.”

Natalie changes quickly to avoid embarrassment and awkwardness, all while Misty giggles.

“Where am i sleeping?”

“In the bed with me?”

Oh.

Natalie hadn’t considered this is what they’d be doing.

“Right, right. Okay.”

She hesitantly climbs into Misty’s bed. While misty climbs in after her.

“Goodnight!”

.

.

.

Natalie is sleeping when Misty wakes her up.

“Nat? Hey? Can you, hold me?”

Natalie hums in response and turns to face her. She’s to tired to refuse and its not like she would have anyway.

She grabs Misty’s waist and pulls her to her chest. She can feel misty snake her arms around her.

“Whats this about?”

“Im not sure. Having you here, in the same bed as me, near me. It reminds me of the cabin. How close we all slept together.”

Now Misty brings it up she feels the same. Its not the most pleasent memory to go back to. So she understands why misty wants to be held.

Natalie hums again. Understanding how Misty feels.

“Im sorry i woke you.”

“Im glad you did. If you’re having bad memories, i’d prefer you let me go through it with you.”

And at that she hears misty giggle into her chest.

“Its just, back then we were all so broken. I think maybe we still are but it was so much worse back then. Having to watch our friends die. Eating them”

Natalie stiffens at the eating bit, remembering how she tore into Javi, how she cried and screamed trying to save him. And how misty held her back, saving her.

“I can barely eat beef anymore. Its to similar.”

Natalie relates to that. She’s stopped eating meat all together. Hating how similar the texture and taste was.

“I get it, you aren’t alone in that.”

“I know. Thank you for agreeing to this sleepover, you made me really happy tonight.”

Nat squeezes Misty a bit, letting her know its not a big deal.

“You ready to go to bed?”

“Can we stay like this?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

Natalie hesitates but plants a small kiss on Misty’s forehead.

“Goodnight.”

She waits till she feels Misty’s breath become slow and shallow before she sleeps.

Yeah, Natalie definitely loves Misty Quigley.

[inkskinned]

the problem is that being single is seen as the consolidation prize, and not the natural neutral state of being-a-person. at the end of the movie or the book or the poetry, there is a person waiting for you at the altar, and they love you. if the play is a comedy, everyone gets married. the metaphor is about how you are not-whole. the metaphor is about how everyone is going to be happily-ever-after. the metaphor is that romantic love is the most important resource on the planet, not just all-love. all-love is not a thing, that is a disappointment. the treasure is not the friends we made along the way. the treasure is the girl you landed.

the metaphor is that you cannot be alone, that means you are broken. are you getting over someone? that is acceptable, you can be getting over someone, but not for long. you must be single because you would rather not be single. you must be single and looking to not-be-single. you must want to date, eventually.

friendship and community are never seen as being equal-to or even-better than romantic connection. that person is your one! you need to find them. you need to hunt through the sand particles until you can shift out some kind of gem. this is regardless to your own experience of the beach and the sun. you need to be somewhere with someone.

if you are taking this time alone to heal, that is so sad. everyone gives you this little pitying look. the understanding is that you are not actually happier than you were before you were single. it is seen as a sort of pity - oh, you are choosing yourself, making yourself the priority? - that isn't quite right. you must mean that you are making yourself ready for the right person. you are just laying the bed better this time. open up your heart. you'll find them, we promise!

what do you mean you're really-truly genuinely-very happy? you are probably misremembering what it was like to be in a relationship. and besides, once you meet your person, that time will look grey and bland and wasted. your person is the only way for you to see in color. so what if you have taken this time - for the first time in your entire life - to actually-for-real do the fucking work. you can be proud of yourself, sure. but the way we need to know that you got better is that you get a partner. you're healed enough for the next bad part!

people don't choose to be single, they just say they're choosing to be single - they actually mean "nobody wants to date me." it doesn't matter how many people you have gently rejected or how many times you've talked it over carefully in therapy. what matters is that you are single, and by all accounts - that means you are something worth our pity. your successes and life all seem pale in the sunlight. sure, you have done amazing things and finally found your way in life. what matters is that there wasn't a person in the room with you while you did it.

you want to tell them - that's the whole thing. i didn't know how to be alone in the room. i didn't know how to handle the silence. every moment was so sharp, and i kept choosing the wrong way to close the door. i have spent my entire life in the empty well, living in the ricochet of someone else's cruelty. for once i have built myself a ladder. for once everything i taste is all mine, every bite of sunshine and laughter. i have learned how to sleep out in the open with my memories. recently, they have started to purr.

your father rolls his eyes. listen. this isn't about you. i just want a grandchild in my future.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Best Jupidad Moments #6 Nevermoor Ch 9 - What’s Really Important?

