#or at least the last one before another several year hiatus | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prolix-yuy · 2 years

Text

Reflective

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Summary: His management style is effective AND refreshing. And as his executive assistant, you're partially to thank. But as your professional relationship blurs, are you getting too close to the middle manager monster of nightmares?

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, horror elements and themes, graphic descriptions of blood including drinking, background character un-death, violence, fingering (f-receiving), vomiting (not descriptive), descriptions of a panic attack, a dabble of sleazy coworkers, playing fast and loose with vampire lore.

Notes: Heeeeeeere's LJ! I'm back from my October hiatus just in time for a Halloween fic! Thank you again to @harriedandharassed for the prompt "How does Max Phillips handle not being able to see himself in the mirror?" I was grasping at something to write for Halloween and this prompt came at the perfect time.

This story will include horror elements such as violence, descriptions of blood and some graphic scenes. If that's not your cup of tea, scroll on friend! It was fun to go back to some of my horror writing roots, especially mixing it with the dry comedy of Bloodsucking Bastards. It's Max season babes, and I could not resist writing for this smarmy boy.

There is a part 2, which will post tomorrow. The Discord besties made an excellent suggestion right after I finished the story, and it was so good I needed an addendum. So without further ado, enjoy lovelies and Happy Halloween!

Cross-posted on AO3

If anyone asked Max Phillips what the worst part about becoming a vampire is, he’d probably tell them things like “not getting a tan” or “swearing off Italian food” or “always getting complaints about cold feet”. The last one was often followed by a lewd comment to get a pretty young thing in bed with him to prove it. It’s all farce, of course, clever little quips you’re sure he practiced just like you’d rehearse for a job interview. It gives you a funny little trill when you catch one of those lines again, because you know the truth.

He hates that he can’t see himself in mirrors.

Being Max’s executive assistant, you’re trusted with more than some of your colleagues. Well, that’s debatable, you’ve heard horror stories. But your friend Carla’s stories about her boss’ wife choosing his Peloton instructors for minimum hotness pales in comparison to your early morning runs to blood banks and private contracts with hospital cleanup crews. Max might not be a centuries old vampire, but he’s planning on getting there. You can’t live several lifetimes with a messy trail anymore.

Enter you.

The job listing had been normal enough: Executive assistant. Five years experience. Good references. Not squeamish. Discreet. It was the last three words that piqued your interest the most. You wouldn’t call yourself delicate, at least not for the things Max needed you to do. Your stomach turned when men wanted to stay the night, or your parents begged you to come home for Thanksgiving. Not so much when you had to bag a severed hand.

When it came to the interview you almost walked straight back out of his office before saying a word. The moment you saw him you knew his type. Arrogant, self-centered, prideful, smooth with a customer and cruel in the next breath if you were in his way. You’d seen too many people like him, avoided working with them at all cost. He was young enough that boomer sexism probably wouldn’t be an issue, but you could smell the demand coming off of him. He’d be a yeller, a paperweight thrower, or worse require you to be on call 24/7. You clocked him in a glance and felt the claw of escape behind your ribcage.

And then Max Phillips did something that convinced you to reconsider just as quickly. He stood from his desk, ushered you in, looked you and your resume over for a moment, and spoke.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Max Phillips, Director of Sales, and I’m a vampire.”

The quick introduction, complete with another curious word at the end, made you bark out a laugh.

“What kind are we talking about? Emotionally, mentally…” you rattle off, tight posture relaxing just a fraction. If he was joking with you, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Oh you know, the usual kind. With the blood,” he says nonchalantly, baring his teeth dramatically when your eyebrows raise.

“You don’t say.”

“I do, actually. And you want to be my assistant.”

The conversation flows, with some fits and starts as you realize he’s not kidding. He is indeed a vampire, tossed out like his zodiac sign. The questions he peppers off range from highly professional (tell me a time when you performed well under pressure) to unsettlingly irregular (do you know how to remove blood stains from silk?). You shoot the answers back just as quickly, waiting for the moment when either the charade will drop…or you’ll get the job. Because you want it now. It’s easily the most interesting thing you’ll do in your whole life.

“I think that’s all I need,” Max ends abruptly, shuffling your resume into a pile with some others. Panic grips you, and you rush into your next sentence without breathing.

“Are there any concerns you have about my qualifications?”

Max raises an eyebrow and smiles, one that is much too charming to be in its path too long. Casting your eyes down, you glance at the worn-out toes of your nice interview heels, bemoaning getting them out of the closet for another failed interview.

“On paper you’re perfect,” Max says, and being in the same sentence as perfect skitters up your spine for a moment. You bat it away peevishly. “I only worry that you don’t have the constitution for what I’m looking for.” You shift on your feet, pull one corner of your lip between your teeth while you think. It makes you miss Max’s too-long glance at your mouth.

“I’ve watched all of the Saw movies,” you finally say, meeting Max’s eyes with determination. It makes him bleat out a laugh.

“Okay, not squeamish. Those are movies, though, and this is the real deal,” he teases. “Favorite vampire movie?”

“Let the Right One In,” you answer quickly, your face scrunching with regret seconds after. “Or Only Lovers Left Alive. I watched Queen of the Damned three times at a sleepover once. Have you ever seen Vampire’s Kiss? The one with Nic…” Max’s chuckle lets you trail off into silence.

“And you didn’t even say Twilight.”

You were signing employment paperwork the next day.

Most executive assistants put up with a certain layer of bullshit on a daily basis. Booking flights, picking up paperwork, schedule maintenance. You’d stood in line for four hours to pick up a previous employer’s new iPhone once.

Max had very different needs.

You were briefed on your duties in the privacy of his office. While he did reveal to you how many of his sales force were turned by his hand (or fang, you thought with a giggle), discretion was still a priority. He needed someone to go to his blood bank hookup a few times a week, take care of daytime activities when the sun beat down too hard. Body disposal on very rare occasions (so far only the one time) among all of the normal activities you thought you were signing up for.

The one duty that gave you pause, made you tap your nail on the printed line, was close to the bottom of your orientation packet.

“You need me to ‘maintain your appearance’?” you asked, looking up at Max from across the shiny acrylic tabletop. He was lounging back in his chair, knee pressed against the edge of the desk and spread out with boredom. He rolled his head to his shoulder as you flipped the page around to show him.

“Oh that. Yeah, I need you to check me over, make sure everything looks sharp, especially if I’m going to a big meeting.” You quirked a brow at him.

“Can’t you just look in…a…oh,” you said, slowing to a molasses vowel by the end.

“Yeah, mirrors and I haven’t been on speaking terms since Romania,” he sighed, one heavy thumb tracing the crest of his full lower lip. You tried not to notice the subconscious stroke.

“So you need me to…be your mirror. Make sure your hair isn’t a mess and you don’t have spinach in your teeth.” You were rewarded with a sheepish nod from Max. “Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“What else is true about vampires? Or fake, I’ll take either,” you asked, crossing your legs and settling into the wildly uncomfortable modern chair. Max’s smile turned secretive, and that was the first moment you felt him brand you his confidant.

“The sunlight thing is a bummer. I miss the beach, and swimming in the ocean. Garlic just makes my mouth go numb. Inviting someone into your home has a lot more loopholes than you think. And the sign of the cross does jack shit.” You nodded, making a mental list of even more questions to pepper into everyday conversation.

“Why do you think that all is? Because you’re essentially…undead?” you prodded, getting another bark of a laugh from Max and a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Hey, undead is a little harsh. It’s more like…a virulent vitamin deficiency. If I don’t get what I need, everything starts to shut down.” Max pondered on this analogy for a long moment, looking at a dull mass-produced corporate painting.

“But all the superstitions…like why are those true?”

Max shrugged, running his thumb along the inseam of his dress slacks in a way that pulled your eyes to his thick thighs.

“It’s not like there’s a manual for this. Half the stuff is supposed to be because I ‘have no soul’,” Max made finger quotes as he says this. “But mirrors stopped being silver backed ages ago and I still have to be careful when I go into the men’s room.” He shrugged, taking an exaggerated sip from his iced coffee straw. “I just know what works and what doesn’t, and you just need to help with those gaps, pretty girl.”

You almost choke on your tongue, shooting Max a warning look. He raises his hands in deference, but keeps a raised brow.

"Sorry, I call it like I see it. Can't have someone with poor taste in charge of my appearance."

"Yeah and if you don't want to walk in to a meeting with HQ with a Kick Me post-it on your back, you'll be mindful of that mouth of yours."

The crinkles around Max's eyes deepen, something knowing passing by, but he nods in acquiescence.

It’s honestly not as bad as you thought it might be. You could even call it boring. Max thankfully isn’t a paperweight thrower, though he does speak to most of his subordinates like they’re idiots. Never you, thankfully, he’s all smiles and winks and traded comments during your daily interactions. You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

Routine is your master, and you follow its pattern to the letter. It’s what makes you a great assistant. First thing in the morning is Max’s coffee order, set on his desk atop a coaster you provided when you saw the coffee cup stains. He whirls in, all noise and breeze, and you help him get ready for his morning meetings. A straightened tie - you can practically knot one blindfolded now - a quick sweep of fingers through his short hair, a pantomimed smile so he shows you his teeth. It’s all utilitarian, fast, not thrilling or intimate in a way you’d rarely been with a man. Of course not. That would be…unprofessional.

Lunch involves a teakettle, a blood bag, and a deep bowl that you use to warm his meal. All done in the safety and privacy of the kitchenette in his office. You pour the contents - a balmy 98.6 degrees by the time you’re finished - into a silver to-go cup, which he takes with appreciation when he bursts in. The first few weeks you left right after, but once you were more settled he asked you to stay while he sipped on his “lunch”. The conversation was always interesting, if not a little one-sided.

“You really don’t want to eat like, a salad or something? It’s just O-Positive Capri Suns for the rest of your life?” you asked, stabbing at some lettuce in your tupperware. Max laughed, a braying short one, and put his chin in his hand.

“You can technically eat cardboard and not be hungry, but it’s not food, pretty girl,” he replied, a shit-eating grin stretched across his broad face. You'd scolded him enough about the nickname that it's almost a joke now, except for how those words made you feel. His lips were a deeper red, and the sight plucked at something forbidden in your chest. Not disgust, more like morbid fascination. The sight pulled something primal to the surface, his tongue several shades darker when he licked an errant drop back into the lush cavern of his mouth.

You are not allowed to be lusting after your vampire boss is your mantra when thoughts run rampant.

The afternoons tend to be boring, filled with schedule juggling or email management. Max is often occupied through to the end of day, so you’re left to your own devices. You have a lot of “guys” now, as Max calls them. A blood guy, a disposal guy, a law enforcement guy. It makes you feel important in a way other jobs have lacked. You spend your afternoons making arrangements, both professional and personal, for your boss. It’s when you get the bulk of your work done, but it’s also when you have to be most on guard.

You see, Max has a few other “hungry” employees, and as the day grows long they tend to saunter by and watch you with barely veiled appetites. Brad in sales is the boldest, leaning over your desk and making a show out of smelling you with half-lidded eyes. Creepy. You’d told him off several times, but as he likes to say with just the right amount of douche, “I’m a closer baby, I always get the deal.”

In the metaphor you’re not sure what part of the “deal” you are, but you have no intention of finding out. Enough polite excuses and faked phone calls have kept him at bay, but you worry what might happen if he gets bolder, or gathers a few more vamps to sway your opinion. Is there a clause in your contract about not getting turned into a creature of the night? You should have checked.

The end of the day is often a quick affair. Max gets a debrief of anything important that came up, and what’s on the docket for tomorrow. Normally he packs up his suitcase with a little small talk, bids you a good night, and is off to do…whatever a vampire does when he’s off work.

Today, however, the script has a few additions.

“What’s wrong?” Max says, movements slowing as he takes in your shaking hand placing an itinerary on his desk. You tighten, smile forced.

“Nothing! Just fine,” you spit out, which only increases Max’s suspicion.

“Did something happen? Did someone say something to you?” he asks, voice dropping to a low fuck-that’s-hot register. You swallow hard and will something, anything to come to mind.

“Just Brad being Brad. I don’t think he’s turned anyone in a while and he’s getting desperate,” you try to chuckle lightly, but Max’s eyes darken. He stands to his full height, shoulders straining against his jacket. Planting his hands on his hips, he pins you in his sight.

“Did he touch you?” This is a true growl now, and Max’s face changes into a terrifying mask, perfect teeth suddenly lengthening to points as he fights against the rush. Your mouth drops open, but only monosyllabic words come out.

“No. Safe,” you gasp, and the simple admission sobers Max. His jaw ticks, rolling his shoulders and jaw until the transformation recedes. You wish your heartbeat could slow that quickly. After a few steadying breaths, Max finally turns back to you.

If his gaze was electric before, it’s damn close to lightning when your eyes meet. The jolt pulses in your veins, and his nostrils flare briefly.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says, all smooth professionalism like you haven’t just watched him vamp out because a coworker was a sleaze. You nod once, grateful, trying to ignore the sweet friction taking a step back gives to your core.

“Will there be anything else?” you ask, the customary end to your daily exchanges. Max gathers his briefcase, movements purposeful but fast.

“Nothing more, enjoy your night,” he answers, slipping past you with a wave of copper and musk that can’t be hidden by his Hermès cologne. You echo the sentiment but wait to take a full breath until you hear the elevator ding.

The next day Max walks in like a goddamn gladiator, powerful strides and testosterone rolling off his wool jacket. You can sense him before you see him, sometimes wondering if that’s part of the power he wields.

“Good morning!” he booms out, coming to a stop in front of your desk. You type out the end of your sentence and turn to him, smile at the ready, when your eyes drop to a box in his hand. The smile twists to confused amusement.

“What’s that?” you ask as he places the box in front of you with a pat to the silk bow neatly wrapping it.

“Happy six months of working here,” he says with more pomp than necessary. You narrow your eyes; it’s only been four, but his face is eager so you shrug it off. The bow is buttery soft under your fingers, and your heart rate ticks up rapidly. The box hinges open, and nestled inside is a women’s Rolex watch.

