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inkykeiji · 3 years

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beautiful when the damage is done

part one | part two

characters: todoroki touya | dabi, todoroki natsuo

genre: smut laced with angst and a pinch of fluff

notes: part two of getting naughty with natsuo!! please please heed the warnings!! | title cred: sick thoughts by lewis blissett

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, sadism, punishment via overstimulation, pseudo-incest (stepcest), vaguely implied incest, emotional manipulation, a hint of degradation, toxic relationships, poly relationship, dom/sub dynamics, a LOT of crying (dacryphilia), slight size kink/size difference, rough sex

words: 4.6k

synopsis:

And you’re both reminded of how privileged you are, being the only two who ever get to witness this side of him, the only two who are fortunate enough to see the person he might’ve been if you stripped away years upon years of trauma and abuse, the person he truly is at the core of his soul, the person he was born as before he was forced to layer himself with thick, protective walls of aggression coated in indifference—and the person who he becomes as he sheds that armor, in the middle of the night when it’s just the three of you, the whole world having fallen away outside the bedroom door.

It’s musty, air thick with the haze of sweat and sex, saturated the smell of tears and cum, so potent you swear you can almost see it in the atmosphere of Touya’s room. Uncontrollable quivers course through your entire body, never-ending chills erupting across bare, damp skin that shines every time it catches in the dim beams coming from Touya’s desk lamp.

Your scalp is still sore from where Touya yanked you off of Natsuo—back in the living room, how many hours ago? It feels as though it’s been forever since then, memory murky and swimming as you try to think—one strong hand wrapped in your hair jerking you up with such force you nearly stumbled. The pain is dull, a throbbing ache that radiates fading waves of hurt along your skull.

It’s constant, though, brewing a headache that is equal parts agony and dehydration, and you wish to rub at the spot, to place your palm over it in a futile attempt to soothe the discomfort at least a little, but you can’t.

Because it feels as if your blood has been replaced with sand, dense and heavy as it clogs your veins, weighing your arms down and keeping them firmly locked around Natsuo’s neck, steadying you in his lap.

But the ache in your scalp is nothing compared to the burn between your legs.

You can feel it, your third orgasm, churning in the depths of your stomach as it builds, a blistering warmth furling into a tight, concentrated ball of fire. It’s almost sickening, now, the heat roiling inside of you as heavy as lead, wracking destruction on your body as tender muscles, already quaking from exhaustion, begin to tense once more, to coil and wind up the way a lithe tiger does right before it strikes.

“Nat-Natsuo, I can’t,” the words wobble as they spill from between clattering teeth, you head shaking sluggishly as fresh tears sting your eyes.

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs softly to you, gentler than he’s ever been before but refusing to slow his movements as he bounces you on his cock, concerned stone eyes searching your face while his fingers flex on your hips, readjusting their grip on the slippery skin.

“You better,” Touya spits from his place on his bed, peering down at the two of you with something akin to disgust, to derision, saturating his features. And it stings, blazing sapphire searing his glare into your skin much like how he had carved his name into you, years ago.

A wet sob hitches in time with Natsuo’s rough thrusts, has you choking on it, concentrated with thick saliva that sticks in your throat and forces your breaths to escape in wheezes, hands clasping tighter behind Natsuo’s neck.

Yet, despite the pain, there are still sparks of pleasure that accompany each catch of your puffy clit on Natsuo’s slick skin, flickers of lust interspersed with those excruciating spikes that shoot through your abdomen.

It hits suddenly, that third orgasm—you’re halfway through your punishment now, Touya reminds you—has your tightly shut eyelids springing open with a gasp, entire body freezing up in Natsuo’s strong grasp, a grunt falling from his chapped lips as he drives his hips to piston into your rigid body.

He follows only a few moments later with a deep groan that rumbles in his chest, body vibrating with the force of it as his thick cock throbs, filling your little cunt with spurt after spurt of cum that feels almost cool in comparison to your scalding insides.

Touya allows half hour breaks between each orgasm—a short refraction period for you and Natsuo to regain infinitesimal amounts of strength—and not a second more, he had spit after the second orgasm, cutting off your plea for just a few more moments of rest, because this is plenty of time, more than you need, really and you should be grateful he’s so generous.

By the time you’re due for your fourth orgasm, you can barely move, and Natsuo doesn’t have the arm strength to hold you up anymore, to force your hips to keep gyrating or to bounce you on his cock, his entire upper half spent.

“Lay her on the floor, then,” Touya instructs coldly, voice firm and void of any compassion, though it’s hard to miss the sadistic glint in his eyes, hard to ignore the way the corners of his lips quirk up in an ill-concealed smile.

The look Natsuo gives him is almost heartbreaking, a puppy looking up at its owner with its tail tucked between its legs, eyebrows knitted together so tightly they crease his forehead, a deep frown—no, pout—etched into his face as he gazes at his big brother, glazed stone eyes pleading.

“Nii-san, can’t we use—”

“No,” Touya cuts him off harshly, sapphire eyes flashing, and Natsuo flinches. “You’re fucking her on the Goddamn floor for all five—it’s part of your punishment,”

Natuso doesn’t argue, but his lips twitch, and his eyes blur, and his nose sniffles, and he gives his brother a curt little nod of understanding, head bowed in submission.

The hardwood is cold against your heated skin, and you exhale a hiss through gritted teeth as Natsuo positions you as gently as he can, one large palm cradling your head, the other positioned on your back, slight tremors running through his exhausted muscles as he reclines you.

A wrecked little whine pries its way past your lips as Natsuo pushes in again, face scrunching up as sharp, needle-like pinpricks shoot through your gut, your raw, sensitive cunt stinging as Natsuo’s cock reopens previous sutures, skin split further, wounds dug deeper.

The sound your skin makes as it scrapes against the hardwood from Natsuo’s clumsy bucks has all three of you cringing, a piercing squeal that only adds to the symphony of your sobs and Natsuo’s grunts, flesh inflamed and chaffed from being repeated rubbed against the surface.

It’s getting harder and harder for you to cum, even with the generous breaks Touya allows, sparks of pleasure faded to mere cinders now, each shallow drag of Natsuo’s cock causing both of your bodies to recoil, and it’s too much, too much.

“Please, nii-chan,” you beg in a tiny whimper, teary eyes flying to Touya’s face, partially shrouded in shadows as glowing sapphire gazes down at you in scrutiny. “S’enough now,”

“We’ve learned our lesson, p-promise,” Natsuo adds, nodding frenetically.

“P-Pinky promise, nii-chan, please, stop,”

Touya scoffs. “You wanted to cum, didn’t you?” he pauses, cobalt eyes darting between your faces, an eyebrow raising in question. “Well, now I’m allowing you to. Now you have my permission; the permission you knew you needed so bad, but refused to request,”

And it’s then that it dawns on each of you that he had heard the both of you, had heard the entire fucking conversation, while he was doing his work in the kitchen.

How could either of you thought that he wouldn’t? How could either of you been so fucking stupid? Nii-san knows everything—nii-san always knows everything.

“Please, please, we’re sorry, nii-san, we’re sorry,”

“We won’t ever do it again!”

The laugh that claws its way up Touya’s throat is soaked with ridicule, and he shakes his head, a gleeful little grin present on his lips, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing, as if it’s so ludicrous it’s funny.

“Wait, wait, wait—let me get this straight…you two wanted it so bad, and now you have the balls to complain when nii-chan complies?”

His voice is painfully apathetic, almost nonchalant in a way, as if it makes no difference to him even though it so clearly does, or you and Natsuo wouldn’t be shivering messes of tangled limbs on the floor.

Excuses begin tumbling from two pairs of lips, words stuttered and choked on and sandwiched between pleads and apologies, jumbling together in a mess of garbled, wet, desperate sounds.

“Enough,” Touya growls, and both voices cut off in an instant. “I don’t want to fucking hear it anymore! Keep acting like ungrateful little brats and I’ll make this punishment longer, I swear to God,”

But you can’t halt the words bubbling up past your lips, regardless of Touya’s threat, regardless of the fact that you know he’s deadly serious. They’re compulsive, automatic, almost instinctual in nature as you seek out comfort, hunt for solace and fragments of relief in the hulking man blanketing you.

“I-I don’t wanna anymore, Natsuo,” you’re weeping into his chest, hot tears leaking from the corners of tightly shut eyes, streaming down the sides of your head and into your hair. “I don’t wanna,”

“I know, baby, I know,” Natsuo murmurs, though his bottom lip is beginning to tremble.

“Make him stop, Natsuo, make nii-chan stop,”

“I can’t,” his voice breaks on the word, facial features saturated in concern, in fear, wincing as if it physically pains him to deny you. “You know I would if I could,” he nearly whimpers, and his eyes search yours almost frantically, as if he’s begging you to understand. “But I can’t,”

But your head is shaking as you wail louder, fingers weakly curling against his skin, nails pressing into the flesh of his shoulders and clinging to him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Natsuo’s saying, the words cracking in his throat, voice hoarse. He pauses, clearing it twice, eyes closing briefly as he sighs out a slow, deep, stammering breath, gathering his strength. “One more after this, princess,” he begins as his hips start to speed up their rutting, procuring a yelp from you. “That’s it, jus’ one more after this one. C’mon, we can do it,”

“No, no, no,” you chant as pretty, gleaming tears roll down your face. And you can see it, the potent guilt swirling in his gunmetal eyes, from the way his pupils expand as they focus on the salt water sullying your cheeks, from the way his cock twitches despite it all. “I don’wanna, I don’wanna, stop, Natsuo, stop,”

His motions pause immediately, the moment the word falls from your lips, but he starts up just as quickly as Touya dictates from his spot on the mattress above.

“Stop, and I’ll add another two,” he promises, ruthless and unforgiving. Chills skitter along your glistening skin, erupting across your damp body at his tone. Both of you know he isn’t bluffing, that he’ll add as many orgasms as he wants to, and that he’ll continue to pull them from your fatigued and worn-out bodies one way or another, even if he has to do it completely by himself.

“Focus on me,” Natsuo instructs gently, though there’s a sense of urgency in his voice, a frenzied need to calm you down before Touya loses his patience completely. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Just focus on me, look at me,”

So you do, blinking the bleariness from your gaze as you direct all of your attention to him. And although there’s that ever-present guilt still swimming in his irises, in his unshed tears, there’s also love in his stare, so much love it’s nearly overflowing, overpowering the remorse and instilling a deep sense of comfort in your stammering chest.

Because at least you’re not alone in this; at least you have each other—each other to find comfort in, to cry and whine and beg with, to protect.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he’s whispering over your wails like a broken mantra, those tears that have been glazing his eyes, that have been collecting behind his lashline, finally beginning to fall.

His hips speed up, as fast as he possibly can as he gathers every last ounce of power and manages to wring another one out of you, another one out of himself, sore cunt clenching painfully around him, your fourth orgasm feeling as if it’s been punched out of you, despite the fact that Natsuo’s thrusts have been shallow.

And by the time your fifth orgasm rolls around, you’re nothing more than Jell-o in the shape of a human, though Natsuo’s not much better, barely able to move other than the uneven rutting of his hips, a crushing deadweight on top of you as his weary hips give pitiful little thrusts, pubic bone dragging across your hypersensitive clit, every tug against it ripping another ragged cry from your throat.

But you’re having trouble, both of you struggling to do anything other than feebly hump against each other, unable to secure enough strength to pump—to milk—that final orgasm out of yourselves, sniveling little protests punctuated by wrecked sobs leaking from your mouths.

Touya’s pissed—beyond pissed—sharp jaw clenching while seething insults burn his tongue and slice your skin, berating the both of you for being so fucking weak, so fucking pathetic, because he’s forced more orgasms out of the both of you before, so why is this so fucking difficult?

Touya’s too stubborn, and he refuses to end the punishment early irrespective of the fact that you’re both entirely drained, reminding you in a callous voice that you each must cum five times before it’s over while he aggressively roots through one of his desk drawers, snickering to himself when he finds what he’s looking for, hooking his index finger in it and pulling it out.

And the look on his face when he turns back to face you and Natsuo is positively petrifying, idly swinging the cockring around on his finger as his head tilts slightly, observing the both of you with that sharp smile you’ve come to know so well on his lips, eyes glittering with pure delight, features lit up with his own personal brand of sadistic excitement.

Natsuo starts to say something, voice forming around a word that sounds suspiciously similar to no, but he catches himself before it fully leaves his mouth, pressing quivering lips together tightly as he stares up at his brother with wet eyes.

Touya chuckles, raising an eyebrow with that trademark lopsided smirk, as if he’s challenging Natsuo to dispute him, to resist.

He doesn’t, of course, because he never would, but he does finally allow full shuddery sobs to escape his chest, Touya’s condescending shh’s and hush, now’s doing nothing to calm them as he slides the cockring on.

Natsuo nearly howls when Touya turns the tiny, pretty pink device on, his entire body jerking with that initial vibration.

“The faster you cum, the faster I’ll take it off,” Touya says calmly over the stifled little shrieks Natsuo’s continulously trying to swallow back down, nodding his understanding as he repositions himself between your thighs, holding his vibrating cock in one massive palm as he guides himself back into you.

And you want to tell him no!, don’t!, stop!, you want to shove him off, to kick and scream and beg and cry, but your heavy head sluggishly lolling from side to side seems to be all you can manage, words snagging in your throat, nothing more than incoherent babbling leaving your lips.

Because you can barely speak, barely think, barely breathe, vision fading in and out of focus as Natsuo rocks stuttering hips against yours, warm salt water rolling down the bridge of his nose, dripping onto your cheeks and mixing with yours. You’re both more each other, more one than two separate entities now, spit and cum and tears so interspersed you can’t tell which belongs to who anymore, limbs and fluids, thoughts and sounds, endlessly flowing into one another.

“Tell her to behave, Natsuo,” Touya barks, though there’s twisted amusement dancing in his eyes as he observes. “Tell her to finish the fucking punishment,”

And Natsuo, ever the perfectly trained pet, does as he says immediately.

“We can—We can do it,” Natsuo keens from above you, full body shudders wracking his hulking form, alabaster hair clinging to his forehead in uneven clumps, drenched in sweat as he forces words through his own bawling, hips grinding into yours. “We can do it, let’s be good for nii-san, yeah? L-Let’s make nii-san proud—c’mon, you wanna make him proud, don’t you?”

You do—of course you do. You never want anything else. But…But you’re not entirely sure you can, hiccupped sobs peppering your slurred words. Unconsciousness tugs at the edges of your hazy mind, whispers enticing promises of repose and relaxation as weighted eyelids begin to sag.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Natsuo cuts you off gently, shaky knuckles brushing against your cheek in a poor imitation of a caress. “I’ll do it, baby, I’ll do it,”

You don’t even remember cumming a fifth time, only a feeling of hot coals smoldering in the pit of your stomach, but you must have, because then Touya’s hooking his arms under Natsuo’s and dragging him off of you, propping him up against the side of the bed and kneeling as lithe fingers remove the toy from his cock.

And the sense of relief that seeps into your body and floods your veins is so intense it almost feels like a rush of adrenaline instead. You did it. You both did it. Finally, it is over.

Or so you and Natsuo thought.

—

Spikes of fear piece through his heart as Natsuo blearily watches Touya gather your limp body in his arms, hauling you up with a soft grunt.

And it’s astounding, the way you still curl into him, still seek that familiarity, that solace, in his chest, mumbled out honorific padded by hitched half-sobs as you cling to him. It’s astounding, because even after all he’s done to you, after everything he just put the two of you through, you will crawl back to him each and every time, over shards of glass on your hands and knees with his name on your lips—his name in devotion, in submission, in love—without a single question asked.

And Natsuo realizes that he would, too.

The thought inspires a bittersweet taste to settle on his tongue, like sticky toffee and black coffee, alien feelings swirling in his chest, clashes of consoling blooms of warmth and spiky shards of ice.

But Natsuo doesn’t have time to meditate on his newfound emotions, your faint pleas recapturing his attention.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Touya murmurs, large hands repositioning you.

And he really does sound sorry, even though Natsuo knows he isn’t.

“Wh-What are you…”

“It isn’t over yet,” Touya says simply, though the smile stretched taut across his face is severe, terrifying, azure eyes sparkling in merciless amusement at the horror that shows on Natsuo’s face when he realizes, eyes widening as they fill with thick tears again, bottom lip jutting out into an involuntary pout as panic surges through his veins.

His heart palpitates violently against his ribcage, tongue turned to cotton as worry signs itself in the creases of his forehead.

“Nii-san,” Natsuo begins cautiously, trying in vain to keep his voice steady. “I don’t think—I-I mean, is that really necessary?”

“Of course it is,” his big brother responds without looking at him, preoccupied with folding your lifeless limbs up, knees bent and pressed to your chest.

“Why?” the word slips out without Natsuo’s permission, grey eyes widening in shock as he swallows thickly, shaking his head a little as if to say I didn’t mean to!, though Touya doesn’t seem to mind.

“Because the overstimulation was her punishment,” Touya glances over at him, the amusement dancing in his eyes turned vicious as his smile stretches wider—so wide Natsuo’s surprised it doesn’t split his face clean in two—cruel and brutal. “This is yours,”

Natsuo isn’t quite sure he understands, brain doused in a thick fog and having difficulty grasping the concept, the knowledge of what his nii-san truly means turning to dense, ashy smoke any time he tries to grasp it, metaphorically slipping through his fingers.

But then you’re speaking again, and Natsuo’s head whips towards you, chest tightening at how completely wrecked you sound.

“No, please, no more,” the words gurgle in your throat, escaping as nothing more but jumbled, spit-soaked whines that have Touya chuckling as he shoves his cock into your aching little hole.

“You’re in no position to be making demands, princess,” he speaks through a patronizing pout, a mockery of your own expression, voice syrupy and supercilious. “If you weren’t such a needy little whore always desperate for a hard cock to grind on, this wouldn’t be happening,”

The words are spit in the same demeaning tone Touya had been using earlier, the same demeaning tone he always uses, and Natsuo’s powerless to stop the words flowing from his mouth.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” he reassures you, though his voice cracks under the emotion, words wavering as his chin trembles.

“You’re right,” Touya muses, slight breathlessness the only indication that he’s railing the absolute life out of you. “It’s yours,”

And suddenly, Natsuo understands what nii-san had meant when he said this was his punishment.

Because he’s right.

It’s got to be the harshest punishment Touya’s ever bestowed on him.

Because it’s hard to watch the way your lax, abused body is forced to just take it, Touya’s thrusts so rough they jostle you up the mattress; even harder to hear as you bawl and beg and scream, and Natsuo’s nose twitches as the threat of new tears climbs up his throat, lodging in the column as he fights against them.

He feels sick, like some sort of depraved pervert, for the weak twitches his cock gives, for the faint embers that flicker in the pit of his stomach, igniting a dull blaze as he watches, almost entranced by the grotesque situation unfolding in front of him. He feels sicker, knowing that both of those would be stronger, much stronger, had Touya not forced him to fuck his entire soul into you.

And Touya—Well, Touya’s been hard from it all—high from it all—the whole time, and Natsuo can almost see the sheer power flowing through his veins, an aura that envelopes him, that radiates off of him in intoxicating waves, that licks at his skin like flames of blue fire. Natsuo bets—no, knows— it’s better than any drug Touya’s ever taken.

Protests marinate on his tongue, bitter and acidic, pleads of stop and enough scraping against the walls of his throat as he forcefully swallows them back down, emitting pathetic little whimpers in their place.

Because he knows if he starts, Touya will only make it worse for you, so he suffers in silence, readily agreeing with Touya every time he reminds Natsuo that this is all his fault and neither of you would be in pain if Natsuo could’ve just kept it in his fucking pants for a few minutes longer.

It hurts, because it’s true, nii-san’s words sending thick, piercing stakes spearing through Natsuo’s heart, through Natsuo’s very soul, straight to the core of his body. Acrid bile climbs up his throat as Touya’s moans mingle with your sobs, so exhausted that they’re barely more than little wheezes at this point. It’s abundantly clear that Touya doesn’t feel a shred of remorse, and that makes Natsuo feel even worse—if only he had said no, if only he had waited and asked, if only he had been stronger, you wouldn’t be suffering.

The tears collecting in the column of his throat sprout talons and claw their way up, past his steadily weaking resolve, prying their way through his lips in the form of jagged sobs.

It’s magnificent, really, the way Touya can render Natsuo a snotty, shivering mess with only a few choice words. And Natsuo—Natsuo only ever cries in front of his big brother, only ever cries for his big brother, full-on weeping that slashes through his sputtering chest, coughing around and choking on his own sobs of nii-san, I’m sorry!

But it ends eventually, finally, Touya tearing one last orgasm from you, gentle words contradicting his cruel, ruthless actions, murmurs of come on baby, just one more, one more for nii-chan. You can do this for nii-chan, can’t you? You can be a good little girl for me and cum one more time, right? lingering on his lips

And somehow, you find the strength to obey, to be his good baby, because you always do, entire body convulsing with a raspy shriek of the honorific, Touya praising you only moments later as his hips still and his cock pumps you full.

—

It’s cute, really, how fucked out the two of you are. Touya thinks you’re both so beautiful when you’re like this, with glassy eyes and tearstained cheeks, lashes clumped together with residual water and swollen faces stained with streaks of salt, all dazed and fucked and stupid for him, from him.

Natsuo’s doing better than you are, of course—Natsuo wasn’t subjected to being fucked again. But Natsuo still needs to rest, Touya softly tutting his tongue with a disapproving shake of his head as Natsuo attempts to aid him with your aftercare, movements clumsy as he stumbles to his feet, inept and awkward as he blunders towards you.

“No,” Touya’s large hands wrap around his younger brother’s shoulders, halting him, steadying him, forcing Natsuo to look at him. “You rest,” he instructs sternly, guiding Natsuo back to his previous spot and delicately depositing him onto the desk chair. “I’ll get to you in a minute, okay, Natsuo-kun?”

Natsuo hums out an affirmation, eyes closing briefly as Touya’s fingertips affectionately trace the curve of his cheek, palm patting it once.

It’s in moments such as these, nights after hours and hours of extreme punishment, that Touya automatically, perhaps unknowingly, slips into Big Brother mode, and you’re reminded of the age gap between them.

Because even though Natsuo’s bigger than Touya, taller than Touya, beefier than Touya, he looks so tiny under his older brother’s protective gaze.

You both must reek terribly, covered in drool and sweat and cum, must look like hot messes, strands of tangled hair saturated with salt and sticking to your cheeks, but your Touya-nii is still right there regardless, whispering the sweetest affirmations and the tenderest praises to the both of you as he wipes each of you down with a damp cloth infused with lavender, telling the both of you how good you did, how proud you made nii-san, how pretty both of you are.

Nimble fingers spend a decent amount of time rubbing soothing circles of moisturizing cream into each of you, your most sensitive skin rubbed raw, aching and puffy from such intense maltreatment, before Touya-nii dresses each of you in his softest, comfiest clothes, steady stream of pure, unadulterated love never stopping as it pours from his lips.

You’re all each other need, after all; because he loves you both more than he could ever put into words—and you each love him back just the same—and that will always be more than enough.

Touya reaches across your body, arm a pleasant, heavy weight as it rests on you, and runs slender fingers through Natsuo’s sweaty hair as you snuggle into your nii-chan’s chest, and Natsuo nearly mewls, nuzzling into his nii-san’s touch as Touya instructs the both of you to sleep, now, a film playing softly in the background as the three of you drift into unconsciousness together.

#todoroki touya x reader #dabi x reader #dabi smut #natsuo smut #todoroki natsuo x reader #AAAAAAAH jesus finally #this is A Lot lol #tw:incest #tw noncon

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therealvinelle · 3 years

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What are vampires?

(Yes, I changed the title from “What is venom?” a week after publishing and after a whole set of sorry souls reblogged the post. I’m very sorry, but as I sat down to write the follow-up piece I realized that this meta is about vampires, not venom, and the title is no longer appropriate. My perfectionism got the better of me and I’m sorry.)

There’s been a lot of speculation on that in this fandom, here comes my take. It’ll split into four parts, this being part one where I look at what venom does to the human body. In part two I look at hybrids, part three I speculate on what venom is, part four I treat possible origins and raisons d’être of venom.

So, this first part is mostly me regurgitating facts. We won’t get anywhere if we’re not all agreed on what vampires are.

Also, I get very pseudo-scientific in this meta, but I have no education in biology or medicine so I could be wrong about everything. I tried to use good sources, though, so I can’t be entirely off-base.

With that out of the way, LET’S DO THIS.

To create a vampire, you infect a human with venom. This venom spreads throughout the body, altering every cell. The process is complete when the heart stops beating. If the human was injured at the time of infection, they will be healed, as long as the heart keeps beating.

Let’s go through that.

How does the venom spread?

When Bella was bitten by James, Edward was able to suck the venom out. Several minutes passed from she was bitten until Edward sucked the venom out, yet the burn was only reported to be in her hand. By contrast, anyone who’s ever had pharmaceutical administered intravenously knows that blood travels quickly. If venom travelled like any normal fluid, Bella would have said «My hand is on fire. No wait, my arm! No, wait, my torso! No, wait-» and Edward wouldn’t have been able to suck it out.

Additionally, Bella has that scar left by James. The venom had already altered the cells at the entry point.

To me, this sounds like the venom is like Pac-Man, spreading through the body by altering one cell at a time. It’s the only explanation for why it’s so slow. More on that later, though.

How does it alter the cells, and in turn the human body?

Physically, their skin is made impervious and perfectly even, their teeth are straight, razor sharp and white, their bodies impossibly strong, fast, and precise, their senses heightened to an insane degree yet they feel no pain from most physical injuries. Their digestive system is altered so they can only consume blood, preferably human blood, anything non-blood is regurgitated. They’re much more attractive than they were in life. They’re not reliant on oxygen, and their blood doesn’t circulate. They produce their own venom.

Mentally, their minds function at the capacity necessary to even utilize a body like this. They are able to process their heightened sensory input (for example, it’s the brain that interprets visual input from the eyes. For vampires to be able to see better than humans, both eye and brain have to improve), process though much faster than humans, they forget nothing, and they feel emotion and physical sensation more strongly than humans do.

Let’s go through these alterations one by one.

Skin

Frequently likened to marble, vampire skin is as hard as stone. When Bella becomes a vampire, she’s stunned Edward’s flesh now yields to her touch. Before, if she pressed her finger on him, his skin would not yield. The shapeshifters can kill vampires because their fangs are sharp enough to pierce their skin, without that advantage they couldn’t do it. No ordinary weapon could injure a vampire.

The stone skin is an armor, protecting them.

Teeth

As us humans get older, the enamel in our teeth is worn away, revealing the tooth’s underlying yellow color (the dentin). Vampires can live for thousands of years, yet their teeth remain that perfect blinding white. What changed? I see two possible explanations, one being that vampires still have enamel, and it’s too strong to ever be worn away, or they don’t have it because their teeth have been altered to the point where they don’t need a protective layer anymore, and their composition is something completely different from that of human teeth.

I think it’s the latter, as there are two other major changes reported. Their teeth have changed shape, they are now sharp enough to pierce through human or vampire skin. They’re also venomous (more on that later), able to inject anybody they bite, fellow vampires included, with venom.

There’s also the fact that vampires are changed on a molecular level, but more on that later.

Strength, speed, and precision

Meta I wrote on vampire strength disparity.

Vampires are ridiculously powerful, no upper limit (as in, «Newborn Emmett can carry 500 tonnes») is given, but whatever it is it’s high. Alice might just be the physically weakest vampire in the saga (Jane is physically smaller, but she eats properly. Alice lives on a subpar diet), but to Bella it makes no difference, Alice blows her out of the park anyway. Edward, a malnourished and not too strong vampire, is easily able to pick up entire trees by the roots, and then throw them at a small target.

As for speed, vampires move faster than the human eye can register, which according to this article means they can reach a speed of 38 146 mph! (61 390 km/h for us metric people) (Also, the traveling object used for this calculation was a ball, and the article specifies that it would be different for bigger objects. Alas I’m not going to bother my physicist friend with this, so we’re using the ball number.)

When it comes to precision, vampires exercise perfect muscle control. They’re so graceful their steps can’t be heard by humans, Edward can famously stroke a soap bubble without popping it, and they’re able to perfectly mimic the handwriting of others (a task anyone who’s ever googled forensic calligraphy will know is next to impossible). Much of this appears to be instinctual, like a downloaded .vampire package. Knowing how to attack prey, where to bite, that all happens on autopilot. So too does running, jumping, walking (funny how their default mode, even Carlisle’s, is to walk too quietly for their designated prey to detect). Snarling, hissing, and growling are also distinctly non-human manners vampire adopt.

Senses

Heightened sight, hearing, and smell is extremely useful. It makes them much more effective hunters. The smell especially is useful here, but really, all their senses are invaluable in this. It’s great for dealing with fellow vampires as well, they can see, hear, and smell their kind coming from a far distance.