Right, I’m not going to lie, I’m struggling to differentiate between “the best Jupidad moments” and “ALL the Jupidad moments” as each one has its particular charm but… I’ll try to rein myself in!

First: trying exciting new things…

The bone-shaking terror she’d felt watching the platform speed towards her was washed away by a wave of adrenaline, and she let out a triumphant shout as they hooked on to the rail. Jupiter grinned, throwing his head back to enjoy the ride.

I especially love this moment right now because I recently took my daughter on her first proper rollercoaster ride. She wanted to do it, to start with, but got herself very worked up and tearful in the queue. Part of me wanted to just say “ok fine, we don’t have to do this today” but I feel like I know her fairly well(!) and I was sure she’d enjoy it and also be really proud of herself for facing her fear and going through with it. So instead I said “we’re going to do it, I think you’ll love it but if not it’ll be less than a minute, you’ll be safe and I’m with you and we never have to do it again”. Thankfully she did love it, but I did question myself and my parenting a lot in that queue!

Our Jupidad is making a similar call, albeit without the assurance of physical safety cos… Nevermoor… and sure enough this becomes one of Morrigan’s favourite things about living in the city. Did he know for sure she wouldn’t hate it? No. But he pushes her to try anyway.

I also suspect he’s running distraction here - she’s nervous about the garden party, so he gives her something else to focus on, where she gets a big old shot of adrenaline and arrives at the party thinking “wow, I did that!” which should take the edge off the nerves at least a little. Clever Jove.

He also lets her choose her own outfit, rather than forcing her into something that would make her either blend in with everyone else’s pastel vibe, or match his own flamboyant style…

… filled with people in light linen suits and pastel dresses. Jupiter had allowed Morrigan to choose her own outfit – a black dress with silver buttons, which Dame Chanda declared ‘smart, but utterly lacking in spectacle’. Morrigan thought Jupiter’s lemon-yellow suit and lavender shoes provided enough spectacle for both of them.

I think this is a pretty big deal actually and perhaps not something Morrigan would have foreseen after the “black isn’t a colour” conversation. Would it have been kinder to have said “I think everyone else will wear something more spring-ish”? It might have saved her from a couple of insults from Noelle… but the two of them were likely to clash anyway and isn’t it better to start making new friendships by being yourself? It’s easy to want to protect a child from getting splashed by social waves, but if you coddle them too much they won’t learn to swim in the sea.

There are some waves, however, that nobody should take to the face. Like raw sewage, radioactive waste, or Baz Charlton…

He was cut off by a sharp look from Jupiter, his mouth left hanging open. ‘Consider your next words carefully, Mr Charlton,’ Jupiter said in the low, cold voice that Morrigan had heard from him only once before, on Eventide at Crow Manor. She shivered.

Baz Charlton closed his mouth. Jupiter stepped aside, releasing the long-haired man from his gaze and allowing him to stumble away. He sighed as he smoothed down his yellow suit and gave Morrigan’s shoulder a quick squeeze. ‘Told you. Odious man. Pay no attention.’

I really want to know what the deal is with Jupiter’s low, cold voice because it really freaks everyone out! I wonder how often he uses it other than in Mog-defence-mode? It’s a very effective way of protecting Morrigan here and although I think we’d all like to see Baz dropped from a great height into a skip, I really appreciate how there’s no physical threat used.

Enjoying yourselves?’ Jupiter wandered over with a placid smile, ignoring the stream of servants rushing past with nets and brooms. Morrigan chewed the side of her mouth guiltily. ‘A bit.’

Ha, I love the image of that smile where he knows exactly what’s gone on here. I also adore the fact that Morrigan has somehow befriended the one child out of 500 who is probably the most like Jupiter was at school 😅

Plus the moment of mirroring later when she asks Jove a question she knows the answer to:

‘I’m here illegally, aren’t I?’

Jupiter chewed the side of his mouth. ‘A bit.’

How do they debrief later? Not with a “so, what did you think of Wunsoc?” but…

‘You made a friend.’ ‘I think so.’

‘Anything else of interest?’

Morrigan thought for a moment. ‘I think I made an enemy too.’

‘I didn’t make my first proper enemy until I was twelve.’ He sounded impressed.

Oh poor Morrigan, you’re going to rack up a few of those pretty soon. Thanks to Jupidad for making that sound like an achievement rather than a character flaw 😬

‘Promise you’ll think about it?’