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s stunning, the perfect mix of feminine and authoritative. Gleaming oystersteel and everose gold, diamonds circling the watch face laser etched with delicate leaves. It’s easily worth four months of your pay. Your mouth drops open in disbelief.

“Max, I can’t…” you start, but he places his palms on your desk and leans close, tilting his head to one side to favor your cheek with his spearmint breath.

“Wear it. No one will dare touch you, pretty girl. I promise.” His eyes are darkly confident, and the reassurance does ease the shock of the gift.

“Okay,” you manage to squeak out. “Thank you, Max.” He nods once with a lopsided smile before returning to the usual routine of your day. While he settles in, you slide the ungodly expensive timepiece out of the box and onto your wrist. It snaps shut in a perfect fit, and the thought of Max demonstrating your wrist size to the sales person makes heat radiate in your cheeks.

Miraculously, he was right. Brad spies you in the afternoon but one look at the watch has him about-face and leaving twice as quick as he came. At lunch the next day you ask Max about it. He smiles conspiratorially, leaning up against his desk to look down at you seated with your sandwich. You might have thought he was trying to cop a peek at your cleavage, but you had a turtleneck on today, and his eyes didn’t roam from your face.

“The sign of the cross doesn’t do shit…for me. I wasn’t a church-going kid, never got into anything organized. For a talisman to work, the belief has to be twofold. You have to believe it will protect you, and they have to believe it too. So if you want real protection against something out to get you, you have to know them intimately.” He pauses, thumb absently rubbing along the line of his bicep where he’s folded his arms. “If you both believe, anything can work.”

“Like this?” you ask, lifting your wrist with a twist. A flash of something passes over Max’s face before he gives you a lopsided smile.

“You believe it protects you?” he asks, his voice dropping into a softer lilt. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“You told me it did.”

“And they all believe it does, because I gave it to you.” An unspoken phrase hangs between you.

I’ll protect you.

“Could have chosen something less flashy,” you joke, needing to cut through the heaviness in the air. Max’s smile cracks his face, shaking his head as he moves to his side of the desk.

“Where’s the fun in that? You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

"And you're on thin ice, Max."

"My favorite place to be."

When it’s actually your six month anniversary, Max schedules a dinner for you. Private chef, live music, a beautiful venue. He told you to bring whoever you wanted, and his name dances on the bow of your lips for a moment. You thought hope might be in his eyes that you’d let it spill. But cowardice struck, and instead you brought your two sisters. They gush over the decadence.

“Are you sure he doesn’t want to fuck you?” One says, forking another mouthful of the best chocolate cake you’ve ever tasted into her mouth. “This is like, fourth date level extravagance.”

“He’s my boss, god. Just shut up and eat.”

“I’m just saying, my husband takes me to the Cheesecake Factory, and while I will never say no to another round of Bang Bang Shrimp, this is above and beyond what anyone would expect from your boss.”

Your other sister doesn’t say anything until you’re alone.

“Just…be careful. This could get really messy.”

Oh you have no idea.

You nod, folding your hands under your chin and looking out at the glittering skyline.

“I will, I promise. We just have a…different working relationship than anyone’s used to. But he’s never made me feel uncomfortable.”

Quite the opposite, really. You’ve never been so comfortable with another person in your life. You’d given him floss picks and wiped shaving cream from behind his ear, smoothed flyaways and cupped his chin to inspect an uneven sideburn. He’d let you touch every part of him without comment, brushing lint from his broad shoulders and tucking inside-out pockets back into their rightful homes.

In return, he treated you with respect. Apart from the nickname, which you won't admit you've come to enjoy, he treated you kindly and professionally. He was a womanizer, but not with you. You weren’t naive, he was definitely fucking plenty of women in the last few months you’d been working for him. Sometimes you saw the ghosts of them in his suitcase, or crumpled in pockets. Once you’d been ready to knock on his closed door but high, breathy moans held your hand at bay. Janet from Web Design left an hour later (impressive, though you’d never say it) and Max called you in shortly after, hands freshly washed and the heavy musk of sex combating faux floral notes of air freshener. Neither of you addressed it.

The difference, you assumed, was professional. He lauded your work, told you how much he appreciated how smooth you made everything for him. He wouldn’t want to fuck that up for a quickie over his desk. Or against the mahogany door. Or on the kitchenette floor, his reddened lips leaving sticky trails on your breasts.

The blast of chill outside the restaurant sobers your thoughts. You send a text to Max, thanking him for the dinner and sending a couple selfies of you and your sisters. His return text is swift.

You deserve it, pretty girl. Looking gorgeous.

The wine loosens your inhibitions just enough to send a text back.

What?

Instant response.

Guess.

Your hands start shaking too hard to respond, suddenly feeling much tipsier than you thought. Typing a hasty, “Thanks again, good night,” you get into the cab and spend the ride home regulating your breathing. Max doesn’t respond.

Minor issues aside - a rowdy employee or two, some tense negotiations, a race to the finish one month for sales - you like your work. You’re considering settling in, maybe not looking for the next big thing for a little while. The pay is good, the benefits are better than most, and you’re happy. For the first time in years, you actually look forward to coming to the office. And a tiny part of you that you hide away knows why.

The start of October is always a favorite time of year for you. Scary movies in abundance on TV, fall decor, and the excitement of heading into the darker months. Thanksgiving and Christmas are fine in their own rights, but Halloween is your personal favorite. You don’t add frivolity to your desk beyond a tiny pumpkin next to your pen cup, which Max eyes with a wry little smile, and a bucket of Halloween candy that anyone is welcome to dip into. It twists the mood just a fraction away from corporate dullness to corporate-appropriate holiday spirit. You even catch Max with his hand in the candy jar once or twice, waving a snack-size Twix or KitKat as he comes and goes.

You do wonder if the childishness of the holiday is something Max dislikes.

“It’s a little naive,” he bemoans, swallowing the dregs of blood from his insulated mug as you wash your tupperware in his kitchenette sink. Wordlessly you hold a hand out for the empty cup to clean. “Seeing everyone gallivanting around, pantomiming monsters, when they’re all too real.”

“More than vamps? Friends with any werewolves?” you tease, soaping up the sponge designated for Max’s lunches and scrubbing the congealed mess out of the lid threads.

“Would you like to meet one?” he answers, a sing-song mockery of your own joke.

“God no, I have enough supernatural shenanigans with you,” you laugh, washing your hands clean so you don’t smell of copper. You’re careful to slide the gifted Rolex back around your wrist when you’re finished, a ritual Max watches closely every time. Clearing your throat, you gather up your lunch bag and move to leave.

“Maybe a Halloween party would be good for morale,” Max says nonchalantly, voice stopping you in the door. You wrestle the smile off your face before turning back to him.

“Would you like me to arrange something?” you ask, failing to keep your expression breezy. Max flashes that conspirator’s grin that drums up excitement in your chest.

“Please.”

The office latches onto the party date, only a couple days before Halloween proper. There will be food, drinks, a few small prizes for best costume and raffles. You count down the days with mounting excitement, the spirit of the season making you bouncier, lighter in and out of work. Max teases you about it.

“So you’re not going to tell me what you’re going as?” he wheedles, watching you lay piles of paperwork in neat folders on his desk. You shake your head, clucking your tongue when you notice you’re one short.

“Half the fun is the surprise,” you call over your shoulder as you speed back to your desk and return with the final folder. Max doesn’t even pretend he’s interested in the documents. “What are you going to be?” His eyebrow cocks, shaking his head with derision.

“I’m a vampire, honey, I am my own costume,” he drawls, making you roll your eyes.

“So I should expect a cape with a high collar? Some dollar store plastic fangs? Hair gel?” you tease, making your hands into claws over the desk. “I vant to suck your blooooood!” you mime in your best Dracula impression, getting your own eye roll in return.

“If you’re not telling, I’m not,” he throws back, finally scooting forward in his chair and opening one of the folders. You straighten up, triumphant, and leave him to his work.

The day of the party greets you with excitement. You made the decision to go subtle, since you’ll be sitting in costume all day. Your coworkers would have time to change before the party, but you were organizing and didn’t have that luxury. So on went a sensible white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and sheer black nylons. Slipping them up your legs, you grind your lip between your teeth. The back seam of the nylons, paired with the black stiletto heels you found in your closet, turn the dress from something mundane to possibly recognizable. When you turn your back to the mirror, crossing your ankles prettily, one of the most recognizable movie posters in history pulls to the forefront.

You could give Maggie Gyllenhaal a run for her money.

The last piece - an addition that turns the costume from seductive to silly - you tuck into the chest pocket of your blouse before leaving.

The day passes quickly, Max calling to tell you he’s meeting with HQ through lunch and to get the festivities started without him. You usher in the caterers, laughing with your coworkers when they ask what your costume is. So far the cover story works, and they all enjoy the clever play on words.

The party is in full swing, raffle tickets being handed out and drinks starting to flow, when Max enters. His voice precedes him, and it’s a good thing it does because if you didn’t have that brief moment to gather yourself your mouth would have dropped open.

It’s a perfect recreation of Gary Oldman’s Dracula costume. It’s so on the nose a laugh almost bubbles out if you weren’t breathless. He’s swathed head to toe in dove gray, save for the sharp shock of black around his neck, the shine of his shoes, the rich dark leather of his gloves. The waistcoat pulls tantalizingly against his stomach, a bright silver pin at the base of his throat. He’s slicked his hair into a side part, small blue-tinted glasses perched halfway down his curved nose. Leaning on the walking stick and crossing his ankles, he makes a sweeping “ta-da!” motion with his hand. Applause erupts, giving you cover to gasp in some much-needed air.

“To All Hallows' Eve,” he croons, sharing secret looks with the team members you know are his brethren. By the time he catches your eye across the room you’ve finally comported yourself, smiling brightly at his nod.

It takes him some time to get to you, fighting through the crowd of people wanting to rub elbows and make an impression. He gives them all their five minutes of fame in his presence, annoyance slowly ticking up with each stop. You keep busy organizing the raffle, handing out voting sheets (Max will certainly win best costume) and watching him out of the corner of your eye.

It’s at the first lull in your duties that Max slides up next to you, a warm hand on your lower back. It makes you jump, but settle quickly when his impressed smile comes into view.

“I think I know what you’re supposed to be,” he murmurs, coming to stand in front of you to get a better look. His brow furrows when his gaze lands on your breast pocket. “Hmmm, maybe not. So spill, what’s your costume?” he says, leaning on the cane and dragging his gaze up and down your body. Aiming for a carefree smile, you tap on the little calculator peeking out of your pocket.

“I’m someone you can count on,” you enunciate, the confusion and realization swirling in his eyes until a laugh bubbles out, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you came to the party as a pun,” he chokes out, both of you now giggling next to the bags of chips and finger sandwiches. When he finally gets control of himself he nods approvingly.

“Well, you might not win best costume with that…” You shrug, conceding, “but I’d give you the prize if you admit what you actually came as, pretty girl.”

Time slows to sticky seconds as Max inches closer to you, eyes sliding over your shoulder, tracing the curve of your neck, lighting for much too long on your lips. He knows, knows you wore the outfit from Secretary and for no one else but him. You keep your stare trained on his face. It’s not the first time you’ve considered throwing out professionalism in favor of hunger. It’s not like anyone else has been upholding your rigorous standards. Would it be so bad to let Max chase his desires with your body? To bloom underneath him, above him, around him? Would you like the taste of his mouth, coppery and thick?

He’s close enough to be more than professional but not so close to be indecent, hot fingers tracing the band of the Rolex circling your wrist. Your mind blearily wonders if that’s when you let down the wall that kept him out. His eyes finally meet yours, a question in their depth, before his face contorts and he steps back quickly, a grimace painting his features.

“Are…” You swallow, mouth torturously dry. “Are you okay?”

He nods, fighting on a smile and straightening with effort.

“Yes, sorry, I was…busy this afternoon, haven’t eaten yet.” He raises his hands in defense at your scolding glance, the tension back to a bare simmer.

“Well go get a drink, I won’t announce the winners until you get back,” you say breathlessly, giving him a dazzling smile that he returns shyly. The tables are turned for once in your favor, and you savor watching Max on unsure footing. “Do you need me to heat something up for you?”

“No, I’ve got it taken care of,” he assures you, making his way to his office. A wave back at you is the last you see before he closes the door.

Finally able to make sense of what’s going on, you get back to the party, mingling with the girls you like from marketing and keeping tabs on the liveliness of the party. Max doesn’t return, the time to announce the costume winner closing in. You worry at your cuticles, his absence starting to toll on your mind. What if he was passed out in his office, weakening by the second? While you were out here with coworkers that had never given you a second glance?

Your resolve snaps, mother henning be damned, as you move to Max’s office. The din of the party muffles your voice, stepping close to listen at the door.

“Max?” you call, with no answer. Heart thumping, you test the handle. Locked. A quick trip to your desk has the spare key in your hand, ready to slot into the lock.

“Max, it’s time for the announcement, I didn’t think you wanted to miss it,” you say, and this time you hear something. A low, pained groan.

The key slams into the lock, turning frantically as you whip the door open, two steps in with it shutting heavily behind you before you register what’s happening.

Max is not alone. And he’s…

He’s…

Oh fuck.

It’s easy not to see the monster when it looks like a middle manager. It’s easy to pretend the blood is a beetroot smoothie, or that the stains on his shirt are red wine. When Max makes it seem so dull, so boring, you sometimes forget he’s something strange and powerful.

But when you’re face to face with the truth, it all comes rushing to the forefront.

Max has Janet, the pretty thing from Web Design, spread out on his lap, her hands gripping the armrests of his chair. One hand is covering her mouth, leaning her head back to loll against his shoulder. The other is buried under her skirt, and from here you can see wetness shimmering inside her thighs. The lewd flexing of his forearm working her with those fingers you covet day in and day out almost distracts you from what’s actually happening. Almost.

Dragging your eyes up, you take in the true horror of the situation. You recognize the change, his face contorted with lines of deepening purple and red streaking his skin. The same that you saw when you told him about Brad. His mouth is latched onto Janet’s neck, red oozing around the seal of his lips. He’s groaning, swallowing thickly as you imagine mouthful after mouthful of her blood pouring down his throat.