There’s an added advantage, though. As I got into here, and here, if a vampire’s memories of their human life is dull and washed out compared to their brilliant new existence, dismissing humans as equally deserving of life becomes that much easier to justify. Heightened emotions serves this same purpose, though considering their longevity I think this is another form of survival, that they’re wired not to grow bored with life (but this is really for a separate meta).

There’s also the fact that their senses have to be tuned up to 11 to fit their other enhanced abilities. There’s no use in super-speed if you can’t see where you’re going.

Vampires’ heightened senses make them more efficient predators, and help them become the bloodthirsty sociopaths we know and love.

Pain receptors, or lack thereof

Vampires feel pain when they are thirsty, when their limbs are torn off, when they are bitten by other vampires (it appears to be the venom that stings), or when subjected to a gift that induces pain (Jane, Kate). They don’t feel pain like humans do, nor do they feel discomfort (they can sit indefinitely in any position, never feeling the need to shift around.

Interestingly, it looks to me like pain serves the same function for them as it does for humans. The brain registers pain to tell us something, a biological error message. Don’t walk on that leg, it’s injured. Get your hand off the hot stove and don’t put it there again. Pain is useful.

Vampires, by contrast, are not going to get injured from someone hitting them. There are no blood vessels that can burst, no soft tissue that can burst nor bones that can break. So, no need for their brains to register that as pain. Humans need to change positions every now and then for the sake of our circulation and so we don’t develop pressure ulcers (and I’m sure there are more reasons), vampires have no circulation and, as mentioned above, their skin is armor. No pressure ulcers.

What they do need pain for, is to let them know to feed. That’s the big one, and in turn the strongest one. The pain of the thirst is unbearable, as it has to be to turn a human who was infected with venom into a killer. It’s survival. Same goes for feeling pain when their limbs are torn off, or their bodies damaged by a bite. Their pain receptors let them know to avoid this next time.

As for Jane and Kate’s gifts, this may not serve a purpose for other vampires, but it serves a purpose for Jane and Kate. It protects them. So, sucks for everyone else, but that’s what gifts do, they give the gift-haver a leg up on others.

Digestive system

Carlisle had spent many years attempting to understand our immortal anatomy; it was a difficult task, based mostly on assumption and observation. Vampire cadavers were not available for study.

His best interpretation of our life systems was that our internal workings must be microscopically porous. Though we could swallow anything, only blood was accepted by our bodies. That blood was absorbed into our muscles and provided fuel. When the fuel was depleted, our thirst intensified to encourage us to replenish our supply. Nothing besides blood seemed to move through us at all. (Midnight Sun, chapter Home)

Ignoring the horrifying fact that the context for this quote is Edward wondering if Bella’s tear could stay in his system forever, this here is extremely interesting and I agree. Partly because I can’t think of anything better, partly because Carlisle is an in-universe medical genius who’s had access to far more data than I have. He can run experiments, I can’t. Even if I came up with a theory I thought was better, if blood absorption through porous tissue is Carlisle’s best theory then there must be evidence in favor of this which I don’t have access to. So, porous tissue it most likely is.

(Also, my «Carlisle totally volunteered for vivisection fun times with Aro in Volterra» theory survives that first paragraph. Vampire cadavers might not be available for study, but live ones absolutely are, you just pick them apart and put them back together after, and bring in Corin and/or Alec so the guinea pig has a good time too. There’s no way that never occurred to Aro. Even if it didn’t, it’s bound to have occurred to someone over the years, and Aro touches a lot of people. And we know he and Carlisle discussed what vampires even were, that they were best friends and all about that science.

We also know that sometimes, your weird science experiments involving dismemberment and tripping on Corin in Volterra, stay in Volterra. The tissue is porous, Edward, DON’T ASK ME HOW I KNOW.)

This has huge implications. What happened to the digestive system they used to have?

It’s still there, but non-operational.

Middle solution: it’s recognizably there, but welded shut. At some point, whatever the vampire ingests hits an untraversable boundary, and from there the blood is absorbed while any other matter remains, undigested (though possibly dissolved by venom) until regurgitated.

The vampire’s inner anatomy is unrecognizable from that of a human. Vampires have no need for livers, bowels, gall bladders, and so on, and so these organs no longer exist, or have even been replaced by other organs (assuming vampires need any, more on that later).

My vote lies with the third option, though both second and third are possible. The first one, not so much, as it means that in theory, they could force something through their system. They can’t.

More, vampires are nothing if not extremely efficient and economical organisms. They don’t need to feel pain from a physical blow, so they don’t. Why carry around these organs they’re not using?

Then there’s what they even need their digestive system to do. Humans need the nutrients in our meals not just as fuel, but as- well, everything. We need the building blocks for our cells. Our bodies are constantly renewing themselves. Vampires, by contrast, don’t appear to do this. There’s no waste of any kind, and their skin doesn’t get flaky. Edward specifically says blood is fuel, and I think that’s a literal interpretation.

Now we’re veering into speculation territory, and this isn’t the place for it just yet as we’re veering into what venom is and does, but I think whatever digestive process vampires have, serves to turn their blood to venom. I don’t think there’s any particular organ for this, I think that’s just because that’s what happens when venom comes into contact with blood. We see it happen when humans are bitten, and I think it’s fair to assume that the same thing happens when venom comes into contact with ingested blood.

This also helps explain why animal blood isn’t equal to human blood. Animals can’t be turned to vampires, it’s blood but venom and animal blood aren’t on the same FM, so to say. So, with no better option, yes venom can make do with animal blood, but it won’t perform as well as it would with human blood. The vampire is now weaker, with the frankly terrifying side effect that their eyes change color. We’re so used to this that we just go «oh, yeah, animal blood means their eyes turn yellow. It’s like a LED light letting you know which diet the vampire is on!» when in any other organism, a chance of color like that is usually the sign of something being wrong. Blue lips, yellow sclera, red urine, all color changes that point to something not being not as it should be.

Now, to go further here would mean getting more into what venom even is, which is best saved for part three. I’ll say this, venom appears to be the only fluid in the vampire body. It’s moistens their eyes (and melts their contacts), pools in their mouth, is injected through their fangs, and the application of venom to a wound makes them heal faster. Venom is the substance they rely on, more so even than blood, their elixir of life. (My speculation on how Edward was able to impregnate Bella is reserved for the hybrid/what is venom metas).

Also, on what vampires carry over from their human bodies, I do think they’re economical enough to not fix what ain’t broken. I think this because the human nervous system is absolutely brilliant, and indeed Bella regains sensation during her transformation where her spine had once been broken and unable to communicate with her brain. Question is, of course, was this because her new vampire body still uses the human nervous system, or did Bella regain sensation because her transformation had gotten to a point where this was no longer the case?

Beauty

The beauty part has gotten some very valid criticism, as beauty is very subjective and venom makes it out to be an objective, empirically measurable unit.

To caveat first, we see in canon that not all vampires are gorgeous. James was an ugly human, and so as a vampire he’s no beauty. Maggie was emaciated and not particularly attractive, so she’s bony and not hot by vampire standards. The Cullens, by contrast, were attractive humans. Human Bella is a hottie, she pulls all the guys without issue. If she were as plain as she thinks she is, she wouldn’t get male attention. Being new is only gonna get her so far. Jasper was turned because Maria thought he was a cutie, and same goes for Emmett with Rosalie.

(There’s also a certain inherent bias - I imagine attractive people have a much higher chance of getting turned than uglies.)

More, understand that vampires don’t look human. They’re flawless, desirable, perfect, yes - but they are very distinctly not human, and humans know as much instinctively:

Like any normal human, suddenly standing just a foot away from a vampire would send adrenaline racing through his veins. Fear would twist in his stomach for just a fraction of a second, and then his rational mind would take over. His brain would force him to ignore all the little discrepancies that marked me as other. His eyes would refocus and he would see nothing more than a teenage boy. I watched him come to that conclusion, that I was just a normal boy. I knew he would be wondering what his body’s strange reaction had been about. (Midnight Sun, chapter 21, page 547)

Vampires are beautiful in the way the Nefertiti bust is beautiful. It’s perfect, otherworldly, timelessly beautiful, but looking at it you know this is a bust and not a living human woman.

With that in mind, I think some of the vampire’s unnatural beauty is… not circumstantial, but happy bonuses to their other qualities. Their perfect skin, for instance, goes a long way towards making them beautiful. Perfectly smooth, a glowing white, no disruptions like blackheads, scarring, or sweat. At one point Bella describes Rosalie as looking airbrushed. Their perfect teeth, impeccable grace, these features also help.

Now, I think when venom makes a human more beautiful, I think the big thing it does is make the features perfectly symmetrical. This by itself is immediately inhuman and unnatural, more computer generated than human, just perfect enough to tick off the uncanny valley box. This would explain the flawlessness Bella keeps describing in vampires. It also explains the disparity in beauty, the features Rosalie had to work with and get symmetrical were lovelier than the ones James had, and why they can look completely different from each other yet share that same kind of uncanny impeccability. It also explains how people of wildly different face types and ethnicities can all be beautiful, the venom won’t erase the features you had but rather refine them into the best they can be.

I do think that refinement, in addition to symmetry, happens. If it didn’t, the change wouldn’t be so radical from human to vampire. More, all vampires are described as having sharp features, Esme stands out for the fact that she retained some of her human softness. So, the venom appears to make features more angular and, well, sharp.

Aro’s description is in favor of my interpretation of vampiric beauty:

I couldn't decide if his face was beautiful or not. I suppose the features were perfect. But he was as different from the vampires beside him as they were from me. His skin was translucently white, like onionskin, and it looked just as delicate (New Moon, page 234)

His features are flawless, meaning symmetrical. He should be beautiful, so it’s the skin that gives her pause.

There’s also the matter that beauty is observed in the body, not just the form. They all look strong and limber, even the tiniest of vampires. I imagine some of this is simply texture, that vampires are made hard, smooth, and perfect, but we have this from Bella looking in the mirror after waking up a vampire:

She was fluid even in stillness, and her flawless face was pale as the moon against the frame of her dark, heavy hair. Her limbs were smooth and strong, skin glistening subtly, luminous as a pearl. (Breaking Dawn, page 261)

Fluid even in stillness, her limbs smooth and strong. This woman was starving to death when she died. Combined with the fact that Edward, who was a sick 17-year-old, has muscle definition, it seems venom does body sculpting as well. Though it’s worth noting that hydration goes a long way towards muscle definition for humans, so the change in fluid composition in vampires could have something to do with it their limber appearance.

Then there’s the other vampire beauty markers.

Their voices are described quite unusually, with words like wind chimes, bells, or feathers. They’re beautiful, but, like everything else about vampires, inhuman. When Carlisle calls Billy on the phone, Billy immediately recognized the voice as somehow wrong, it’s too clear and sharp.

I mean, I think in part this is because their vocal cords aren’t made of soft human tissue anymore, but most likely stone. No matter what they’re made of, though, it’s no surprise that we’re not getting human voices out of them.

Their scent is appetizing to humans and other vampires alike, and serves a duel purpose. Humans are attracted to them (well, vampires are too), while vampires are able to use it for tracking purposes. It’s tremendously useful for keeping track of your territory, as randos can’t walk in and eat your food and sneak off again without leaving a trail. It’s also good for meeting up with friends, we see Carlisle and Siobhan use it for this purpose in Midnight Sun.

Circulation

The purpose of blood is to carry oxygen and nutrients to the cells. Apparently, this isn’t a need vampires have. All they need is venom. The theory that their tissue is porous adds to this, as it would mean blood travels through their body in a different manner. The porous tissue replaces circulation.

So, no circulation for vampires because they don’t need it.

This meta is now getting ridiculously long, so I’m putting the venom production section in the venom meta.

The transformation

The transformation is complete when the heart stops beating. The former human is now a vampire, and no longer reliant on a heartbeat, nor oxygen. In this they are different from hybrids.

As for the process itself, I think that as the venom spreads, it starts multiplying on its own. This is why it took longer for Carlisle than it did Bella, she was bitten and injected multiple times and on every part of her body while Carlisle was grazed on the arm. Bella had more venom that could work on her, Carlisle did not. These facts support my theory of the slow spread of venom.

I’ve played with the thought of the transformation happening in stages, where the first act is the spread of the venom, which then spreads throughout the body and heals the body to put it at default, the second act is the bodysculpting, and the third act the finishing touches. It doesn’t quite fit with venom transforming as it goes, though, so I’m very hm on that.

A few observations:

Activity level doesn’t appear to help spread the venom. Carlisle exerted himself, and his transformation took far more time than normal (though lying still instead of contorting in agony probably doesn’t help in that regard). Bella laid still as a corpse, and her transformation took far less time than normal. The venom spreads in its own time, regardless of what the blood circulation is up to.

Going by the accounts of the Cullens, while the pain is constant, the transformation hurts increasingly as the venom spreads.

Bella was severely injured, and needed to be healed before she could even feel all the pain. Her broken spine, for instance, meant she couldn’t feel below the waist.

Carlisle said it’s «easier if the blood is weak» (cryptic much?! Not making it easy for me, dude. Though as this was said in the context of Edward explaining that Carlisle would only turn someone already dying, I do think he’s referring to what it’s like for vampires, though, that humans are not so tempting if they’re half dead.)

Healing

Now we’re veering into the venom meta, but: the transformation fixes anything that could impede the vampire’s function. Bella would get nothing done with her post-birth broken body, and so she’s fixed up for her. Alice’s emaciation means she’s thin and less strong than others, it doesn’t physically prevent her from doing anything.

The venom, it appears, heals the human not because it’s being altruistic, nor to make the vampire more appealing to others, but to make the human into an ideal host. BUT MORE ON THAT IN THE VENOM META.

With that, my god we’re done. And this meta is words in total, an ugly number.

Lastly, I know that putting a read more at the end of a 4k long meta is the worst joke in the world (RIP to you poor souls scrolling past this. My reason for not being a read more kind of gal to be found here)

Nothing yet, I’m afraid.

#long post #had to delete immediately after posting because i hadn't actually written anything in the skin section #so i deleted rather than having people reblog before it was ready #ops #twilight #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #twilight vampires #twilight venom #twilight biology #vampire biology #also i am very proud of the way my ship snuck into the post #sorry not sorry but it's a bedbug ship #it won't stay out of my stuff #edit: can't count. wrote five parts

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feferipeixes · 3 years

Text

Child I Will Hurt You

One of the weirdest things to Alcor about being a father was how automatically Toby trusted him.

Which really freaked him out because he didn’t feel he should be trusted to raise a child. After all, he was practically still a child himself.

(See the most updated version on AO3!)

===

The thing that scared Alcor the most about raising Toby was how fully the boy trusted him.

He’d experienced and marveled at that kind of trust before. When Mabel found him after that fateful day in 2012 and threw herself at him, sobbing with relief that he wasn’t gone after all, he felt it. When Stan took him and Mabel into his home a few years later, patted him on the back and said “It’s no problem, kid”, he felt it. When he warned Mabel that he shouldn’t be trusted with the triplets’ true names and Mabel shouted him right out of his self-flagellation, he felt it.

The first day he brought Toby home after finding him alone and shivering on the street, he felt something very different.

Panic.

Panic over who the child in front of him truly was underneath that thin layer of flesh. Panic over what would happen if he didn’t stop whatever Bill was planning. Panic as he remembered Weirdmageddon over and over again in complete, horrific detail.

“Listen kid,” he said, floating a few feet off the ground so he could better tower over the child, “no funny business, okay? You hear me in there, Bill?”

Toby only cocked his head, scraggly and unwashed golden locks tumbling away from his face to reveal his scarred eye. He still wore the half-scared half-curious look he’d had when he’d first caught the demon’s attention, but there was something else bubbling up. Something that tasted suspiciously like trust.

It really freaked Alcor out because he didn’t feel he should be trusted to raise a child. Trust was something you gave to adults who knew what they were doing, after all, and he was practically still a child himself.

Alcor grimaced, and lowered onto his knees so he could look the boy directly in the eyes. “I mean it. I’m watching you. I’ll know if anything bad happens.”

To his surprise, Toby smiled at that. “You can make the bad things stop?”

“Yes,” Alcor replied, his voice cracking like it hadn’t in centuries because he was already messing this up, he was sure of it. “N-no getting into trouble. Not on my watch.”

The boy’s face lit up, trust shining brilliant from both eyes, and before Alcor could tell what was happening, Toby had reached up and hugged him around the neck.

And the demon remembered

Bill’s little pipe cleaner hands iron-clad around his neck,

Squeezing the life out of him,

Blue fire rushing all over his body,

Over and into his soul,

Screaming until there was no more breath left in him,

And the little boy’s smile radiated such trust and hope that Alcor was left completely speechless.

“Thank you,” Toby squeaked, and Alcor felt it.

---

“Oh stars, I can’t do this, I can’t do this!” Alcor was in his human disguise, head in hands, elbows resting on the counter, rambling like the world was ending. “I’m way in over my head. Raising a child? Me? I mean I looked after Mabel’s triplets but this is so different…”

“...Sir?” The cashier’s hand hovered over Alcor’s head, unsure whether it was appropriate or comforting to actually pat him. “Are you alright?”

“No!” he fumed, lashing out and knocking over some of his groceries. “I have a six year old at home and he trusts me to look after him and keep him safe! How could this possibly have happened?”

“Uh…” The cashier peered behind the man to the customers in line, most of whom looked some degree of disgruntled or confused. She gave them a little wave to indicate that they should probably move to a different register, and then turned back to the man who appeared to be hyperventilating now. “Do you have a partner? Anyone who’s helping you?”

“Of course not, I’m alone, I’ve got no friends,” he moaned. “There’s no one who I trust enough to foist Toby off to. The poor boy has such bad karma -- he needs me to protect him from that or he’ll get eaten alive!”

“Well… it sounds like you’ve got the right instincts at least. You want to keep him safe.”

“That’s just it! I don’t!” Alcor picked his head up and the cashier saw streaks of a strange yellow liquid running down his face. “Everything I’m doing for him is just stuff I picked up from watching my sister raise her kids! I don’t have any kind of adulting instincts -- none at all! I transcended when I was fucking twelve and that’s where I’ll be stuck until the end of time. I’m just a pointless child! I’ve got too much power and no actual ability to help anyone!”

The cashier sighed and -- after the man nodded to say it was alright -- put her hand on his shoulder. “Listen, man, all of that stuff sounds normal.” (Except for the parts that made no sense to her at all but she opted to ignore them.) “No one knows how to raise a kid, and no one ever feels like they’ve grown up. You learn it as you go. Trust me, my kids ran me ragged and I had no idea what I was doing. But they turned out alright. So will yours.”

Alcor’s voice began to wobble, and he pressed gloved hands to his temples. “But he won’t! I’m developmentally frozen. I’m not capable of learning anything! Seriously, what kind of adult buys this much candy?”

She glanced at his cart, which indeed was half filled with Giddy Cowboys and Sneakers bars. “That is a lot,” she admitted. “I would not advise giving your kid that much candy.”

“What? No.” Alcor stopped sniffling and pulled a face like he’d just smelled poo. “That’s for me. I’m buying all these vegetables and milk and chicken for Toby. He’s a growing kid, he needs to eat healthy, get all those food groups in, you know. I’m not stupid. But I am childish for liking candy so much that I’d eat this much of it in a week! I mean, seriously! Oh stars, I’m hopeless!”

The cashier lifted an eyebrow and removed her hand. “You eat all of this… in a week?”

“I know, I know, I’m ridiculous!”

“That’s not what I meant,” the cashier cut in, before he could start gibbering again. “I’m just worried about your teeth. Your… teeth…” She trailed off as the man suddenly yawned, exposing two rows of jagged knives that could sink into her flesh in an instant. “Your, um, your- your-”

Alcor pulled a mirror out of seemingly nowhere and started picking at his teeth. “What, do I have something in them?”

The cashier’s eyes widened even more as the man’s gloves came off. “My… what pointy claws you have…”

“Thank- wait.” Alcor froze, one long blackened nail still pressed into his gum. “Wait a minute. Pointy. Sharp. Cutting and slicing and ripping open oh stars!”

“Um- um- um-” the cashier tried to say, but with every word she felt like she was shrinking until she’d be swallowed up by her clothes. “Slicing?”

Alcor shook his head furiously, and this time his fist was positively trembling when it came down onto the counter. “I haven’t child proofed the knife drawer in the kitchen!”

He flipped his hat off of his head and pulled out a wad of cash, which he then thrust into the cashier’s hands just as her lights went out. Before anyone else could react, he vanished into thin air, taking his groceries and the shopping cart with him.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before,” Alcor grumbled as he zeroed in on the offending drawer. He pulled it open and there they were -- obscene, dangerous implements that he was a wicked and cruel caretaker to have potentially exposed his child to. He couldn’t stop imagining what might’ve happened if Toby had tried to pull open the drawer and it had fallen on him -- couldn’t stop thinking about his little boy sticking his adorable hand in and receiving cuts and lacerations and awful, awful sobbing filling the house…

With a snap, child locks were in place. Alcor tested them out by trying to pull the drawer open -- and it took a few tries before even he was able to. Sighing with relief, he leaned against the counter and slid down to the floor. His feet bumped up against the shopping cart sitting in the middle of the kitchen, overflowing with Reece’s Mugs and Chortle Taffy and Quasarbursts.

He couldn’t do this. He was too irresponsible.

Alcor dug a hand into the cart and pulled out a candy bar. He sank his teeth into it, enjoyed the rush of sweetness that was almost as good as flesh and bone. Slowly he began to unclench his muscles -- even though his form was imaginary, the cramps shooting throughout his body still hurt. He slid down the counter a little further, almost letting his head touch the floor -- and then he noticed it.

The stairs.

Bolting upright, Alcor let the candy bar fall from his hand. The stairs. How hadn’t he thought about that before? What if Toby fell down and tumbled into the banister and lost his other eye? What if what if what if?

Not a minute later, the demon was wrestling with child safety gates, somehow struggling even with all of his considerable power just to get them to attach to the wall. At one point he tipped his jaw back and used his tongue to line the edges with spit, which then solidified like glue. The stairs had to be safe. He couldn’t risk Toby getting hurt.

And with that thought came even more thoughts that sent Alcor racing through the house. What if Toby slipped in the bathtub? What if Toby climbed on top of the fridge and couldn’t get down? What if Bill slammed his arm in a drawer again and again and again and again until it was full of forks and then he poured soda into his eyes and laughed like a maniac while Dipper drowned in the vast emptiness of the Mindscape???

Alcor stiffened. He set down the intricate contraption he’d been building to keep Toby safe from wild animals in the backyard. And he looked into the mirror.

What was he doing?

This was Bill’s soul he was fretting over. It was always him, on the inside, and he’d known it from the very first day he’d seen the boy. He knew what was lurking beneath the surface, what kind of monster slept in that innocent form waiting until one day he could reach out and traumatize his father once more. Reach out and steal his beating heart, and laugh, and live, and die, and laugh, and live, and die, in a way he’d never be able to again.

A chill passed through Alcor’s body. Something had to be wrong with him, because he knew what Toby was and he’d spent the entire week worrying about the boy. Why did he care so much?

Quietly, he crept down the hall, and peered into the bedroom on the right. There he was -- the beast himself -- sleeping soundly in a bed decorated with race cars and rocket ships. A few more steps, and Alcor could see how small he looked, how even in his sleep he seemed so broken. And the demonic instincts that had rushed through Alcor since the day he’d gone up in flames were quelled, because every fiber of his being told him he needed to protect this child.

He rested a hand on the boy’s forehead, and watched him dream about running around in a field of grass, playing catch with his new father.

---

Thus started a new routine. A demon, trying day-to-day to take care of a small child. Playing grown up even though he felt so utterly unprepared for what he was doing. But Alcor’s life didn’t stop when he became a parent.

Neither did any of his other regular obligations.

“Oh, you’re asking for it now!” Alcor roared, jumping to his feet. “I’m gonna run you through with my sword! Die die die die!”

The dungeon master -- Damien -- peered over his half-rimmed glasses at the demon and smirked. “Not gonna work, I’m afraid. The slime beast’s armor is too thick to be pierced by a sword such as your own.”

Alcor gaped with disbelief. “Whaaat? I call foul play! You let Anushka do it!”

“Anushka’s sword has a fire enchantment on it. Slime armor is weak to heat.”

“Also, I said die five times,” Anushka added with a shit-eating grin on her face, jabbing Alcor in the side with her elbow. “Die die die die die!”

Alcor snorted and dropped back into his chair. “Well, you got me there.” He looked at the other players, disappointment rolling over into amusement. “Can I change my move or am I locked in?”

Damien shrugged. “Go for it. I don’t think you’ll be able to beat it this turn though, and you’ve only got one hit point remaining.”

Nat leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Yo, I’ve got an idea. You should defend this turn and try to survive the slime’s attack, and then on my turn I can fire enchant your sword.”

“Huh. Maybe…” He patted his head to get the spittle out of his ear, and surveyed the map of the dungeon they were in. Then he sat bolt upright in his seat, a large exclamation mark appearing over his head. “Damien. How many sword actions do I get this turn?”

Damien rolled a die. “Two.”

“Yessss. Okay. First, I lunge at the slime again! But with the blunt end of my sword so it gets knocked back.”

Damien rolled another die. “Yep. That works. Are you gonna use your free movement to approach it again?”

Alcor shook his head. “Nope. I’m gonna throw my sword -”

“Your sword doesn’t have enough piercing damage to make a difference from that distance, I’m afraid.”

The room’s dim lighting glinted off of razor sharp teeth. “- at the cable holding up the chandelier.”

Anushka and Nat dropped their pencils, and looked straight up, momentarily forgetting that they were not actually in the dungeon they were traversing. “You what?”

Damien rolled a die again, and sucked in a sharp breath. “Alright. The chandelier falls onto the slime beast before it can react. It quickly catches on fire, leaving it too weak to attack. Congrats!”

Beaming, Alcor scribbled some numbers on his character sheet. “Heck yeah. No slime beast is strong enough to get one past the Dreambender.”

“You’re so creative, Al,” Nat said. “Seriously, wow. I never would’ve thought of that.”

He wove off the compliment. “Naw, I’m just basically a large child. Being silly and immature is what they’re good at.”

Looking up over his dungeon master partition, Damien furrowed his brow. “Why do you say you’re immature -”

There was a ringing in Alcor’s head -- a tug on a bond -- and he held up his hand. “Wait, hold that thought. Speaking of children, my kid’s calling me. I’m gonna have to leave early this week.” He stood up, and did a dramatic bow. “I’ll see ya all next week! Don’t lose my summoning circle!”

Toby -- lying flat on the floor of the Mystery Shack -- perked up at the sight of his adoptive father walking through the door. Tyrone looked about as human as they come -- a man in his mid-thirties with soft brown eyes, no wings, and feet that always touched the ground. He opened his arms and Toby came running to hug him.

Right away there was that trust again, that total trust that Alcor still couldn’t believe he deserved. How could someone like him -- someone who’d just spent two hours playing a tabletop role playing game and laughing about memes -- be trusted to take care of a child?

Gingerly, he took Toby into his arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “How are you doing?”

“I’m boooooooored!” Toby whined. “Can we play a game? I wanna play pretend!”

Chuckling, Alcor put Toby down and then sat beside him on the floor. “Sure thing, kid. You know, I’m pretty good at playing games like that. I was playing one with my friends earlier today.”

Toby’s jaw dropped. “Whoaaaaa! You have friends?”

A vein bulged in Alcor’s forehead. “Of course I- never mind. What’s the game, kid? What are we pretending?”

Toby jumped up and started pacing in a circle. “I wanna make up a story! It’s gonna be great! I’ll be the hero and you’ll be the bad guy -- an evil king who wants to kill all of the good people in the land! Is… is that okay?”

There was a mirror mounted on the wall behind where Toby had been sitting. Without the boy in his way, Alcor found his gaze fixed on it. He could see Toby gesturing as he walked and he could see the nostalgic decorations hanging on the wall of the Shack. But there was no Tyrone to speak of.

It took a moment for him to realize that Toby was talking to him. “What? Oh yeah. Of course, kid. I’ll be the bad guy.” He took a deep breath, discarding the voice in his head that furiously objected to him being the villain to Bill’s hero. “What’s my motivation?”

Toby cocked his head. “Moti- what?”

“What’s my backstory? Why am I evil?”

The boy continued to stare at him with a blank look on his face. “You’re evil cause you’re the bad guy and bad guys are evil!”

“That’s kinda boring- never mind.” Alcor grimaced and looked back at the mirror. “So you’re the hero, eh? How are you going to defeat me? What’s the hero good at?”

“Everything!!!!” Toby squealed, and his reflection grabbed onto something invisible. “The hero is the good guy so I should always win and I’ll have all of the magic and the biggest swords ever!”

Alcor shifted so that Toby was hanging onto his shoulders rather than around his middle. “Everything? But if the hero always wins, what’s the point?”

“The good guy always has to win!” the boy chirped, squeezing tight around Alcor’s neck. “Always!”