‘Only if you promise you’ll stop thinking about not getting into the Society.’

‘But if I don’t get in—’

‘We’ll blow up that bridge when we come to it.’ Morrigan sighed. Just give me a straight answer, she thought. But she said no more.

Jupiter ushered Morrigan down the hall ahead of him. ‘Now. Tell me more about your resourceful new friend. Where in the Seven Pockets did he find a barrel full of toads?’

And just like that he brings it back round to what should be important to an 11 year old - friends, having fun, new experiences - and sharing the excitement of these things with a parental figure is such a precious and vital part of the relationship. Jupiter proves he is as interested in these details of her life as much if not as more than the big picture “what does the future hold, what is my purpose?” kind of stuff that threatens to take over.

This is maybe my favourite thing about Jupidad - how he constantly values her as a person (and as part of that her everyday life experience) above everything else, even though he is confronted with the BIG thing that makes her particularly important to the world every single time he looks at her.

[stargazer-sims]

Place: School Cafeteria

Character: Victor

Object: three rubber bands

Weather: calm and cool

Here’s another one @dandylion240. I realized I kind of messed it up because it doesn't take place inside the school cafeteria (but at least the cafeteria got a mention)

—————

It all started with three large rubber bands that Leo had taken from his dad’s office, which he showed to Victor and Ellie yesterday morning on the way to school. He said they were “the good elastics” and would make the best slingshots.

“We can try them after school,” Leo said. “Maybe set up a contest to see who can knock the most empty milk cartons off the fence.”

Victor’s thirteen-year-old brain could not resist the idea of any kind of competition, but after school wasn’t going to work for him. “It’ll have to be during lunch. I have soccer practice right after school.”

“And I have to go to my mom’s,” Ellie said. “She’s picking me up from school today. Ugh.”

That settled it, of course.

At lunch, the three of them hurried to the cafeteria, trying to get there first so they wouldn’t have to waste too much time standing in line. They each bought milk and a sandwich, and then dashed outside.

The fence along one side of the school parking lot is wooden and the railing is flat on top. It was perfect for what they planned to do. So, after gobbling their sandwiches and draining their milk cartons in record time, they filled their pockets full of little rocks from the decorative fake tree planters in front of the school and then ran to set up their contest.

They only had three milk cartons, but that didn’t matter. It was easy enough to collect them and put them on the fence rail again after each person’s turn. Victor was having fun, and he was pleased that his cousin’s claim about the elastic bands was accurate. They really were the good ones.

It was all going great until they were spotted by the vice-principal.

"Hey! What are you kids doing over there?"

Startled by the vice-principal's shout, both Ellie and Victor turned around. Ellie had been just about to take her turn, and she somehow unleashed her rock directly at a car. Ellie's rock hit the vehicle's door with a dull metallic 'thunk', and as it fell to the ground, Victor could see a small dent in the car's door.

His first thought was Wow... impressive! These really are the good elastics!

His very next thought was. Oh crap! We're definitely gonna be in big trouble now.

Unfortunately, he was not wrong.

And that's why he, Ellie and Leo are currently sitting in a classroom during their lunch break, eating sandwiches brought from home, and being monitored by a teacher who looks like he totally does not want to be here. They're missing out on Pizza Friday in the cafeteria, and Victor has lost the chance to play outside with his other friends on such a calm and cool autumn day. Davian, Chloë and Jacob are probably kicking a ball around the soccer field right now, and he's missing it because he's stuck in detention from yesterday's lunch hour escapade. Ugh.

He wants to get up and look out the window, but he can't. He's supposed to stay in his seat and write a short essay about responsible behaviour on school grounds. He's not sure what to write. Staring down at the paper in front of him, he guesses what he's got so far likely won't satisfy the vice-principal at all.

What I learned is, if you're going to do questionable stuff on school grounds, make sure nobody catches you.

[mechanical-sunchild]

Actually, I'd like to express my experiences as an alterhuman who was previously antikin. I'd also like to hear from others like this, as I'm sure I'm not alone.

Now, I've known I was a werewolf since I was <8 and an android since I was <13 (or thereabouts). I was not online at these times. So they were just things I felt to be true and kept within myself, except amongst others who were acceptably 'weird' enough to allow me to be 'weird' too.

Even so, I felt they thought I was messing around and not being serious, but to me, expressing that I was a werewolf (this was stronger than the android feelings for a long while) was just telling the truth and it felt good to get it out. It was a similar feeling to what would later happen when I came out as trans. It was about truth of the self.