The slam of the door drags Max’s eyes up, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline when he sees you. Mouth popping off Janet’s skin, he growls your name, deep and drunken. The loss allows blood to spurt from Janet’s neck, thick droplets spraying across her bare legs, the carpet, his desk, staining papers you laid there just this morning. Your stomach churns violently, legs weakening as Janet thrashes against Max’s hold. He tears his eyes from you to look down at the mess, a rough, “shit,” falling from his blood-stained lips before he fits his mouth back to the ring of teeth.

There is nothing darkly romantic about this now, no suave vampire lover sipping delicately from a young debutante’s neck. Blood sluices down to stain Janet’s pink top a deeper red, her face painted with rusty smears that gather between his fingers. Max pounds his fingers inside her, the telltale spasm of her orgasm accompanied by the liquid squeak of her flats slipping in her own blood. He withdraws, a sticky string of her cum trailing across her thighs. Pressing her flush to his chest, he sucks and growls and hums until Janet goes still, fingers falling away and body slumping. The pop of his mouth off the wound lets a dribble slip between the swell of her cleavage, more still smeared and dripping from his mouth. He sighs with relief, thick tongue lazily licking at the mess around his lips. He bands his arms around Janet and lifts, folding her face-down on his desk, legs dangling limply over the edge. Her eyes are sightless, blood smearing onto the Meyer report.

A maddening thought - you’d have to reprint that - spikes through your consciousness.

Max stands, swaying slightly as he rolls his shoulders, finally looking at you trembling in his office. His eyes are blood red, human only in that he sees you with them. Realization flits across the face you barely recognize, smile going predatory. As if a body isn’t lying mere inches from him, he places his hands on his desk, leaning over to give you a sultry look.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he purrs, a sound that vibrates in two tones. It makes your fight or flight instinct claw up your spine. Specifically the flight part. The fight part is warring against the fiery arousal burning in your belly at Max’s slick mouth, the generous tenting in those gray pants, and the rabid desire in his eyes. Fear sharpens your pulse, and you know it would take barely anything to make you cum with a wail if he’d only touch you.

“Can smell you from here, little secretary. Know you want me to devour that juicy pussy.” Max lengthens his neck, closing his eyes and inhaling with a satisfied moan. Flecks of blood dot the gray waistcoat, jacket abandoned in a heap on the floor. The black shirt hides the color but not the wetness of what Max could not eat. “I would, you know. I would eat you even if I was full to bursting. Let me taste you, pretty little thing. I want you on my tongue. I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll wash me clean.”

He’s prowling around the table now, steps soft and light, and you’re a frozen gazelle with a tiger approaching. No, that’s too grounded, too finite. You’re a candle flame in the middle of an ocean, a moment away from being swallowed up. Your face is wet; you’re crying. You’re scared. You’re so aroused it hurts. You’re so in over your head you’re drowning.

You can’t breathe.

Realization flickers over Max’s face and you watch him change. The veining and depth of his features recedes, eyes clearing back to soft brown as he slows his advances even further.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, I’m not…I’m not gonna hurt you.” He turns his palms up, keeping his distance as you struggle to let air back into your lungs. The first whoosh makes you so lightheaded you stumble back, falling to your knees. Max goes down to his knees with you, one hand outstretched but still too far to touch. You can’t stop shaking, taking in big gulping breaths. Max waits, a drip of blood from his chin shocking him into scrubbing his sleeve over his face. Most of the gore vanishes, but the pink hue remains.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I would never hurt you,” he tries again, scooting another pace forward. “I’m sorry, you were never supposed to see that. I fucked up, please…”

His hand brushes your ankle and you know you’re going to be sick. Bile rushes up your throat and you scramble blindly for the trash bin. You make it just in time, emptying your stomach with retching sobs. A warm palm strokes your shoulder and you snap your arm out, head still hanging.

“Don’t touch me!” you rasp, and the hand is gone, letting you finish shuddering and coughing into the bin. When your stomach stops cramping you crawl away, ignoring Max’s concerned face in your periphery. You lost one of your shoes, picking it up from its topple onto the floor and holding it in your hand like a weapon.

“Please, look at me,” Max begs, and you finally take him in. He’s much more the Max you know, but so different now. Same hair you arrange for him, same soft-shaved face you touch more than you actually need to. Same brown eyes that look to you for guidance. But when you look closer you can see the film of blood on his teeth, droplets clinging to his eyebrows, and a never ending hunger in the depths of his eyes.

You scramble to your feet, hobbling in one shoe. Max stumbles back up to your height.

“Pretty…?” he begs again, but you’re opening the door, striding out into the ruckus of the party. A couple people turn, eyes expectant until they see you. Confusion, or realization, turns them back around to ignore you. Heart thumping in your throat, fear pangs through your chest. Is there any blood on you? A quick inspection finds none, so it must be your haunted expression and disheveled appearance that inspires discretion.

Unable to spend another moment in this building, copper still strong in your nose, you stuff your shoes in your bag and try to hurry out the back door. You need to get home, behind a locked door, maybe several. Somewhere you can think, get a level head, figure out what to do.

Then Brad steps into your path, and your stomach plummets again.

“Hey, where are you going? You haven’t announced the costume contest winner yet!” he laughs, blocking your path. Stepping to the side, you watch in dismay as he does the same. Again, but the other way, and he follows. Tutting, he nods at your Rolex.

“Seems like this is just an expensive gift now,” he bemoans, dunking you in clarity.

You have to believe it will protect you.

Nothing can save you now.

Only yourself.

Another step-dodge hides your hand diving into your bag, and when Brad grabs your wrist you swing your arm back and drive your stiletto into the side of his neck.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts, hands coming up to staunch the dark blood seeping around the wound. Faintly you hear Max’s door open and the party drop to silence, but you leave the noise as you burst into the stairwell, racing to your car and away from the hell behind you.

Max stumbles out of his office as the door slams behind you, clothes sticking to his skin and mouth full of metallic tang.

“Bitch put her heel in my goddamn neck!” Brad shouts, stomping up to Max. “Your assistant needs some fucking discipline Phillips.” He must have more to rant about, but two swift hands snap Brad’s head clean around and off, letting his body crumple to the floor. Max watches with disinterest, pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling long and deep before tossing the head to join.

“Okay people, cleanup protocol,” he calls out, and the vampires in the crowd all look at each other.

“Boss?” one of them says, making Max snap his attention to them in frustration.

“You heard me, we’ll start relocation tomorrow.”

Max ignores the screams of his turned subordinates feeding on the human ones, his eye catching the glint of something on the ground. He kneels, heart sinking at what he finds. The Rolex, her talisman. Picking it up, he turns it grimly in his hands. Brad shouldn’t have been able to touch her, not with this. As long as she still believed it worked.

“Fuck,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb over the face, an errant smear of blood clouding the crystal.

You get the call on Sunday afternoon, a whole weekend spent locked up in your apartment and stressed over what Monday would bring. The unknown number is the district manager letting you know that your office is being outsourced, effective immediately. Do not return to the building, please ship company property back to HQ, on and on. Part of you is relieved to not have to step foot back there. The morbid voice in the back of your mind whispers that there’s more to it than cheaper labor. You let that voice fade in favor of relief.

With enough savings for a few months out of a job, you begin the search anew. HQ gave you a generic recommendation letter, which should be enough for your new employer. It would have been preferable to have one from Max, but thinking about what it might say gives you hysterical giggles.

Can warm blood up to body temp perfectly.

Handles high stress situations such as scheduling a body dump.

Looks into my eyes like she’s known me forever.

You force yourself out of this line of thought.

Three weeks after you ran out of that building for the last time, you get an email.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Can we talk?

Your fingers hover over the keys, throat tightening. The hysteria died down after the first week, your trips outside cautious over the second, and finally a sense of calm had settled back into your life. Did you want to invite chaos back in?

To: [email protected]

Subject: When?

Your reply sends and moments later your inbox pings again.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Now?

Your face scrunches in confusion before the sharp buzz of your front door bell jars you out of your chair.

“Fucking…Max, give a girl a minute,” you curse, smoothing a hand through your hair and shrugging at your loungewear attire. Padding to your intercom, you click the button to activate the video screen. No one is standing on the stoop of your apartment. Confused, you press the talk button.

“Hello?”

“It’s Max.”

You’re stunned into silence before a smile creeps onto your face.

“You’re not visible on cameras too?”

“Ha ha, yeah I know, it’s great for a life of crime,” he drones out sarcastically, and even though you can’t see him you can imagine that mocking face.

A ball appears in the back of your throat. You missed him.

Buzzing him up, you wait at your door, leaning in the entryway. You don’t think he’s here to violently tie up a loose end, but you could be wrong. Your good judge of character has been suspiciously absent in the last eight months.

Three swift knocks and Max is standing in your doorway, holding a bouquet of sunflowers. You’d assumed he’d be in a suit, but this one is more casual, no necktie and his collar open. He’s wearing a cocky I-knew-you-missed-me face, but underneath there’s a current of worry, concern, and care that warms you.

“Oh, you never told me,” you say, holding the door open thoughtfully, “what are the loopholes for entering someone’s home without being invited in?”

Max’s eyes crinkle up as he rolls his eyes. There’s the man you’d been falling for.

Oh.

Oh wow.

Shit, that’s the first time you’d thought that.

“So in the movies it sounds so formal. Like ‘may I enter your home?’ and the other person has to say ‘yes, you may,’ but nobody talks like that anymore. You can just say come in, and that’s it. Or I can ask if I can come in and if you say yeah, that’s good enough. I’ve even had people tell me to come get a hug, or get out of the cold, and that worked too. Human language has evolved so much and…I am absolutely babbling like an idiot right now.” Max trails off and you stifle a smile behind your hand. It pulls a relieved one onto his face.

“I missed you,” you say, the words coming easier than you expected. Max’s eyes soften.

“I missed you too.”

You look at each other in silence before you snap back to the previous conversation.

“Oh, shit, right, yeah come in,” you stutter, Max crossing the threshold and handing you the sunny bouquet. The plastic wrap crinkles around your fingers, making for a good distraction as you move to put them in water while Max hangs his coat.

It takes you a few minutes to snip the stalks and place them in a vase, and then a few moments more to ask Max if he’d like something (“whatever you’re having”) and brew two cups of black tea. Entering your little living room, you find Max sitting at one end of your couch, thumbing through a travel book. He puts it down to accept the tea, setting it to cool on the coffee table. Placing yours beside, you settle into the couch and try to think of where to begin. Thankfully, Max starts.

“I’m sorry you had to see any of that after all that you’ve done for me. It was inappropriate for me to feed at work, even more so to scare you. It was wildly unprofessional and I completely understand if you don’t want to be associated with me after that.”

You blink slowly at him, absorbing this carefully rehearsed apology. He waits for your response, damnation or salvation.

“Is Janet okay?”

You watch his face cooly as he struggles through a few different emotions. Confusion, incredulity, amusement, relief.

“Yeah, Janet’s fine, I turned her. She’s moving to England, not as much sun.”

Silence slips between you before you break into giggles, Max following along as the tension unwinds. When your breath stops hitching you give Max a warm smile, picking up your mug to take a sip.

“Sounds like HQ just wanted to sweep all this under the rug. Would it always have ended up this way, or was the party to blame?” Max shrugs, arm slung over the back of the couch and ankle resting on his knee.

“It’s different every place I go. Sometimes it’s longer, other times it’s only a few weeks. You made it easier,” he says, a blanket of fondness warming your lap. Tracing the lip of the mug with your fingernail, you sort through what you want to say next.

“Before the party…was something going on between us? Or is that some weird vampire thing to make humans easy to manipulate?” Peering through your lashes, you think you see Max blush.

“I can assure you I did not use my supernatural powers of suggestion on you. Only on difficult clients,” he laughs, tilting his head lazily onto one shoulder. “Yeah,” he adds quieter, face turning to his lap. “Yeah, there was something going on between us.” Slowly, giving you time to shy away, he reaches out to brush his fingers along the inside of your knee. A trill of excitement flutters through you. “I hope it’s still there.”

Just as cautiously, you reach out and let the tips of your fingers meet, his hand turning over to cup them in his palm. The softness of his skin entices you to stroke along his broad palm, the undersides of his fingers, until he moves to lace them with yours, joints stretching pleasantly around his larger ones. When you get the courage to look up he’s regarding you with quiet wonder, lips parted. You smile at him, eliciting one in response.

“I have something for you,” he says, voice tight as he digs into his pants pocket. It’s a smaller box than the first gift he got you, and you release his hand to take it. Sliding the top off, you’re treated to a delicate silver chain.

“I don’t think the Rolex quite expresses what I’d like us to be now,” Max says, lifting the chain out of the box. It’s even more dainty in his hands, thick fingers struggling briefly with the clasp.

“So you’re not asking me to keep being your assistant?” you say, pulse pounding in your ears so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

“Put this on and I’ll show you what I’d like us to be,” he says, a soft challenge but no fire in his eyes. Instead there’s a question, one that you’d struggled with in the weeks following the party.

Could you handle this?

Pushing up on your knees, you gently lift one leg over Max’s lap, settling on his thighs. His eyes widen, then that bratty smile comes back to grace his face.

“I’m waiting Max,” you tease in a sing-song lilt. He lifts the chain to loop around your neck, fastening the ends together. It hangs cooly against you, sensation slowly disappearing as it warms to your skin.

“This will protect you, if you believe in it,” he says, and as he breathes the words he leans up to place a soft kiss to your collarbone, pressing the chain between his lips and your skin. “It will protect you from those with ill intent,” he continues, trailing his lips along the necklace as he places another kiss at the base of your throat, “because I will never let another creature, living or undead, bring harm to you.” Here he places an open-mouthed kiss on your sternum, a tentative lick pebbling your skin. “And it will protect you from me,” His mouth moves up the other side of your neck, peppering kisses along the way, “because I will never lay a hand on you that you’re not begging for.”

You bury your hands in his short locks, scratching your nails along his scalp. The groan he lets out makes him circle you in his arms, sliding you down his thighs to sit tight against him. His breathing becomes erratic, and he rolls his hips below you.