Oh my stars this is so boring, Alcor thought. How fricking uninventive is Bill’s soul? Children are supposed to be good at being silly and creative. I guess all Bill’s soul can think about is being powerful again.

A figure stepped into the room on the other side of the mirror. It was short -- looked to be about 12 years old -- and had clawed hands, bat wings sprouting from its hips, and a fancy suit that looked out of place for someone so young. Alcor’s jaw dropped as he watched the figure pick up Toby’s reflection, pat him on the back, and then stare directly out of the mirror at the demon.

“This is a game for children,” the figure said in a low growl.

“What?” Alcor yelped.

Toby giggled at the interruption. “I said that all the evil people should die because they’re mean! No one should ever do a bad thing!“

“This is what children are like. They see in black-and-white because they know nothing about how the world works.” Cold, black eyes bored into Alcor’s skull. “Have you forgotten what that’s like?”

“B-but I’m silly,” Alcor stammered, sweat starting to drip down his face. “I’m irresponsible. I love playing games and coming up with interesting stories. Those are childish things for someone as old as me to be doing.”

“Dad?” Toby asked. “What are you saying? I can’t hear you.”

The figure sneered, baring two sets of sharp teeth uncomfortably close to Toby’s head. “Whoever told you that must’ve really hated the idea of growing up.” Toby stirred, and it spent a moment cradling him so he’d calm down. Then those eyes -- now bright and full of gold -- flicked back at the demon. “Who said it? Was it you?”

Alcor gasped and fell over. Toby shrieked as he suddenly found himself tumbling to the ground, and the sound broke Alcor right out of his trance. Quick as a whistle, he pirouetted and caught the boy in his arms, pulling him close to his chest in a tight hug.

“Oh no, oh Toby, are you alright?” he fretted. “Did you get hurt?”

“I’m okay!” Toby squeaked, his face pressed against Alcor’s collarbone. Alcor loosened up on his hug, and took in Toby’s smile. “That was fun! You always catch me! That’s how I know you’re really a good guy.”

“I’m a good guy?” Alcor gulped, and glanced back at the mirror. This time he saw himself, in his present human disguise, holding Toby close, and looking so, so utterly responsible. It freaked him out.

“...Dad?” Toby asked, brow crumpled. “Daaaaad what are you thinking?”

“I think…” Alcor sighed, and gave his son a little kiss on the forehead. “I think it’s time you got some friends your own age.”

---

From that day on, things were a little different.

Alcor bought a house in the physical plane, because a memory of a shack in the Mindscape was no place to raise a child.

“Dad?”

He doctored forms and documents so it not only looked like a certain Tyrone Pines actually existed, but also that he and his adopted son Tobias Pines were legal residents of a sleepy town in the middle of Washington. This let Toby attend school with kids his own age.

“What is it, Toby?”

He went to the library on the weekly to check out parenting books, having long exhausted the meager supply of advice his omniscience had to offer -- as it turned out, parenting was very much a learn-as-you-go experience with few absolute truths to guide you.

“What’s a demon?”

Alcor froze, his hand halfway in the process of turning a page in his book. He started to turn his head around to look at the boy, and remembered just in time to turn his body around with it.

“Where did you hear that?” Alcor asked carefully.

Toby kept his head down, opting to study his father’s shoes instead of his face. “I, um...”

There it was again, that emotion bubbling up inside of Alcor, that instinctual distrust he couldn’t help but feel for the soul who had once taken everything from him. It was all he could do not to jump up and yell “Aha! Caught you red-handed, Bill! I knew you were in there all along!”

He got out of his chair and knelt in front of the child, using a finger to gently raise the boy’s head so they could see eye-to-eye. “You can tell me,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

Alcor saw Toby reach into that pure, automatic trust he had for the monster who was raising him. The boy gulped, and squared his shoulders.

“Um... Devon’s dad said it to Devon.”

Alcor blinked. “Is that so? Devon, the kid in your class who asked you to play baseball with him?”

Toby nodded. “H-he was asking me again, and I know you said I wasn’t allowed to, but he started showing me anyway. He got his bat and swinged it and it looked really cool. Then his dad yelled at him and said ‘Devon, you little demon, cut that out right now!’“

Alcor could only stare, mouth agape, in response. Toby started to tremble as he continued speaking. “Then Devon’s dad took the baseball bat and Devon got really sad and I didn’t know what it means but it looked bad and I don’t want to be a little demon and I’m really really sorry I said I wanted to play baseball I don’t want to be a demon I don’t I don’t -”

He cut off with a squeak as his father took him into his arms and hugged him tight.

Alcor was a being with access to more power and magic than almost anything else in the universe. He could level mountains, he could turn cities inside out, he could institute universal basic income on the moon with a snap of his fingers.

But when he held Toby in his arms, when he saw the awestruck look on the boy’s face when he played the violin for him, when he listened to Toby babble excitedly about whatever he’d learned in school that day, Alcor felt powerful.

All of his magic crumbled beneath the obscene power granted to him by way of this child’s trust in him. He had the power to protect this child, to support and encourage him to grow up to be the best person he could be. He could also betray Toby’s trust so, so easily.

He could punish his son for no reason if he needed an emotional pick-me-up. He could disregard the boy’s concerns and laugh in his face. He could even raise his voice just a little too much, caught in a moment of frustration, and leave Toby wincing in distress -- an ephemeral moment in Alcor’s life but an upsetting and formative moment in Toby’s which could forever mar their relationship.

That would be childish. That would be immature of him.

Alcor had killed reams of cultists, had bestowed disturbing curses on people who’d only sort of deserved it, had terraformed the western coast of the United States in a fit of rage. He’d done a lot of horrible things with his magic, but.

This power, this power he had to shape Toby’s life.

This power horrified him.

“You’re not a demon,” Alcor said, (and it felt so unfair to be saying that to him of all people -- so cruel and dirty that he wanted to scream until his hair fell out. But he didn’t.)

“Don’t cry,” (even though no one had held him when he cried that day in 2012, because he’d simply slipped through their fingers, and he wanted to repay that favor. But he didn’t.)

“Daddy’s here,” he whispered, before kissing Toby’s tears away. “You’re not in trouble.”

The words came so naturally, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. As if he had the experience to understand what was upsetting his son, and the power to make it better. As if he had the maturity to push past his own conflicted feelings, because he was an adult, and this was a little child.

He set Toby down, and kneeled to meet his eyes. In that moment, he felt tall. Sort of grown up.

Toby sniffled. “You’d never yell at me? Even if I do something wrong?”

Alcor thought once again back to the day he’d seen Bill Cipher on the side of the road. Thought about the furious, vengeful part of him that enjoyed the boy’s suffering because that’s what he deserved. Remarked on how the universe had served him up his greatest enemy in the most vulnerable form possible, giving him the opportunity to take Toby’s trust and do unspeakable things to him.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I promise.”

Remembered how he’d instead chosen love.

---

It was a dark and stormy night that found Alcor wandering the streets of a mostly-abandoned city.

He’d been summoned -- it always started with a summons -- and he’d been angry. It didn’t even matter what had made him angry, because there were so many things these days that people absolutely would not stop doing no matter how much he screamed and threatened and threw flaming balls of plasma into their twisted places of worship. They never learned. And neither did he.

Alcor couldn’t stand how many people had to die because of him. How many people were killed in his name. How many lives he’d taken with his own hands because he couldn’t seem to stop, like an immature brat who throws tantrums when things don’t go his way. He wondered if he could ever change, or if he was just stuck this way.

It was deep in these thoughts that the demon heard a little noise. A squeak, barely audible over the rain. He dismissed it at first, because his grand thoughts were more important than the world around him, and right after a bad summons was the perfect time for self-hatred. It felt good -- it was one of the only things that still did. He considered burning the entire city to the ground. Maybe that’d feel even better.

Something told him that it wouldn’t.

He heard the squeak again, his eyes darting over to a heap of trash bags between two buildings, and that’s when he saw him. A little boy with golden hair, no older than six. He was dressed in rags. He looked like he hadn’t seen a scrap of food in days. The left side of his face had been eaten away by flame, leaving it patchy and discolored.

Alcor had seen right through Bill’s disguise, of course. There wasn’t a meatsuit pitiable enough to blot out the sins his soul had committed. Perhaps that was why he had been abandoned on the side of the street to begin with -- karma was finally catching up with him. Alcor wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. Something strange was going on inside of him. Some sort of instinct buried within him -- not one tipped with blood and claws, but one that creaked and groaned under centuries of exertion.

It was this feeling that prompted him to gather up the child in his arms. He felt how fast the boy’s heart was beating; saw in his past how much he’d been hurt without an adult to protect him. He knew that feeling well.

“It’s okay,” he murmured as Toby began to fuss. “Things will be better now. I’ll protect you. I might only be a child myself, but I promise I’ll protect you.”

One year later, one year of introspection, growth, and unbroken promises later, he had to admit he’d been wrong.

(AO3 link)

#gravity falls #transcendence au #dipper pines #alcor the dreambender #toby pines #tobias pines #fic #my stuff

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amor-immortalem · 3 years

Text

Can I Stay Up Here With You Forever ch.4

Taglist: @mediocredetective

Warnings: Mentions of past child abuse and neglect

“So, what’s the plan for today? Or are we jus’ stayin’ home all day?” Mammon asks as he lugs the suitcase he brought with him into the bedroom and opened some dresser drawers to put his clothes away.

“I figured we could go out and explore more of the city together. Plus, I want to get a few more pieces of furniture to fill out the house.” Arella runs a hand through her hair as she stretches. “Breakfast was great, by the way. Thank you.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that good- not compared to last night’s dinner anyway...”

“Don’t put yourself down like that, Honey.” The human gets off the bed to hunt for some clothes of her own. “You’re cooking is good, okay?”

He nods slowly. “Not if you ask my brothers though... One of ‘em always has something ta say ‘bout it- and none of its good. Even Beel has complaints sometimes.”

She frowns in response. “Well, I’ll have you know I genuinely enjoy your cooking. I wouldn’t mind if you cooked for us more often.”

Another nod from the demon as he returns to his task of emptying out his suitcase and Arella continues her search for the perfect outfit.

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“Where is he, Solomon,” The Avatar of Pride questions the sorcerer as he stands in the foyer of Purgatory Hall.

“I’ve already told you, Lucifer.” Solomon replies with a smile on his face. “I don’t exactly know. The human world is the best answer I can give you.”

The demon studies the human for a moment to deduce whether or not he’s lying about know where Mammon is. “Where in the human world?”

“I don’t know. Arella wouldn’t tell me where exactly she was summoning him to.” It’s a tiny lie. Of course, he knew exactly where they were, but Lucifer didn’t need to know that. “I have no reason to lie to you, Lucifer, but why exactly is it that you want to find your brother so badly?”

“I want to... apologize for my actions. It seems, after further review of the situation, that I was wrong. The bill I received was full of fraudulent charges to his credit card. Does that change your answer?” The first-born narrows his eye as the silver-haired sorcerer shook his head. “Then I’ll be off. If you hear anything, I want to be the first to hear about it.

Solomon only nodded, an amused smile playing on his lips. He wondered just how long it would take the demon to pinpoint Mammon and Arella’s location.

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They bounced from shop to shop throughout the day finding many cute trinkets and knick-knacks on their journey. The cutest ones- and Mammon’s personal favorite- was a set of crows sitting on a tree branch together, their bodies turned away with their heads pressed together so that they formed the shape of a heart. He instantly picked it up after Arella made the comment that the crows were representative of them and their love.

As their small shopping spree came down to an end, they had stopped to take a break in a park, just taking a moment to rest and enjoy the beautiful day. It filled Mammon with a warm feeling he wasn’t quite sure he could name just yet so he just opted to hold her hand as they relaxed on the park bench as a few small families played nearby.

His attention in particular was pulled to one certain family: A mother and father with their three boys. Watching them drug up a desire he thought he’d never have.

“Hey, babe,” He starts quietly.

“Yes, Love?” she hums in response.

“Do... Do ya want kids...?”

“Do you?” Arella replies with a question of her own, green eyes peering up at the demon.

“I asked you first.”

With a chuckle she answers, “Yes... having children with you wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I’d love to one day down the road. How many do you want?”

“Just one would be good enough,” He smiles, resting his cheek against the top of her head as they sit there in peace for a while longer.

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Sitting in his office, attempting to keep his mind off Mammon, Lucifer was working on his ever-growing stack of paperwork. It wasn’t working and something in the back of the demon’s mind was gnawing at him. Something Arella had said to him roughly a month ago about stealing his brother away to the human realm and never returning. A laughable idea for as much as he knew she wasn’t joking; she really held no power to make that decision. Mammon was a demon- one of the seven lords of hell. His place was here in the Devildom whether she liked it or not. Mammon himself had to realize this was all pointless eventually and then he would come home and that would be the end of it. Or at least that’s what Lucifer hoped anyway. He really didn’t want to have to drag his brother back here kicking and screaming.

Stepping away from the old, worn-out desk, the eldest decides a break for tea and a phone call might do better to take his mind of things for the time being.

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Putting up her dusty old tomes on various mythologies of the ancient past, Aubrie could just barely hear the phone. Hopping down off the ladder, the mythologist swiped up the device- a gift from the only demon in her contacts. He was lucky she didn’t have it turned off like she usually did while she was working.

“Good evening, Lucifer,” Holding the shiny D.D.D. to her ear, she answered with a chirp. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Good evening, Aubrie.” Lucifer’s voice is smooth as silk and Aubrie has to wonder if he just naturally talks like that or he was using that ‘seductive speechcraft’ Arella had mentioned some time ago to get whatever it was that he wanted from their conversation. “Have you spoken to Arella recently?”

“I have. You know she just moved from England, right?” The ginger chirps. “I texted with her this morning to see how it went.”

“Actually, I didn’t.” The Avatar of Pride hummed as he sipped on his tea. “That’s interesting. Where abouts did she move?”

“I wish I knew. The best I can say is somewhere in mainland Europe,” Aubrie lets out a sigh. “I want to go visit her. I can’t imagine how lonely it is to move to an entirely different country where you’re alone- although for Arella that’s pretty on character...”

“She does seem independent,” Lucifer hums, “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Actually, that’s part of the reason I called. I’m sure she told you that my brother’s with her when you spoke earlier... I need her to send him back. He can’t be missing so much school- his grades are already abysmal to begin with and the longer she keeps him up there, the worse they’ll get. Plus, I have things I need to talk with him about.”

“She's worried about his safety with you, Lucifer. Apparently, you broke his elbow somehow? Or something to that effect.”

“I didn’t break his elbow. No, he did that on his own by falling on it, but my actions helped lead to it so I have some blame in it.” The black-haired demon sighs, “That’s why I’m looking for them. I want to apologize to Mammon- he didn’t exactly deserve what I did that led up to him breaking his elbow.”

The human nods at that. “And here I thought you would be too proud to apologize.” She teased.

“If it were anyone other than my brothers, maybe.” He admits. “But in their own way, each of my brothers are important to me. We’ve been together for eons. Losing a single one of them would be devastating to our family, Aubrie. Like right now, the house has been too quiet and dark since Mammon left for the human realm. Things aren’t right until he comes home.”

“I see, but if you knew your brother would be happier up here in the human world with Arella... would you let him go?”

“I can’t- and it's not because I don’t want him to be happy, quite the opposite, actually- if we were not of such high rank and standing, then I would be content to allow Mammon to follow what makes him happy- whether that be here in the Devildom or up in the human world to allow him to live amongst the humans.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm sure Arella has told you about our rank here in the devildom. We’re each to rule over a layer of Hell once we leave RAD in a few years. Mammon has a responsibility to the Devildom as Lord of the Fourth Layer. It's not a thing that he can just leave behind in favor of spending the rest of his human’s minimal lifespan up in the mortal realm.”

“You could be less harsh on him though. I know our morals on what is wrong and right are different and it’s foolish for us to force our morals on to literal demons from some of the stories she mentions about the way you all treat your brother... Well, it sounds like abuse to me and for someone like Arella, that’s very triggering for her.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lucifer’s interest was piqued at the human’s words. He knew next to nothing about Arella’s past before the exchange program and she never talks about her past to begin with so having the opportunity to hear about it was enticing to the Avatar of Pride.

“Her home life when we were children was... less than happy. Her mother was physically, emotionally, and verbally abusive as well as neglectful. I have plenty of pictures from when we were children where she’s covered in bruises, black eyes, busted lips. She would never say anything against her mother so protective services couldn’t do anything for her, but we all knew that woman was the cause of them. So you see, the way you treat your brother drudges up all that old trauma for her and that’s why she behaves the way she does. Wouldn’t you do the same thing if you were in her shoes, Lucifer?”

“You’re not wrong.” He goes to take another sip of his tea but the cup is empty. “This was nice and also very insightful. I have to go now, enjoy the rest of your evening, Aubrie.”

“Thank you, Love. You too. Make sure to go to bed a reasonable time tonight.” There was a short pause on her end before Aubrie began sputtering apologies and trying to back pedal her way out of that embarrassing situation and the line eventually just cut off.

Lucifer couldn’t help but laugh softly at the ridiculousness of it all. Humans sure were a funny creature.

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Find more writings on my masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me fluff #obey me mammon #mammon fluff #obey me lucifer #obey me solomon #obey me oc #arella #aubrie

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anntoldst0ries · 3 years

Text

None shall sleep (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, post Chapter 5 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.8k, T Summary: In the privacy of the diagnostic's office, Ethan & Noelle reflect on recent changes around them. Category/Warnings: Fluff, None Trope: And there was a bit of Hurt/Comfort

A/N: This chapter reminded me of things that have never been addressed... so this is a story of how things left unsaid all collided in my head. Hope you enjoy.

Also - yes, Ethan Ramsey can sing arias. Is anyone still truly surprised by the fact that this guy can do anything?

There is something mesmerizing about watching the lights of day go out, overpowered by darkness, ablaze with colours - from the depths of blue, through indigo, navy and all the way to pitch-black.

About how, in a sense, it washes away all the bothers and allows you to start anew with the next rise of the almighty sun.

Ethan Ramsey was hoping for this exactly, maybe more than ever, but all the signs showed it wasn’t in the cards for him.

Or at least not today.

He stared into the void, interwoven by occasional human figures passing by through the front lobby. No voices of the day were able to reach him on the 7th floor of his kingdom. Behind the glass wall, he was almost in a different world.

It had been yet another day that brought him more gritted teeth, holding himself back and resigned sighs, than actual satisfaction from helping those who counted on him. All these ‘activities’ were not only annoying but also highly energy-consuming.

Bringing the index and middle fingertips to his pulsating temples, he started to compress and massage them in small circles, trying to soothe the pounding inside his skull. He could hear the blood rushing through the highways of his veins, the sound almost drowning out all external stimuli.

But there were certain sounds his expert ear was trained on, the ones he would’ve recognized even in his sleep.

Like the one reaching his ears right now, the sound of the door handle being pressed.

With his back facing the door, he couldn’t see who was trying to impose on his much-needed solitude. But since the unexpected guest did not precede their ministrations by knocking, the possibilities narrowed down significantly. There were only two people on the premises of Edenbrook who could invade his personal space without a modicum of manners.

“Can I help you?” He modulated his voice to ensure the tone was expressing two things: annoyance and irony in the otherwise polite question.

“I’m sorry.” From all the voices, this one he did not expect to hear now. A melodic tone was joined by a scuffle of retreating steps. “Do you want me to go?”

Ethan curled his lips in a tiny smile. They both knew she wasn’t apologetic and that he wanted anything but her to leave.

“No, it’s just that there are only two people in this hospital that wouldn’t bother knocking and I thought it was one of them paying me a visit.”

“Let me guess… Zaid and Baz?”

“No, but in terms of concept, you were actually close…just another type of evil ‘twins’."

“Oh, you mean his majesty King Bloom & his annoyance Dr Carrick?”

“Even as a joke, it sounds creepy and horrible.”

“Well, count me as a third now. Heads up though, I will only stop knocking after twilight.”

It was clear as crystal Ethan’s already specific sense of humor had less than ever space for amusement.

“I brought you this.” She put a brown paper bag on his desk, which immediately revealed the aroma of something delicious. “I figured you’re probably gonna stay here all night, so I thought I’ll pop over and check on you.”

He didn’t say anything, staring into the darkness. Not because he didn’t want to - he simply didn’t know what. This simple gesture was very touching and filled him with gratitude. But he was lacking the right words.

Then, for the first time since she’s interrupted his train of thought, he turned around to look at her. Tired and with puffy eyes, she’d still put everyone else to shame. Even on the worst of days, the light radiating from her turned heads and made the room brighter.

She extended a hand and when their fingers touched, he felt this weird, tingly feeling that has traveled from his palm, through his arm and neck, and then straight to his core.

Pressing him gently against the edge of the desk, she took his glasses off. Then loosened his tie and nonchalantly disheveled his hair. Ethan wouldn’t let anyone else in the world touch them, let alone put them in a state of such disarray.

With her, all the rules existed only to be broken.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on in this big brain of yours?”

“Smart move, Valentine. You’ve pacified me so that now I will have no choice but to tell you whatever you want to know.”

“You always have a choice, let’s just hope you’re gonna make the right one.”

Ethan nodded, no sound escaping his lips. She knew she’d have to take it upon herself to get any information out of her stubborn converser.

“So, how are you holding up? I want an honest answer."

“I’ve been better.”

“I thought so.”

“It’s just that… Tobias is driving me crazy. His presence really tests my patience… I don’t know if I would’ve stopped myself from punching him had it not been for you.”

“Why thank you, I didn’t know my therapeutic services were that good.”

“They are.” Ethan cleared his throat. “But it’s… not just that.”

Dead silence lingered between them and he knew he had no other choice but to continue.

“The only reason why I haven’t wiped this ridiculous smirk off his face yet is that whenever I look at him, I… I see you in that room with Travis. I’m trying to remind myself that, as much as I hate to admit it, he was crucial to finding the cure on such short notice.”

“Ethan…”

“I already told you” - he interrupted her as if not to stop the words from flowing, afraid they may be trapped forever otherwise - “that there was so much more at stake last time Tobias set foot in Edenbrook.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes going slightly wider.

“The truth is, for me… everything was at stake. I would’ve done anything he’d asked me to, I’d have forgiven him if it meant saving you.”

Elle turned still, all her body movements, her breathing and even her blinking ceased.

It was one of those moments that mean so much but leave you with so little to say.

Using the power of non-verbal communication and their deep affinity, she bestowed on him the most gentle, loving and grateful expression her face could muster after yet another exhausting shift.

Ethan extended his arm and before she realized it, her back was gently pressed to the older doctor’s chest. Having wrapped her slender frame with his broad shoulders, Elle inhaled his familiar aroma. He smelled of comfort and felt like a safe harbor. He nudged her hair with his nose and placed a featherlight kiss on the crook of her neck. She smelled of calmness and felt like coming back home from a long journey.

“So,” - he murmured directly into her ear - “whether you like it or not, I am using you to soften the blow every time I look at Tobias’ face.”

“I think I can live with that.”

“But I can’t guarantee it will always be enough, he is a cocky son of a bitch.”

“Let's make a deal then. I see how much it costs you and I’m not telling you to trust Leland or forgive Tobias, I still believe you should be cautious. Let’s just wait and see where this goes, I think we’ll know sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we should focus on what matters the most, our patients.”

“Where is the deal part?”

“If it turns out you were right, I will hold Tobias and you will punch him. Deal?”

“I believe it should be the other way round. Declan Nash’s face told me your right hook is exquisite, Rookie.”

They both laughed at the memory which seemed so distant now, almost as if it's happened in another lifetime.

But Ethan went quiet again and she felt his body tense up, his arms tightening gently around her. It wasn’t very obvious, but she knew. It still came as a shock how well she actually knew him.

“Ethan? What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Ethan.”

“I’m sorry, I am not the most cheery companion today. You’re probably better off not spending too much time with me before you turn into a cynic.”

“Dr Ramsey, what a pathetic attempt of trying to get rid of me. You’ve never been the most cheerful type and I’ve survived your gloomy companionship, hell, I think it grew on me over time. So I should be ok today, too.”

It looked like silence was very much their third companion today.

“I’m thinking about Francis.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m thinking about how hard it would be not to see. So many beautiful things, colors, all turning into nothingness.”

“I take it you mean the opera?”

“That too, but let’s just say I’ve learned to appreciate things that are right in front of my nose… literally and figuratively.”

The butterflies started somersaulting in her stomach.

“I didn’t want to add more to your plate at the time, but I’ve already felt this way… when we diagnosed Caroline and Leland.”

It was funny that, despite his obvious animosity towards Bloom, whenever his wife was in the picture, he spoke about both in an almost affectionate way. His doctor’s instincts were kicking in, because first and foremost he was a doctor who had his patients’ best interest at heart.

“The thought of not being able to touch you…it reminded me of touching you through the layer of hazmat suit. And now with everything Francis has been through, I just can’t be bothered to think about anything else but you. This is my true personal connection to this case.”

It was her turn to be speechless.

Ethan tightened his grip over her once again, this time protectively rather than out of stress. Slow hum started filling the air, the melody soon joined by lyrics, which he sang in fluent Italian; a private concert, performed for her and her only.

Tu pure, oh Principessa

Nella tua fredda stanza

Guardi le stelle

Che tremano d'amore

E di speranza**

She remembered their patient’s face, which seemed calmer once Ethan started singing the aria before the depths of illness contorted it with pain.

Francis' husband's words echoed throughout her head.

Even though the man holding her in his arms didn’t say it, there was no need.

She knew.

He will always be here.

And she will always be here, too.

-----

** Lyrics - aria "Nessun Dorma" (‘None shall sleep’) from the opera "Turandot".

Translation:

Even you, oh Princess,

In your cold room,

Watch the stars,

That tremble with love

And with hope.

Tag 🔖 list: @starrystarrytrouble @genevievemd @sophxwithers @maurine07 @lovingramsey @iemcpbchoices @oldminniemcg @schnitzelbutterfingers @archxxronrookie @jamespotterthefirst @the-pale-goddess @queencarb @fireycookie @qrkowna @coffeeheartaddict @utterlyinevitable @gryffindordaughterofathena @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @mrs-ramsey @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @mercury84choices @lisha1valecha @lucy-268 @stateofgracious @danijimenezv @alina-yol-ramsey

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #playchoices #ethan x noelle

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xutokawa · 3 years

Text

↬ dance with me | pt. 2

pairing: k.bokuto x fem!reader

genre(s): soulmate!au, soul-crushing angst, some fluff, childhood best friends to lovers

warnings: langauge

wc: 2k

» series masterlist

✧ updates every 1-3 days

a/n: heartbreak ahead!! you have been warned!!

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༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The world slowly shifted into focus as your bleary eyes adjusted to the familiar setting of your room. In all honesty, you didn’t want to get up. The thought of going to the bathroom to search every inch of your body just to confirm Bokuto would never be yours pained you. Rubbing your eyes, you slowly sat up until your eyes locked onto your wrist.

Confusion clouded your mind as you stared at the thick lines. The two black lines stared back at you. Was this a cruel joke? The two lines were situated in the same spot Bokuto’s were, except you were one line off from matching his. You scoffed as tears welled up in your eyes.

One line off from being soulmates, huh?

You cursed at the universe for dangling your happiness in front of your face. Tears began streaming down your face as your bedroom door opened, revealing your mother. Her smile immediately fell into a worried look as she took in your state, rushing to your side to cradle you in her arms. You wordlessly showed her your wrist, and she immediately understood. She knew Bokuto’s soulmate mark as he was practically a son to her, but she also knew of your feelings for the owl-haired man.

“I hate it,” you choked out, “out of all the soulmate marks I could’ve gotten, it had to be one just short of matching his.”

Meeting face to face with Bokuto seemed like the worst possible decision. You attempted to leave for school early, hoping to avoid him on the way and hiding in the library until classes started. That plan went down the drain, however, when you opened your front door to come face to face with Bokuto’s beaming face.

“Happy birthday, y/n!”

You couldn’t stand it, seeing his blinding smile. Your heart yearned for nothing more than to run into his arms, engulfed by his scent, but the burning on your wrist remained a reminder of what could never be yours. Mustering up the happiest smile you could, you beamed back at him, pushing your tears back, hoping he wouldn’t notice your red eyes. Unfortunately for you, Bokuto’s eyes immediately shifted into concern as he took in your puffy, red eyes.

“What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

Mind reeling into panic, you quickly looked away. There’s no way you could tell him you had been crying about your soulmate mark, so you came up with the quickest lie you could think of.

“I didn’t get a soulmate mark,” you whispered, looking down at your shoes.

The hug you had been yearning for earlier finally came. Familiar, strong arms tightly wrapped around your body as the wing spiker attempted to console you. You couldn’t help but give in to the tears, the situation being too much to bear.

“Shh, it’s okay! I’ve heard stories of soulmate marks appearing a little late! Maybe yours will appear tomorrow!” Bokuto tried to comfort you.