At this time I also latched deeply onto a lot of fictional characters (none of these would turn out to be kintypes, btw) in a way that may be described as constellic or fictionflickers or otherhearted or some combination of all of these.

Then I did get online. But still I had no idea what 'otherkin' was. Then I got onto Tumblr and I learnt about otherkin, but as it turned out, in the worst way. I learnt because of a blog dedicated to posting 'otherkin cringe'. It showcased only the wildest stuff, the horror stories of the most inappropriate behaviours and logical dissections of why otherkin was bad and why it wasn't what they said it was.

You know the arguments. The point was, as my first exposure, they all sounded really logical and so I believed them. There seemed no shortage of 'bad and cringe' things being done and said by otherkin. At one point I was even convinced that 'otherkin = bad but therians are okay' because of the more spiritual aspect I thought therianthropy had. It made sense at the time. The point is, I became very vehemently antikin.

Not 'go out of my way to harrass otherkin' antikin, but 'long posts and rants on why nobody can be/should be kin' antikin for sure. Very cringe.

All the while I convinced myself that my feelings of being a werewolf and android were different to what otherkin were going through. I didn't bother to try and learn more, because I disagreed with the spiritual and metaphysical aspects I'd already heard and was too bogged down by the ideology against otherkin I'd already absorbed.

And because I had so many flickers and took on briefly so many fictional identities I imposed those feelings on everyone's kintypes. I believed obvious trolls. I believed otherkin were transphobic in their own dysphoria claims. I believed that mentally well people couldn't possibly have such beliefs. etc etc. They had me hook, line and sinker.

Then I met someone who I thought was cool, and they were otherkin, and I got talking to them and I realised how sincere their identity was and how much joy it brought to them to be able to be truly themselves. It reminded me of myself. I opened up about my own feelings and they were taken seriously, fully seriously, for once.

This was the start of a wonderful journey of piecing myself together. Some of them were old pieces that needed to be fully explored and some were newly awakened as time went on. I let myself explore my beliefs and feelings.

Now I realise that yeah, I'm likely what/who I am because of being ND but also I'm happy to state that I do believe that the essence of myself is eternally revolving, the me here is connected to many versions of myself in a non-linear fashion from many universes. So I am, will be, and have been all the things I am. I don't need these things to have evidence of being true because it's harmless for me to believe them.

Antikin still exist and we also have KFFers and it's in the same ballpark. Many will be people who just haven't had a good introduction to alterhumanism. Maybe they're alterhuman themselves, maybe not. I'm not saying give them any time and energy off your own back and waste your time on those who just don't want to hear. I'm just saying that if it feels like somebody is asking a question, even an obvious one, in good faith - your answer could be the start of some serious questioning on their part. I know it was for me.

[toastess-with-the-mostess]

Let's Rewind! Toast watches Voltron: Defender of The Universe (1984)

Season 1, Episode 21: It'll Be A Cold Day Season 1, Episode 22: The Deadly Flowers

Episode 21: It'll Be A Cold Day

And we open with Lotor evil laughing, great start

Oh, so this is the continuation of the episode where Romelle got kidnapped, she's in a dungeon with other women now Lotor tried to force a kiss on her after he compared her to Allura again, disgustang good for Romelle, she managed to slap him in the face

With the editing it doesn't really look it but Lotor knocked out Romelle and carried her away only for her to return by herself and collapse before she starts crying, something very nonconsensual happened to her,, poor girl

While knocked out she thinks back to when she was captured, Bandor officially became crown prince after their father went insane apparently, pollux is a patriarchy which is good to know for world building The other ladies in the cell are helping her out and making an escape plan, something tells me this is going to go wrong

Oh, shit they did it, similar to how the boys did except they LITERALLY COMMITTED ARSON BEFORE STEALING A SHIP, girlbosses every single one of them

Lotor's already on their tail, somehow his attacks set the ship on fire which you'd think couldn't happen because there's no oxygen in space but ok also they're crash landing on Neeve? I didn't catch the planet name, but Romelle sent out a distress call which obvs the team and Bandor picked up

The team and Bandor meet up, apparently they formed voltron but I think it's so funny that they ended up deactivating formation anyway, what a waste of energy lol

Allura finds one of her mice down her uniform as they're all out scouting in the snow, then proceeds to put them back into her collar, so they can keep warm why do I feel like lance should be saying that he wishes he was that mouse? Maybe it was in golion because he definitely doesn't say it here

Bandor and the team run into the ship but find it empty, then Allura notices a scrap of fabric and almost gets attacked by haggar disguised as romelle after the door closes behind her this is like the second time Haggar's disguised herself as allura's family, does she have beef with them specifically? The mouse saves her though which gives the boys time to get to the princess