“I’ll never…fuck, I’ll never drink from you. I’ll never bite you, I promise,” he growls, and now his mouth is hot and possessive on your neck, sucking and scraping teeth up to worry behind your ear.

“I like biting,” you whisper back, grinding lightly on him. “Only these teeth, though, not the sharp ones.”

The dark chuckle he makes precedes him pulling you back, looking up at you with wide eyes and a damp mouth.

“I still want you to be my assistant, though, I’m a mess without you,” he pants, eyes glittering with mirth. Shaking your head with a sigh, you dip down to capture the mouth you’d been coveting. He tastes like bitter tea leaves, coffee, and the primal coppery heat of blood on the back of his tongue.

It’s a taste you could get used to.

#max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #prolix fics

422 notes · View notes

lilpixielixie · 5 months

Text

CHAPTER THREE: Delicate | hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

Delicate | hwang hyunjin x fem! reader

"This ain't for the best, my reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me"

- Delicate, Taylor Swift

Summary: Moving to Seul wasn't something that Selene expected to do, but her broken heart and tired soul were craving for peace. She didn't even think too much about it: she simply saw an opportunity that would let her hide from the media and Hollywood for some time and took it. However, she will have to make a decision by the end of the year and she hopes that, when the time comes, the same world that was hating on her right now would forget everything. Maybe she wasn't meant to be an actress, but she was sure she wasn't meant to be loved. At least, that was what she thought before meeting an idol who wasn't treating her like a broken and pitiful person.

Words: 2K

Genre: actress!reader x idol!hyunjin, SLOW BURN, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut (minors dni)

Warning: mention of Hyunjin's hiatus

Author's note: Hi everyone! I know it's been another month, but I've been really busy with work and lots of other stuff I've been doing that maybe one day I will tell you about. Also, mainly they speak english with Selene, when they speak korean I will change font so you can understand the difference! Enjoy the chapter!

Series Masterlis | Selene Profile

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“You’re really rocking this shorthair agenda” Sunoo said while making a weird hand gesture.

Selene cringed.

“For the love of God, Sunoo please stop and go back to practice with the others”

“I’m being supportive of our amazing and beautiful choreographer!!!” he replied, outraged.

Sunghoon snorted from the floor where he was stretching “Seeing your performance lately, you should really practice instead of chit chatting”

Sunoo shot him a glance and huffed “Do you wake up every morning being this insufferable? Was there once you were nice?”

“Children, no fighting in the practice room” Selene warned both the boys “go back to warm up, I want to run the whole performance of tamed-dashed at least five times”

“FIVE?!” Jake yelled from the other side of the room. He was wearing a baggy brown hoodie which made him look like a teddy bear ready to hug and cheer up every single person in the room. Right next to him there was Jay who was helping the other stretch and he was also a victim of his sudden yell: he flinched and started to rub his ears murmuring what Selene thought were curses in english.

The girl was unimpressed because she was used to their antics by that time. In fact, she raised an eyebrow as if she was questioning his whining.

“You have to be perfect and go beyond the standard you set with your last comeback”

“You just like to torture us at this point” Nikki whined even though he was the most diligent out of all the seven boys when it came to dance. Moreover, he didn’t really mind practicing the same dance several times because he was a perfectionist just like her and this little resemblance made him happy.

Selene was sort of his idol: the kind of adoration he’d been expressing towards their new choreographer since they were introduced was crossing a thin line between admiration and worshiping a god. For this very reason, the others would often joke about how Selene was the only god Nikki believed in. She found herself often in this situation and even though at the beginning it made her laugh, now it was starting to get annoying. However, this had nothing to do with Nikki or the boys because the blonde girl knew it was her low self-esteem talking. She’d never understood the blind admiration certain people felt towards her and the more it happened the more she got annoyed and frustrated with the situation.

If she was such an amazing actress, she would be still acting instead of being there in Seul hiding from the cameras and her fans.

If she was the amazing dancer Nikki talked about with sparkling eyes full of admiration and respect, she would be still having a dancing career.

If her relationship was really the most perfect of all, it wouldn’t have ended like this.

However, here she was acting like a criminal who is waiting for all her charges to disappear into thin air. The only difference between a criminal and herself was that a lawyer wouldn’t be enough to bring her out from the mountain of crap she was being crushed under.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder that brought her back to reality. The choreographer turned her head towards the younger boy who was smiling at her with his little dimple out.

“Are you ok? You were a bit anxious this morning” Jungwon asked with a concerned tone. Selene looked down feeling guilty.

“I…I think I screwed up” she admitted in one breath. Jungwon frowned because he was confused by her sudden vulgar choice of words and whatever she meant by that.

“Someone recognized me last night”

“OH MY GOD, WHO?” Sunoo jumped into her view, eager to know. On the other side, Jungwon shot him a disappointed glance.

“Don’t you see she’s upset?”

“She shouldn’t”

“Well, but no one is supposed to know I’m here” she murmured “the company was very clear about it”

“Then, screw the company” Sunoo said without hesitation. Both Selene and Jungwon didn’t react, too used to this kind of reaction every time this topic came up.

“Selene, you can’t recluse yourself into your apartment when you’re not working with us” Jungwon said matter-of-factly “and the fact that someone might have recognized you doesn’t mean they know everything”

“Yeah, you have to live blondie”

“Sunoo”

“It’s Sunoo-hyung for you”

Jungwon rolled his eyes and muttered something along the line “cannot stand him anymore”

On the other hand, Selene was biting her lips uncomfortably “But, what if…they start to question my sudden appearance here? Moreover, I was at the convenience store near my apartment that is near the company”

“That is irrelevant, really, the majority tend to mind their own business” Jungwon reassured her while gently rubbing her shoulder to ease a bit of tension.

“So…who was it?” Sunoo asked again, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Hyunjin” Selene replied “from Stray Kids”

Both the guys looked at her and replied with a little “oh” and because of this weird ration Selene started to panic.

“I-is it that bad? What? Hyunjin is like a bad person or-”

“No no no, sorry, we didn’t mean like that” Jungwon jumped to reassure her again while still having a weird expression “It’s just that-”

“He was literally in your same situation not until some days ago, no one in the industry has seen him in months” the oldest of the two mumbled “from what we know, not even his members had seen him for weeks”

“Jake became friends with Chan and Felix” Jungwon said to Selene even though she still had to ask how they knew.

After that, the blonde girl nodded and she started to think about last night and how he looked all covered up.

“How is he? Do you know him?”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow questioning Selene's sudden interest without calling her out directly; however, Sunoo looked delighted by it and gave her a big “I know where this is going” smile.

“Oh oh” Sunoo’s eyes sparkled full of interest “someone got our girl attention”

Suddenly, the other members who weren’t involved in the conversation appeared as those magic words sinked into everyone’s mind.

“Oh my god, you like someone?” Jake asked overexcited

“I KNEW IT! I told you it was a matter of time!” Jay’s voice sounded clear - Selene couldn’t understand who he was talking to - among the chaos Sunoo created. All of the members but Jungwon (he was rubbing his temples done) started to talk and ask questions to their young choreographer because they were eager to know some news. This reaction kind of warmed Selene’s heart because from day one these boys have been nothing but kind and supportive with her, treating her as a normal human being and they’ve never made her feel uncomfortable or left out. However, she was also annoyed.

“STOP! ALL OF YOU, SILENCE!” she yelled so that everyone could hear her over all of that noise. The group shut up and waited for their choreographer to continue.

“I don’t like anyone, I just wanted to know how a certain idol I ran into last night is, drop it. If you’re not gonna answer me, go back to practice tamed-dashed ten times; or we can have another five minutes of break”

“Man, she got mad…ten times now!” Jake whispered-yelled into Jay’s ear who wanted to punch him in the face.

“Which idol?” Sunghoon asked “Was he better looking than me?”

“Well” Sunoo replied in english at Selene’s place “you might wanna sit dude, because this is a good one”

“Did he just dude me?!”

The blonde girl couldn’t take it anymore and blurted out the answer “It was Hyunjin from Stray kids” she was met with silence “is he a good person or not? Because both time you hadn’t got a good reaction”

“No it’s just…” Jay started to talk but didn’t finish his sentence, probably because he didn’t know how to explain it.

“We’re just surprised” Heeseung said “seeing what happened with him we’re still surprised he came back; also you’re the first person that has seen him since his come back some days ago”

“But he’s great” intervened Nikki “I mean, none of us had really any kind of relationship with him, but from what Chan, Felix and also Jeongin said about him and those little interaction we had he seems good”

“Everybody before that scandal talked really good about him” Heeseung nodded along with the others.

“And now?” Selene asked.

Everyone looked at each other before Jungwon said “No one was allowed to talk about him anymore, he just came back unexpectedly so…for now, the majority will pretend to be nice in front of him while talking shit at his back, and the rest will just try to treat him as nothing happened”

Selene looked at all of them, then she smiled bitterly “It looks like the story is always repeating itself”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hyunjin didn’t tell anyone about his encounter with Selene the other night, but he kind of hoped to see her again. He didn’t really know what came into him, but he just wanted to talk a bit with her and see if she was doing ok. Considering the fact they’ve never met before last night, this wish was weird and pretty out of the blue, but it had to do with Hyunjin’s eternal empathy. While he was in hiatus - but also before that - he kept himself informed about whatever happened to Selene, one of the most famous and loved western actresses of the last four years, because firstly he was a fan of the movies and secondly he liked her as a person. When she disappeared around the same time he went on hiatus he thought it was pretty ironic and started to wonder what she was going through; if she was having the same thoughts as him; if she was also finding it hard staying hidden from the world’s spotlight just like himself.

Due to that sudden encounter in that particular convenience store, he decided to test his luck and go back there. Considering the fact that Selene was one of Enhypen’s new choreographers, she must have been busy until pretty late into the night, so Hyunjin went to the convenience store a bit after midnight. He took his time going around the aisles and looking through the food he could buy when the door opened. He briefly glanced at the door and he saw the same feminine figure all covered up going straight to the ice cream section.

Then, as if he was possessed by someone definitely more confident than his usual awkward off-stage self, he walked towards her. On the other side, Selene was totally unaware of the man approaching her, too busy choosing among the ice cream flavors. At some point, she heard a gentle “hey” behind her which made her hand pause mid air while taking the cookie dough flavored ice cream, then she felt the mysterious guy moving behind her. She saw a hand coming into her view and picking up the ice cream she wanted and putting it into her hand. In that moment, she quickly studied that hand and, when she saw two particular rings adorning it, she recognized him. She took the cookie dough flavored ice cream and turned around meeting a pair of brown gentle eyes which were turning lightly into two crescent moons.

“Hi there” Hyunjin said in english while scratching the back of his neck nervously “what about we have something to eat together here?” he shook the cup of instant ramen he was holding.

“I…”

“This convenience store is usually empty at this hour, I used to come here a lot some months ago” Hyunjin continued in a rush of confidence “there are those sits right there pretty hidden from the outsiders, that’s why I like this place”

The girl in front of him looked like a spooked cat, but against all of his expectations she nodded while fixing her face mask.

“Ok, Hyunjin”

And when he heard his name coming from her mouth - he was surprised she even knew him - he realized he liked the way her accent curled around the syllables more than he thought he would.

#skz au #skz bang chan #skz han #skz lee know #hyunjin x reader #skz x you #skz #skz angst #skz changbin #skz felix #skz seungmin #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz jeongin #skz hyunjin

20 notes · View notes

thecoffeelovingfreak · 6 months

Text

𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕

character: aventurine

genre: angst

word count: 1.4k

warnings: spoilers for aventurine's past and the penacony quest, released pre-2.1

notes: i was thinking about him over breakfast and spent the entire day writing this! I will say that my writing may be a little rusty since I've been on a 6-month hiatus. I wanted to create a character snapshot to speculate and give a look at what we know about him so far, so I hope you enjoy it!