Sniffling, you pushed him away to look up at him. His large hands came up to wipe the tears from your cheek.

“Yeah, maybe that’s it,” you offered a small smile. Dread started pooling in your stomach as you realized you had to hide your soulmate mark from Bokuto, unconsciously pulling down the sleeves of your sweater past your fingers.

Attempting to lighten the situation, Bokuto held out the poorly wrapped gift he presented earlier, “Here’s your long awaited birthday gift!”

You reached out to grab it before the owl-haired boy held it above his head, just out of your reach.

“Nuh uh, I promised Akaashi we would give your birthday gifts together,” Bokuto said with a teasing smirk on his face. Rolling your eyes, you laughed at his ridiculousness as you pushed past him, beginning your trek to school. You walked for a while before turning around calling out to Bokuto. He hadn’t moved from his spot, seemingly deep in thought before you called out to him.

“Hey, owl boy! Hurry up! I want to open my presents!”

Turning around with a grin, he ran after you before falling in step next to you.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The two of you met up with Akaashi at the school gates. The setter immediately pulled you into a hug, wishing you a happy birthday.

“Thanks, Akaashi,” you smiled at him. The three of you sat at a table in the courtyard. The two boys placed their presents in front of you, and you giggled at the noticeable difference in the wrapping. Akaashi’s present had been neatly placed in a gift bag, tissue paper emerging from the top of the bag. Bokuto’s on the other hand, looked like he crumpled wrapping paper around the object, wrapping tape around the entire present in a spiral. You reached for Akaashi’s gift before Bokuto suddenly shot up.

“Oh, shoot! I forgot coach wanted me to see him before school!”

The wing spiker hurriedly started for the gym, calling out behind him, “don’t open your gifts yet, y/n! I’ll be right back!”

Both you and Akaashi chuckled at his forgetfulness before you yelled out, “Okay! You better hurry! No promises!”

Once Bokuto was out of earshot, Akaashi turned to you.

“Did something happen between you two?”

You looked up at him in confusion, “What do you mean? Nothing happened.”

“Your eyes are red and Bokuto doesn’t seem as energetic.” The later part of the sentence shocked you. Was Bokuto not as cheerful as he usually was?

“I may have cried this morning,” you sighed as you looked down. Wordlessly, you pulled up your sleeve and showed him your wrist. Akaashi’s eyes widened. He had long known about your feelings for the wing spiker.

“Why did you cry? Doesn’t this mean you’re soulmates?” Akaashi looked at you with wide eyes, “Why haven’t you told him?”

“Akaashi, are you blind? They’re not the same! It’s so fucking shitty that it’s so close to matching! All it does is taunt me,” you cried out in frustration.

“Y/n, are you serious? I thought you would’ve known this,” Akaashi looked at you puzzled, “yours does match with his!”

You looked at him with a confused gaze, “Stop messing with me, Akaashi. This isn’t funny.”

“Y/n, your soulmate mark completes Bokuto’s.”

Your eyes widened in shock as you froze. Heart hammering, your mind swirled in confusion. How had you not thought of this? Your friend’s soulmate mark worked the same way. The red semi-circle on her pinky finger was completed by her soulmate’s to create a full circle.

Imagining Bokuto’s soulmate mark, you realized Akaashi was right. The two thick lines on your wrist would perfectly fit between the three on Bokuto’s wrist, forming a black square.

“Wh-what do I do? I panicked this morning and told him my soulmate mark didn’t show!”

Akaashi let out a sound of surprise, “Really? You panicked so you told him you didn’t have one?”

Sheepishly, you scratched the top of your head as you avoided the setter’s gaze.

“I guess you’ll just have to tell him the truth later,” Akaashi sighed out, “you can’t lie to him about something as important as a soulmate mark.”

You quickly pulled your sleeve back down at the sight of Bokuto jogging back to where you and Akaashi were seated.

“I’m back! Hurry and open your presents,” Bokuto huffed out, unaware of the conversation you and Akaashi had. Staring at him in amazement, you couldn’t wrap your head around him being your soulmate. Unexplainable happiness bubbled in your stomach as a wide smile stretched across your face. Heart soaring, you couldn’t help but throw your arms around Bokuto’s neck. The spiker tensed under your touch, but easily melted into the hug, wrapping his arms around you.

He was yours. Your soulmate.

“What’s this for?” You felt the rumble of Bokuto’s chest as he chuckled.

Pulling back, you stared into his honey eyes.

“Just because,” you smiled at him.

“Can you just hurry and open our presents,” Akaashi groaned, rolling his eyes, “class is going to start soon.”

“Okay, okay, I am,” you chuckled as you reached for Akaashi’s present.

Pulling out the tissue paper, you peered into the gift bag, pulling out a gray hoodie. You squealed in excitement as you unfolded the sweatshirt.

“Akaashi! I can’t believe you got this!”

You had been eyeing the sweater for a while, never pulling the trigger on purchasing it because of the price tag. It was a simple gray sweater with white hearts embroidered above the cuffs. You adored the simplicity of the design.

“Now I don’t have to hear you complain about buying it anymore,” the setter chuckled.

You wrapped your arms around him with a quick thanks.

“Okay, now open mine!” Bokuto bounced his knees in excitement.

Pulling the wrapping paper off of his present, you inwardly blushed at the fact that this would be his first gift for you as a soulmate. After struggling through the layer of tape, you finally tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a velvet box. Heart hammering in your chest, you slowly opened the box to reveal a gold necklace. Dangling in the middle was a small diamond shaped pendant.

“It’s beautiful, Bokuto,” You beamed at him. A relaxed smile spread across his face.

“Thank goodness you like it, I knew you liked simple stuff but I didn’t know if this was too simple,” Bokuto said as he took the box from your hands, “Let me help you.”

Heat rised to your cheeks as you felt Bokuto’s finger brush across the back of your neck, sending tingles down your back. Your hand reached up to hold the pendant as you turned around, smiling at the wing spiker.

“Thank you,” you said, looking into his eyes. Akaashi was right. Undecipherable emotions filled his eyes as he stared back at you.

Akaashi pulled you out of your thoughts, standing up.

“Alright, I’m going to head to class,” he said, swinging his bag over his shoulder. Quickly gathering your things, you stand up, waving to him.

“See you at lunch!” you said, starting in the opposite direction, “you coming, Bo?”

Jumping as if he was shocked, Bokuto looked back at you from where he was seated.

“It’s alright, I’ll catch up with you later!”

Shrugging, you brushed it off, replying, “Alright, I’ll see you after class!”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Sitting through your first class was torture. Your mind ran through a million ways to tell Bokuto about your soulmate mark, before settling on just telling him the entire truth. Coming clean about your previous feelings and explaining everything that happened this morning seemed like the best option.

As soon as the bell rang, you rushed to find Bokuto in the hallways, finding him almost immediately.

“Bo! I have to tell you something,” you called out as you walked towards him.

“That’s perfect! I have something to tell you too,” Bokuto said, pulling you away from the crowded hallways. The two of you went outside, away from your peers.

“What did you need to tell me?” the owl-haired boy asked. You felt your heart in your throat as you nervously looked down. What if he rejected you as his soulmate? It was rare, but always a possibility. Training your gaze on his wrist, you opened your mouth, ready to tell him the complete truth.

A hand slipping into Bokuto’s stopped you in your tracks. You watched as perfectly manicured nails threaded between his. Slowly looking up, your eyes met with a familiar face. Glancing back and forth between her face and Bokuto’s avoiding gaze, you stammered out, “Wh-what’s this?”

“I guess I’ll tell you my news first, since we’re all here,” the spiker nervously laughed, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Machi here confessed to me this morning after you left, and obviously, I accepted,” Bokuto said as he raised the hand holding Machi’s between them.

Indescribable pain seared through your chest as you stared at their interlaced fingers. Your mind went blank as you lost feeling in your legs, unsure if you were even standing at this point. Heart shattered into a million pieces, you stared at Bokuto, confusion and hurt clouding your being. You waited for Bokuto to burst out laughing, making fun of you for falling for his prank. You waited, and waited, but the spiker refused to look you in your eye, training his eyes on a spot on the floor.

It was as if the world fell out from underneath you.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

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yuthoe · 3 years

Text

Day 22: Reunion (MONSTA X: Yoo Kihyun)

TODAY'S LATE PROMPT FOR MTM IS:

Day 22: Fake Dating

ah yes, one of the favorite tropes in fanfic and i did not do it justice at all lmao. truthfully i was really excited about this, but the fic took a left somewhere and grew its own mind or smth. i think the poor writing is a combination of burnout and getting really distracted lmao.

tried to make kihyun the savage guy that he is, but still polite and considerate and i think i did that???? question mark???? please tell me what you thought about this lmao, i've never been to a high school reunion (except for my grandma's) and will never go to one anytime soon.

PAIRING: Yoo Kihyun x reader. GENRE: fic, fluff, mild angst. WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol, swearing. WORD COUNT: 1,769.

---

“Act natural,” you say as you smooth down the lapels of your friend’s coat, dust some lint off the shoulders. “Like, just act like normal. We just have to say hi to a few people and then go after an hour or something.”

Kihyun is looking you over as well, straightening out the sleeves of your shirt and making sure your hair is nice and styled and perfect. “I’m taking that as a go signal to tease you in front of everyone then, gotcha.”

You roll your eyes and take his hand, tugging him towards the glass door of the events hall. “Very funny, but you know what? These people might buy it even more, so go ahead.”

He intertwines your fingers as he pushes the door open for you. There’s a smirk on his face that says you’re going to regret what you just said. “If you say so," he says, as you pull him along with you.

Everything is decorated like a senior prom from the early 2000s--balloons everywhere, streamers hung up on the walls, a disco ball suspended in the middle of the room. There's a stage set up at the far wall, and popular tracks from your high school days play softly on the sound system. People are already mingling, table hopping when they see a familiar face.

You go to the small registration booth off to the side, Kihyun in tow, and sign on the space next to your name, walking away quickly to find a table. It's easy to weave through the thin crowd to your spot, and thankfully no one goes up to talk to you as you settle in.

A relieved sigh escapes your lips as you deflate against the seat; Kihyun chuckles at the sight.

"Why are you so nervous? You were so confident when you asked me out,” he says, smirking at your flustered state.

“Hey,” you counter, sitting up straight and pointing at him. There’s a smile of embarrassment threatening to crawl up your face, but you force it down. “This isn’t a date. I didn’t ask you out—I respectfully asked if you could come with me to my high school reunion and pretend we’re dating. There’s a difference.”

He tilts his head and laughs. “Okay, fine, this isn’t a date. But you’re shaking like a hamster, dude. What’s got you so jittery?”

Before you can open your mouth to say something smart, a yell of your name behind you makes you stop. Suddenly a flurry of pink silk ruffles envelops you, cold metal bracelets press against your face and neck, and a tinnitus-inducing squeal is blasted in your ear.

“OMG, I can’t believe you made it!” The offending classmate plops down the seat beside you and… you can’t say you remember her. You know you have a questionable memory, but you can’t recall anyone with a scarily-toothy smile and long acrylic nails. “I was wondering if you were gonna show today, I missed you!”

You smile warily. “Yeah, I thought I’d stop by, just for a bi—,”

“And who is this with you?” she interrupts, gaze fixed on your friend now.

Kihyun still has a polite smile on, eyebrow raised and patiently waiting for you to introduce him. You meet his eyes and take a steadying breath.

“This is, uh. Kihyun. My boyfriend.”

Your batchmate immediately extends a hand out to him. “Hi there! I’m Danhee. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Kihyun grasps her hand and shakes it firmly. “Likewise.”

Danhee (apparently, that’s her name. Still doesn’t ring a bell.) turns back to you, props an elbow on the table and rests her chin on her hand. “So what have you been up to lately?”

“Oh, you know, nothing much,” you say, twiddling your thumbs under the table. “Work’s keeping me busy, mostly. It’s pretty—,”

“Great! How’d you two meet?” Her eyes are sparkling, in that menacing way you’re familiar with when someone is hunting for gossip. “Probably work, right? I know Y/N isn’t that outgoing so I doubt—,”

“You know what, I’m gonna go get a drink.” You turn to Kihyun, desperate to get away. “You want a drink, Kihyun? Cool, I’ll get you something.” The chair screeches as you push away from the table and make a beeline for the buffet.

The air conditioning helps cool down your flaming face as you leave to get some reprieve from the suffocating air of the table. No matter how much you wrack your brain you can’t seem to remember anyone named Danhee; maybe she was in another class and part of the popular clique, a group you tended to stay away from.

You take a deep breath, surveying the array of finger food and wonder briefly what the main dishes are. The arrangement is no different from the ones you’ve seen at company parties—save maybe for the small picket signs that have slang from your high school days speared into some of the food. Despite looking delicious, you feel nauseous at the thought of taking a bite.

The drinks corner offers coffee, the kind that tries to pass off as Americano but ends up tasting more like candy because people keep putting too much sugar in it. It’s what you and Kihyun call “conference coffee” and shit on for the entirety of the conference you’re attending, even as you keep drinking it because there’s usually no other choice. Water is an option, as well as a fruit punch of some kind. If you’re being honest, you’d really like a beer right now, but you know the alcohol won’t come out until later.

In addition to the mound of paperwork you forced yourself to finish earlier, this week has just been plain exhausting. You’d hoped that coming to the reunion would help you relax, but apparently not.

Ice cubes clink as they go down the tall glasses. The coffee, however sugary it turns out to be, still smells heavenly and wakes you up some. You water both servings down a bit, if only to tamp down the syrupy sweetness.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says, hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. Kihyun moves into your line of vision, brows slightly scrunched. “You okay there?”

You don’t answer, thinking of words to say that won’t make you look pathetic in front of your work partner. You’re usually great at explaining and justifying your actions to your superiors, but words fail you this time.

So you just shrug and hand him his drink. “Can’t say for sure.” You take a sip and cringe; your mouth feels like it’s coated in a thick layer of sugar. Kihyun watches you and decides wisely to put his drink down, but pours two glasses of water.

“Do you know her?” he asks, concentrating on the drinks.

“Danhee? Nah. I mostly avoided her type back then. Being around them made me uncomfy.”

“‘Cuz she looks like a part of the Plastics from Mean Girls?”

You scoff. “No,” you say, but smile all the same as you walk back to your table. “Because I was a loner and operated on the mindset of ‘I’m not like other girls’ throughout high school.”

Kihyun laughs loud. “God, I didn’t think you were the type.”

“Unfortunately, yeah.” You sigh as you sit back down. “Thankfully outgrew that in college, though. Turns out being surrounded with a lot of open-minded people does something to your personality, and,” you open your arms, presenting yourself to Kihyun’s amused smile. “Now you have me, your beloved hardworking partner that throws snark at you everyday.”

If anything, his grin gets wider. Kihyun raises his glass of water, and you toast. “I’m proud of you for becoming so mature.” He takes a drink, making faces like he’s downing whiskey instead of regular water. “Although, apparently not mature enough to just ask me out plain and simple.”

You want to strangle him, you really do.

He’s right, though. Part of the reason why you invited him as your plus one is for moral support and to show people that the wallflower can also nab a man as great as Kihyun. But the other reason is that you’ve wanted to ask Kihyun on a date, but just didn’t know how to without embarrassing yourself.

You sigh and take a swig of your water. “Yeah, well, can you blame me, though? We always keep professional at work and I barely see you outside the building, so I haven’t really gotten a chance to ask.” You’re not lying—Kihyun being here is only possible because you left the building at the same time last week and asked him then before you chickened out.

He tilts his head in assent and takes another sip before crossing his arms on the table to whisper at you. “How about we make this a date, then?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling like you can’t believe he suggested such a ridiculous thing. “What—here? My high school reunion that I only invited you to because I didn’t want to be alone?”

And maybe it’s the trick of the light, but you think you see his eyes go soft. “Well, yeah. I mean, it’s not ideal, but we’re here anyway. There’s free food, shitty coffee, and some entertainment.” He tilts his head to the stage, and you follow his gaze to where a couple of your batchmates are discussing something, mics in their hands. “Whether it’s the good kind of entertainment or the cringy kind though, we’ll find out soon,” you hear him whisper.

In theory, you have nothing to lose. Nothing really to hide. Perhaps the worst part of the night passed when you had that panicked moment with Danhee earlier, and all that’s left is to enjoy the night. You can still leave in an hour or two like you planned, but now with a higher chance of getting a few drinks afterwards, too.

So you make your decision and look back at him. “All right, Yoo Kihyun,” you say. “You’ve got yourself a date.”

His smile morphs into a smirk, the trademark confident grin making a small shudder run down your spine. You try to keep your composure as he slides a hand to your thigh. “Perfect. Wanna bet you’ll last an hour before you want to leave?” His fingers are massaging your knee, soft hands gentle on the meat of your thigh.

You scoff, grabbing at his hand to make him stop. “Deal. I’ll bet you an hour and a half.”

And before you turn your attention back to the stage, you see his smirk again, excited for the challenge.

#kdiarynet #monsta x #monsta x kihyun #yoo kihyun #monsta x kihyun scenario #monsa x kihyun imagine #kihyun scenrio #kihyun imagine #yoo kihyun scenario #yoo khyun imagine #monsta x scenario #monsta x imagine #fic: mine #fic: not spicy #fic: kihyun #theme: may trope mayhem 2021

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sanstropfremir · 3 years

Text

episode 9 baby!!! dear lord that was a lot!!

frankly, i'm still in shock that i full on manifested an opera stage, AND it was a rock opera stage at that! plus i got a jazz stage AND a taemin stage??? if they’re pulling out all my favourites now then what on earth are they gonna do in the finale??? this was a very overwhelming crop of stages, i thought i was going to be prepared, but oh no i was not prepared. i'm just going to get right into it because this one is gonna be long and i have many words. i'll discuss in airing order first, and then put my personal rankings for this round at the end.

btob

costume

changsub, you absolute king. spectacular. stunning. incredible. zoot suit riot playing in my brain on repeat. will i finally get the zoot suit revival of my fucking dreams instead of this current drab ill-fitting suit trend? for those who are wondering why in the fuck changsub is dressed like that and what on earth i’m talking about, the specific cut of suit that he’s wearing is called a zoot suit, which were popular in mexican, black and italian american communities in the 30s and 40s, until they were outlawed by the united states war production board as a fabric rationing method as part of the war effort in 1942. there was a huge amount of mob violence surrrounding the wearing of them (there were actual zoot suit riots) as they were direct counter culture fashion to the predominant drab trends of white americans at the time. i'm actually very impressed they got a proper (modernized) cut of zoot suit instead of just putting him in an oversized one; there are actually specific structural differences. the pegged trouser legs, large should pads, and knee length single breasted jacket are key features, and they were often in much more flashy fabrics than a pinstripe, but they get points for effort. i wish they had put all of them in zoot suits but he’s playing the ‘lead’ actor so i will begrudgingly forgive them.

eunkwang those are the stupidest sleeve garters ive ever seen i love them never take them off. they’re like someone decided to repurpose a suspender in the worst way. excellent. i do love that they’ve got three of them in oxford saddle shoes, another great touch.

love the three piece and the fedora* on peniel. it's also in a relatively close period cut; waistcoasts (vests) were generally cut much higher in the neck pre-war, we only start seeing the neckline slide down in the 60s (i think? i don’t remember when exactly). also love to see a proper sleeve and jacket length, it's good practice to have at least a finger’s width of sleeve cuff visible ahead of the jacket sleeve when hanging at rest. also looks like there’s french cuffs on everyone, which is also great.

minhyuk in his slutty lowneck shirt....thank you. in addition to the zoot suit revival i would also like a revival of those ultra low necklines on mens’ shirts from like 2010-2011. i don’t think those are the same boots from the backdoor stage but those are some beautifully cut boots. i also loved the little details of his crewmember look, especially the chunky watch and the string bracelets; those are super realistic, i know so many crew with them and i had several for many years. and who doesn’t love a visible button fly?

none of any of the other costumes are period in any way shape or form but i’m forgiving it because there’s several layers of meta in this stage, and they explicitly based it on la la land, even though we don’t respect la la land in this house. do i wish they had gone more strictly period with at least the jazz club ‘actors’ a little more? absolutely, but i'm not mad about it.

set

again we’ve got a good delineation of the two different ‘stages,’ there’s the club itself in the smaller stage and the soundstage set in the larger space. you can pretty clearly see all the ‘pieces’ of the set on the soundstage, especially the obvious set painting techniques on false prosc frame and the window facade from that first little scene. also the you can see the castors (wheels) on all the setpieces too, which is another nice little versimilitudinous** (triple word score!) touch, as old hollywood movies were made still using theatre stagecraft techniques.

i love how the visual shorthand for ‘this is a set wink wonk’ is just...leaving a ladder on stage. i see it all the time and it's so funny. it doesn’t always make sense because as soon as there’s actors on set the ladders are the first thing cleared because actors cannot be trusted, but yes there are always ladders, so. also psa ladder safety is no joke, please be careful on ladders.

nice streamline of the mnet deco into the club. i’m consistently surprised at how well the designers have been able to mask it or use it to their advantage, because in the normal kingdom stage lighting it is SO obvious and stylistic that it always sticks out.

i'm going to ignore the fact that they implied changsub and miyeon were drinking wine out of martini glasses.

lighting

no complaints, it does its job. everything is visible and super clear. love that the ‘scene’ changes are made through the lighting, it's a really simple and effective device to change atmosphere. purple/blue/amber are the most flattering colours on human skin and that’s why you see it so commonly in stage lighting. also blue/lavendar is the best way to show nighttime/moonlight.

really nice and subtle projection work, especially with the billboard bit and the blue moon sign in the club. despite being obviously meta/’world breaking’ it’s actually very seamless and fits well into the flow of the stage.

sound

i love love love the big band feel in the intro, combined with the piano lead. very duke ellington, as all things should be.

no complaints. i love big band. i love eunkwang’s voice. i have nothing else to say.

staging

i LOVE this movie within a movie within a performance meta nonsense! it's such a fun concept and it is exactly what i wanted ikon’s first round stage to be! i also love to see btob consistently coming up with concepts that are inventive and fun and allow them to showcase their technical performance skills without the aerobics the younger groups are putting themselves through. it provides a really lovely variety and it just goes to show that you can make impressive, dramatic stages without having to be serious or ‘dark.’

i do wish they had leaned into the band director/lead singer with eunkwang a bit more; this could have been a really excellent place for a tap number a la the nicholas brothers or an homage to cab calloway. i know i know this was meant to be la la land themed but la la land is a cheap and whitewashed version of jazz and look me right in the eyes and tell me this isn’t the greatest tap routine of all time. i know i’ve typed this out somewhere before but la la land is just a conglomeration of old hollywood tropes and so stylistically cheap that this would have such a better visual core if they had actually looked back at the real old hollywood musicals like stormy weather. even singing in the rain and an american in paris have such phenomenal visuals and are really beautiful examples of the scope you can pull off with a limited technical capacity and sticking to these old techniques.

now that i'm thinking about it, oh my GOD i would DIE for a lindy hop routine in kpop PLEASE. i know it would never happen because kpop doesn’t like partner dancing and not a single kpop boy has the chops but oh you think fourth gen has too many acrobatics?

this got off track but i think you see my point.

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ateez

costume

these are really sharply cut suits. and the detail work on the beading??? so beautiful. i'm disappointed that they gave me a rock opera stage without the true ridiculousness of rock opera costuming, because they could have pushed this a lot farther if they really wanted. a tragic lack of gay little outfits, seonghwa’s lace choker is just not enough! two favourite suits: hongjoong’s and yunho’s.

that being said i do actually really like these. this stage is actually very modern opera with a kpop twist and i'm a little surprised by that? i continue to be impressed by the ateez team who are clearly doing their research.

i'm absolutely not going back through their stages to check all the choreography but i wonder if you can track all the ‘wound’ placements to places they’ve been ‘hit.’ i wouldn’t put it past them to have put that thought in but also i’m not expecting that much either.

who is this white grim reaper bdsm executioner chain arm man. where did he come from. i have no idea and i love it.

why is honjoong blindfolded. it was such a fast beat, if youre gonna blindfold someone give it a little longer and some more obvious narrative weight!

seonghwa does that quickchange, runs across that massive stage to the smaller set, and gets into places in like 45 seconds. it's not the hardest quickchange in the world but still, under a minute is fast for any quickchange, especially when there’s travel time involved. i think the fastest, most complex quickchange i ever did was in university which was a 50s cocktail dress into a flannel and culottes with a shoe, hair, and jewelry change in 35 seconds. and that took three dressers. quickchanges are always impressive. the added bonus of this review being later is that i can specifically reference that you can see him book it the fuck off stage in the full cam!

cute moment with the backup dancers dressed in costumes from the previous stages. i'm assuming this is a time travel reference? i'll get more into my thoughts on this in the staging section. regardless, love to see that iconic seonghwa moment again.

set

this is such a restricted space! they really pared down their dancing space with those staircases and ....arms? honestly i have NO clue what these are supposed to be. the only thing i can maybe think of is flying buttresses??? but why?? i mean, i'm 90% sure theyre just there for drama and i agree but i do still have questions.

there’s a lot of moving parts in this set? the buttresses, and the upstage centre staircase. i don’t think the staircase is totally automated because i spotted some dancers securing it in place, but it’s still a moving part. i do really like that we get that expanding upwards energy, because it's really tough to get functional level movement in this kind of a performance, mostly because of its length and because it moves so quickly. so seeing the downward vertical movement and then the upward movement was actually a really nice visual contrast that made use of how tall those fucking ceilings are, and the fact that they had less horizontal space. in sort of similar way to sf9’s jealousy stage, using long, narrow vertical lines really makes it feel like a castle space. the interiors of castles, especially the really old ones, are a lot smaller than you think they would be.

i’ve actually seen that type of small house/tent/thing several times in various types of performances before, but i think this is the first time i’ve seen it used as a time travel device (other than in the say my name mv). aesthetically it's a bit incongruent but i dont really mind because i'm used to watching rock operas that look a lot weirder than this.

lighting

there is so much happening. i have NO clue what the projections are doing. i dont hate it though, so that’s a plus? there’s a clear-ish colour arc even if it does get a bit funky in the middle, which is why the projections dont feel as insanely distracting as some of the other stages we’ve seen.

the climax is a perfect example of how to light a busy stage with primarily red but still maintain clarity on the performers. a little bit of red goes a long way; the spark stage from last week would have looked so much better if they had done what the ateez designers did here.

sound

i know it's only ode to joy, but answer already gets my motor running and then i get so gassed by the guitars and then by the time those vocals come in i'm inconsolable. i don’t know why i wasn’t expecting a rock opera stage but i'm so glad i got that surprise because i genuinely love rock operas so much. it's two of the most dramatic genres in music, what more could you possibly want?

staging

the choreo for answer is so goofy that I'm kinda glad this was mostly terrible mnet boom shots. i love it, but you can't deny that it's goofy. i spotted a couple of moves from their other choreos as well?

choreographing dance fights is just as difficult as choreographing real fights and i think they did a fairly good job here. i think it was a solid mix of dance and conflict that erred on the side of dramatic rather than accurate and i prefer that over trying to be ‘realistic.’ i’ve only ever seen one truly realistic fight scene on stage and that was for a deeply naturalist play (boring and a waste of the medium), but the best fight scene i’ve ever seen was in the prague national ballet’s adaptation of kafka’s the trial where three ballet dancers beat the absolute snot out of the main character with the most beautiful leg extensions. that whole show was probably one of the best pieces of dance i’ve ever seen, holy fuck it was so good.

despite how insane the music and the visuals were going, i actually really liked how sedate this was, on the part of ateez’s performance. there was a really sophisticated and resigned energy from them that is very different from what we’ve previously seen and i think that was a pretty admirable risk to take. reaching the top and then throwing away the crown? especially in a competition where every other stage has involved stealing crowns or royalty and there’s a group competing that got here through that very concept? that shows a real maturity, peace of mind, and foresight that i did not at all expect from a bunch of 22 year olds.

here we come to a very interesting comparison. both ateez and tbz are very heavily leaning on previously established group lore. we all know my thoughts on why it isn’t working for tbz, but here’s why i think it is working for ateez: it's because it doesn’t matter to the audience’s understanding of the stage. i had absolutely no fucking clue what was going on the first time i watched this, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the music and all the weird shit they were doing. i totally believed that they understood what was going on. there’s a loose enough established conflict right at the beginning that draws us in, and really it doesn’t matter who they're fighting because they win in the end. the key here is that they’re so earnest. they believe 100% in every move they make on that stage. there’s no winks to camera, there’s not a drop of irony. they really deeply care about the ridiculousness of it all and that’s what makes it work. i sure as fuck dont know what’s going on, but i can see that they do, and i trust that. this is what i meant when i talked about convincing the audience you belong on stage in my stage presence post. i’ve never once believed that juyeon was anything other than an idol. he’s talented and very beautiful and he may occasionally stand on that stage like he owns it but it's always as juyeon. as an idol. but when hongjoong flaps around in that gigantic fur coat i 100% believe he’s a pirate captain. I believe he’s a punk rebel leader. i believe him a resigned king. there’s always a level of irony you have to fight as a performer because we all start from a place of disbelief. acting is not just lying to the audience, it's lying to yourself too. and if you succeed in convincing yourself? well, you’re already halfway to convincing us.

i checked it out because i wanted to see if they did the blindfold how i expected them to and was genuinely surprised by hongjoong’s fancam. the boy is EMOTING even when he knew the camera wasn’t on him; that’s a real dedication to craft.

ok i'm finished talking about this stage, this is over two pages in my document, there’s so many things i have not covered here but that’s fine, i'm quite sure any further thoughts will end up out there at some point.