Man they make Pidge such an acrobat in this show lol, he flips in the air and PUNTS HAGGARS CAT AWAY AFTER IT STARTS CHASING THE MOUSE SDOVINSDV

obvs haggar escapes but not without bandor, the team chases after her straight into the worst case scenario, being on lower ground Lotor demands Allura to be traded for her cousins, of course nobody trusts that he'd actually follow through

Allura starts heading towards lotor as the pollux siblings head towards the lions, but Keith is the leader for a reason, and he hides his uniform in snow before swapping places with allura so lotor still thinks its her also lotor unleashes a robeast when he gets close enough

Lotor v Keith again, except the siblings come back and want to attack lotor themselves for being a POS Romelle gets knocked out and kidnapped again,,, girl gets no break

Voltron forms, robeast is taken out, and now onto lotor apparently romelle gets set free? It's very vague because they catch lotor and tell him they'll tail him to pollux to make sure, but then they're back on arus? We'll see ig

/episode end

Episode 22: The Deadly Flowers I've seen so many screenshots of this episode onvsdo

Some random seed pods fell from space and sprouted on arus in abundance, immediately that's a sign that things aren't right

The mice pick some for Allura though, and they end up dancing together for a bit, how cute Immediately cut to doom, and we find out the flowers are haggars doing, which are supposed to make anyone who smells them sick

Coran calls an emergency meeting because the flowers are rapid response ig, people are blacking out left and right so Allura wants them treated at the castle by their doctor Dr Gorma The flowers of planet Lyra apparently are medicinal and should help

Lance has literally started a wildfire apparently because Coran told him to burn the flowers that started blooming maybe not the best idea guys

Allura has an idea to get past the magnetic field that surrounds planet Lyra but obvs she smelled the flowers so now she's out cold too just when we were getting somewhere too >:/

Lance ditches the team to go to planet Lyra by himeself in blue hey his suit finally matches lol

"I know, and I've got special equipment! Intelligence, charm, personality, good looks, and a rabbit's foot" *(winks)* -Lance ICONIC

adorable

aaand the bad guys are on planet too, of course, except they think it's allura and go off to try and capture blue

Lance finds this weird divot filled with honey like liquid AND FUCKING TASTES IT, MCCLAIN YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT IS also the natives started attacking, this is why you don't stick your fingers into everything Lance

ooh pretty girly to act as diplomat, apparently the roses are worshiped and not given away so easily so Lance gets grabbed and taken to the king for that permission only for a doom cruiser to pick him to go there, yeah definitely not good

lotor bitch slaps lance for not being allura, luckily for lance he's near something sharp, so he starts cutting his ropes without being noticed Farla is the girls name and she doesn't seem to understand that lance and lotor know each other so she asks to give him flowers which Lotor is glad to hear because voltron is out of commission atm

Lance is loose and starts a sword fight with lotor before his sword gets stuck on the highly magnetic rocks on the wall of this cliff they're on, Lotor shoves him off into the river below where apparently nobody has ever survived falling from obvs that's about to change real soon

Lotor wants the roses for allura himself and the king of lyra tries to extort him but lotor fucking KILLS THE GUY, LIKE STRAIGHT UP THE TEAM WHO EDITED THIS EPISODE STOPS THE SCENE AND FADES IT TO RED FOR CENSORSHIP HOLY CRAP

Lance lived and is back in blue, hooray! Except Lotor's crew is destroying all the flowers except for what they needed, Farla tries to stop them but she got smacked into the water before Blue came out to crush the troops

Falra pulls through and before she faints (dies) she gives Lance a bag of seeds for him to plant on arus, but he promises to plant them on Lyra instead he's such a fucking sweetie i love him omg

As the other boys try to fight the robeast lotor sent out on Arus, Allura stumbles her way to castle control and flies red since lance and blue are still gone man this girl has flown 3/5 lions already, girlboss

lance returns, voltron is formed, robeast destroyed, and lotor runs off, except dad calls and chews him out for destroying the flowers though lotor gets out of it by saying he's brought enough flowers to keep making the meds he apparently needs to stay alive for a long time, call ends and lotor calls zarkon stupid dude i feel like he'd know if his meds were missing/short how was that a good plan

Special reward for a special guy

Pidge tries to get a kiss too but gets smooched by a mouse instead, maybe that's where vld got the idea in the first place sovsdv

Lance still remembers planet Lyra, and he rushes off to plant the rest of the flowers with Allura coming along too

/episode end