Read it on ao3!

~~~

A pensive sigh filled the hotel room, blending into the wistful and heavy melody streaming soft and delicate from the phonograph horn. Unrealistically chilled bottles of SoulGlad rest in the niche beside it, an orange that contrasted well with the deep blue traversing the walls. A deck of playing cards rests on the wooden table, a tool for the idle hands of a certain guest to use as he attempts to pass the time. His focused gaze was targeted on the array of triangles built in line before him.

A house of cards required many elements that Aventurine held dear – ones that rested on the back of his gloved hand.

Patience, time, attention to detail, and confidence. All of which reinforce the plans simmering in his mind, and in turn, contribute to the air of pure self-assurance he carried. Some may call it arrogance, but to him it is a manifestation of the simple fact that everything will work out in his favor. One way or another, for better or for worse.

Deft fingers grasped two more cards, setting them meticulously over the flat backs beginning his next level. His hands would never shake as they approached the slowly growing tower, even when he first learned how to construct a steadfast house many years ago. He never hesitated – at least not since he became an asset of the IPC. There was no room for any sort of weakness in their ranks, plain and simple. If you wanted the money and power to become impenetrable, you first needed to learn strategy.

Entertain me for a moment, will you?

What do you want, Diamond?

To give you a hypothetical, and see how you respond. Think of it as an impromptu assessment of your current skills.

Alright.

Walk with me first.

Another pair of cards joined the house, gradually building up a wall between the rest of the room and where he stood.

There is a planet on the outer recesses of our galaxy. It is in proximity of several meteors. Only three are on a path towards said planet. This has occurred many times over the last 350 Amber Eras. They are nearing the end of their resources, and have a chance to be erased completely without intervention. They have had no prior dealings with the IPC and are reluctant to seek aid as they are in development of a plan to exterminate all of the surrounding meteors. However, there is no set date for when their plan will be completed, much less enacted. The meteors will be hitting them in just one and a half months. Tell me, Aventurine, what would you do?

What we always do. Offer them our aid and see if they take it. Use force if necessary, and ensure that they end up in our hands.

Spoken like a true Stoneheart. Yet I still wonder if you truly believe your own words?

He held the king of spades in between his index and middle finger, gazing at it intently. His ego likened himself to that image, but there was always doubt lingering in the corners of his mind. Beneath all of the glamour, possessions, lies, and silver-tongue tactics there was a hurting man. A scared and tired boy. One with an array of scars, apparent yet hidden. A person that existed within him, yet was increasingly out of reach. A part of him wanted to forget that side of him, cast it away and never have to face his perceived weaknesses. But another part of him wanted to keep it – cherish it. To wait until his vulnerable moments and allow himself to feel. One half was Aventurine, and the other half was…

No. Now was not the time for remembrance.

He placed the king of spades with the jack of hearts next, smoothly placing them down and moving onto the next pair.

Excuse me?

You heard me, don’t attempt games. I was there for your recruitment, and I’ve witnessed your progress. I have to ask: do you want to help them for the IPC, or for your own conscience?

Come now, you know it would be my honor to provide them with our benefits.

Hmm. I have to disagree. It would serve you better to forsake those sentiments. Our conversation is over, I have reports to catch up on. You are dismissed.

“Recruitment”. He had no choice in that. But that was their ploy, right? Prey on the vulnerable and use them for their own gain. It was a trick used against him, and it was one he had used on others. Though he always made sure never to deal them as cruel a hand as he was given, somewhere in the murky depths of his heart, regret swam. It was heavy and engulfing, threatening to burst forth when he was alone in the middle of the night. The feeling of being nothing but a tool was sickening – he understood that well. It was one of the many things he would never want other people to experience. But he would make them anyway. That was survival. An unfortunate “game” of risk and reward, the ultimate gamble. What do you wager in order to be gifted with more time? How much are you willing to bet that your strategy will work?

Aventurine had many maneuvers. Methods that he had honed with time and experience.

An intricately crafted front can get you far. Wrap your walls in affability that can draw people closer or push them further away. Use it to catch them in your tricks. Assess what both parties are willing to stake for what they can possibly gain. Befriend them, although it's often superficial. Take what they give with a smile, and do small favors where you can. They'll owe you, after all. Just enjoy the game, you'll win at the end no matter the cost.

The view from the Strategic Investment Department’s building displayed a vibrant cityscape of Pier Point. A bustling environment that completely contrasted with what he was used to beforehand. He was the last Sigonian now, and he had no room for mourning in this place. Despite that, a festering wound sat in his chest, wanting to be acknowledged and no longer denied. It ached and burned, filling him with an overwhelming sadness and frustration at his circumstances, and himself. He was all that remained – all that he could rely on. His eyes began to glaze over. He swallowed thickly, willing it all back down. You can’t be weak here. There’s no one left to comfort you.

The cards were built to the third row now, and a sense of satisfaction and content fell upon him. It was a similar feeling to seeing a mission through successfully. With a small flourish, the jack of spades and ace of hearts arrived in his hands, ready to be crowned at the top of the house. As he placed them down, a light smile appeared on his face. Stepping back, he stretched his fingers and observed his work.

Grabbing a simply mixed white grape soda, took a sip, and reached for the token in his pocket. He turned it horizontally and prepared to balance it at the very top, a quick test – a gamble in its own way – to see if it could rest at the peak. Setting his drink down to the left, he leaned down and watched the chip with intent. He perched it carefully on top of the cards, leaving it perfectly centered. It rested well for a moment, before collapsing through the cards and sending each row into disarray.

His stare turned sour. What outcome did he expect? Naturally the chip would be far too heavy for the cards to support. That didn’t matter however. He would rebuild it again and ensure that the token could rest on top, disregarding the almost inherent impossibility. If he wanted a specific outcome, he would see it through to the end, taking the required measures to get there.

The consequences of a failed mission always linger, a potentially fatal result in repose on his shoulders, creating a pernicious sting. This was just an illustrative trial of his purpose here, and on every other planet he had visited.

When it was all said and done, the absolute truth of his work would remain the same: he had everything to gain and nothing to lose.

#coff writes for hsr 🍾#and yes the title is from batphone #tbhc is one of my favorite albums and something about it just reminds me of penacony #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail aventurine #hsr fanfic

14 notes · View notes

jessenigma · 9 months

Text

My Favorite Continuing Manga Reads of 2023

For the past few years on twitter, I've made threads of some of my favorite manga and light novel reads from the past year. This year, I decided I would move it over to two tumblr posts.

After the cut are some of my favorite titles that I started before 2023 and kept reading this year.

Basara, Yumi Tamura

The best thing Viz did for me this year was create a whole new cheap subscription service full of Shogakukan titles, which meant that I could plow through the last several volumes of Basara all at once. This series thrilled me, broke my heart, and made me so happy. Sarasa is such a good lead, finding the courage to fight for her people while still being a teenage girl who just wants to be happy and loved, and I would love to read more series with leads just like her.

Run Away with Me, Girl, Battan

When the first volume of this came out and Kodansha's marketing compared it to Princess Jellyfish, I thought it was going to be something at least a bit lighthearted - woman reunites with her high school girlfriend, they end up running away to live happily ever after, the end, right? - but as it turns out, it was more like the very good but very depressing series about domestic abuse, Sensei's Pious Lie. While it wasn't as heavy as all that in the end, I was fascinated by the relationship between the two leads and the struggle to deal with baggage left from their teenage years. (And Battan's art is awfully sexy, much appreciated.)

Tales of the Kingdom, Asumiko Nakamura

I am so sad that the English release of Tales of the Kingdom is nearly caught up with Japan, because that means that I have to wait a small eternity for more stories about this fantasy kingdom where all the men have complicated relationships with their brothers. Asumiko Nakamura really goes all out on the clothes for this one and it's just gorgeous. There's another volume set to come out early in 2024 and I will cherish every page.

Kowloon Generic Romance, Jun Mayuzuki

I have been in love with Kowloon Generic Romance ever since the end of the first volume completely recontextualized everything that went on before it, and each new volume fills me with even more delight and questions about what's going on with these characters in this very fictional version of Kowloon Walled City. Mayuzuki's art is also super gorgeous and sexy, and I am so ready for the next volume to set my head spinning even more.

10 Dance, Inouesatoh

Finally! A new volume! This series was on hiatus in Japan for a while, so it was understandable, but I rang in 2022 with the previous volume of my beautiful ballroom dancing Shinyas and wasn't entirely sure I'd get to see them at all in 2023. The events of the latest volume were more than a bit of a surprise (sex? in my very charged but not technically explicit ballroom dancing bl manga?), and now I'm even more eager to see what happens next.

The Case Files of Jeweler Richard (light novel), Nanako Tsujimura

I enjoy the Jeweler Richard novels a little more with each new book and this year brought the best part of the story so far to me. This series is such a thoughtful exploration of its characters, from the leads to the recurring side characters to the one-off clients and friends, and I appreciate how deliberately inclusive it is.

Witch Hat Atelier, Kamome Shirahama

It's basically illegal for me to leave Witch Hat Atelier off any yearly list of favorite titles as long as there's new volumes coming out for me to read. With each volume, it feels like we're moving farther and farther away from the bright and shiny new world of magic that Coco first joins, but there's still always this idea that people can and should help others. It isn't necessarily easy, and magic certainly isn't the cure-all, but there's still almost a kind of optimism. I like that, that it's possible to have horrible things happen in a story but there's still light out there.

Ooku, Fumi Yoshinaga

So I finally finished Ooku this year, only 6 years after I first picked it up at the library. Bless Fumi Yoshinaga for being the catalyst for me learning anything about the Tokugawa shogunate and for creating such a fascinating alternate take on history, complete with women leaders who were just as terrible as the original male versions. I can't believe they actually did an anime, however incomplete an adaptation, because I long had that pegged as something that would never ever ever happen with this series.

My Love Mix-Up!, Wataru Hinekure & Aruko

My most favorite cheery gay romcom title also came to an end this year, and going straight for the silliest soap opera trope in the last volume was both perfectly on brand and perfectly suited to the story. I just wish more stories would unabashedly embrace the ridiculous tropes and give me lots of humor alongside the romance.

Lost Lad London, Shima Shinya

Though the conclusion of this series seemed a bit rushed, I really loved how well Shima Shinya captured the feel of a British crime drama all the way through the story's three volumes. I want to see how much they grow with their storytelling in the future, because this was a strong first series.

MADK, Ryo Suzuri

How could my beloved eroguro demon manga end? Ryo Suzuri does such creative work with character design and it's such a shame that I won't get to meet any more cool-looking demons now. But that said, the story really stuck the landing with Makoto's obsession. I can't wait to reread all three volumes so I can fully appreciate just how much changed (and how much didn't change) for him.

#2023 manga reads #ryo suzuri #shima shinya #wataru hinekure #aruko #fumi yoshinaga #kamome shirahama #nanako tsujimura #inouesatoh #jun mayuzuki #asumiko nakamura #battan #yumi tamura

13 notes · View notes

bluemoon-fever · 2 years

Text

i just wanna see you shine (sneak peek) | c. evans fic

pairing: choreographer!chris evans x black!ballerina!reader

warnings: 18+ ONLY! angst, sexual tension, bratty behavior, workplace relations, eventual smut (more detailed warnings for the actual fic),

A/N: hello! it's been a long time since i wrote on here! i took a hiatus because of work and for my mental health. i also had severe writer's block, but i feel my creativity is returning. i had this fic idea for a while as a series, but i wanted to try a one shot to see the general feel if i should continue to flesh this out for a full fic. anyways, i'm excited to share this and the full part should be out within the next couple of days. enjoy <3 (also this is not the final draft)

Extra lessons. That’s what you’ll need.

That’s what he had announced to the entire company, embarrassing-scratch that-humiliating you after another strenuous rehearsal. He thought it would do you good to do private one-on-one lessons with him. Despite the anger flaring up inside of you, you kept your composure, gave him a painted smile and agreed to it before he continued to subject you to another excruciating run of a complicated combination he came up with.

A month prior, your company announced they were putting on a product of Giselle. You were excited, eager to prove to the directors that you were Giselle. You had been a soloist for years, and you were anxious to rise to principal ballerina. You worked your hardest, stayed late practicing your technique and coming in early. Your dedication did not go unnoticed, and when you auditioned, you were chosen. It was the best news of your life. Performing as Giselle was your dream, and it would finally come through.

And then came Chris Evans. He was hired as your company’s new choreographer, a good friend of the director. He was attractive and everyone was swooning over him, yourself included. But you kept things professional… well at least you tried to.

The tension between you and him was undeniable. Every time he touched your body, a jolt of electricity went through your body and into his. When your partner wasn’t performing to his expectations, he performed the romantic pas de deux with you. He touched you like you were the most delicate flower. You craved to feel him close to you, even something as minor as lifting your chin up after you finished a routine.

But aside from the physical tension you felt with him, you also butted heads. You had exchanged a few sassy, passive-aggressive quips to one another. It was enough to make the room go silent. As much as he made you swoon, he could drive you absolutely crazy. As demanding as he was, you were just as stubborn.

You were sure you had pissed him off a couple of times. If he changed a minor step that you felt shouldn’t have been, you insisted on performing it. You had done it so many times you were surprised he didn’t explode on you. But after the last time of defying his wishes, he recommended extra lessons.

And that threw you over the edge.

You were surprised you kept your composure that well. You needed to let out your anger and frustration. You needed a physical release, and you needed that fast. Eventually, you did when you found yourself being split open by his cock in the studio later that night.

#chris evans x reader #chris evans x black!reader #chris evans x black reader #chris evans fanfiction #black!reader #chris evans x fem!reader #chris evans x woc!reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x black female reader

88 notes · View notes

louisupdates · 1 year

Text

[Google Translate]

International stars are waiting in Finland for fans who are in a debt of gratitude

Louis Tomlinson came to Finland unlike many other big stars, and that's why he has exceptionally grateful fans here.

HS NOWL

The concert at the Helsinki Ice Hall was Louis Tomlinson's first appearance in Finland as a solo artist.

The concert at the Helsinki Ice Hall was Louis Tomlinson's first appearance in Finland as a solo artist. PHOTO: SAMI KERO / HS