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sf9

costume

let’s get it out of the way......crop top. crop top? crop top. crop top.

ok, besides the crop top, i think i might actually like the backup dancer outfits more...? i find mannequin adjacent looks really fascinating and i thought there was a lot more they could have done here in connecting the two thematically. i actually think a change of costume on the boys would have been very interesting, especially because there was a lot of inference and direct reference to changes of colour.

ALL the backup dancers are wearing the same wig and i LOVE that.

special mention zuho’s.....jacket? the right idea but it absolutely should have been one of those extreme french cut bodysuits, you COWARDS. don’t come at me with this ‘male version of venus’ if you don’t have your whole torso out! come on!

set

not sure if this is meant to be a department store, a factory, or a white cube gallery. honestly you could make the case that they’re all the same place anyways. more on this later.

i loved the movator and wish they had used it more! that sequence was so good and they could have done some more interesting repetition sequences to further highlight the ‘sameness’/the breaking of that sameness.

i feel like the set could have been used more as a whole? i would have loved to see some mannequin interactions with those boxes, because all they did was dump colour everywhere.

....why did they feel the need to include the rain bit? i know it's likely because it's in the mv and at the 2018 dream concert taemin does perform move in the rain, but with the standing still and the box walls with the words it just looks like a department store ad. which i...dont think is what they were intending?

lighting

nothing really to say here. it has a similar feel to the mayfly rap stage, which is fine because the lighting for that was good. i could tell what was going on all the time and that’s the most important part. notable standouts are the lips sequence, that's fun use of pop iconography and very effective, and the scanning lasers at the beginning.

the repeating sequence in the edm dance break is actually done pretty simply, it's just what happens when you point a camera that’s livestreaming to a monitor directly at that monitor. it's a very cool effect and it was neat to see it used intentionally, especially with the handheld leds.

actually i also really liked the lightbox tables, those were cool.

sound

the remix was fine for the most part, it was about what i expected it to sound like. i did however greatly dislike that unnecessary edm break in the middle. what was the point of that? it didn’t add anything to the overall sound or arc of the stage because it was SO out of place. there was no connective tissue around it.

oh i was also not a fan of the effect on zuho’s mic. no one else had a discernible vocal effect so it felt a little out of place. also for some reason his cadence and tone right at the end made me think of some of the voices that bo burnam uses for his vocal masque sketches/songs, especially repeat stuff, weirdly? took me right the fuck out of it. i listened to it again after i slept and i’m still getting it, so maybe i’m just going insane so best ignore this part.

staging

loved the mannequin tree, not a clue why it was there.

do actually think this is a successful cover because it does what i was hoping it would, which is take move completely out of the taemin context and put it into an entirely new one. however, i’m really struggling to figure out what exactly that new context is? and what theyre trying to say with it?

obviously they went for a ‘show your own colours/individuality’ vibe, like i said in the set section, where exactly is this supposed to be? from the start i get factory/mechanized environment, which is fine and grand because mannequins and making repetitive motions and products and all that, makes sense. but then there’s stacked shelving type units happening and curtains and that combined with the mannequins give me pretty big department store vibes, which is also fine, because that’s still a comment on commercialization and the mass production of product. but then we get to the movator and the repetitive movements of the dancers say pretty clearly factory, but the lighting and projections are very pop art referential, plus combining that with the white set, just makes me think of an art gallery. so now is this a comment on the commercialization and commidification of contemporary art? are they making a statement about being ‘real’ artists among the others who have lost the critical understanding of why pop art was even a thing in the first place? and then the rain bit at the end literally looks like a department store ad, so are they then making another statement that they still are that packaged product? maybe the episode has more clarity in it but i’m genuinely a bit baffled by what the underlying statement is here.

i suspect it is not as deep as i'm making it, but i did say that i was likely to be hyper critical of this stage AND i am a grad student, so here we are.

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tbz

costume

ok of all the ‘fourth gen’ style costumes we’ve seen, i actually like these ones more than most. i'm not entirely clear on the theme but i'm assuming it's meant to be post apocalyptic, and i'll take that.

backup dancers in black!!! we’re beyond this!!!

this will be a running theme with this stage, but i’m disappointed these don’t have more depth.

set

compared to every other stage, the set here seems especially plain. there’s so little set dec that it's disappointing. i do like the movement of the pieces themselves combined with the blocking; that first slide underneath the arches was slick and i would have liked to have seen more of that.

yea ok the big snake was cool and also a fairly complex build, but the transitions around it were a bit awkward for my tastes. especially the turn around, why did they even show that at all? you have control over what the audience sees, you can totally not show scenic transitions. skz were super smart about hiding theirs in last week’s episode.

also if you have a bigass puppet like that, i wanna see some more movement from it! it doesn’t have to be complex, we literally just saw a kraken balloon arm wave around aimlessly, but at least there was movement! that snake had a long ass body, why didn’t they at least take a pseudo dragon dance movement with it, that would have been such fun to watch with the iridescent scales. there was a lot of opportunity here!

lighting

i don’t hate it but also.... not a lot to say about it on the whole.

there were two really smart ideas here, the first being the front projection section, which i was SO glad to see! i explained in a previous review, but the projections in kingdom are not actually projections per se, because they’re actually massive led screens. there are two common types of projections in performance, rear projection and front projection. rear projection is when the projector is behind the screen, and front projection is ‘normal’ projection. rear projection can produce a crisper image because you have full control of the light values, because the projector is in a separate room from the performance space. but the downsides are that the projector has to be in a separate room from the performance space. so if you’re short on real estate, it's not ideal. front projection is much more common, because the tech is a lot cheaper and easier to access, especially now, and it requires less real estate because you can ceiling mount about the audience (you can move a projector wherever, this is just the most common spot in commercial theatres). but! in order to get an actually crisp image, you have to be really careful with your light bounce. it’s exactly the same principle as how you kinda can't see a projected screen when you have all the lights turned on, but when you turn them off it's a lot clearer. front projection works best in pitch dark, so when you use it in a theatre you gotta be smart about it. i use front projection a lot in my personal art practice as a singular light source, and that’s what tbz did here in that traveling/snake intro sequence. it’s a really fun technique that they used as a good gimmick because it’s not something we’ve seen before, and you get some great shadow effects because the projector is throwing light directionally at the performers (they have it set up close to the floor, it’s probably on a wheeled cart of some kind). however i did not like the snake intro. a bit too cheesy and out of place, especially because the asset quality didn’t match the rest of landscapes that we have been seeing.

the second smart idea, which is partially also a set and blocking thing but whatever, was that final image of the eclipse within the circle architecture with all the members standing in front of it. it was a great shot and a great ending pose, but it felt like a concept photo. like someone had that image as the idea that they then built the stage around, instead of a narrative first and then imagery after.

sound

this remix had SO much promise! those first two minutes were SO GOOD. i love that dirty discordant strings bit, it's gross and right up my alley. but it really fell off in the back half and i'm sad about that.

staging

i'm sorry tbz but.....what did you actually do differently than exo here? with the exception of the continual game of thrones references? nothing here felt transcendentally different from the original monster. and especially coming RIGHT after sf9’s move, which did go beyond its original context. this feels more like an awards show stage cover than a stage at the level of the others we’ve seen just this episode.

again like with the skz stage, there’s no conflict here. no tension. yes they do a great job covering the dance but it just isn’t enough! this is obviously personal preference and i'm sure lots of people liked the fact that it was uncomplicated, but even just a hint of narrative tension could have pushed this into more engaging territory. and if they didn’t want to do that, i would have loved to see them make up for that with extra visual spectacle. this is the no limits round! ikon is putting a full jungle on stage and these are grey cubes!

i think this is a perfect example of what i talked about at the end of my tbz section in my episode four review; this is a good performance, there are good elements at play and good ideas at their genesis, but the core of the issue is that nothing about this is transformative. all of the ideas here are just exaggerations of the original song. fuck, the snake was even IN the mv! and they didn’t even include the best part which is the lip chains! ive said before and i'll say it again; being a good artist has two steps, the first is understanding the material and its context, and the second is elevating the material from that context and synthesizing something new. tbz are really good at the first step, but terrible at the second.

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ranking

btob - the cleanest and the most fun of the round. everything i wanted.

sf9 - fun and a good cover, despite being conceptually baffling.

ateez - very extra dramatic nonsense with an unexpected dose of sincerity. and it’s rock opera, of course i love it.

skz - fun, with some good thematic devices but generally lacking in arc. also australian accents, that’s an automatic ding.

tbz - honestly the first two minutes of the remix and the costume are holding this above 6th. it just wasn’t fully formed.

ikon - aesthetically this is a great set design and although i do love the opening and closing moments, everything else scrapes me the wrong way. super personal preference here, i’m not expecting anyone else to agree with me.

i feel like my rankings were probably pretty easy to guess if you’ve been around reading the reviews for long enough. i do have very specific tastes after all. i know sf9 ranked first in the episode but i have no idea what the other slots are. i’ll find out when i watch the episode in a couple of days, but i think yea a first for sf9 is fair. i do think its mostly because it’s a taemin song and you have to do something horrendous in order to fuck up a taemin song, but there is a lot of thought and work that went into that stage.

ok i'm done now, sorry this was later than usual, but i was busier and there were four stages that i had to review. also technical difficulties because tumblr is a garbage platform and nothing works properly. comments/questions/opinions always welcome, i know i didn't expand on a couple of points that i could have so hopefully y'all have some thoughts too!

* the type of hat that ~society~ has told you is a fedora is actually a trilby. what peniel is wearing is a real fedora, i felt the need to correct this unjust hat malignment.

** meaning ‘the appearance of being true or real.’ you do sometimes hear it used by normal people, but it’s more commonly used as a descriptor in film and theatre. it’s also one of the five rules of neoclassical theatre, which are: versimilitude, purity of form, five act structure, decorum, and purpose. the most prominent playwrights from that era are moliere and racine if youre interested in what those look like in an actual text.

#kingdom #kingdom review #btob #ateez #stray kids #the boyz #sf9 #tumblr is so broken it would NOT let me save this as a draft #does my constant hyperlinking make you angry tumblr? too bad im gonna keep doing it #i played in a jazz band in school for seven years #which is another indicator as to why i am like this #one of the first songs i remember learning was zoot suit riot #i have very strong memories of yelling RIOT during performances #i will however forever question the logic of our band teacher making us learn a song written by 'the cherry poppin daddies'#christ on a bicycle this is TEN pages #and it took a full eight hours last night and then i did like two hours of editing after i woke up #maybe i should go back to bed #ah i forgot to tag ikon again lmao #ikon #kpop analysis #text #if there are any spelling errrors do not tell me im tired of reading this #im pretty sure this is my longest review so far i decided to hate myself and did a wordcount #its 5.2K you're welcome you better get a snack for this one #i hope this is an interesting read for people ive lost all objectivity at this point #pls enjoy my semi-comprehensible word vomit!

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remys-lucky-franc · 3 years

Text

I’m Bringing Sexy Back (To Regency England) - Immortal Heart Society

So this happened because I referred to new series IHS’s baddie Lord Montague as ‘Lord Timberlake’ due to the coiffuring similarities and it made @aquagirl1978 LOL and she made me this:

See how alike they look though?! I’m not crazy.

Literally no one in the world wants this fic, and it’s just stupid, but I had a giggle writing it, so 😆 Also, I genuinely know nothing about JT, if any of you are superfans and I’m way off, it’s just a bit of fun, no ill intent or offence meant 💕

Also it’s just in time for all the good old memes... (At the end if anyone needs a ref point)

Word Count ~3500 (yeah, I’ve gone off)

[MORE] [[MORE]]

In the grandiose but soulless marble bathroom of the Boston penthouse, Justin squeezed his eyes tight-shut, splashing his face with frigid water. He inhaled sharply as the moisture hit his skin, opening his eyes and staring intently at the reflection mirrored back at him. It had been quite a night so far. He’d been courted by ‘The Society’ for a couple of months now and on receiving their latest invite, he had finally acquiesced. Over the course of the evening he’d exchanged pleasantries and mingled with a fusion of intriguing individuals - all very different, very separate people, but all who clearly had gotten the memo: convince him to join. Justin suspected before he arrived, from the exclusive address on the invite alone, the sort of members The Society would have on its roster and he wasn’t surprised - even if most of them were no more than masked silhouettes. Initially when he had exited the elevator and caught sight of all those shaded faces, Justin’s heart stuttered: had he inadvertently accepted an invite to some sort of sexy party? How would he explain this one? ‘Hey Honey - funny story...’ But it didn’t take long to deduce that the disguises were all part of the prestige and served as identity protection rather than a conduit to anyone having any real sort of fun.

The mixer itself had been entertaining enough, but the hushed secrets shared in the drawing room were what had piqued his interested and saw him hiding in the restroom searching his own soul for answers. He’d been trading anecdotes with a handful of members before he was interrupter by a well dressed blonde and ushered through a side door, where he was greeted with a firm handshake by one of the top men within the society (apparently), Richard - Something. Initially Justin had smiled but internally rolled his eyes as he considered how these shady types only ever give out their first names - and how that felt particularly unfair when everyone here knew fine well what his surname was... Richard was perfectly charming and charismatic - in the same faux-caring, calculating way politicians are as they try to snare floating voters. His smile was bright and his words were warm, but his eyes were a stark contrast. The Society’s hoi-polloi were obviously deemed to have played their part in warming him up and now Richard was here to give him the hard-sell: and sell he did.

And at first, it sounded relatively normal. At first. Until Richard started with tall tales of how society members held all of the power in the world through power stones. Initially Justin got to his feet and scoffed - weren’t crystals just for spa days and hippies? This had to be a set up. He scanned the room looking for any clue of a hidden camera, Ashton Kutcher’s sneakers showing from behind a curtain perhaps - but nothing. It all sounded truly ridiculous, but as Richard stood, laying a firm hand on Justin’s shoulder, directing him towards a plush chair, pouring him two fingers of whisky, something held him; fascinated him. Stopped him from barging straight out of the room. Justin observed in silence as Richard thumbed through various documents, showing him photographs, pulling up search data online... Explaining. Convincing. Persuading. Justin didn’t trust the suave smarmy suit as far as he could throw him, but the more Richard divulged of the spiderweb of societal involvement in major global events and current affairs, the more sense it made... And in spite of himself, Justin started to succumb to this strange reality. Every word out of Clever Dick’s mouth was revelational, peeling away one layer after another, after another, until Justin’s mind was blown; his brain hurt the same way it did the first time he watched Inception. He couldn’t bend his mind around why Richard was telling him all this, or why a collective more powerful than The Walt Disney Company would want a musician to join their ranks? Richard shrugged coolly as he continued to play for Justin’s buy in, simply smiling and saying that, as a big pop star, it would be quid pro quo - a very mutually beneficial arrangement. The society had access to the best labels, the best A&R departments, they could get Justin as much airplay, fame and publicity as he wanted.

Justin couldn’t deny it sounded appealing - but what did they want in return? So far it was all ‘quid’ and no ‘quo’. He had to ask. Even the easy, practiced grin on Richard’s face couldn’t offset the glint of ice in his dark eyes and menace in his voice that chilled Justin’s blood.

“Justin, come! Everyone knows that music is what shapes the youth of today! The influence wielded by artists, the loyalty inspired by them, their marketability, it’s simply insurmountable! Think about it, dear boy? If The Society control the music, they control the populace.”

Justin cleared his throat as he sized himself up, readjusting his skinny black tie and squaring his shoulders. Richard must be insane. The Society’s logic was fatally flawed: they couldn’t seriously think that it was possible control the entire world’s population through having a singer in their ranks? It was infeasible. Impossible. But what they were offering him in exchange? Now, that was a very attractive proposition indeed. If he agreed to join, and got all of that out of it, it would be worth it? The Society would surely realise at some point that they couldn’t rule the world through the power of song? Yes, the power of a one-line harmony had already been proven by McDonald’s to sell a shit-tonne of burgers - and while it was a pretty convincing argument, selling fast-food to hungry people was one thing - but full-scale global domination?? That was something else entirely. But if he could ride along on their coat-tails and reap all the benefits until they realised just how crazy that idea had been in the first place...

—- two years later —-

Cash carded his hand through his dark hair, exasperated as he listened to Alana’s latest report, “You all understand that Timberlake is completely out of control, yes?”

Emilio grunted flatly as his head fell into his crossed arms on the table like a five year old ready to play heads-down-thumbs-up, “Yeeeeees.”

Cash bristled further as he looked to Rafe and Kiran for their input, both simply nodding back at him as though to say, ‘yes, we know.’

Alana looked down at her phone, worrying her full bottom lip between her teeth, “It’s worse than you think though, Cash.”

He was instantly on his feet staring at her, Rafe and Kiran leaned forward and Emilio raised one weary brow from his slumped pose, concern evident on all their faces.

Kiran was first to speak, “Alana how can it be worse? Richard’s vanished off the face of the earth. Justin’s last billboard count had him go multi-platinum - again, and his lyrics are becoming...”

Rafe offered flatly, “Odd.” He stood, cracked his neck from side to side and headed towards the small stove, absentmindedly filling a saucepan with water and a packet of instant noodles.

Cash shook his head at Rafe then turned back to glower at the rest of the Inner Circle, “Thank you all for the recap. It’s bleak, we know. Alana?”

Green eyes fixed the room as Alana cleared her throat and mouthed, “One hundred and ninety-four.”

Dumbfounded silence filled the room; jaws hung slack. Until Kiran broke the spell, a spluttering cough turning into an uncomfortable laugh, “One hundred and ninety-four what? Because I know you definitely can’t mean stones. We know the exactly location of over fifty percent of them? They’re safe?”

Rafe, back at the table with his ramen by now, paled as Alana shook her head at a loss for words, red curls bouncing around her shoulders, “How is that possible?”

Alana threw her hands in the air, confessing “I honestly don’t know. But he has ones that we knew the location of, and more besides.”

Cash paced the room, clearly agitated as he cursed and barked,

“That’s every stone in existence, except ours and one other.”

Alana puffed out her cheeks before huffing out the breath sharply, “Correct. He has the lot, excepts ours - and the Garnet.”

Emilio’s hand slid under his shirt, a double-check to be sure his Alexandrite remained firmly on the chain hidden beneath the dark fabric, fiddling with it like a child with a comfort blanket as he spoke, “I- I just don’t understand. How? How did he get so many without us knowing?”

Rafe shrugged as he shovelled a spoonful of noodles into his mouth and chewed thoroughly before answering, “Richard’s protege. His pet project. Nothing surprises me when he’s involved. Everything he touches gets tarnished.”

Alana sighed sadly, “Justin seemed like such a sweet guy when he first joined. I really liked him. I thought he could have been part of our Inner Circle someday.”

Rafe shot her a rueful smile before looking down into the noodles, “Same. He changed. Fast.” Coiling his fork in a thick helping, he swung them into his mouth without ceremony.

Cash pinched the bridge of his nose, stopping pacing for long enough to stare and snap at Rafe,

“What is it with you and those blasted ramen noodles??”

Rafe shook his head silently as though to say, ‘I don’t know’: he wasn’t entirely sure why, but every time someone mentioned Timberlake, he couldn’t stop himself from carb-loading. All he wanted a big bowl of ramen in his belly and he couldn’t think about anything else until he was full of noodley-goodness. He’d eaten more instant ramen in the past couple of years than he did during college, and that was saying something.

Kiran cut through the atmosphere between the two men, venturing, “So how are we going to shut him down?”

—-

Richard had been missing for months, and although all trails had gone cold and no one was one hundred percent clear on what had happened to him, there was very strong suspicion within the group of five that Justin had something to do with it. How else had he managed to acquire almost every power stone in existence? He must have dispensed of Richard and taken them for himself - there really didn’t seem, to be any other explanation. The Inner Circle had been aware that Richard was hoarding stones, but his haul had escalated significantly and quickly with Justin by his side - at the Circle’s last count maybe six to eight months ago, Richard only had sixty-five stones in his custody. The dirty duo had been busy.

Emilio shuddered solemnly as he thought about what must have happened to the rightful owners of those stones. He was at the tower with the Inner Circle, minus Cash. Cash would arrive soon, bringing Justin to the table with him. Creating a rouse of support, and then double-crossing him to recover the power stones had been deemed the only feasible plan. Emilio watched the rest of the group: Rafe stirring at a saucepan at the small kitchen set up, Kiran flipping aimlessly though a fashion magazine and Alana tapping at her cellphone. They were all feeling nervous about this, the stakes had never been so high. He scrubbed his brow as he ran through the various scenarios of what could possibly happen with Cash and Justin arrived.

He didn’t have long to wait as the door opened and laughter reverberated around the room. Cash was manoeuvring Timberlake expertly, and Justin seemed to be lapping up everything he said. A round of smiles and handshakes later everyone sat around the table, eyes expectantly on Cash.

“Justin, firstly, thank you for joining the group here today. As you know, with Richard... Let’s say, elsewhere. I’ve been standing in as the ‘interim leader’. And I’ll be frank, Justin, I always thought it would be for me, but it’s not. And it takes a lot for me to admit that. I can do the decision-making, the negotiations, but what I cannot abide is dealing with attitudes and egos all day long.”

Rafe chortled, “He thinks he should be the only one allowed an attitude and an ego!”

Justin grinned and visibly relaxed within the larger group.

Clearing his throat irately, Cash gestured towards Rafe, “Exactly what I’m talking about. Justin, my calling doesn’t lie in leading The Society. I am more interested in having a less ’public facing position’ shall we say, where I can really put my true talents to use. And that’s why I invited you to sit with us today, Justin.’

Timberlake nodded enthusiastically, “ I see.”

Cash stood, wearing a trail in the carpet as he walked back and forth,

“What are your goals, Justin? We understand you must be distraught about Richard’s disappearance, you two seemed close. Do you have aspirations for The Society’s Leadership? We’ve been observing you for some time, and feel that we could all benefit each other within this little group, everyone here wants to progress and wants ‘more’. And we feel like you may have some ideas that could help us all to achieve just that.”

Justin leaned back in his chair observing the group sat around the table. Of course he knew what his goals were. He’d never really considered leadership of The Society until recently - his mind had been consumed with his plan for ultimate pop domination over the past two years. And he’d progressed so far that it was within his grasp - and that was when he and Richard had begun to clash. Badly. Richard’s vision was so- So limited. He couldn’t see Justin’s potential past being a Society tool used to control the public. Justin knew his worth, he was more than a tool for Richard to implement as he saw fit. He felt the anger bubble inside him as he recalled the final fight with Richard. They could have controlled the entire world together: why couldn’t Richard have seen that? Why couldn’t he have got on board with Justin’s plans? As he sized up the twelve eyes watching him, he thought about the dozens of power stones locked securely in the safe in his apartment: these people could see his strength. His power. His star ascending. He leaned forward, his decision made,

“I have acquired many power stones and my plan is, to use our time-travelling abilities to go back in time and wipe other pop stars from existence, so that I am the single biggest pop star in the world today. Then with my influence, The Society will control everything. We, friends, will control the world.”

Alana and Kiran eyeballed each other as the men nodded at Justin.

Kiran interjected,

“There’s no doubt that The Society would benefit from that sort of influence, but what about all of the damage that would be done to culture and humanity without artists?”

Justin looked confused as he stared at her, “But they’d still have me?”

Kiran chewed the statement over before asking, “And who are you going after? Are we talking about Elvis? The Beatles? Frank Sinatra?”

Justin waved a hand as though he’d practiced this very conversation in the mirror a hundred times, “No, no. Only today’s artists. I can’t disrupt anyone who directly or indirectly influenced my career. Butterfly Effect and all.”

The Inner Circle nodded sagely as Justin continued, “And when my plan is complete, who, I ask you, will be the biggest pop star in the world??”

Alana glanced up grimacing, “I don’t know Justin, I mean Lady Gaga is pretty huge? Iconic, even.”

Emilio shook his head, “Right now, Ariana Grande’s the biggest artist in the world, I read it somewhere.”

Justin fixed them both with an affronted stare, “But think about it, if none of them ever existed... Then who would be the biggest pop star in the world?”

Alana and Emilio exchanged a world-weary glance as Justin cackled, “Guess what? It’s gonna be me.”

Rafe scrunched his nose, confused, speaking through a mouthful of ramen, “May? What? Are the Emmy’s not always in September?”

Cash shotshim a withering glance before grinning at Justin, “You’ve thought a lot about his haven’t you?”

Justin, visibly flattered, shrugged off Cash’s praise, “Just a little.”

Cash leaned towards Justin conspiratorially, “So tell us, what more do you need to make your dreams a reality, and how could we, as a group, facilitate that?”

—-

Over the next few weeks the Inner Circle had planned for two consecutive missions. One intricate scheme with Justin, that involved him travelling back over two hundred years to Regency England to secure the Garnet power stone from a Lady Foxworthy. And their own private secondary mission that involved luring Justin back to Regency England where there was no power stone to be found.

When the day to venture back in time arrived, Justin paraded around the tower preening in the mirror at his era-appropriate garb. Kiran had stitched it to perfection, a beautifully embroidered waistcoat over his cravat, fitted cream pants and a midnight blue, velvet long-tailed coat that really made his eyes pop. Rafe let out a low whistle, winking at Justin’s reflection in the mirror, “Looking sharp! Nice work Kiran.” This look was a definitely a step up from double denim!

Kiran moved around Justin turning him, dusting down his shoulders, “Oh hold up, you have a thread. Let me just get that for you. Can’t have you looking less than perfect!” She reached for her scissors and touched the back of his jacket whilst swiftly clipping a tuft of hair from the back of his head.

The corners of Cash’s mouth quirked upwards at her almost imperceptibly as he spoke, “Very elegant, good Sir. You look quite the part.”

Justin gave Cash a delighted twirl to show off his new threads before performing a low, sweeping bow - completely unaware of his missing locks - speaking in a haughty-sounding English accent, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Tarkhan, I am Lord Timberlake.”

Alana had to swig at a cup of water to stop herself from bursting into peals of laughter, it was like the only English person he’d ever heard speak before was Queen Elizabeth herself! Cash raised an eyebrow in her direction before addressing Justin, “You’re definitely comfortable travelling back alone, because it would only take Alana here a few minutes to change into something suitable and accompany you?”

Justin waved a hand dismissing the suggestion, quite honestly he didn’t want anyone cramping his style. It wasn’t Justin’s first time in Regency England - when he and Richard had travelled there previously he’d had a ball. He had exactly eight hours to get there, get the Garnet, have some fun in a previous era and get back - and then. Then a whole new era would begin. His era... Leader of the most powerful Society in the world and the biggest pop star in history. Justin grinned as he stepped forward, placing his hands around the ornate pocket watch and beginning the arcane chant to begin his voyage through time. The rest of the Inner Circle joined the chant, turning back the clocks within the tower as Justin’s world started to blur at the edges, drifting backwards through two hundred years of history.

After Justin was gone, a series of stealthy grins were exchanged around the group. Emilio breathed a sigh of relief, “We did it.”

Kiran tossed the little velvet bag with Justin’s hair inside to Cash - their insurance policy, should he need to be dealt with ‘more permanently’ at a later date. Today’s plan didn’t involve the singer being turned into a surprised-looking statue, just giving him an extended stay in Regency England instead... The garnet wasn’t there - in fact, there were no stones left there. It was common knowledge within the Inner Circle where the garnet was: firmly on the finger of Richard’s blissfully unaware and estranged daughter - passed down by his long-missing wife. A point that Timberlake was sadly remiss of: they all had banked on Richard never disclosing a topic so sore as his failure as a father out of pure pride and vanity - and they’d been correct...

Now there was nothing more to do than wind all the clocks back to the correct time, then sit and wait until Justin would try to get back.

—-

Seven and three-quarter hours later, the group within the tower saw a blurry portal loom in the corner of the room. Suddenly alert, they listened intently as Justin’s voice crackled through,

“Rafe, Cash, guys! Are you there? Help me! I can’t... I can’t get back! Alana?? The ritual, it’s not working, I’m not fading back through??”

Cash drawled as he examined his fingernails, looking thoroughly bored,

“Ah, so our little ritual worked then. Good to know.”