Piritta Räsänen HS

BRITISH ARTIST Louis Tomlinson performed on Monday evening at the Helsinki Ice Hall. Finally, if you ask the fans.

I followed the atmosphere before the gig in front of the ice rink. Excitement was in the air as fans finished fan projects for the artist, purchased fan merchandise and lined up for permanto spots.

One thing was repeated in the fans' speeches: Louis is wonderful because he cares about his fans and also visits smaller countries on his tours that many miss.

In recent years, Finland has also increasingly been included in the countries falling in between.

MONDAY's show is Tomlinson's first appearance in Finland as a solo artist. The last time he took the stage in Finland was in 2015 as part of the boy band One Direction.

Later that year, the band went on a long hiatus, which in a way is still ongoing, because the band has never officially said that they have stopped. The band members started working on their solo career, and they haven't been seen in Finland since.

For example, One Direction's arguably most famous member, Harry Styles, performed in the summer of 2022 in Stockholm and Oslo. Finland had to miss out. Next spring [2024], the Irishman Niall Horan's tour, another member of the band, will cover Denmark, Norway and Sweden, but he will not be seen on the other side of the Gulf of Bothnia.

Of course, the problem is not limited to the members of the most popular boy band of the 2010s.

HS already reported last summer that big names are now touring Finland from far away. The problem is especially that Helsinki lacks a modern indoor arena, while Helsinki Hall is on the banned list due to its Russian owners.

It has also always been geographically more difficult to come to Finland than, for example, Sweden, where you can continue from Denmark. Instead, a ferry connection is needed to Finland, because the gig equipment cannot be moved through Russia.

Finns accept their fate in a kind of "no need to cook for me" spirit. However, if a world star gets lost on his tour all the way here, we feel at least a slight debt of gratitude towards the artist.

Finland's problems did not hinder TOMLINSON's tour.

At Monday's gig, the gratitude of the fans hardly went unnoticed: in the course of a couple of hours, several fan projects made by the audience were seen, some of which were already planned last year.

In one of them, the fans raised signs in the air that read "Thank you for having faith in Finland", i.e. thank you for believing in Finland.

After the concert in Helsinki, Tomlinson headed to Tallinn and Riga. Today, Friday, he will perform in Kaunas, which is the second largest city in Lithuania. In terms of population, Kaunas is slightly larger than Tampere.

Otherwise, you would find a modern indoor arena there.

#louis press #fitfwt23: helsinki #louis tomlinson #8.9.2023

29 notes · View notes

plantinghobbies · 1 year

Text

Growing Pains

Two: Sure I’d Never Be Found

Author’s Note: Back from some traveling and finally had dedicated time to write. I’ve been overwhelmed by the support for the first chapter. Thank you so much, revisiting your notes kept me motivated when I struggled to focus or hit a block. The incredible @solipsisticno1 also helped keep my ass in gear. This’ll be a fast and slow burn (I’m a Gemini so cannot escape my love for duality). Welcome all constructive critique, favorite parts, questions, etc - so grateful for any and all feedback. Ok, here’s more of Tess and Matty.

It’s the longest he’s spent near mountains since he left home. Growing up, the idea of vastness had scared him; he doesn’t like to be reminded of how small and microscopic his existence is in the very grand scheme of things. Sometimes, he’ll lie awake at night fixated on just how tenuous life is, how quickly something outside of his control could end it. He wonders what he’d be remembered for – his art or his infamy? On particularly bad days, he wonders if he’d be remembered for long at all.

But the panoramic views of the peaks from the house the label rented him have the opposite effect. After years of touring in cramped bunks and living in packed cities, he feels the space around him palpably, like he’s been curled into a ball for too long and is finally able to stretch out.

When he’d announced his plans to spend the band’s hiatus working on some solo material with Jack in the States, he’d been most nervous about telling his band mates. Even though they’d always been supportive of each other branching out in various ways, this felt different somehow. It was one thing for George to work on remixing the odd single or producing with other artists, it was quite another to put out a whole solo record as Matty was planning, with a potential tour as well. But, as they had for the last twenty years, the guys had his back one hundred percent.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the call from his mum that came in the night before he left. She’d seemed antsy when he’d seen her for a bon voyage dinner two nights ago, but he chalked it up to her not wanting to say goodbye.

“Matthew, I’m still not sure if I should even be telling you this, had to really talk myself up to it. But I know I’d be kicking myself later if something happened.” There’s a tremor in her voice that he hasn’t heard in years.

Oh God, he thinks, she’s sick. Worse, she’s dying. His mind already flashing to her funeral, him attempting to perform a song for her before he breaks down in tears, failing her in this final act.

“You know I am so proud of you, and I wouldn’t ever dream of questioning your sobriety. But you’ve never been on your own like this without your support system – and lord knows neither have I – but it’s not easy. So I just need to say be careful, be vigilant, ask for help when you need it. I’m a plane ride away.”

The indignation that reared up at him was visceral. 34 years old, several years in recovery, and she still didn’t trust him. Looking back, he knows he could have handled it better. He’s proud of himself for not blowing up at her, something a younger version of him would have absolutely done. But he knows he was curt, wanting to punish her, inflict hurt like what had welled up in him at the thought that his own mum doubted him.

After the first few days of wandering his house, un-showered and aimless, he’d begun to see what his mother meant. The process of writing and recording is inherently unstructured, at least for him, filled with days where he does nothing and nights of manic activity. It’s him, sitting around with his own thoughts, picking at the scabs and scar tissue of his past. He didn’t realize how much he relied on the rhythm of others - the band, the tour - to provide structure for him. For the first time in his life, he is without those things, and the space that it creates feels like a blessing and a curse.

In the couple of weeks since, he’s settled in a bit more, has found a gym and can now navigate to Jack’s studio and back without relying on his phone. The word routine has always rubbed him the wrong way, evoking images and associations that make him uneasy. Boring. Pedestrian. Old. When he left rehab, they’d armed him with a written routine to help ease his transition back to his “everyday life.” It was cookie cutter shit that he hadn’t even done in rehab, let alone out of it – daily meditation, making his bed, a gratitude journal. One glance at the word and the list of to-dos had him pulling up his dealer’s number before the plane had even landed.

When he finally got clean for good, a new therapist suggested he develop a structure in lieu of a routine. At first, Matty didn’t understand the difference, and he’d worried that he’d once again sunk a ton of time into bettering himself only for the system to fail him.

“What do you like to do for fun?” His therapist, David, asked. The question caught him off guard, he was expecting the beginnings of a diatribe on the benefits of eating healthy.

“You mean, besides heroin?” Matty often tried to get a rise out of David but had yet to succeed, his shit-eating grin met with nothing more than a stoic quiet. Sometimes, when he was bored or couldn’t focus during their session, he’d imagine what David’s home life was like. What does this guy do for fun? Is he a Saturday golfer and Sunday churchgoer like he looks? Or does David leave the prim façade at work, shedding his tweed jacket on his way to a BDSM club or an after-hours rave?

Finally, David indulges him. “Yes, besides heroin.”

That was easy. “Music.”

“Ok, but music is also your job, which can be a source of stress. What do you like to do besides making music?”

He’s embarrassed to admit he’s a bit stumped. Over the years, he’s amassed a laundry list of abandoned hobbies – some lasting for a few days, others a few months. But only one has ever lasted long-term. Well, social media but that’s more of a habit he’s adopted to avoid other, worse vices.

“Umm, honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t really ever been able to keep up with one long-term besides writing songs.”

“Ok” David smiled “let’s start there.”

In the end, he was glad that he stuck with it. Nowadays, Matty had a simple list of things that he liked to do that help him feel his best – he isn’t regimented about doing them, which he thinks is how he’s been able to stick with it for so long. They didn’t cure his addictive cravings but they kept them at bay. He still resented the amount of effort that was required for him to have a “normal” day - but it was better than the alternative.

Given how late he got in from the studio the night before, he should still be in bed. He and Jack had been holed up for almost two days straight, capitalizing on a burst of creative energy that had them laying down the rough cuts of three songs and the outlines of a fourth. When Jack had finally gone home to Margaret, he’d kicked Matty out of the studio as well, demanding that he shower, eat and sleep – in that order. He’d caught a few hours of shut eye but the chord progression he’s stuck on has him unable to quiet his mind enough to rest. What’s new? Unable to even muster the focus needed to make tea, he settles for coffee instead. The expensive coffee machine gurgles next to him as he stares out the window, realizing that he can’t remember the last time he’d been outside. Maybe “touching grass” (he refuses to admit that he might be too old for certain phrases) would help unstick it?

It’s the first time the front porch has seen any action since his arrival and he takes a minute to get situated, shifting his chair this way and that. Finally satisfied, he looks up just in time to catch the vaguely familiar side profile of a woman walking by with her dog. Before the image registers in his brain, she’s gone. He finishes his coffee then heads out to jui jitsui before meeting Jack.

That afternoon is one of the most productive days in the studio so far, he feels like they’re getting somewhere. He’s desperate to sustain the momentum, to try to quell the intrusive, insecure thoughts that he can’t do this on his own. No amount of encouragement from Jack has helped, he needs to see it for himself.

He’s not above relying on superstition and decides to do everything the same the next day, including watching the sunrise on the porch, staring at the coffee as he swirls his mug. The jingling of a leash has him tilting his head up, eyes journeying up long legs, tracing an hourglass figure that had been hidden by the bar, meeting her piercing eyes – yep, that’s her. He leans forward in his seat, casting about for a witty comment to put her on her heels the way she had put him on his with that story the other night. But he doesn’t get a chance, her eyes seeming to look right through him as she passes by.

At first, he convinces himself that she just didn’t see him, unable to accept that he hadn’t left any impression on this woman. The next few days find him inching his chair closer and closer to the sidewalk each morning, but her and her dog just sail past without a second glance, seemingly immune to his presence. And listen, he’s not a dickhead - it’s not like she owes him any acknowledgement. He understands more than most how rare uninterrupted time to yourself can be in this day and age. But he hears her daily greeting to the older man who sits on his porch reading the paper a few doors down! So, it feels like she’s ignoring him specifically and intentionally – and the question of why is driving him mad. It scratches at sensitive scar tissue where his admittedly oversized ego meets a more fragile self-esteem, seizes on feelings of being unremarkable and weaponizes them. Has his overactive mind casting about for various reasons for her silence, most of them bad. She doesn’t recognize him, not even from the other night. Or worse, she does.

The rest of the week in the studio is a bit of a wash.

Saturday finds him bored and antsy, with little to do and even less motivation. Trying to occupy himself, he sets his sights more firmly on getting a rise out of her, any acknowledgement really. Just to get her to crack once, he tells himself, and then he’ll leave it be. He doesn’t dwell on why he gets so bothered by apathy, physically shakes away memories that surface uninvited in his mind - his mother’s glazed expressions, his exhaustive attempts to garner her attention. Getting a reaction from people was his coping mechanism long before it was his job.

Pulling the Adirondack chair - so cliche but also so bloody comfortable – right up to the fence, he positions it at an angle in clear view of the sidewalk. Sure enough, as she approaches, her eyes land on him from behind her sunglasses. He only knows this because her step falters slightly, head dipping into the barest of nods as she passes. The thrill that Matty gets from even this subtlest reaction is a welcome change from the monotony of the last few weeks. He can imagine what George would say if he saw this “Christ mate, you’ve got to get out more.” But George isn’t here, none of them are – and that’s the problem isn’t it?

The next day, it becomes clear that she is, in fact, fucking with him. She’s walking toward him, her mouth opens to speak – Matty slides forward in his chair at the sight, ready to declare victory – and then curls it into a smirk at his earnest reaction. It’s obvious enough that it had to be intentional. Oh, game on.

His tendency to hyper-fixate is a blessing and a curse, making him a better artist but an occasionally insufferable human. He’s determined to not let her get the best of him this time around, spending downtime in the studio brainstorming how to get her to break first. The answer comes to him as he’s standing outside, having a cigarette between writing sessions. The sign hanging in the window across the street is just too cringe, too cliche, too absolutely perfect to ignore and Matty strolls out of the store with it not two minutes later.

The next morning, he’s giddy with anticipation. As she turns the corner her head is down, almost as if she’s determined not to see or been seen. At the last second though, she glances up and clocks the sign leaning against the outside of the fence right, him seated next to it with a sly smirk on his face. She stops, stares, and then - right as he’s certain she’s going to maintain their silent standoff - she barks out a laugh. It is loud and raucous and feels like a well-won prize after two weeks of continuous effort.

“Oh my god, where did you get that?” She seems surprised to hear the sound of her own voice. If she’s disappointed that she’s “lost,” it doesn’t show. He begins to tell her, in his trademark roundabout way, a winding story about the fucking writing block that him and Jack ran into which led to him being outside, to seeing the store but then back around to the song that he was working on. She is nodding along but glances at her watch twice, the dog trying to pull her to keep moving, bored of him. She opens her mouth to interrupt him, a split-second pause where she huffs and seems to question herself, before rushing out with “Listen, I gotta get this guy to the park or he’ll have a meltdown, you can tell me the rest as we walk.”

She walks on, not giving him a chance to respond as he hustles to catch up with them. He meets her on the sidewalk the next morning, not giving her a chance to pass him by again.

#Matty Healy fanfiction #Matty Healy fanfic #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic

16 notes · View notes

riddlerosehearts · 5 months

Note

Ok, I need to know your fob album ranking and top 10 songs, GO!

oooh okay so i need to start by saying that i am heavily biased toward their older stuff because... i've listened to fall out boy since i was probably too young to listen to fall out boy AFGKJDF and their pre-hiatus albums essentially shaped my music taste and helped me get through a lot of difficult times in my life. so i'm really just generally more attached to them than the rest but i do like every single one of their albums at least a little because they all have songs i love. i also had to think about this a bit and am still not sure if it's a perfect ranking because i'm incredibly indecisive. but this is what i'm feeling right now! (also i apologize in advance for adding a bunch of commentary and rambling instead of just giving you the ranking LOL)

albums:

from under the cork tree - was the first FOB album i ever listened to so i'm biased but it's so fucking good. especially if you include the bonus tracks from it. there is not a single song on here that i don't love.