The passage through time became narrower and narrow as a sickening realisation suckerpunched Justin, panic rising like bile in his throat, “You... You did this on purpose!! You screwed me over!! You bastards!!!!”

As the portal flickered and shrunk to no more than a pinhole, echoes of the roars of their names reverberated around the room, until the gap sealed itself trapping Lord Timberlake in Regency England for ever more. Silence settled over the tower for a few moments, until Rafe glanced up at the rest of the group thorough his sweeping fringe, a smirk slowly stretching from ear to ear as he shrugs,

“Cry me a river...”

#immortal heart society #lovestruck

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Me and You Together, 5/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! i won’t bore u with a big long a/n but i will say thank u so so much for everyone that’s shown this fic love and been supportive to me over the writing process of this chapter, it means the world. this one has a content warning for…drumroll please…smut! enjoy u slaaaags xo

last chapter: October- The gang made plans for their first year together, Tia gave everyone plans for the evening, and A'whora had a realisation that would change the dynamic of her friendship with Tayce forever.

this chapter: February- Tayce has always hated Valentine’s day. But will hatching a plan with Lawrence and spending the day with A’whora change her opinion on it this year?

***

Tayce thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle that they’ve not been caught yet.

Honestly, she should’ve known how her and A’whora attempting to sneak around would go from the start; it’s not as if either of them are subtle people. Between A’whora always needing people’s eyes and attention to be on her and Tayce simply being unable not to attract attention, it’s hard for either of them to be covert in any way, shape or form.

The first time (or first three times in quick succession) back last month had been easy enough; by the time Bimini, Lawrence and Ellie had returned back to the flat from their day drinking expedition with Ellie’s friend they’d all been too drunk to see their hands in front of their faces, never mind notice that Tayce’s room smelt of sex and that A’whora’s top was on back to front. But living with four other people and trying to find a time where they’re all out of the flat at the same time is like gold dust, so a lot of the time Tayce and A’whora will disappear to one of their rooms (ten minutes apart, so as not to attract suspicion) and then have to spend the entire rendezvous talking in hushed whispers or biting down hard on their lips or whining into their pillows to make sure nobody boots down the door and demands to know what’s going on.

Still, even if it’s quiet and covert, Tayce is nothing short of addicted to this new layer of the relationship she has with A’whora. There’s something intoxicating about giving A’whora what she wants: it’s in the way her big, pleading doe-eyes flutter shut in ecstasy, the way her lips drop open from a bratty pout into a blissful gasp or a too-loud moan that makes Tayce feel like clamping a hand over her mouth. It’s surely only a matter of time before the others find out and ruin this whole thing for them so Tayce wants to make sure A’whora doesn’t blow their cover, because there’s part of her that loves keeping it all under wraps like it’s their own little secret they share.

Besides, the sight of A’whora biting down hard on her knuckles when she’s trying desperately not to make a sound is never one that Tayce is going to pass up on.

It’s the way she goes quiet when things get intense and Tayce has to draw her words out of her like she does her orgasm, because aside from the fact that she needs to know if A’whora’s enjoying everything Tayce is doing, the way she starts blushing whenever she tells her what she wants or how good something feels is sinful enough to make Tayce believe that maybe hell wouldn’t be so bad.

The juxtaposition of the devilishness A’whora manages to radiate whilst looking like and talking with the voice of an angel isn’t lost on Tayce. The way she’s so eager to please, the way she always asks if everything’s okay, the way she’ll look up from between Tayce’s legs with that ever-so-slightly deer in the headlights look with her juice smeared across her lips like gloss and wait for Tayce to tell her everything feels amazing before she’ll relax, and a mischievous grin will take hold on her face before she’ll continue pushing her increasingly closer to the edge. Tayce had always thought praise kinks were a myth but A’whora is the living Kelpie that disproves her theory. She only ever needs to tell her that she’s a good girl, or that she’s pretty, or that she’s perfect (usually with a princess tacked onto it for good measure) for A’whora to whimper and beg, greedy and impatient. The way she reacts to the praise is enough to make Tayce want to keep giving it, so she supposes the relationship is a symbiotic one.

It’s funny the way they seem to swap personalities in bed. Tayce- who usually can’t shut up or slow down if her life depended on it- likes hushed giggles, breathy gasps, biting hard on her lip to make sure she’s not too loud. She likes to draw out the foreplay and teasing until they’re both burning up and so wet they drip down their thighs and onto the sheets, and when she fucks A’whora she’s always painstaking and precise, slow and languid. A’whora, for her part, is the opposite. She moans and whines and bucks her hips in the air, always desperate for satisfaction and to satisfy Tayce in return. She knows exactly how to push Tayce to the edge and then over it and she never wastes a minute getting there, sometimes ripping two or three orgasms from her in quick succession with nothing short of relentless, smug determination. They shouldn’t work together but Jesus Christ, they do.

It’s because of all this that the way they sneak around has become a kind of foreplay for them. The trips to the smoking area on nights out just so Tayce can back A’whora against the wall and crash her lips against hers needily. The squeeze they’ll give each others’ thighs under the table if they’ve all gone somewhere for dinner together, and the twinkle in both of their eyes acting as a promise of things to come later. The text A’whora gives Tayce from the sofa opposite as they’re all sitting around watching whatever shite Tia has stuck on that simply says “i want to 👅 your 🐈 until you 💦” which makes Tayce almost choke on whatever she happens to be eating or drinking.

But she supposes the rest of her flatmates have been too wrapped up in their own feelings to even notice her and A’whora’s lack of subtlety. The end of January saw Tia finally make things official with Veronica who she’d been seeing for a few months already, so she’s been bouncing around the flat with a spring in her step and a permanent smile on her face and always humming or singing a cheerful tune under her breath. Tayce is happy for the girl, she really is, but even she has to admit the pair of them acting like little loved-up Sylvanian Family squirrels is vaguely nauseating; the way they’ll nuzzle each others’ noses while curled up together on the sofa and the way they happily belt along to Heathers while they make pancakes together at eight in the morning on a Sunday, which is never the hangover cure they seem to think it is.

In stark contrast, Ellie has been stomping through the flat for the past few weeks or so as if she’s an assassin with a bounty on Cupid. At literally any mention of love or romance she’s there with a fake retch or a huge roll of her blue eyes, talking about how she wishes every couple on earth would drop off the face of it. She has stark disregard for Tia’s happiness, preferring instead to wallow in her own misery. It’s immature and it’s petty and it’s completely ridiculous but Tayce supposes Ellie is hurt and heartbroken, and Tia and Veronica are getting the brunt of it because they’re the root cause.

If Ellie is bad then Lawrence is worse. If Ellie is pissed off then Lawrence is woeful, and she’s not much better whenever she’s forced to be around the flat’s new couple. Her usually cheerful jokes poking fun at her various flatmates are now entirely based around how single she is, all delivered as if Eeyore had a stand-up set. There’s only so many times Tayce can fake-laugh at each variation, only so much enthusiasm she can inject into the laugh she gives in response to “I’m so single I canny even get a bus to hit on me”. Combined with the constant way Crazy for You is getting blasted from behind her closed bedroom door on a loop, Lawrence has been acting like the lesbian reincarnation of Bridget Jones for entirely too long to be considered acceptable.

“Why don’t we just tell Els that Lawrence likes her?” A’whora had suggested, as they’d lain in Tayce’s bed naked apart from her duvet that was wrapped around them both and the opening drum beat to Crazy for You had cut through the wall for the third time in the past ten minutes.

(Tayce knows Lawrence had asked her not to tell A’whora about her crush on Ellie. She does feel bad for telling A’whora about her crush on Ellie. But when A’whora had asked her why she thought Lawrence had been behaving like a war-era mourning widow for the past few weeks it had just slipped out. Besides, the threat of a month without sex that Tayce had used as leverage so A’whora wouldn’t blab to Ellie about it has so far seemed to be good enough motivation. As it stands neither of them seem to be able to go three days without a shag, so she’s really hoping A’whora doesn’t open her big mouth for both their sakes.)

“It’s not that simple,” Tayce had muttered, threading some of A’whora’s long, straight hair through her fingers absent-mindedly as she spoke. “There’s feelings there, they wouldn’t be able to just fall together like we did. It’s messier when there’s crushes involved. With us it’s just good sex with a good friend, you know?”

A’whora had gone quiet as she nodded, a minute frown appearing on her face. Tayce supposes it had been as a result of the prospect of more Madonna ballads from Lawrence’s room for the foreseeable future.

Bimini, who Tayce has been the most concerned about picking up on something being different between her and A’whora, has been surprisingly and uncharacteristically imperceptive. Bimini being Bimini hasn’t let on that there’s anything different going on with them, but Tayce is sure it’s got something to do with the bashful smile they give their phone screen sometimes, or the way they seem to be at the flat with them all less and less of late, or the uni project they’re completing with their friend Asttina which seems to have been going on for about a fortnight. Whatever it is, they seem happier than usual; a little cheerful glow lighting them up from the inside out that Tayce just knows there’s a reason behind. She’ll let them tell her in their own time.

If the atmosphere in the flat had been full of mixed-up, chaotic sets of feelings before, then when it reaches Valentine’s Day it’s on another level entirely.

Tayce begins her day waking up, rubbing her eyes, and stretching as far as her bones and muscles will allow. She’s alone in bed- she and A’whora never sleep over in each others’ rooms, the overwhelming amount of suspicion it would draw the next day would be staggering- but Tayce sometimes wonders what it would be like to wake up with A’whora. Maybe she’d be curled around her, having sought her out in the night to cuddle. Maybe she talks in her sleep. Maybe she snores. Tayce doesn’t know why she’s thinking about this, or indeed why she wants to know what it would be like.

They’re just friends, after all.

She sleepily snatches up her phone from her bedside table, checks the time (10am, a decent enough lie in) and then checks her notifications. She’s got a Whatsapp message from A’whora and she ends up spluttering a laugh as she opens it. It’s a photo of her having clearly just woken up, hair all messy in its bun and bags under her brown eyes. She’s sinking into the pillow and pulling a face that gives her a double chin. She looks a state, but something about the photo makes Tayce’s heart happy. It’s the fact that A’whora- the same A’whora who took a month before she let her flatmates see her without makeup, does a full face before even going to Tesco, and fake tans twice a week- has sent her a selfie with a sleepy, bare, ridiculous face. Tayce has always felt a little like their friendship has been a series of breaking down A’whora’s walls and with this, another one has crumbled. It’s nice that she trusts Tayce enough with every little part of her, and it’s a responsibility that Tayce doesn’t take lightly.

The message that accompanies the photo says “Happy valentine’s day bestie xxx” and Tayce feels her heart flutter a bit. It should feel weird that A’whora’s acknowledging the significance of the day. It’s kind of overstepping the line they’ve drawn together, it’s sort of breaking an unspoken promise.

But regardless, Tayce doesn’t mind. She actually likes it, more than she probably should. So she taps her nails against the screen, smiling in spite of herself as her message starts to appear.

T: that selfie’s really doing it for me uno

T: got me all excited for the romantic valentine’s day sex we’re gonna be having xo

The screen tells her that A’whora’s typing, and she can feel the heat begin to pool in her stomach already at the prospect of some flirty texts to start the day off. That is until there’s a muffled drum beat and an oboe that drifts into Tayce’s consciousness through the wall, and she realises with visceral frustration that Lawrence is playing that god damn bloody fucking song again.

Tayce lifts her leg and kicks the wall that separates her room and Lawrence’s with a thud thud thud, hoping it’ll make it all stop- the soundtrack to her friend’s emotional pining doesn’t double up as a good soundtrack to dirty texting. To Tayce’s exasperation, however, her door flies open a few moments later, and she cranes her neck and buries her phone under her pillow to find that Lawrence has invited herself in.

“Did you knock?” she asks inquisitively. Tayce narrows her eyes.

“If ‘knocked’ means ‘banged on the wall to shut you up’, then yeah, I did,” Tayce deadpans. Lawrence doesn’t seem to take the hint and instead lets out a dramatic sign, flops down beside Tayce on her bed as if to fully illustrate the fact she isn’t leaving anytime soon.

“Tayyyce,” she begins, whining pitifully. Lawrence is never one to conceal how she’s feeling and always wears her heart on her sleeve, which Tayce can appreciate in a friend. If Lawrence is annoyed, she’ll tell you. If Lawrence is happy, she’ll show it. If Lawrence is pining after her best friend she’s been in love with for years, she’ll let everyone know…apart from the only girl it affects directly.

“What is it, babe?” Tayce asks sympathetically, rolling onto her side to give her friend a cuddle. She knows what the matter is, but she also knows Lawrence clearly wants to vent, so she’ll be a good friend and let her.

Lawrence huffs a sigh. “Tia’s all loved up with Veronica in the kitchen and Bimini’s probably off shagging their pal right now and Ellie’s never going to know I exist as anything other than a friend. I fuckin’ hate Valentine’s Day.”

Tayce would normally agree. Tayce usually hates it too. It’s corporate and cheap and tokenistic, as if the only ways people can show love are through red roses, chocolate or teddies. Pick one or all three, give them to the person you love the most otherwise did you ever really love them at all? Maybe she’d like it better if she had someone to spend it with, but she’s not. She’s never.

Apart from today, that is. Apart from A’whora.

“It’s bullshit,” Tayce nods, squeezing Lawrence’s side. “But hey, you’re not on your own, girl. I’ve not got anyone to spend it with either, and neither’s A’whora.”

Lawrence sticks her bottom lip out. “Yeah, but you two aren’t all sad with feelings and crushes. I mean, we all know A’whora’s not got a heart so she’s off to a flyer already.”

Tayce laughs at Lawrence’s joke even though they both know it couldn’t be less true if she tried. She pokes Lawrence’s arm, frowning and unable to stand her moping much longer. “Well, why don’t you try and make a move today? Y’know, show Ellie why you’re a good option as well.”

“A good option? Sorry, I didn’t realise I’m sat in a fridge next to a sandwich as part of a Tesco meal deal,” Lawrence rolls her eyes. Tayce nudges her with her foot to make a point.

“Fuck off. You know what I mean! Hang out with her, do something fun. Maybe dial up the flirting a bit.”

Lawrence rolls over onto her side to face her, as if to drive home the pointed stare she’s fixing her with. “Have you ever seen me trying to flirt? There’s a reason I’ve never brought a girl back here. I mean my vagina’s so out of use I think it’s closed up like a pierced ear nobody’s put an earring through in a while.”

Tayce lets out a screech, part-horrified, part-disgusted. Her stomach hurts as she tries to collect herself, and an idea forms in her mind. “You could so do it if you tried. Hey, here’s what to do, right? Tia and Veronica are going out for that big romantic beach walk Tia’s been talking our ears off about for weeks. Bimini’s missing in action, as you said, and probably will be for most of the day. And I’ll get A’whora out of the flat for a while. So that means you’ve got Ellie all to yourself, on Valentine’s day, ready to be…I don’t know, wined, dined and sixty-nined.”

It’s Lawrence’s turn to howl in disgust now, but the sparkle’s back in her eyes as she grins at Tayce. “I don’t think we’re at that stage yet, doll. But I don’t know, maybe you’re right. I mean she’s never gonna see me as anything more than a friend if I keep acting like only that, is she?”

Tayce smiles, glad to see she’s instilled some confidence in her friend. “That’s my girl!”

Lawrence claps her hands together decisively. “There we go, then. I’ll have her drippin’ like a knackered fridge in no time!”

The pair of them burst out into untethered shrieks of laughter, ones that draw footsteps from the hall and cause Tayce’s door to open again, this time to reveal both Ellie and A’whora. It looks as if the pair of them were together too, and Tayce thinks it wouldn’t be unusual if Ellie had been venting to A’whora about her own unrequited crush.

“What the hell is so funny? I’m trying to do a big emotional, dramatic monologue about my broken heart to this one but I can’t, because all we can hear is your monkey screeching through the wall,” Ellie grumps, sitting herself down at the foot of the bed.

“We were shagging. That’s just the noise I make when I come,” Lawrence deadpans. As Ellie and A’whora splutter a laugh, Tayce fixes Lawrence with an incredulous stare, one which she hopes communicates “if that was you flirting then what the fuck?”.

“G’wan, Els. Do your big monologue here,” Tayce encourages her, budging up as A’whora squashes onto the bed too even though there’s barely room for two at the best of times, never mind four. A’whora groans long-sufferingly.

“Please don’t make me sit through it again.”

Ellie turns to her friend, affronted. “Girl!”

“I’m joking, babe.”

Appeased, Ellie lets out a plaintive little sigh as she casts her gaze up to the ceiling. “I’m just fucked off. I mean I get that Tia’s happy, and I’m happy for her-”

“No you’re not,” Lawrence cuts in matter-of-factly.

“No I’m not, but that’s beside the point,” Ellie rolls with the interruption, making Tayce snort with her honesty. “I just wish they weren’t…rubbing it in my face all the time, you know?”

“They can’t rub it in your face if they don’t know you like Tia, Ellie. You can’t get annoyed at them for existing,” A’whora pulls a face, honest to a fault. It’s something else that Tayce really appreciates about her; she knows she’ll never get bullshitted by A’whora, knows she’s truthful and upfront. It’s just another part of what makes their arrangement work so well- she knows A’whora’s not exactly going to be covering up any feelings anytime soon.

Ellie continues with a huff. “I know. And I know I’m being unfair, and I know I’m being immature about it all.”

“Give yourself some credit, girl, you only just turned eighteen about five minutes ago. You’re allowed to be immature,” Tayce quips, earning a laugh from A’whora and Lawrence and a scowl from Ellie that she knows she doesn’t really mean.

“It just sucks not being able to turn my feelings off. I want to get over her, you know? It’s just hard when we live together and Veronica’s round all the time.”

There’s a lull in conversation where the girls hum in agreement and empathy. Tayce chooses this time to sneakily elbow Lawrence in her side, as if to nudge her towards spending time with Ellie.

Lawrence takes the hint. “Ellie, what’re you doing today, hen?”

Ellie looks despondently at her. “Probs greetin’ into a pint of Haagen Dazs. How?”

“Well, I’m wanting to dye my hair,” Lawrence says, and the niche context for spending time together knocks Tayce for six a little. “And although I wouldn’t trust you to keep a succulent alive, I’d trust you to do a not awful job of hairdresser duties. You wanty help me out with it?”

Tayce tries not to look at A’whora because she knows they’ll end up sharing a knowing smile that’s entirely too suspicious as Ellie’s face lights up. “If anything would cheer me up right now it’s the prospect of fucking up your hair beyond all recognition.”

“Brilliant,” Lawrence deadpans, though there’s a little smile on her lips which suggests to Tayce that Ellie could very well completely shave her completely bald then dye her scalp yellow and Lawrence would still thank her.

Tayce turns to smile at A’whora. Time to hold up her end of the deal.

“Well, I don’t much fancy staying to deal with the fallout of this inevitable disaster. You wanna go for brunch somewhere?”

A’whora’s so clearly trying to bite back her smile, make it seem more contained and controlled, but it still spreads across her face like a sunbeam and it warms Tayce’s heart like one too. “Alright. S’pose I could squeeze you into the calendar somewhere.”

As the pair of them lock eyes and Tayce struggles to suppress her own smile, the girls are interrupted by a knock on the door. Tayce shouts them in, figuring they might as well squeeze a few more people onto the bed while they’re at it and attempt some sort of world record, but it’s Tia and Veronica and they aren’t staying long judging by the fact they’ve both got their jackets on.

“Just saying goodbye before our lil’ seaside adventure!” Tia smiles, her happiness completely uncontained and radiating from her; if A’whora’s smile was a sunbeam then Tia encapsulates the energy of the whole burning star. Tayce is happy for her.

“Have fun girlies, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Tayce smiles, waggling her fingers in a wave.

“Aye, no sex on the beach!” Lawrence says, unsubtle and untactful as ever. Veronica flushes so red she borders on purple, and Ellie gives a laugh dripping in schadenfreude.

“Wind your bloody neck in, you menace,” Veronica bites back good-humouredly, the dregs of her embarrassment still colouring her cheeks. “Have you seen the weather forecast for today? It’s absolutely freezing!”

“That the only thing stopping you? Sure you wouldn’t be the only people in existence that’ve tried to shag wearing two jumpers and a parka,” Lawrence continues to joke, and by now Ellie is a collapsed heap on the bed.

Tia speaks for her girlfriend who’s still blushing fire-engine red. “Well usually, Lawrence, you wear sexy underwear for your girlfriend on Valentine’s day. Not that you’d know.”

A’whora and Ellie let out a little whoop of shock in response to the shady comment, which neither Lawrence nor Tayce join in with. Tayce deigns to give it a little smirk, but knowing how Lawrence has been feeling for the past few weeks kind of removes the humour of the comment for her.

“Here, watch it. Only I’m allowed to make jokes about how single I am,” Lawrence herself narrows her eyes in response, before smiling tightly at the loved-up pair. “Anyway, have a lovely time, you two!”

“We will!” Veronica practically squeaks in delight, flicking some of her blonde hair over her shoulders as she loops her arm through Tia’s and they leave the flat, the front door clicking behind them. There’s a silence in Tayce’s room before Lawrence speaks again.

“Smug wee gits.”

The rest of the girls dissolve into giggles, Tayce whacking Lawrence on the arm. “Shut up, bitter Betty. Go make your bad hair choices.”

“Right, let’s go!” Ellie claps excitedly before reaching out for Lawrence’s hand. She of course accepts gladly, a hint of pink blush to her cheeks as she’s dragged out of the room by her enthusiastic friend.

The moment Tayce’s door shuts A’whora shimmies up next to her side, a little twinkle in her eye that Tayce knows all too well.

“Hey you,” she smiles, throwing an arm and a leg over Tayce in a full-body hug. Tayce laughs at her clinginess, how she remembers A’whora describing herself as “not much of a huggy person” when they first met in freshers’ week and now she’s the human embodiment of a baby koala.

“Stop flirting, God,” Tayce shoots back playfully, watching the affronted expression take hold on A’whora’s face for only a second before pulling her in for a kiss that A’whora instantly turns up the heat of. Her lips are soft but her kiss is full of a hunger that makes something inside Tayce tighten up, and there’s something about the way A’whora clearly wants her that leaves her feeling ever-so-slightly breathless.

“Right, that’s enough of that,” Tayce jokes as she pulls away, and A’whora’s plaintive pout is almost motivation enough to keep going. But Tayce has made a promise to Lawrence, so she doubles down. “C’mon, get ready. And wear something classy as well, we ain’t going to some scaff caff we could spend any old hungover morning in.”

“Wait, were you serious about brunch?” A’whora’s expression changes, her smile becoming almost shy. It’s ever-so-slightly adorable and completely endearing.

“Yeah, girl! I said to Lawrence I’d take you out so that her and Ellie can have some alone time. Get your shit sorted,” Tayce explains.

There’s shutters that go down behind A’whora’s eyes suddenly, and Tayce narrows her eyes, confused. “Unless you’re not keen?”

“No, of course I’m keen!” A’whora brightens up a little, smiles at Tayce mischievously. “If you’re taking me out, though, you’re paying.”

Tayce blurts out a laugh. “Fuck off! Fine, I’ll pay today. Just means you have to pay next time.”

“Oh there’s a next time, is there?”

A’whora’s batting her lashes at her flirtatiously, but her words have made Tayce’s heart do a little somersault. She supposes what they’re doing is a little bit like a date, and that’s not what their relationship is. They used to hang out like that, though, used to do things just the pair of them like go to the library and pretend to do work, go for lunch at Nandos, watch films together curled up in bed. In a way, Tayce supposes nothing has changed. It would be weird to not hang out just the two of them just because they’ve started hooking up.

So Tayce just returns the smile, casual and chill because that’s what they’ve agreed to be. “I gotta get paid back somehow, don’t I?”

“Could pay you back in other ways,” A’whora winks, and Tayce splutters in a giggle.

“Shut your whore mouth or we’ll never bloody leave the flat.”

They get ready after that, anticipative energy radiating through the wall of A’whora’s room. Tayce feels almost a little nervous. She doesn’t know why. It’s just a brunch, and it’s just A’whora. If she thinks about it, though, A’whora’s never been just A’whora. Tayce has always found an element of joy in spending time with her that she hasn’t ever felt with the others. The spark that goes off in her heart whenever A’whora laughs at one of her jokes, the comfort she takes in just being in the same room as her. The way Tayce has always looked forward to the time they get to spend alone together and the way that, since they started whatever the hell this is, that feeling has only intensified.

It feels more intense now than it ever has before, though. Maybe because it’s a little bit like a date. Maybe because it’s exactly like a date. Maybe because Tayce shouldn’t be this happy about that fact. Maybe the way she used to fancy A’whora- the way she used to just want to kiss her and get her in her bed- has evolved since they started this whole friends-with-benefits situation.

She takes a little deep breath, frowning at herself as she does her lipstick in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together, girl,” she mutters under her breath; because really, what the hell kind of levels of freaked out would A’whora be if Tayce were to show or to tell her any of this? They’re just friends. Friends that hook up. Nothing more than that, and Tayce can’t let herself hope that hard either.

A’whora knocks on Tayce’s door just as she’s securing two gold hoops into her ears. She’s taken the wear something classy brief as seriously as Tayce knew she would, and she’s dressed in a short, black leather skirt and a black and white tailored shirt; one colour on each side, separated by buttons down the middle. Every little detail and accessory has been as thought out as an outfit from a fashion student could be: a pearl choker around her neck and a pearl headband through her intricately curled hair, simple silver earrings and a pink faux fur coat and the black Michael Kors bag that Tayce knows has been her pride and joy since she got it for Christmas. Her legs are bare and she’s wearing high black stilettos which make her legs look entirely too good, and in turn fill Tayce’s head with memories that she needs to push out of her head or else the outfit A’whora’s spent so long putting together is going to end up on the floor.

“Love this,” Tayce points at her approvingly, and A’whora’s smile is a little bashful as she gives a twirl. “You look stunning. I mean, you’ll be freezing. But you’ll be stunning and freezing.”

“Just means you can warm me up later,” A’whora winks at her, and Tayce hides a giggle behind her hand. She never used to get shy if a girl flirted with her, especially not one with the lack of flirting abilities that A’whora possesses. She could always give as good as she got, she still can.

Tayce doesn’t know, though. Something about the past month with A’whora has changed her a little now that their relationship is inherently more intimate. Tayce can drop the cool, calm and collected persona she always used to wear to get girls into bed. Instead she’s allowed herself to be a little more goofy, a little more wild and animated and energised. A little more herself.

“You look stunning too, though,” A’whora adds with sincerity, the little grin on her face only making matters worse. Tayce has decided on a white shirt dress she’s cinched in at the waist with a huge belt, and paired it with thigh high vinyl boots. It’s one of those outfits she owns which is low effort but high payoff, especially when A’whora’s got a little twinkle in her eye like that.

Tayce snorts, grabs her bag from the side of her bed and whacks A’whora with it. “Stop trying to flatter me into bed and let’s go, gorgeous.”

They leave the flat with a shout of goodbye to Ellie and Lawrence, but judging from the way the door’s open and the showerhead’s running and both girls are yelping and laughing in the midst of some water fight, they aren’t able to hear it. Tayce leads A’whora through the cobbled streets and winding, dipping roads of the city as she talks a mile-a-minute about where they’re going and how she hopes they’ll have a free table. She almost wants to reach out and take A’whora’s hand, entwine their fingers together like another piece of the puzzle they share clicking into place. She doesn’t, but she wants to.

She’s sure the feeling will pass, anyway.

She’s sure it’s normal for her heart to swell as much as it’s currently doing as she walks beside A’whora, for it to flutter like a moth to a light whenever she smiles and flashes her teeth. A’whora is beautiful, and Tayce is sure that even friends that didn’t fuck would get tongue-tied if one of them was as stunning as she is.

To her delight, the brunch spot she’d had in mind has a table free for them; one beside the feature wall of plastic pink, blue and yellow flowers which Tayce already knows A’whora will be asking to take her photo in front of. She’s never actually been here before but she’s seen pictures on Instagram of the pink painted walls and pastel blue chairs and the white marble tabletops with shiny gold cutlery on top. She’s eyed up the breakfasts; avocado sourdough, eggs with golden yolks, and something which they’ve branded ‘donut French toast’ which A’whora is currently telling Tayce how excited she is to order, her eyes sparkling. If this was a date, it would be the perfect venue.

It’s just a pity that it isn’t.

They order two mimosas with their breakfasts- because fuck it, it’s Valentine’s day, and Tayce wants to celebrate the fact she’s got someone to spend it with even if it is just a friend- and the two of them fall into easy chat about all kinds of topics; uni, their courses, life at home in Wales and Worksop. Dating somebody new comes with stilted conversations, awkward pauses, the potential to cover a touchy subject. With A’whora there’s none of that. They already know each other inside out so they don’t have anything to re-learn. Tayce tells A’whora stories about Cara and Cheryl and understands when A’whora doesn’t join in with stories about her own friends from home. Instead, A’whora brings up their flatmates.

“I get really existential about it all. Y’know, fate and stuff,” A’whora frowns across the table at her mid-conversation. “Like, what are the odds the five strangers I’d live with in first year would be people I all get on with and genuinely like? And most of them would become my best friends in the world. You know?”

Tayce nods understandingly. “No, I get that. And like, fate putting Ellie and Lawrence in the same flat when they’d known each other for that long. And Tia and Bimini on the same train up when they moved in. What a small world?”

“Everything happens for a reason,” A’whora says quietly, shaken out of her small reverie by the plate of sugar-covered toast that’s being placed in front of her and thanking the waitress politely. Tayce can’t help but splutter a laugh when they’re left alone together again, looking at how A’whora’s eyes have lit up at the food in front of her.

“You’re like a child! An actual child. Swear to God, girl, you’ve got the same eating habits as Will Ferrel in Elf.”

A’whora cackles a laugh opposite her. Tayce wonders why it gives her such a sense of pride when A’whora laughs at something she says. Well, no- she knows exactly why, and the reason makes her stomach flip over like clothes in a tumble drier. She can’t think too much about that, though, so she thinks of something else quickly to take her mind off it.

“Right. I’ve got a fun game. First impressions of the five of us, go,” Tayce says, the idea coming to her as a result of what A’whora’s said. In response A’whora’s eyebrows shoot up, a scheming smile on her face as she tilts her head to consider her response.

“Ooh, well…easiest one is Bimini, because obviously I loved them from the get go.”

“How could you not?” Tayce agrees, spearing a strawberry from the pancakes she’s ordered herself.

“They just had this calm, kind aura that just immediately made me feel loads better about being away from home,” A’whora continues, nodding earnestly. “Same with Lawrence, although she was different. I actually thought she was batshit crazy. Or like, an alien, because no one human could be that funny.”

Snorting, Tayce points a finger at A’whora in recognition. “Jesus, that’s so true! I mean I’ve told you the story of when I first got to the flat? I actually thought she might’ve been on something. But that’s just who she is; when she’s up she’s up and when she’s down she’s down.”

There’s a pause as A’whora eats some more of her French toast, her gaze fixing on the wall as she thinks. “Ellie was the opposite. I didn’t know what to make of her at first. She was dead quiet and I think my back was up because I hated her dress sense.”

Tayce splutters. “Of course it was.”

“But now, like…God, don’t you miss the days when Ellie was quiet?” A’whora laughs affectionately. “I don’t know what I’d do without her, though.”

“She seemed a little more reserved than the others at first. But then that comes back to what you were saying about fate, because Lawrence definitely helped bring her out of her shell a bit.”

A’whora nods as she considers Tayce’s words, then her face breaks into a smile and she hides a guilty laugh behind her hands. “Tia…I thought I would not get on with at all.”

Tayce sips her drink and shrugs. “Well, you didn’t get on with her at first.”

“True. She’s just not somebody I would’ve ever hung out with before. I mean she’s told me before she thinks I would’ve bullied her in school, which, to be fair, I might’ve done,” A’whora pulls a guilty face. “But I guess being somehow the only two bitches with the ability to clean the flat is one hell of a bonding opportunity.”

Tayce feels her jaw drop open, offended. “Hey! I clean the flat!”

A’whora smirks. “Oh what, you pour undiluted Zoflora into the overflowing bin bag so it doesn’t smell, instead of actually…I don’t know, taking the bin out? My mistake, sorry. You’re actually the second coming of Mrs Hinch.”

The pair of them giggle together and Tayce sticks out her tongue in response. She takes a bite of her own breakfast before thinking about the girl they’re considering.

“I thought Tia was nice. Fun. I never saw her becoming my bestie or anything, but you know,” Tayce shrugs.

“No, that title was reserved for me,” A’whora smiles smugly. Tayce decides to have a bit of fun with her, tilts her head and narrows her eyes a little.

“You mean Bimini?”

“Fuck off,” A’whora fires back instantly, and Tayce throws her head back in a laugh. The laughter dies down as both girls eat some more of their food, until Tayce frowns at A’whora suddenly.

“You never said me.”

“Oh!” A’whora realises. Tayce thinks for a second that she could be blushing, but the sun has begun to appear behind the clouds and the light is shining through the glass windows and hitting the pink walls. It could just be that.

She looks gorgeous for it regardless.

“Do you want me to go first?” Tayce smirks, breaking out into a laugh as A’whora gives her an unimpressed glare.

“No, because I already know you’re gonna tell me you thought I was a total weirdo.”

“Not true! I actually thought you were a lot like me. Scared, nervous, a bit emotional. Well,” Tayce reaches across the table and pokes her playfully. “Maybe a bit more emotional than I was, but you know.”

A’whora rolls her eyes. “Good.”

“But seriously, I thought we were actually quite similar, y’know, underneath it all,” Tayce says, her voice growing a little quiet as she thinks. “It’s weird, isn’t it? The first maybe…month of uni. Everyone’s figuring shit out and either building new facades or letting their old ones from school or their hometowns drop. It’s rare you find someone who’s just real from the get-go.”

A’whora nods. “I think that was another reason why I was so scared. Because I was one of the bitches in school, and coming here I didn’t have those toxic friendships around me anymore. And you coming into my room on that first day was like…the first time in a while someone had actually been nice? And kind? So I guess I didn’t have much of a choice to just be myself. But also there was a part of me that didn’t really know what that looked like. You know?”

The conversation’s taken a deep turn, and Tayce doesn’t really know why. It’s not a result of one singular mimosa, she knows that much. But she’s glad A’whora feels like she’s able to talk like this with her. She knows it’s not always easy for her to open up to her friends, she knows she’s been burned in the past.

So Tayce reaches out across the table and takes her hand. “Well, to me…Aurora is a caring, kind, loyal friend. She has the biggest heart and all this love to give to so many people. She’s a shady hound, but we all love her for it. And all her friends treasure her because they know how lucky they are to have her in their lives.”

Tayce can tell A’whora’s trying to stop herself from smiling, and her gaze drops down to the table bashfully as she tucks her hair behind her ears. It’s almost like she’s embarrassed, self-conscious of the way all the diamonds of her personality have been excavated and laid bare. For a second Tayce feels a flush hit her face, wondering if she’s overstepped a mark, but then A’whora’s eyes lock onto hers and she’s smiling gratefully.

“Thanks, Tayce.”

Tayce would love to take her other hand. Tayce would love to lean over the table and kiss her in front of everyone else in the room. Tayce would love to tell A’whora everything she’s feeling, all these little moments and emotions illustrating a bigger picture that Tayce just wants her to colour in.

But they’re friends. So Tayce gives A’whora’s hand one last squeeze and winks at her as she draws her hand away.

“You’re welcome. Slag.”

And then they’re smiling at each other, and the conversation moves on. A’whora never did say what her first impressions of Tayce were, and it’s too late to ask her again. Tayce supposes it doesn’t really matter all that much. She’s more interested in how A’whora feels about her now. For example- does she feel the same way Tayce is feeling? Is she sitting opposite her trying to stop her heart jumping every time she smiles, trying to stop the butterflies fluttering in her stomach? Tayce is an upfront, honest girl. She’s blunt, and normally she’d ask.

But this situation isn’t normal, and something’s stopping her. Tayce always used to be the girl in primary school who’d play with the boys, run around the playground roaring until her lungs were hoarse pretending to be a tiger or a dragon, roll across the dusty tarmac getting her knees scraped and dirty. One thing she always, always used to pride herself on was her fearlessness. She’d puff up her chest before the flu vaccines, the dentist, any remotely fearful situation and hit out with “I’m not scared of anything”.

Why is she so scared now? Because she’s older, and life’s big worries are no longer a needle or a tiny mirror in her mouth. She’s not afraid of anything physical, things she can see; it’s the things she doesn’t know, the things she can’t work out that scare her so much. The thought of telling A’whora that what she feels for her might not be strictly friendship any longer gives her an adrenaline rush worse than any rollercoaster she’s been on, and it’s not entirely a good kind either.

The waitress appears to clear their plates and Tayce slaps her card down against the little metal tray ready to be tapped against the reader to pay the bill, just like she’d promised. It’s funny, though, that A’whora’s lost all her gumption now the time has actually come for Tayce to follow through on her promise, and as the waitress reappears A’whora is protesting wildly.

“You honestly don’t have to pay. I was just joking!”

Tayce laughs incredulously. “Oh that was a joke, was it? Seemed like a legally binding contract when we were at the flat!”

“Shut up, hound,” A’whora sticks her tongue between her teeth as she smiles cheekily.

The waitress hands her card back to Tayce and she keeps talking as she puts it away in her purse. “Well, don’t feel bad. As I said, the next one’s on you.”

As A’whora raises her eyebrows, the waitress fixes them with a cheery smile. “Thanks so much for popping in today, ladies, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your Valentine’s Day! Is this your first one together?”

Tayce chokes a little on nothing, tries to stop her eyes from flying wide open. She doesn’t dare meet A’whora’s eye as she shakes her head. “No, uh, we’re-”

“Aw, I knew it couldn’t have been your first, I could totally tell you’d been together way longer! Well may I say, you make a lovely couple,” she continues breezily, Tayce finally meeting A’whora’s gaze and trying not to laugh. The waitress thanks them once more before disappearing, and the two girls are left in a small bubble of silence before A’whora releases her giggles, Tayce putting her hands up to her burning hot cheeks.

“Jesus, Mary and Nora, what the hell was that? The Spanish Inquisition?” Tayce babbles, and A’whora doubles over opposite her.

“Well it is Valentine’s day, Tayce. It’s not that wild to assume two good-looking girls like us with such obvious chemistry are head-over-heels in love with each other,” A’whora winks. Tayce feels her heart do a backflip at the mention of that word, and she’s got about a split-second to cover up the fact her whole body’s been rocked by a ten on the richter scale.

Just continue the joke.

“Oh, yeah. Long-term relationship, married, house, kids. The babas.”

A’whora splutters a laugh, gestures around her. “Except we don’t know where the little shits are!”

The two of them are in fits again, and for a moment Tayce could pretend that it is all real, that maybe in a different world this is a date, and they are together, and everything’s as simple as it was when she was little and not even scared of the dark.

They stumble back to the flat together all fizzy with anticipation, drunk off of one mimosa each and sheer excitable lust. The pair of them keep the joke going all the way home- they have a semi-detached house in the suburbs, their children are named Tarquin and Edith and they attend private school and go to hockey and rugby clubs, they have a live-in cleaner, they do their weekly shop at Waitrose- both of them making the story more fantastical and ridiculous with every new addition that by the time they arrive back at the flat Tayce’s stomach hurts from laughing and A’whora’s bottom lashes are smudged with mascara from her own tears of mirth.

Tayce shushes her as she turns the key in the lock of their front door, hiding her own giggles and pressing a finger to A’whora’s lips playfully. A’whora responds by opening her mouth and snapping like a crocodile, only serving to set Tayce off again as she takes her hand and opens the door, sneaking through it comically like a Scooby Doo character as they hang up their coats in the hall. Luckily, though, they don’t even need to be quiet. There’s a blast of a hairdryer from Ellie’s room which mingles with the sounds of Katy Perry behind the door, and two sets of screeching laughs that cut through the combination. Maybe Tayce and Lawrence’s plan is actually working.

Tayce feels a familiar flutter in her stomach as she pulls A’whora into her room, her anticipation building. When she closes the door she whips round to find A’whora has already dumped her bag on Tayce’s floor and is sitting on the edge of Tayce’s bed, frantically trying to unbuckle her heels. They don’t even need to discuss what’s to come. They both know it’s all the other has been able to think about all morning.

Tayce unzips her boots and sits beside A’whora, resting a hand on her bare thigh. She traces her fingers over her skin gently and presses a kiss against her neck, her heart thumping as she hears A’whora sigh gently in response.

Tayce brings her lips up against her ear as she whispers. “I think you should keep them on.”

“Fuck,” A’whora hisses, her reaction so visceral despite Tayce not really having done anything at all yet.

True to form, A’whora swivels her head around to meet Tayce’s, cups her jaw and brings their lips together in a kiss that’s eager and frantic. She can hear her breathing- heavy and laboured and shuddery as her hands push into her hair, her fingers wrapping around little sections and pulling gently in a way that makes Tayce pull back to hiss through her teeth, dig her nails into A’whora’s inner thigh in stark contrast to the way she’s been gently teasing her.

“Behave,” Tayce warns.

“You know I can’t,” A’whora murmurs, cocking an eyebrow in response. She’s got Tayce’s dark lipstick painting her own lips now and it looks too good, makes Tayce squeeze her thighs together when she thinks about the lipstick marks she wants to leave all over her bare skin.

“Can’t give you what you want if you don’t behave, princess,” Tayce responds, inching her hand up her thigh and stopping just short of where she knows A’whora wants her to. She wants it too, though. She wants to brush her fingers over the material of her underwear, feel how wet she probably already is. But not giving A’whora what she wants is just as fun as satisfying her, if only to see her being reduced to liquid form in front of her, full of frustration.

“Please, Tayce,” A’whora pulls her in again, pressing kisses to her lips between snatches of sentences. “Want it so much, fuck.”

“Already? So impatient,” Tayce runs her thumb over her soft skin again. She’s burning up too but she’s not going to lose her own composure, not when the payoff of staying in control is so good. “You gonna be good for me, angel?”

“Mm-hm,” A’whora pouts against her lips. Tayce pulls away and the sight of A’whora’s half-lidded eyes with her pupils blown from lust isn’t helping her keep a handle on the situation at all.

She gently pushes A’whora back against the mattress, straddles her whilst unbuttoning her shirt and punctuating each button with a featherlight kiss, which she knows is driving A’whora out of her mind if the way she’s squirming underneath Tayce is anything to go by. A’whora’s scrabbling at the buttons on Tayce’s dress but she doesn’t have the patience or presence of mind that she does, and Tayce almost wants to giggle at the way she’s only done two buttons by the time Tayce has got her out of her shirt.

“Fuck’s sake, why did we both choose to wear things with so many fucking buttons,” A’whora growls quietly in frustration. Before Tayce knows what’s happening, A’whora has grabbed each seam and pulled, ripping the buttons of her dress off to expose Tayce in her own bra with the criss-cross straps at the back.

A’whora’s staring at her slack-jawed and Tayce can only blink at her in response. She can’t decide if A’whora ruining her dress has pissed her off or turned her on.

It’s definitely turned her on.

“Oh, you’re in a whole world of trouble for that, missy,” she narrows her eyes, pulling the rest of her dress off before moving so she can tug down A’whora’s skirt. She’s left in a matching set of red lace which she looks so sinful in that Tayce’s brain hotwires. Judging from the way A’whora’s hips are bucking against thin air, though, she’s not the only one that’s wound up.

“Jesus, Rory, lie still,” Tayce insists through a laugh. “I’m not about to try and eat you out and get a bloody pelvic bone to the face!”

A’whora whines, and Tayce watches her chest rise and fall rapidly as she stares up to the ceiling in a petulant huff. Her pout cracks, though, when Tayce spreads her legs and kneels between them, replacing her fingers with her lips as she kisses all the way up the inside of her thighs. The way A’whora huffs in frustration and grips the duvet with white knuckles makes Tayce’s core throb, and the need to touch herself is clouding her thoughts like smoke.

She already feels like she’s on fire, so she supposes it’s apt.

So Tayce decides to have a little fun, pulls back from A’whora and sits on her heels as she lets a hand flutter across her stomach and under the waistband of her underwear. She’s not going to take it too far- she’s only trying to teach A’whora a lesson- but as she brushes her fingers over her clit Tayce can’t help but give a little gasp, the satisfaction flooding through her.

The way A’whora flinches in horror and disappointment as she sits up and realises what’s happening makes Tayce feel momentarily sorry for her.

“Tayce!” she whines pitifully. “Fuck off, that’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair, princess,” Tayce smirks, resting her other hand on her thigh.

“Oh my God, you’re such a bitch,” A’whora pouts at her. She knows A’whora could very easily start touching herself too, but Tayce knows she won’t. Tayce knows she only wants her, and that thought is so intoxicating that it knocks her for six a little, turning up the heat from a simmer to boiling point.

“If you want something from me, you’d better start being nicer.”

A’whora sits up and takes Tayce by the hand, pulls her into a kiss that’s so intense and full of lust it almost topples her over. When she pulls back her eyes are so big and pleading that Tayce feels bad for ever teasing her in the first place. “Please, Tayce. You know I’ll be good for you.”

Tayce cocks an eyebrow at her, but she moves her hand and rests it against A’whora’s other thigh anyway. “That’s the best begging you can manage, is it?”

A’whora smirks. “I’m not used to begging, I usually don’t have much of a problem getting what I want.”

Tayce shakes her head, mocking her as she gently pushes her back against the sheets again. “Such a spoiled brat.”

“Your spoiled brat, though,” A’whora grins smugly, cutting herself off with a gasp as Tayce hooks her fingers over the waistband of her underwear and tugs it off.

Tayce knows she’s going to eat her out but seeing how wet A’whora is makes her consider fucking her with her fingers. It’s a tantalising thought; the way A’whora always has to clamp a hand over her mouth to shut herself up because her moans get too loud, the complete lack of self-control she has when she rides Tayce’s fingers and the way she’ll guide them into her mouth and suck her own juice off them afterwards- Jesus fucking Christ. Tayce needs some sort of release soon or she’s going to be too overwhelmed to speak.

She wants to hear A’whora beg just a little bit more, though. Wants to feel her squirm and taste her on her tongue and trace patterns over her clit that make her whimper and tremble. So she kisses up her thighs again but this time she doesn’t waste any time in brushing over her clit with her tongue, the broken whine A’whora gives at the contact sounding completely illegal. A’whora pushes a hand into Tayce’s hair needily, and Tayce can hear her breathing coming in short gasps as she licks over her slit, swirls her tongue over her clit in a way she knows is good but isn’t what A’whora wants. Tayce is being deliberately slow and lazy, everything A’whora doesn’t need.

“Tayce, please,” A’whora pleads. Tayce kisses against her, then makes a big show of licking A’whora’s juice off her lips. From the way A’whora squeezes her eyes shut at the sight, it’s had the desired reaction.

“What is it, baby?” she murmurs lightly. A’whora gives a broken sob, thuds her head back against the pillow.

“Please, fucking…I need to come, I’m gonna fucking die if I don’t.”

Tayce can’t help but splutter a laugh, one which makes A’whora narrow her eyes at her. She supposes she’s had her fun.

“God, well we can’t have that on the post-mortem, can we?” she deadpans, before dipping her head back between A’whora’s legs and running her tongue over her clit like she’d done before, only this time she allows herself to be a little more messy and unrestrained. She’s rewarded by the little gasps A’whora gives, the whining and the moaning that’s getting more and more frequent with every flick of her tongue.

Tayce pulls away a little, brings her head up to look at A’whora. She’s got one hand in the cup of her bra and the other limp by her side, her chest gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. Her eyes are closed and her cheeks are red and her lips have dropped open, her breathing heavy and rapid.

A’whora’s the most beautiful girl in the world, and fuck, Tayce is so screwed.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” she says without thinking. She doesn’t know if she imagines it, but she swears A’whora’s cheeks grow redder.

“Does it feel good?” Tayce follows up her words, asks what she’d meant to ask in the first place.

A’whora bites her lip and nods her head. “Yeah.”

“You like it?”

“Fuck, yes,” A’whora squirms against the sheets, her frustration starting to show.

“Tell me how much.”

“Tayce, please-”

“Come on, princess. You’re being such a good girl using your words,” Tayce purrs, knowing that the praise will get a reaction out of her.

It does.

“Fuck, feels so good Tayce, so, so, fucking good…please don’t stop, please,” A’whora sighs out, then instantly cuts herself off with a cry as Tayce swipes her tongue over her clit again, gives her what she wants.

“Such a good angel baby,” Tayce murmurs against her, tracing over A’whora’s clit in circles and listening to her whimpers get more and more muffled as she bites down on her lip to shut herself up. She’s so desperate that she’s practically riding Tayce’s face at this point and it’s so hot that Tayce has to move a hand between her own legs, grinding against it as she licks A’whora again and again and surely she must be so close to the edge that-

Knock-knock-knock.

Tayce launches her head back from between A’whora’s legs so fast she thinks she’s given herself whiplash. When she locks eyes with A’whora her eyes are wide open too, the pair of them unable to do anything but look at each other, frozen in panic.

When Ellie’s voice comes, Tayce swears she’s never been closer to committing homicide. “Tayce, A’whora! We did Lawrence’s hair, you should see it!”

“Leave it, don’t answer,” A’whora hisses frantically at her. Tayce wouldn’t even be able to reply if she wanted to, the way the blood is racing in her veins and roaring in her ears rendering her motionless.

“We know you’re in, your coats are in the hall!” Lawrence’s voice comes, louder and with a hint of accusation to it.

Shit.

Tayce launches herself off the bed and throws A’whora’s clothes at her frantically as she shouts back. “Just…give us one minute!”

“The fuck are you doing in there that you need a minute?”

Tayce ignores her, trying to calmly turn her dress the right way round but it’s so inside out and jumbled up that it’s rendering the process a lot trickier than she needs it to be right now. A’whora’s in a worse situation, though- she’s got every button on her shirt to button up, and if she wasn’t able to unbutton Tayce’s shirt when she was horny she’s sure as hell unable to button her own up under pressure.

“Where the fuck is my thong? Where did you put it?” A’whora hisses at her, scrambling at the duvet in desperation. Tayce’s eyes dart round her floor, cursing herself for not having an immaculately tidy room like A’whora’s. With a sigh of relief she finds it sitting on top of a floordrobe pile and she snatches it up and throws it to A’whora quickly. She turns her attention back to her dress and can almost feel a stress headache growing at her temples. Why won’t the fucking thing turn the right way-

“Have we to stand out here all day like a pair of lemons?”

“Give us a bloody minute, Jesus!” Tayce yells back, feeling like punching the air as she finally sorts her dress out. Her blood runs cold, however, as she makes to tug it over her head and Lawrence’s voice comes again.

“For fuck’s sake, girls, I’m sure it’s not that bad, we’ve seen each other in worse states.”

The doorhandle moves and A’whora and Tayce both yell in tandem. “Nonononono!”

The door bursts open, Tayce is standing holding her unbuttoned dress in her bra and pants, A’whora’s on the bed in her thong and half a buttoned up shirt, and there’s Ellie and Lawrence in the doorway with their eyes wide and jaws slack. Lawrence, in all her freshly lilac-dyed glory, is the first to turn around, pushing against Ellie frantically as she tries to exit the room as quickly as she came in. As she’s leaving, Tayce hears the start of her sentence.

“What possible heterosexual explanation could there fuckin’ be-”

Tayce can only look at A’whora, whose head is in her hands in embarrassment. Her heart goes out to her and she crosses the room and sits beside her on the bed, placing a hand on her knee to comfort her.

“Well. They know.”

“And so will the whole flat in about five minutes’ time,” A’whora deadpans into her hands. When she pulls her head back her face is beetroot red, and even though Tayce is embarrassed too she can’t help but laugh at the state her friend is in.

“Fuck’s sake,” Tayce shakes her head as she giggles, resigned to the fact their secret is out. There’s a pause of silence before A’whora frowns.

“I’m sorry.”

Tayce frowns back at her affectionately. “What’re you apologising for! It’s not like it was either of our faults.”

There’s a silence again in which A’whora brings her knees up to her chest and hugs them.

“Do you still want to…you know. Do you still want to keep doing all this? Now they know.”

Tayce nods quickly. A thought occurs to her and she frowns. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“No! No, I still do,” A’whora insists, a shy smile growing on her face that lifts Tayce’s hopes a bit.

Tayce pokes A’whora’s arm, slyly grins in realisation. “Well. Guess if the whole flat knows then there’s no real reason to be quiet from now on, is there?”

When A’whora meets her eyes there’s a spark between them, and when they fall against the mattress together in a kiss then Tayce thinks maybe the others knowing about the pair of them won’t matter a single bit.

As long as they get to keep doing this together.

15 notes · View notes

writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

Text

You Haunt Me

Fandom: Star Wars

Collection/Series: N/A

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader (No Pronouns etc. Used, GN)

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: G

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Anon requested: I was thinking from your promp list #3 with Poe Dameron. Maybe some moder AU where he is going ghost hunting with his significant other? You could use number 34, 39 and 12 and it could really work. It could end with something funny/cute.

Poe takes you ghost hunting as a date idea. You are suffice to say not impressed.

Notes: Modern AU, was a prompt became a whole one-shot

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Ghost hunting. A ridiculous notion, a terrible idea, reckless, potentially dangerous, maybe even a useless endeavour. Why you could be killed by a demon or alternatively, if ghosts didn’t exist, simply fall through the crumbling ceiling of an abandoned house and break your neck, leg, or other body parts. Why you had let Poe drag you into ghost hunting with him as a fun date idea you’re not sure, the appeal had worn off the moment you’d stepped into his truck.

Bee was panting happily in the back seat, the little Corgi had been brought along and Poe had the audacity to dress him in a tiny little ghostbusters costume. While he was adorable and you couldn’t resist stretching back to regularly scratch under his jaw, his favourite spot, the fact that Poe had done that when you were already worried about this adventure twinged your nerves. You were, safe to say, decidedly unhappy with this date already and you hadn’t even stepped foot inside the haunted building.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” You mumble as he pulls up in front of the old Snoke house. Long abandoned, and covered in a million no trespassing signs, the old house was the source of 90% of your town’s ghost stories. It was the house teenagers dared each other to go in alone, the house apparently, your boyfriend decided would make the ideal date spot.

The building was looming over the two of you. The car lights glinted off of shattered windows and metal railings, the paint on the siding was peeling off, cracked in massive chunks. It was nighttime, but the house still managed to create large shadows from the moonlight, street lamps and car lights. There was a sense of being watched, perhaps that was your own imagination, your own mind playing tricks on you or perhaps old Snoke had never left his house. You shiver.

“C’mon, sweetheart, baby, love of my life, it’ll be fun!” He’s pouting at you with those unfairly plush lips, brows furrowed in an imitation of a sad look. It didn’t help your resolve that he looked decidedly adorable on this particular night, you were sure he’d spent extra time making sure those curls of his fell just right across his eyes. He’d chosen to layer up in cosy sweaters and he had just a hint of scruff across his cheeks. Poe always looked good, handsome as he was, but it was unfair that he knew to use it against you.

“Potentially being possessed isn’t my idea of fun, Poe!” You frown at him, crossing your arms over your chest, knowing that the truth is that you’re really scared to go in. You're scared of the possibility of ghosts, of dark corridors. You’re scared of getting separated or one of you getting hurt or getting in trouble with the police if they notice you in a house that’s covered in no trespassing signs. You’re not as brave as you often pretend and in truth this isn’t your idea of fun, but you also know that Poe wants to do this and that you would do almost anything if Poe asked. If Poe wasn’t such a sweetheart that would probably be a dangerous prospect.

“Hey, nothing is going to happen to you. I’ve got you, boo.” It would be sweet, the soft little kiss to your cheek, his reassuring rubbing of fingers to your shoulder, if the little grin on his face didn’t say that he knew what a ghost related joke he just made. If he quite clearly wasn’t enjoying this much too much.

“Never call me boo again, Dameron.” You shrug off his fingers and grab the torch from your lap. Giving him your back as you jump out of his truck.

It is terribly cold outside and you can already feel the shivers coursing through you before you’ve even truly begun your adventure, you bounce a little on the balls of your feet, hands rubbing at your arms as you wait for Poe. You find yourself jumping and twitching at every shadow in your peripheral vision.

He doesn’t take too long to follow you, camera, torch and Bee in tow. The little corgi follows at your heels with happy panting and he oddly enough makes you feel better despite his small size. Perhaps if there was something wrong he’d be able to sense it, if he’s so happy then surely you should be too.

“Babe, don’t be mad! Or your angry face will haunt me.”

“Seriously, Poe?” You stop and turn, arms folded tight across your chest, brows pulled close together. The puns are getting old and they’re certainly not helping your mood. He’s grinning at you, closing the gap to pull your hands free and hold them in his own. Thumbs brushing across the back of your hands as he gets further into your personal space, nose brushing against your own.

“Hey, you do haunt me though...in a good way.” There’s quiet silence that falls over the two of you, just the sound of Bee’s pants, the rattle of a fence in the wind, the rustle of leaves on the trees. But it’s a heavy sort of silence in which you are reminded that you love him and why you love him, because he’s a dork, a bit of an idiot, but he’s sweet, funny and caring. Because he never fails to make you feel loved. Because even when you want to be mad at him, he makes it incredibly hard.

“Honey...I just...i’m scared.” It takes a lot to admit, but you know that Poe can tell anyway, that admitting it is the first step to him being able to reassure you and provide you with more support. The truth is that you’re scared of the unknown, scared of finding out that it’s all real or any number of possibilities. There are so many things that could go wrong and it terrifies you, you know that Poe wants a fun night, that to him this is a harmless little adventure, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.