infinity on high - contains my favorite FOB song (okay maybe it's illogical that my #1 song is from my #2 album but listen... it's a very close #2), aesthetically has the coolest album cover, and it's just fantastic all around--again, especially if you include the bonus tracks.

take this to your grave - i feel like a lot of people hate TTTYG nowadays and i'll never understand why. it's a great album. it's classic pop punk and just pure fun.

folie a deux - literally never understood the hate this album got when it came out!! it's so good!! i remember listening to the whole thing the same day as it dropped and loving it and being so confused seeing how much people complained about it :(

so much (for) stardust - okay i actually love this album so much that #5 feels too low but if i switched it with folie then #5 would feel too low for folie so idk 😭😭 my favorite post-hiatus album BY FAR though. it's sooo good and it's also special to me because i literally never got to see fall out boy live until they toured for its release last year.

save rock and roll - has some misses for me, as do the albums i've ranked below it, but overall i like my favorite songs from SRAR more than i like my faves from the albums below, and it gets bonus points for how cool the youngblood chronicles is + the nostalgia i associate with FOB's return from their hiatus.

american beauty/american psycho - ABAP gets a lot of hate but i think it kind of rocks actually and putting it at #7 feels slightly wrong. it's really only this low because something has to be and because again, i like my favorite SRAR songs more than my favorite ABAP songs.

mania - i think a lot of people on here get mad if you put MANIA last so i'm sorry afksjgdsf. it honestly just has the lowest number of songs i really like and has several that i don't. though i will say that last of the real ones is a certified banger and i was so glad it had a permanent spot on the tourdust setlist.

songs:

hum hallelujah - my beloved 💙💙 when i saw FOB live they had a slot on the setlist where each night they'd either play bang the doldrums or hum hallelujah and i won't lie, i did feel disappointed for a second when doldrums started. i got over it because i love that song too but. hum hallelujah is one of my all time favorite songs.

i slept with someone in fall out boy and all i got was this stupid song written about me - my favorite song on FUTCT and another all time fave. i also think this is the funniest song title of all time btw.

G.I.N.A.S.F.S. - so jealous of anyone who's gotten to see this played live as a magic 8-ball song :(

calm before the storm - this having a permanent spot on the tourdust setlist got me hyped like you wouldn't believe because they had last played it in 2007. underappreciated banger.

love from the other side - this was literally my top song of 2023 on my spotify wrapped. i made an angsty raeda gifset with lyrics from it not long after the single came out because it made me so insane.

sugar we're goin' down - might be a bit of a basic choice but it was the first FOB song i ever liked and it fucking slaps 💖 also when i saw them live i swear patrick changed the lyrics to "wishing to be the friction in his jeans" which is just. legendary and iconic of him.

disloyal order of water buffaloes

grand theft autumn/where is your boy - again, a basic choice, but sometimes things are popular for a reason!

the carpal tunnel of love

#asks #all-you-had-to-do-was-neigh #SORRY i can never just answer a question normally and have to write essays afskjgsdfg #picking just 10 favorite FOB songs is so hard honestly #i'd love to hear your ranking as well if you'd like to share it!!#fall out boy

2 notes · View notes

realmackross · 1 year

Text

BRODY STEVENS | Mackenzie's fiancé.

warning: unsanitary tw, death tw, murder tw

Mackenzie Ross and Brody Stevens had met on the set of Road Trippin', a romantic-comedy where they played the younger versions of the two main characters who were next door neighbors. An immediate friendship formed on set, and before long the two were hanging out when they weren't working. Over the years they had fell in and out of touch, until a project she was working on happened to be filming on the same lot.

Reconnecting with one another, Mackenzie and Brody had become closer than ever, and after a push from a mutual friend, the pair ended up dating, soon moving in with one another.

While she had stayed busy working on Dropped, Brody was taking a hiatus from acting to work on other side projects. But when word came that Mackenzie had been severely injured on set, he immediately hopped a red-eye flight back to Los Angeles to be with her. It didn't take long after that for Brody to pop the question, knowing he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and without hesitation, Mackenzie said yes.

Within no time she was back working on the show, and Brody had ventured back on the road to pick up where he had left off; which Mackenzie had insisted after she began experiencing strange cravings and struggling with her health. If it was one thing she didn't want to do, it was to worry him more. Thankfully, she had an amazing assistant who had stayed by her side and helped her through what she was starting to realize wasn't normal.

Making the decision to leave Dropped wasn't easy, but with movie offers coming in, an opportunity to work more on her music career, and more importantly spend time with her fiancé, she left the show that had both given her everything and would take everything away.

With Brody back at her side, it had become increasingly harder to keep her secret, but somehow she managed - of course not without a few arguments, but how could he doubt the woman he loved. As for being cold and barely having a heartbeat, she made the excuse that her thyroid was off, but it wasn't one that would last forever. In fact, every time she lied, Mackenzie felt a little worse and began having doubts knowing that he deserved someone so much better, despite how much she loved him.

Another movie offer falling into her lap, Mackenzie made the choice to accept the role knowing it would put her on the east coast for a few months. And at least give her time to decide how she wanted to open up to Brody. But fate is a funny thing and has a way of stepping in when you least expect it.

It was near the end of the shoot, but with everything on her mind, Mackenzie had failed to pack sufficiently, and in a panic had called her assistant praying the woman would find a local supplier who could at least send something her way to hold her over, until she got back to Los Angeles.

The day had dragged on and with an innate hunger beginning to take over and dumbing down Mackenzie's mental capacity, she was lucky just to make it back to her apartment. But what she found, instead of an emergency supply of brains, was Brody standing in her living room with a fresh bouquet of daisies - her favorite flower and the smell of steak, which she could barely make out, cooking on the stove.

The romantic and sweet gesture was one of the last things she remembered, before attacking the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, and when she came to, the entire apartment, especially the kitchen, had looked like something out of a horror movie.

Sitting with Brody's mangled body in her lap, Mackenzie could only repeat the words "I love you" over and over again, while the only other person who knew what she was desperately tried to figure out a plan to clean up what had been a horrible accident and one Mackenzie could never forgive herself for.

Once the place was spotless and Brody's body disposed of, Mackenzie's only true ally helped write a story that she prayed Mackenzie would stick too. Everything in the young actress's life was riding on the belief that Brody had been brutally murdered and Mackenzie was a grieving widow. It was her biggest role to date, and the only role she had wished she could turn down.

With Hollywood mourning one of it's hottest young actors, Mackenzie had fled to a small east coast town that no one had ever heard of to try and save her career, reputation, and what was left of a so-called life she didn't want anymore. All while giving the media the more than legit appearance of someone who had truly lost everything.

#{in my head; about}#relationship: brody stevens #unsanitary tw #death tw #murder tw #{written in the stars; headcanon}

14 notes · View notes

treesap-blogs · 1 year

Text

Review for “Ophelia After All” by Racquel Marie!

Hello, Tumblrians! I’ll try to publish at least 4 reviews this week. If I go on another unpredicted hiatus, at least I can have all this writing to make up for my sudden absence?

Real talk though, I’m sorry about the inconsistent schedule. I get pretty self-conscious about this Tumblr account (there’s a reason I don’t use hashtags anymore), and also I’ve been kinda exhausted in the last week. I already told you guys about South Carolina. (There was originally gonna be a 540-word rant after this but I cut it. That was definitely for the best!)

I really gotta set realistic standards for myself. I keep thinking I’ll be prepared to upload reviews for this account but then I get hit with anxiety paralysis and just never upload anything. It feels like a chore sometimes, even when I made this for fun. I know not many people follow this, because I stay out of hashtags and the people who actually choose to follow me ‘cause they saw my reviews somewhere and liked them leave because I’m inconsistent. I’m sorry for repeatedly disappointing you all.

Okay! Time to actually start my book review!

Ophelia After All by Racquel Marie follows 17 year-old Ophelia: daughter of an Irish English professor and a Cuban immigrant, she’s spent her whole life being a passionate rose gardener, gossip lover, and hopeless romantic with a crush on nearly every boy she meets. But a few weeks before prom, when she undeniably falls for a female classmate named Talia, she begins to question the identity she’s developed over time—and how much of it was because she wanted to appease the people around her.

I really loved this book! Ophelia was a realistic teenage protagonist, and especially liked the dynamic she had with her friend group (which was one of many relationships paramount to the story). They teased and supported each other, called people out on their shit, fought and later made up, like a lot of friend groups do. While I get that not everyone likes to read about teenage drama, it was resolved by the end, and it didn’t take the melodramatic approach. There was also an interesting examination of Ophelia getting used to being around guys and not necessarily liking them romantically! Maybe it’s because I’m gay but I appreciated that too.

Anyhow! Other things I liked: Talia and Ophelia’s friendship! Ugh the embarrassment in the middle though😬 (WHY OPHELIA). I did like that even after everything they maintained that platonic relationship, though. I was expecting for it to be a romance because a lot of the YAs of this variety I read typically are, this is the first one I’ve read where the MC didn’t get the girl and learned to deal with that! (Also, Talia was sweet.) The multifaceted discussion of Ophelia’s identity was cool too, mixing together discussions on heteronormativity, culture, and dealing with the future in a coming-of-age story. I also just really love queer contemporary stories! It’s something about the light, sometimes snarky but overall honest writing style of basically every single one I read that leaves me whizzing through several hundreds of pages in under a day.

And of course, you can’t go wrong with the additional rose anecdotes sprinkled throughout the story.

(Sidenote, though: I was reading this the same week I was reading and listening to Bianca Torre Is Afraid Of Everything, so there was this weird coincidence between the two where both MCs had Shakespeare-obsessed moms who named their children after lady characters from his plays, assumed they were cishet, and initially weren’t trusted in their coming out journeys lmao?!)

Uhmmm I don’t know what else to add on, except for that I just really liked that although everything was resolved there were still consequences and (eventual) self-awareness, and this and Felix Ever After are probably my favorites of the “messy coming-of-age” queer contemporary subgenre! (Which isn’t actually a real subgenre, but it should be considered one, right?!) My positive reviews are always very short, lol. Just look at my When The Angels Left The Old Country one, I remember I was going in circles? So I’ll cap it off here!

Book rating: (predictably) ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/5 Finished 06/07/23.

(Book content warnings: Homophobia, lesbophobia, racism, outing, mentions of aro/acephobia and islamophobia.)

-Paz, signing off! ^^

5 notes · View notes

katyspersonal · 1 year

Text

My dreams are strange....

I keep having mysterious, prophetic things surrounding my dreams. I remember the time I had a dream about getting bitten by a snake, and a weird thing; later that day, my friend (let's call her M) whom I don't talk often at all with messaged me asking whether I was alright.... because SHE had a dream that a snake bit me. That same day. When we were little though, I remember having a very elaborate dream about having adventures with her, but when we met at school that day, M told me about HER dream about me... and described the exact same dream as what I had that night.

Another story - that time when shortly before alarm clock worked, a whale and a tiger randomly appeared in my dream... and when I woke up and checked Discord, turned out that just several minutes before me waking up, my friends were discussing what their favourite animals were in the chat! One's was a tiger and another's was a whale, that I did not know prior!

One of the most haunting ones though is when in February last year, my dream got completely randomly interrupted. Like... you know, 'sound effects' stopped, background and figures stopped moving naturally, the lake in that dream got completely frozen within seconds. Just... all natural movement of the dream got cut. And a group of soldiers marched right in from seemingly nowhere, without any context. One of them simply told me to 'find the cover for the night' before I woke up. And later that day, turned out the w4r started - something I'd have no slightest idea of prior.

I am also writing this because during my hiatus I had a dream about another friend (let's call her T), and today after I returned she messaged me and we talked. Guess what, she had a dream about me during my hiatus too, at the same day (same day not same time, because different timezones). And it reminded me...

I just... constantly, CONSTANTLY have dreams about things I did not have prior knowing of, or have jointed dreams with other people. These are just some examples. I honestly believe that all "magic" is just science which laws humans have not discovered yet, so there should be an explanation. I could justify such things as humans evolving to connect with their electronic devices from how often they use them; both brain and phones have electricity, you know. So if while I was sleeping people in the internet were talking about a thing, it is possible that my brain could catch up on the information shared there. Because of electricity and sleeping with my phone under my pillow! However, coincidences with M and T do sort of puzzle me... Or, heck, that time when I was feeling very ill but abruptly felt better for no reason - and later me and my OTHER friend concluded that he had a short dream about a spider biting his chakra and taking energy from him happened at the same time as I felt better... (Spider IS my associated animal, at least in this period of life).

I just really cannot even find a clear explanation for such things... I also wonder if they are way more common within humans than I think, but it is just me who picks on such situations and other people tend to not notice or not think too hard about it? But sometimes it just feels like there is more about humans being social animals than we are normally aware of? That we communicate all the time not just words and body language, but even dreams somehow?

#personal #dreams #kept remembering smaller coincidences along writing this but i already talked long enough #yeah normally it doesn't stop me but since that's a bit personal it probably should...#i am sure i am not a special one and there must be more to learn about how humans work!#like even our existence is full of mysteries and dreams are of course the most interesting one #but like.... it happens SO often to me?#one of the reasons i feel so attached to aldr1ch by the way (crow i know you're reading it don't laugh at me)#the moment a mf had a dream about y0rshka despite having her kept a secret from him is the moment i knew #lol #don't know whether i should count spiritual connection to the sea theme #since if you keep ALL froms games in mind and not just one it is not THAT big deal #on the other hand Rom as a character likewise is connected to the sea (Kos) and can see quite a lot #so yeah thats just kinnie on character brainwaves communication dfhhdfs

4 notes · View notes

wander-wren · 1 year

Text

hello warrior cats community

i am clawing myself up out of my grave to announce that Dusk to Dawn has finally been completed. yeah i just dumped five chapters in there. woo.

now, i did have to condense the last, idk, 13 or so chapters into two parts, just speedrunning the highlights, because i am so tired and busy right now, but the plot is there. it exists. and that's about as much as i can ask for.