“Hey, hey...sweetheart, sweetie, love of my life, nothing is going to happen and if it does i’m right here, okay?” Poe tugs on your hands pulling you into an embrace, his arms wrap tight around your back, hands rubbing soothing circles over the expanse of it. He tucks your head under his chin, pressing a quick kiss to your temple and then the crown of your head. You let your forehead fall, pressed into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of his cologne and laundry detergent. It is a few moments of calm, a reassuring warmth against you, a pair of soothing and familiar arms.

“I know...I just, don’t leave me alone?” You mumble it into his jacket, a little worried that you sound terribly whiny when it’s date night. You're determined that the next date night will be your idea and not his.

“Look at me,” You pull away just enough to look him in the eye, deep brown crinkling at the corner as he gives you a reassuring smile, “I won’t leave your side. I’ll be your own personal ghost.”

“Poee…” You can’t help but groan a little bit at the joke, once again being reminded that he can’t seem to stay away from ghost related humour as of late. It shouldn’t be funny, but there’s a part of you that has to admit you quite enjoy his stupid jokes. They’re dopey and endearing.

“I can’t help it! Don’t give me that look, you know you think they’re funny secretly.”

“...maybe a little.” You admit, tugging on his hand and beginning to move towards the house. As much as you dislike the whole idea, the sooner you explore and investigate, the sooner you could be done with it. Or at least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

You interlock your fingers, a tight grasp on him that he doesn’t comment on, just squeezes back reassuring you that he’s there, that he’s not going anywhere. The front steps creak as you carefully make your way up them, there’s more give than you would like in the old wood and you can feel your whole body tense as if waiting for the fall, the moment you fall through and break a leg or a wrist. It never comes.

“Poe!” Your panicked voice comes from Poe briefly letting go of your hand to help Bee up the stairs, the deep steps a little too much for the little corgi to handle.

“Hey, it’s okay, i’m here,” He’s quick to shush you, reassuring you as he locks your hands back together that he’s not leaving you alone. The little corgi is quick to follow on your heels as Poe takes the lead walking confidently across the deck, pushing open the creaky front door that’s barely holding on to it’s rusted hinges. It groans at the movement.

“Oh, crap,” it comes from Poe as the door decides that was the final straw, the rusting hinges cracking and collapsing under the strain as the door tumbles to the ground. Dust rises into the air and the two of you cough at the sudden intrusion. Even Bee is sneezing and coughing in his own little way, big sneezes causing his whole body to jump. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Uh huh, tell the cops that. Better yet tell the ghosts that you didn’t mean to break their front door down.” You shake your head as the two of you step over the door and into the entryway of the house.

“Uh, sorry? I didn’t mean to break your door?” There’s a loud bang as you watch an old, disused broom fall to the floor in front of you, repeated and aggressive knocking sounds out around you. You find yourself clinging as close to Poe as you can, but he’s no different, just as wrapped around you as he can.

It’s when Bee starts barking that Poe decides, “There’s some evil in this house…” It’s one of those lines that should be corny, cheesy, silly...but when you can feel your skin crawling with goosebumps and shivers running down your spine, there’s something about it. A new edge to it that changes it from silly to spinchilling.

“Don’t say that! Why do you always say things like that?” You thought back to all the horror movies Poe and you had watched together, demons, ghosts and ghouls, how badly this could all go. Despite that Poe continues to drag you deeper into the large house, following twists and turns.

“Why are we going deeper? Poe!” He pulls you further in still, just turning back with a smile and a quick, ‘it’ll be fun!’, that doesn’t convince you at all. Not when every so often a bump can be heard, an item falling from a height, the shattering of glass.

You’re too scared to ask questions, to even note the way you’re going, which turns you’ve taken. Poe meanwhile can’t seem to stop talking as he drags you deeper and deeper into the large house.

“Knock once for yes, twice for no, is Old Snoke still here? Snokey boy?” A loud single knock sounds out around you as you start up a random staircase, you check that Bee is still following as you press closer to Poe’s back letting out a displeased groan at his paranormal interactions.

Poe continues to ask questions of ‘Old Snoke’, things you really don’t want the answer to, such as did he really murder all those people in his basement and are the bodies still in the walls. You try to block out the knocking, not wanting answers, not even sure if the knocks are coincidence or something sentient, something dead responding to you. You hope it’s just the former, the idea of an old creepy serial killer still ‘living’ in his house long after death is less than appealing.

“Baby, can we leave now?” You whimper it out after Bee starts barking again, as window panes rattle in their casement and floorboards creak.

“Seriously, Poe, can we leave?!” Your breathing is erratic at the feeling of a touch to the back of your neck as you jump into him and away from the sensation, the feeling. When you look at his face, your boyfriend looks equally as freaked out, pupils blown wide, breathing heavy, knuckles white where his grip on the torch is so tight.

“Yeah, yeah, of course, sweetheart.” You wrap tight around him as he begins to lead the way out, following him through twisting hallways and cracked doorways. You have no idea what part of the expansive manor house you’re in, no idea where you’ve ended up, but Poe seems so confident in his strides that you’re sure he knows too.

Until you go in a circle, until he begins to move at a panicked pace as the knocking increases in frequency and Bee is nipping at your heels trying to keep up, barking loudly at something you can’t see.

“Poe…?” He stops short suddenly, breathing heavy as he twists his head this way and that as if trying to catch a glimpse of something, as if searching for something. “Baby?”

“I...okay, don’t kill me, but we may be...a little... uh, lost?” He has his hands up, placating, as if worried you might tackle him or something for getting you lost. In all honesty, you’re upset and you’re angry. At the situation mostly, not so much at him. You don’t want to be here, you want to be in your warm house, curled under a blanket watching a movie with him, not in a creepy old house. You can’t pretend you’re not upset.

“Lost? Lost! I thought you knew where we were going?!”

“It’s a big house, I just, I was so excited to explore I didn’t even think about it!” You pause before responding, a silence falling over the two of you, except it’s not entirely silent. The knocking is still happening in patterns, and the house creaks around you an ambient noise that hasn’t stopped since the moment you stepped inside.

You cross your arms over your chest and turn your back to him, just for a moment, just to collect your cool and calm the frustration and fear that are welling in your chest. You turn back around and say to him, “I’m not speaking to you until we find our way out.”

You’re determined not to speak out of frustration at Poe and in truth the best way to avoid that is to avoid speaking at all. Still you step closer to him again at a loud knock behind you, bumping into his chest.

“You’re not speaking to me?” A dark eyebrow raises, sceptical, and in true Poe Dameron fashion he manages to get a rise out of you without evening trying. You find yourself responding before you can even think.

“Yeah!”

“Ah ha! You just spoke to me!”

“Poe! Now is not the time! I don’t want to be here! I’m scared!” You tug on his arm, although it’s nice to see the fear leave his face for a moment, nice to see his teasing back, you are also very scared and very much not in the mood right now. You are lost inside a creepy, haunted house, a house that has a long and dark history, and this was not , not a good date. Poe was very lucky you loved him.

“...okay, okay, sorry,” He takes a moment to think, spinning around in a circle looking at the various doorways and corridors that he could take you down. Bee spins in a similar circle at your feet copying the actions of his owner, “I think, I think we need to go this way.” He points down a long corridor you haven’t been down yet, it’s long and dark and more than a little intimidating, even more so with the ominous knocks that travel down it in echoing booms.

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be…” In all honesty Poe feels pretty bad for dragging you to a creepy haunted house, getting you lost and making you so uncomfortable. He’s determined to get you out and get you somewhere warm and cosy, and never take you ghost hunting again.

“Next time, I'm picking our date activity, sir!”

“Fair, babe, fair.”

The house is a continued maze of twists and turns, creepy knocking and horrible noises. There are points at which you are sure you hear groans and whispers, but the two of you persist ever onwards. There is no comparable feeling of relief to the one you have when you see that open front doorway, the rush of adrenaline and you, Poe and Bee rush your way out of the house and don’t stop until you are inside Poe’s truck.

The two of you are panting as you strap yourselves in, seatbelts pulled across yourselves, before Poe peels out of the driveway and down the street towards home. “I hope you know we’re never doing that again.”

“Bee, had fun though.”

“At least one of us did.” You look back at the little corgi who is panting happily in the backseat again, not faced by the evening's events and content with his lot in life. You can’t help but laugh now that the fear is gone, the ‘danger’ over. You can’t help but laugh as you lean against the window. Poe joins you as he drives, curls bouncing as his head shakes.

“Who thinks ghost hunting is romantic, Poe?”

“I don’t know, okay? I just, I thought it would be fun!”

-----

Taglist @charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron / reader #poe dameronxreader #poe dameron/reader #star wars #star wars reader insert #gender neutral reader

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 35: Sasha

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Jon asks anxiously.

“I’m fine, Jon,” Sasha says for what feels like the tenth time in the last three minutes. “Phone’s fully charged, so is my laptop. The trapdoor is unlocked and I can get there from my desk in fifteen seconds flat, I’ve timed it. And if all else fails”—she waves her tape recorder at him—“I’ve got this, so there will at least be a record of whatever happens to me.”

Jon frowns. “That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Sasha sighs.

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate that her boss has her best interests at heart. She does. And they’re all friends, and that helps too. But Jon’s paranoia has been back in full force since his encounter with Nikola Orsinov. Tim and Martin are fairly good at tempering it, from what she’s noticed, but he still jumps at small noises and insists they stay together in pairs whenever possible. She doesn’t blame him, especially after they tell the Primes what happened and Jon Prime nearly has a panic attack before he manages to pull himself together. The situation feels like it’s balanced on the edge of a razor blade separating a lake of fire on one side and a bottomless pit on the other—like their choices are to maintain the balance and risk bleeding out before they can get to the other side, or fall to one side or the other and trust in a rescue.

Sasha can admit, if only to herself, that she’s curious about what a lake of fire might feel like to swim in, or if a bottomless hole is truly bottomless, but she’s not going to doom the whole world just to see what happens if she does.

“Jon. It’s okay,” she repeats. “It’s ten in the morning. The building is full of people. I’ll be as safe as I can be. Besides, someone’s got to be here in case someone wants to see what we do in the basement or Elias decides to stop lurking in the shadows and come down to cause havoc. You three have had this planned for weeks.” Raising her voice a little, she adds, “And someone’s got to stop Tim from attempting to fistfight the waxworks because he thinks they’re going to attack.”

“Shut up, Sasha,” Tim calls from the other side of the Archives, where he’s reshelving his files.

Jon smiles, if a bit reluctantly. “And we do both need to be there, if he’s serious about…all right. Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“Cross my heart.” Sasha returns the smile. “You three be careful, too. If I hear about any of you on the twelve o’clock news, I’ll—”

“Disavow any knowledge of us and refuse our phone calls from jail?” Martin supplies as he returns from wherever he’s been and picks up his jacket.

Sasha snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to milk my association with you for all it’s worth. Can you imagine how much the media would pay for an exclusive interview with a close friend of the Waxwork Assassins?”

Jon’s laugh sounds a little unwilling, but from the slight easing in the tension in his shoulders, Sasha guesses she hit the right note. She can’t make him smile as easily as Martin or Tim can, but every once in a while she manages it.

“Don’t work too hard,” Tim says, clapping her on the shoulder as he passes.

“I intend to break out the champagne as soon as you leave,” Sasha shoots back. “Go. Have fun. Try not to punch anything.”

“See you tomorrow, Sasha,” Martin says.

Sasha walks them to the door of the Archives and waves as they set off, Tim on one side and Martin on the other. It’s one of those arbitrary Saturdays Elias has once a quarter where he declares the Institute open to anyone, not just academics, which means they’re all supposed to be in until noon. He always declares them less than a week in advance, though, and Sasha’s fellow team members have already made plans to spend a few hours at Madame Tussauds; partly it’s that they want to see if they can figure out what the Not-Sasha was doing there in the Primes’ time, partly it’s that none of them ever really go off and do anything fun outside their house and they frankly deserve it. Sasha also knows that Tim is going to practice what he’s been learning, about targeting his vision. She’s not sure if that’s knowledge granted to her by the Eye or if she just knows Tim well enough to have figured it out; either way, she wonders if Jon and Martin are aware of it and if she should have warned them. Then she recalls Jon’s half-finished sentence and mentally kicks herself. Of course Jon and Martin are aware of what Tim’s planning. He’s trying to be better about communicating—they all are—so of course he would have told them, probably when he booked their tickets for today. He probably just forgot she hadn’t been part of the conversation.

She heads back to her desk and tells herself not to worry. They’ll be fine.

Settling in at her computer, she goes back to the research she’s doing on this current statement. Martin’s new cross-indexing system pulled up several potential matches, and she’s digging to see if any of it pans out. (Although, considering the nature of the statement, maybe she shouldn’t use phrases like that.) It’s definitely a Flesh statement; unlike the others, which can be more subtle, the Flesh is blatantly obvious when it turns up.

After a few minutes, though, she gives up. She does not have the stomach for this, not today. Instead, she clicks through a few layers of security until she’s in her private, hidden part of her laptop and her private research project. She’s got a few notes to dictate, and she doesn’t like taking work home with her, so she scoops up her laptop and the new tape recorder that matches her nails and retreats to the depths of Document Storage. They prefer doing their unofficial tapes…not on the main floor. It makes them feel a little better, she supposes.

It’s Martin who carved out the space in the boxes, carefully shuffling them around until there’s a little niche just wide enough for a comfortable chair, with an extra box missing from the layer so there’s somewhere to set drinks or notes as the case may be. It’s Tim who found the worn but sturdy armchair at a charity shop, and, surprisingly, it’s Jon who bought what is possibly the world’s tackiest slipcover, what Sasha can only class as “electric paisley”. Tim claims it looks exactly like what he sees when he looks at the shelves in the Archives, but only to Sasha and Martin; he doesn’t even joke about it in front of Jon. Sasha can’t decide if it’s sweet or something she should be concerned about.

She settles into the armchair, legs folded into the lotus position beneath her, and sets her laptop on the note box, then clicks on her tape recorder.

“Research of Sasha James, Archival assistant at the Magnus Institute, regarding the heads of the Institute, past and present,” she says. “Recorded eleventh February, 2017. Notes on Director Thomas Fitzwalter, fourth Head of the Institute, tenure 1940 to 1941.”

At least she doesn’t have a lot of people to look into. In some ways, her self-appointed task is easier than Tim’s or Martin’s, just because the scope is so much tighter. In other ways, of course, it’s harder. Tim only needs to work with himself, and Martin’s index is entirely self-contained within the Archives and their ongoing research. Sasha may only have a total of seven people to actually look into, but they’re hard to pin down. Partly it’s their age; records that predate digital record-keeping are trickier to search, as she has to hope they’ve been indexed online or find a library that might have the resources she needs. Partly it’s the fact that, well, they’re men who were only nominally themselves and were actually Jonah Magnus. Naturally he wouldn’t want people looking too closely at them.

But she’s struck, as she describes the details she’s been able to pull up about the man who had the shortest tenure as Institute Head due to what was either a poorly-timed or well-timed German bomb, by just how unremarkable all of the people she’s looked into were. None of them were standouts in their field, students from prestigious universities, or the scions of powerful families—which has to be a first in academia. She’s working her way backwards, so maybe she’ll find something different with the two men between Jonah Magnus and Thomas Fitzwalter, but so far, not a single one of them has been remotely distinguished, and in any other institute it would be a shock for them to ascend to head it up. Especially so quickly.

“I’m kind of curious as to why the Eye didn’t warn Fitzwalter about the attack in time to get under cover,” she muses. “I’m still doing research into him, so it’s possible he just wasn’t very likable or intelligent, but—”

“Hello?”

“Shit,” Sasha hisses. It’s not one of her boys—or Elias, which is a plus—but that means it’s someone she needs to deal with. “End recording.”

She snaps off the tape, pockets the recorder, closes her laptop, and hastens out to the main Archives with a smile plastered on her face. It falters when she sees who’s standing there—none other than P.C. Basira Hussain, arms folded tightly across her chest. Sasha is ready to get defensive, but then she takes a closer look at her face. She looks…grim is one word for it. Haunted is another. Gutted might come closest.

“Officer Hussain?” she says cautiously.

Basira makes a good effort at glaring at her, but it’s not particularly intimidating. “Was looking for J—Sims.”

“He’s out today,” Sasha answers. “It’s just me, I’m afraid. Can I help you?”

Basira makes a noncommittal noise. “That happen often? Them leaving you to hold down the fort on your own?”

“No, usually there are at least two of us around at all times, especially these days. But we’re also not usually here on Saturdays,” Sasha says. “Open house. Director Bouchard”—she says his name in the clipped, precise, tight-lipped manner of a woman in a male-dominated industry speaking of a superior who would like to keep it that way—“scheduled it somewhat last-minute, and the others already had plans for the afternoon.”

“And they made you stay, did they? Typical men.”

“Actually, I offered. I’ve taken more days off in the last year than all three of them put together, not counting when Martin was out on medical leave after his stint as a colander.”

Basira almost smiles. Sasha sets her laptop on her desk and comes closer. “Okay, I’ve got to ask—is this a professional visit or a personal one? Not like that,” she adds quickly when Basira stiffens. “I know you’re not—Jon doesn’t seem like your type. I just meant—are you here as a cop or…?”

“No, it’s…” Basira sighs heavily. “Just needed to talk to him, I guess. I called yesterday and—”

Sasha remembers now. Jon came out of his office and had Martin pull up all the cases they’ve come across involving the name Maxwell Rayner. “Yeah, I—he mentioned that.”

“He did,” Basira says flatly.

Shit, they’re not supposed to know Basira is feeding him those tapes…but then Sasha thinks, to hell with it. “Yeah. It’s hard to keep secrets around here, you know? Turns out we’re all developing spooky supernatural powers, and mine is that sometimes I know things without knowing how I know them. I mean, sometimes I can Know things on purpose, but mostly it’s just passing by someone and accidentally plucking a secret out of their brain without meaning to. Let me tell you, I did not need to know that the man behind the counter at my favorite coffee shop has a foot fetish.”

“I dunno, that might be useful in the summer if you’re the type to wear sandals.” Basira relaxes, just a fraction, which surprises Sasha more than a little. “What did he say?”

“Just that you’d called and asked about Maxwell Rayner. Look, have a seat, you look like you’re about to fall over. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? There’s some peppermint hot cocoa, too, if that strikes your fancy.” Sasha means it—Basira does look like she needs some fortification, and maybe to talk and get something off her chest—but if she’s being honest, she’s also burning with curiosity about what happened. She’s got to be careful about bringing that up, though. “Sorry we don’t have anything stronger, but, you know, we’re pretending to be professional.”

“Actually, that cocoa doesn’t sound too bad,” Basira mutters. She drops into Tim’s chair and leans her folded arms on his desk, staring at the surface like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Sasha hurries over to their tea station and pulls out one of the spare mugs they rarely use, along with the mug that long ago became hers. Cocoa sounds good, actually. It was grey and overcast when she came in, and she Knows without meaning to that it’s just barely warm enough that it’s raining instead of snowing, so it’s a good day for cocoa. She gives a fleeting thought to wondering if the Primes are warm enough in the stone tunnels, then goes back to making the cocoa.

“Here,” she says, handing the guest mug to Basira. “Made with water, not milk, but I mix a little bit of creamer into it. Works a treat.”

“Thanks,” Basira mutters.

As Sasha takes her seat, she notices her tape recorder sitting on her desk. It was definitely in her pocket a minute ago, and she definitely didn’t take it out, but there it is, innocuously resting next to her laptop. And, she notices, it’s running.

It’s not really a surprise, in some ways. Obviously Basira has a statement, and obviously it’s the real McCoy. It just startles Sasha that the tape recorder turned itself on…and for her. She sort of figured that only happens for Jon. It’s honestly a bit of a thrill, knowing that whatever is behind these tapes recognizes her.

She collects herself. “I take it that…whatever you were asking about Rayner for didn’t go well?”

Basira takes a long drink of her cocoa. “We lost Altman. Just…wasn’t paying attention. Don’t know what they’re going to tell his family. Guess it could have been worse, though, if I hadn’t talked to your boss first, so…tell him I said thanks.”

Sasha reaches over and squeezes Basira’s free hand as comfortingly as she can. Surprisingly, Basira grips it back. “Do you want to talk about it? I mean…I know you’re probably bound by all kinds of confidential agreements and all that, but you can ask any of the others, I’m really good at keeping secrets. We’re trying not to keep secrets from each other, but if you tell me not to say anything to them, I won’t. Just between you and me and whatever’s at the other end of the tape recorder that I absolutely did not turn on myself, by the way. Did you?”

Basira stares at it. “Fuck. Didn’t even notice it was on.” She takes a deep breath. “You know, I—I think I do want to talk about it. Don’t even care if you tell the others, or play them the tape or whatever, just…I need to talk to someone, I think. And with all those Section Thirty-One forms, this is probably the only place I can talk about it. Sure the only place I can talk about it and not feel crazy.”

Sasha nods. “Be glad you didn’t come in a year, year and a half ago. Jon’s skeptic act was legendary.”

“I’ll bet. He looks like a skeptic who got thrown in the deep end.” Basira makes an attempt at a smile. “Where do you want me to start?”

“As the King of Hearts said to the White Rabbit, ‘Begin at the beginning, and go on until you reach the end: then stop.’”

“Alice in Wonderland. Fitting. That’s about what it felt like.” Basira sets down the mug on the table. “Well then. I guess the beginning is with the disappearance of Callum Brodie.”

Sasha keeps her eyes on Basira’s face as she describes the events at the Outer Bay Shipping industrial complex in Harringay. There’s just a little bit of static in her ears as she listens, but mostly it’s just Basira’s voice and the story she’s telling. It is…objectively terrifying, to be honest. Sasha’s always been just a little bit afraid of the dark, or at least of what might be hiding in the dark, and although she never says anything to the others, the Dark statements get to her. She’s never heard one live, though. Never sat with someone and felt their terror coursing through the loop of the shared space between them as they describe coming face to face with one of the two entities Sasha is willing to admit she genuinely fears (the other, obviously, being the Stranger, and she’s still not sure if that’s because of what it did to her Prime counterpart or because of what it did to Tim or just because it’s the natural enemy of the entity she’s bound to). It’s compelling, and the air seems charged with something, but she can’t say what.

“I think they were connected to that cult group from way back, the Church of the Divine whatever,” Basira says at last. She sounds drained.

“The People’s Church of the Divine Host,” Sasha supplies. “Rayner was their leader back in the nineties. We’ve had—God, how many statements about them? I can probably pull them for you if you want.”

“I don’t,” Basira says firmly. “Not even a little. I’ve been thinking a lot over the last few days, and…I’m done. With the police, with Section Thirty-One, all of it. Was going to tell Jon in person, but if he’s not here, this is the best I can do. Anyway, you all have my statement. I felt like I owed it to you.”

Sasha tilts her head to one side. “You’re really quitting?”

“Yeah. And you should, too. All of you. This place…it’s not right.”

Sasha can’t help the soft snort of laughter. “No kidding. I can’t, though.”

Basira raises an eyebrow. “Have to see it through? Or is it loyalty to your coworkers?”

She sounds bitter—like she’s talking from personal experience. Sasha wants to probe at that, but throttles it back. First of all, Basira is a lot pricklier than the rest of Team Archives, she won’t respond to her the same way. And second of all, she is actively trying to be less of an arse about that sort of thing. Instead, she decides for complete honesty. “No, it’s the sort of thing you’re done with. I’m being literal when I say I can’t quit. We’re bound to the Institute—to the Archives. If any of us try to leave, we’ll die.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever get offered a job here,” Basira says dryly. She squeezes Sasha’s hand—it’s only then Sasha realizes they’ve maintained that physical contact throughout the entirety of her statement—then stands up. “Tell Jon I said to stay safe.”

Sasha stands, too, and watches her head to the door. Before she gets there, though, she calls out, “Basira.”

Basira stops and looks back over her shoulder. “What?”

Sasha should ask about the tapes—Jon’s going to want to know, they all want to know, and if Basira quits the force they might have to ask Daisy to bring them and nobody wants that—but what comes out of her mouth is, “Keep a light on for a while. It—I don’t want it to come after you, too.”

Basira studies her for a moment, then gives a small half-smile. “I will. Thanks, Sasha.” With that, she leaves the Archives.

Click! The tape recorder shuts itself off. Sasha stares at it for a moment, then swears. Unlike the others, she didn’t grow up functionally bilingual, so her profanity is limited to English and the smattering of dirty words she and her classmates looked up in French class, but she makes good use of them. She hits the button to rewind the tape with one hand and fishes out her phone with the other. Calling up the obnoxiously-named group chat, she hastily thumbs a message: [Let me know when you’re done.]

That done, she opens her laptop again and sets into some serious research.

Nobody ever visits the Archives on Open House days; the only people who ever come down here anyway are students doing dissertations who need firsthand accounts, especially older ones, and no self-respecting student works on a Saturday morning. So there’s no one to interrupt her as she clicks through Martin’s index, then switches her focus to the onerous task of following the twists and threads of corporate ownership. They haven’t done much research into Maxwell Rayner, either, or at least not as much as they should, so Sasha broadens her search for the name. What she comes up with nearly steals the breath from her lungs. It’s a coincidence, it has to be…

“Sasha?”

Sasha jumps, nearly flipping her laptop across the desk, and whips her head around to see Jon, Martin, and Tim coming towards her, looking worried. “Jesus, you three scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering. We got worried,” Martin says, pointing at her phone.

Sasha looks and sees that she’s missed fifteen texts in the group chat, starting with [We’re done. What’s up?] and devolving from there into mild panic. She flushes. “Sorry. I guess I got a bit wrapped up in my research…didn’t expect you to be done so quickly. Um, how did it go?”

“Fine. Stranger-free,” Tim answers. “One of the staff members has something, though. Jon smelled the statement on her—”

“That makes it sound worse, somehow,” Jon mutters.

“—and I’m pretty sure it’s a Desolation,” Tim continues. “Hopefully she stops by at some point so we can confirm that. What are you still doing here?”

Martin looks over her shoulder at the page called up on her screen. “Max—? Basira. She called back?”

“She was here,” Sasha tells him. She points at her recorder. “The operation she was on went sideways. It’s all on there, but if you’re going to listen, I need to be somewhere else.”

“No, it’s—some other time, maybe.” Jon rubs his forehead. “Summarize for us?”

“Rayner and his…cult, or what’s left of it, kidnapped a boy named Callum Brodie about three weeks ago,” Sasha answers. “The police apparently got a tip-off as to where they’d taken him—a place up in Harringay registered to Outer Bay Shipping. They had a raid yesterday and it was pretty much entirely sectioned officers. Basira called you as soon as she realized that, and by the way, she says thank you for the tip about the lights, because it’s probably the only reason they didn’t all end up dead.” She pauses, wondering how to wrap it all into a neat package, then finally says, “Details are on the tape, but the long and the short of it is that some…really dark stuff came pouring out of Rayner’s mouth and tried to go into Callum Brodie. The officer who shot him probably stopped that from happening, and from the sound of it, the kid’s going to be okay. Rayner is dead. So are three other cult members and one officer. And Basira’s quitting the force. I get the feeling this was kind of the straw that broke the camel’s back for her.”

Jon exhales, hard. “Christ.”

Martin is still studying the screen over her shoulder. “Sasha, this is—does that say what I think it does?”

“Yep. It doesn’t look like Mr. Rayner was particularly subtle.” Sasha looks up at Martin and can see in his eyes that he’s reached the same conclusion she has. Turning to Jon and Tim, who both look confused, she elaborates, “Maxwell Rayner, and the People’s Church of the Divine Host, are associated with the Dark, right? And darkness was flowing out of him into Callum Brodie.”

Jon’s face goes ashen. “Are you saying they were trying to initiate him into their cult? To—to mark him? Christ, how old is he?”

“Twelve, but…no, not exactly. Worse.” Sasha taps one fingernail on the edge of her laptop. “I widened my search for Rayner to before the nineties, especially in conjunction with…weird stuff, and I found this buried in a site about Edmund Halley. The description tallies pretty damn closely with the description of the man in the nineties, so either it’s a family line that doesn’t use suffixes—”

“Or,” Tim says, his eyes going wide with horror, “Maxwell Rayner has been extending his life by taking over new bodies as he ages out of the old one.”

“Or,” Martin adds softly, “stealing the life force of other people. Christ, I’d think that’d be more a Terminus power, but…I guess it’s possible?”

“Darkness. Like—” Jon breaks off the rest of the sentence, but he doesn’t need to say it. They all know what he’s thinking of. Sasha just hopes Elias isn’t paying attention to them right now. “I suppose that’s something we’ll have to…run down.”

“Good idea.” Sasha closes her laptop and stands up, palming the recorder. “Let’s go do that right now.”

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #time travel fix it au #sasha james #basira hussain

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