so you may assume that that's the end of the story. i mean, D2D was a bit of a mess. it took two and a half years and i spent most of that time on hiatus and tearing my hair out. but what's that quote? the only thing worse than writing is not writing. and at least half of my motivation to finish D2D was to get to the parts that come after.

which means that, yes, i'm still going to continue my rewrite. i just have to reevaluate and adjust.

the initial plan was for all parts to have roughly the same level of scale as D2D (which was planned to have ~200k words), or be even longer. this is because i have adhd and dangerous levels of optimism. i know there are people out there who can sustain themselves for multiple hundreds of thousands of words writing fictional cat rewrites, but i am not one of them. i can't do that, realistically.

so, i'm scaling back. PO3/Three of Swords and OOTS/Sign of the Four are both going to be around 50-70k. aiming toward the lower end there, but i know i have a tendency to, uh, go slightly overboard. see above. this way, i have a better chance of finishing both fics in a timely manner, and for 3OS especially, i won't have to drag the beaten corpses of plotlines that have been established for half of D2D on forever and ever.

what this also means is that i'm going to do a LOT of cutting and reshuffling. if it wasn't already clear, 3OS is not going to really attempt to stick to canon at all, not like D2D. we're going off the rails bonkers. Rule of Cool, etc etc. SOT4 will likely be the same.

and what comes after that? well, i'm so glad you asked. i've mentioned before that my plan for the end of OOTS is to have the clans only technically win the great battle. a pyrrhic victory, if you will (guess who just learned that phrase, hehe).

after that happens, there will be an interlude fic, probably about 50-70k as well, but potentially longer because i really love the concept. currently the working title for that is Pyrrhic/Pyrrhus. i might change it. it's already had several title changes. but it exists!

after THAT, if i'm still hanging around, i'd love to do an AVOS rewrite. that's about as far as my ambition extends, though. the problem is that post-OOTS, the clans' population is devastated (seriously, they need to lose way more cats) and their culture completely changes because, well, duh. that makes it very hard for the story to bear any kind of resemblance to a canon built around the old four clans. like, most of the cast of AVOS/TBC simply would not be born bc their parents died.

but yeah. we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

as far as a timeline goes, optimistically i'd like to start posting Three of Swords by the end of 2023. yeah, that's a long way away. i'm busy, y'all, and the Most Ideal thing would be to have it almost completely done so we don't end up trapped in another 2.5 year disaster.

if you would like to encourage the fic to move faster, you can feed my brainworms by asking me stuff or throwing ideas my way! on this blog, preferably. i know i made a sideblog for the 'verse, but i don't feel like dealing with it right now. i'll leave it up in case i change my mind, though.

if you made it all the way through this, hi! thanks! it's been fun. i gotta go write.

#overwriting epitaphs #warrior cats #warriors fanfic #dusk 2 dawn #warriors rewrite

3 notes · View notes

snappedsky · 2 years

Text

Borderlands: Skies the Bodyguard 5

The Crimson Raiders hold a memorial and Skies pays a visit to an old friend.

Thus officially ends the saga of Skies the Bodyguard...but it's not the end of Skies. After all, she hasn't even been a bodyguard for years at this point. After a short hiatus, her story will continue as Skies the Ultimate Treasure Hunter, featuring DLCs, New Tales from the Borderlands, and original stories!

*Links to previous chapter in reblog*

Epilogue

The Sky Rider sits quietly on a ridge in Nekrotafeyo, where it was left when Skies first arrived. A small group of mercenaries approach, muttering to each other as they ready their guns.

Inside, Skies is fast asleep on her bed. When everyone was leaving Pandora, she fast travelled back to her ship and shot up a few insta-healths. It didn’t fix her entirely- the damage she received to her chest is too severe to be completely fixed. But she can at least move and breathe freely again.

Now she just wants to sleep off the last few hours. But unfortunately, the rest of the galaxy has other plans.

An alarm starts ringing from her ECHO device, startling her awake. She groans with annoyance as she grabs it and reads the proximity warning. Without getting out of bed, she turns on an intercom option on her ECHO.

“Attention, approaching assholes.” Her voice rings out from the outside of her ship, startling the mercenaries. “This ship has a security feature. Should you attempt to break in or damage it, it will explode, destroying all of us and everything inside it. So I suggest, backing the hell off!”

The mercenaries look at each other with uncertainty.

“Do you think it’s true?” one asks.

“No way,” another replies, “who would have their ship explode like that?” “An overprotective whack job like me, is who,” Skies replies as she steps out of the ship. She’s not even fully dressed, in just socks, pants, and a t-shirt. But she has her rifle resting on her shoulder. “I’d rather destroy myself and everything I own then let it fall into the hands of scumbags like you. Now look, I know why you’re here and I know you’re only doing a job. That’s why I’m giving you this one chance. Beat it, or die.”

The mercenaries stare at her with surprise before readying their guns. Skies rolls her eyes. “Suit yourselves.”

They do their best, but their best doesn’t come anywhere near to Skies, even when she’s still exhausted and treating this like pest extermination. When they’re all dead, she tosses her rifle aside as she goes into the cockpit.

“I better disappear for a while,” she mumbles, “at least until I’m feeling better.”

She flies the ship off-planet and starts to set her auto-nav, when her communicator goes off.

“Hey, Skies!” Ava chimes, “you still alive?”

“Seem to be,” Skies replies, “what’s up?”

“We’re having a memorial for Maya, Typhon, and Lilith at Roland’s Rest. You should come. Everyone’s going to be there.” “Everyone, huh? I suppose I can stop by.” “Great! See you there.” Skies smiles and sets the auto-nav for Pandora. As it takes off, she goes into her room to change into something clean.

When she’s finished, she grabs her coat and tuts with disapproval. It’s little more than scraps now after the last few weeks. Hardly appropriate to wear to a special event.

“Gonna need a new one,” she sighs and tosses it aside.

The Sky Rider soon arrives to Pandora and lands within Roland’s Rest. When Skies exits, the first ones to meet her are Rhys and Vaughn. They smile warmly and she smiles back and hugs them.

They lead to her Roland’s statue, where everyone else is waiting. And it really is everyone. The Vault Hunters and the Crimson Raiders; the B-team; Wainwright and Hammerlock; Zer0 and Lorelai. Everyone Skies has met through this adventure is here.

“Okay, we’re all here!” Ava announces, “we can begin.”

“Skies!” Tina cheers as she hugs her. “I’m so glad you’re not dead.” “Same here,” Skies smiles.

As everyone prepares for the memorial, Skies stares up at Elpis. Everything that happened yesterday feels like a dream, but the Firehawk symbol in the sky proves it’s all real.

“Alright!” Moze booms, “weapons at the ready!”

Everyone points their guns to the sky.

“Fire!”

They all fire three times simultaneously, to honour the three they’ve lost. Maya, Typhon, and Lilith. Photos of Maya and Lilith sit on the base of Roland’s statue, along with a plaque bearing Typhon’s crest.

As everyone lowers their weapons, Tannis clears her throat. “I would like to say a few words.”

“I am not the best at expressing emotion. I find it to be unnecessary baggage, to be blunt. But even I feel the weight of this travesty. Typhon Deleon was a legendary hero, taken from us just as our romance was starting to blossom.”

“Oi,” Skies groans, rolling her eyes.

“As for Maya and Lilith,” she continues, “they were true friends, and the greatest Sirens the galaxy will ever know. But if there’s one thing I know about Sirens- and there is far more than one thing- it’s that they are never truly gone. They live on in the memories of those they were closest to, in more ways than any mere layman could ever understand.” Agreement rumbles through the crowd as Tannis bows dramatically. Everyone else takes turns speaking. Brick, Mordecai, and Tina go on about how awesome Maya and Lilith were. Zer0 says Lilith was an honourable leader and Maya a powerful ally. Moze, Zane, Amara, and FL4K talk about how much fun working under Lilith and beside Maya was, and that they wish they could’ve spent more time with Typhon.

As they speak, Skies continues to stare up at the moon. She wants to say something. But what would she say? Maybe she shouldn’t say anything. But she wants to say something.

As Ava is finishing up talking about what a great teacher and guardian Maya was and how she wants to be just like her, Skies raises her hand.

“Uh, um, I’d like to say something.”

Ava smiles and nods. Skies awkwardly rubs her hands as she looks at everyone staring back at her.

“Um, okay, so…like Tannis, I’m not good at…emotion. And I’m way worse at properly speaking my thoughts. But I’ll…I’ll do my best.”

“It was a real honour to meet Typhon and spend time with him. I learned so much about him in that short time, and I wish I could’ve learned more. But, um…but he went out like a hero trying to defeat a monster- even if that monster was his daughter- and I think he’d be satisfied with that.”

The Vault Hunters nod agreeably.

Skies throat tightens but she swallows hard and continues. “As…all of you know…I had um…h-history with Lilith and Maya. But despite this, they still accepted me to help out, even if it was only because they didn’t have a lot of options. But I’ll take what I can get. I only wish I had more time to show Maya that it wasn’t a mistake. I really wish we could’ve gotten that drink together.”

“And Lilith…she…she did accept me. Despite everything I did to her, in the end, she considered me…a friend. Which is far more than I could ever deserve from her.”

Skies stops here, her left eye stinging. Everyone else is respectfully silent.

“A-anyway, that’s enough from me,” she says quickly, “like I said, I can’t properly voice my thoughts. I just ramble endlessly. Everyone can stop looking at me now.”

There are a few chuckles and Rhys smiles and comfortingly pats her shoulder.

“Let’s drink, huh?” Zane suggests and everyone agrees.

Moxxi passes around a shot of Rakk ale to everyone- except for Ava who gets pop- and they all hold their glasses up.

“To lost friends,” Moxxi toasts, “may their memory live on with each of us, and those who come after us.” “So freaking wise,” Skies comments and everyone downs their drink, except for FL4K and Zer0, who pour theirs out on Roland’s statue.

After this, everybody mills about, talking in their own groups. Skies lingers next to Rhys and Vaughn, who talk about what they’ve been up to the last few years, but she doesn’t pay much attention. She keeps staring up at the moon.

A shot is suddenly fired and everyone whips out their guns.

“Ack, who’s shooting!” Rhys cries, ducking behind Skies.

A strange man enters the camp, shotgun in hand. “Skies the treasure hunter!”

“Oh my god, you can’t be serious,” Skies groans, rubbing her eyes.

“I am here for-!”

“Yeah, I know what you’re here for,” she snaps, cutting him off. “Also, it’s ‘Ultimate’ Treasure Hunter. Like, seriously! Does nobody read business cards!”

“Hand it over, or face my wrath!” he barks.

“Might want to rethink that,” Amara warns as she and the other Vault Hunters step forward. Behind Skies, everyone else readies their weapons.

“Uh, um…” the merc stammers. “Maybe-maybe I’ll come back another time.”

“That would be advisable,” FL4K agrees.

The man quickly runs off and everyone calms down.

“What was that guy’s problem?” Ava asks.

“I would say, after announcing she has Handsome Jack’s real mask,” Tannis replies, “lots of big wigs are hiring mercenaries to hunt down Skies and steal it.” “Oh, yeah,” Rhys agrees, “even Atlas execs want it. Not me, of course, but like other people.”

“Jakobs workers too,” Wainwright adds, “also not me.”

“Well, it’s to be expected,” Moxxi remarks, “she did tell the entire galaxy that the mask holds the rights to Hyperion, which have been lost since Jack’s death. Of course every rich asshole would want it.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Skies insists, “this was entirely on purpose. It’s just happening a little faster than I intended.”

“Why would you do that on purpose?” Ava asks.

“How else is everyone else gonna know what I did with the deed?” she grins. “It would look suspicious if it just resurfaced without an explanation.”

“What’d you do with it?” Rhys asks.

“Nothing…yet.”

“Which is why I must go,” she adds as she backs away. “Sorry to cut out early, but clearly I have some business to attend to. Ciao.”

“Wait!” Ava exclaims as Skies starts to walk away. “You’re gonna come back to Sanctuary, right?”

Skies hesitates. “Uh…do…you want me to come back?” “Yeah! Like Lilith said, you’re a Crimson Raider now. It’s your home.”

Skies blinks with surprise and smiles. “Alright. I’ll see you on Sanctuary.” “Okay,” Ava beams.

“Bye, Skies!” Tina shouts, waving wildly.

“Don’t get into too much trouble,” Rhys says.

Skies waves to everyone as she gets into her ship and flies away.

---

President of Mercenary Relations and Tourism, Jeffrey Blake marches through the halls of a Hyperion office building, glaring angrily at his ECHO device. The group of mercenaries he sent to Skies’ last known location were all killed. He told those fools not to fight her directly. Nobody ever listens.

“It’s so hard to find decent help,” he groans.

He suddenly gets a call from his assistant. “Uh, M-Mr. Blake, sir. You have a…visitor?”

“Tell them to make an appointment,” he orders, “I do not have time.”

“Uh, yes, sir.” In front of Blake’s office, the assistant looks fearfully at the pistol pointed at his face and the unsettling grin of its holder. “B-but she is um rather insistent.”

“She?” Blake stops, his blood running cold. “Uh, I’ll be right there.”

He hurries back to his office, hoping, praying, that he’s wrong. How would she have found him?

He stops as he enters the hall leading to his office doors and glowers.

“Blake!” Skies exclaims, lifting her pistol from the relieved assistant’s face. “It is so good to see you again. Sorry for dropping in like this, but it’s kind of urgent.” Blake takes a second to calm his nerves and approaches. “Skies. It has been a long time.”

“Bet you’re happy about that.”

“May I ask, how did you get in here?”

“I walked,” Skies replies, “don’t worry, I didn’t kill anyone. Not even the security guard who grabbed me. Although, he might need a new hand. Not my fault; he grabbed my blade shoulder.” A blade pops out of her right shoulder to punctuate her point.

“And to what do I owe this…unexpected meeting?” Blake asks.

“Oh, I think you know,” she smirks.

He takes a deep breath and points to his assistant. “Hold all my calls.”

“Yes, sir,” he nods as Blake enters his office, Skies close behind.

“Nice digs,” she comments as she glances around. It’s a simple but large office. “I always felt like Jack’s office was way too ostentatious. Nice to see you taking a different approach.” Skies stands on the other side of his desk as Blake sits down. “How did you find me so quickly?” he asks. “Oh, Blake,” she laughs, “I’ve known where you are for many years. I’ve been planning this meet up for a long time.” “What?” he questions, “so this isn’t about the mercenaries?”

“Which mercenaries?”

He freezes and Skies laughs. “Are you afraid of me, Blakey? Relax, I’m not here to kill you. I actually have a gift for you. Here.” She hands him a large envelope. He takes it cautiously, holds it at arm’s length, and takes out its contents.

The envelope falls from his hand as Blake stares at the paper in shock. He tears his eyes from it to look at Skies, who’s smiling with amusement, then looks back at the paper- the rights to Hyperion.

“Wha-what…why?”

Skies laughs. “I’ve never seen you speechless before. Aw, this is great.”

“Is-it’s a trick, right?” Blake asks.

“No trick. Well, not exactly. It’s not the original, just a copy. But I won’t tell if you won’t.” “But…why me?” Skies smiles. “You put up with Jack as much as I did- no, even more because you were with him longer. And you survived the fall of Helios. You deserve a promotion, I think. And if anyone wonders how you got it, you can tell them I peacefully handed it over. Who’s gonna argue with me?” Blake is truly speechless as he stares at the paper.

“This is where most people would say ‘thank you’,” Skies says.

He scoffs as he rests the paper on his desk. “It is, as you said, well-deserved.” “You’re welcome!”

He glares at her.

“Well, I’ll be on my way now,” Skies says, “do me a favour and make the announcement right away, will you, so the mercenaries will leave me alone. I need a good break.”

“See ya, Blakey,” she chimes as she turns to leave. “Good luck being president! Don’t go mad with power and try to become a god. Weird how that happens so much, isn’t it? I blame the Vaults. Anyway, ciao!”

She takes her leave and Blake stares quietly at the paper on his desk. After a few minutes, he calls his assistant on his intercom. “Set an emergency meeting with the Hyperion shareholders. I have a very important announcement to make.”

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #borderlands fanfiction #borderlands oc #borderlands au #myocs #myart

5 notes · View notes