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pandorafallz · 6 months

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Vampire AU | Learn to See

After a quick breakfast in his human body from supplies from his fridge than the fire-cooked stuff, Jake was glad to stretch out in his Avatar. Though his body was very displeased by the missed meal by the grumbles growing in his gut he was met with Jake was surprised to see a wrapped Niktsyey of veg waiting for him beside his hammock with a cup of water. So he chugged the water down and then ate it happily.

Jake had barely gotten his new shorts and shirt on by the time his curtain moved and N’deh popped his head around the edge, a little cautiously before he realised he was in fact, dressed. Barely.

“Jakesully.”

“Thank you for leaving some food for me,” Jake said appreciatively because there was only one person who had the time to make and leave it for him by the time he had linked back up.

N’deh just nodded. “I knew your body would be hungry, unlike Sky people, I have no way to feed empty bodies. Leaving your food was your next best option when you didn’t return”

Jake’s head tilted though he felt a little…touched that the man was willing to feed an unconscious body if it were possible. A…unexpected expression of care. “Still... I really appreciate it.”

N’deh nodded again in acknowledgement though his eyes took in his mauri carefully though his face fell a little. “You have not decorated much, I see? I hoped by now you would have added expression to your home.”

Jake craned his head about. “Not...really? Right now, this is simply for storing my avatar. My decoration is mostly in with my human body.”

N’deh frowned lightly. “But this is also your body. You should care for it by leaving it in a place of pride. No one leaves their belongings discarded on the ground after use. Be…respectful of what this body provides you.” He lectured lightly. “It may be small but there can be much done to make it your home. Come, I shall show you mine.”

Jake blinked in a little bemusement at the Na’vi’s abrupt disappearance and attitude but followed after. In all honesty, it hadn’t occurred to him to decorate more than hanging his clothes up. He got up, changed then left for the day, only to return at night change and let his avatar rest. He hadn’t found much reason to change when it worked out quite well.

In all honestly, peeking into N’deh’s mauri was a surprise; it wasn’t what he expected. He had never ventured into N’deh’s Mauri before. He expected N’deh to have a bow up and a good few arrows lined up or jewellery like the woven navy blue and teal collar he always had on, which it was an unusual colour given Tsu’tey and most male Omatikaya had red or maroon chokers now that he thought about it.

But, N’deh’s mauri had…lots of human trinkets in it. A bookshelves of books, a watch, and bits and bobs, but what stood out to take was the art pieces and the…pictures that laid upon the woven surfaces.

Jake’s eyes lingered on the childish handprints of fingerpaint and childish hand-drawn writing but his attention was to the photographs.

Many were from the school, clearly. Many of the kids, Augustine at the front in one, touching both her blue ears and the writing behind her looking to be describing elements of the body in English. The photograph was taken from the back as many students were mirroring Augustine.

A few were of the other students, some posing and some not. Jake recognised Neytiri in one in a hug-together picture with a taller, and slightly older girl… with a familiar necklace he had seen Augustine’s avatar wear. There was certainly a…resemblance between Neytiri and this girl. Was this…her sister? The one that had...died at the school?

One photo was much closer to N’deh’s hammock. Dr Augustine with one arm slung around N’deh’s shoulder, his arm around her waist while her arm was around his as well and both grinning at the camera.

“You were…at the school?” Jake couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes, Eytukan thought it would be…wise to have me there to supervise the children.” N’deh said, “he was still a little…suspicious of the sky people and what would be taught so to settle his feelings, I would go and accompany them up until my banishment, a year prior to the closing.”

Jake nodded, though bent down to read the spines of the books.

Complex Mathematics, Classroom Edition

Wonders of Earth (2019 Edition) by Geographical Nature

Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare.

A Botanist’s Vocabulary

Elements of the Philosophy of Plants; Containing the Principles of Scientific Botany of With a History of the Science, and Practical Illustrations… by Augustin Pyramus de Candolle

The Human body.

The Wonders of Pandoran Plants, By Grace Augustine.

Advanced Reading Comprehension and Writing.

The Lorax

Jake blinked a little at the range of books N’deh had. He could see a few more books piled on the side, but the spines were away but it was clear to see…N’deh liked to read. He liked to read human books and…liked elements of their culture, by the looks of it as well. He had pencils and… had a chess board tucked away, between his Na’vi appropriate belongings, a small loom set off to the side next to his personal rack.

“The point I make is that I’ve decorated my space with my interests, by things that were given to me or made for me,” N’deh said, touching at one of the children’s finger paintings he had pinned up. “Kim and Jerome have as well. Just because you vacate this body often, it doesn’t mean it should be left on a shelf until it’s convenient.” N’deh placed his hands on Jake’s chest. “As I said before, have some pride. It is your home.”

Jake met the steely yellow gaze and he all he could do was nod once.

“Hey Jake, Come help me collect mud and clay! I have an oven I wanna you to help build!” Nadine called from down below, waving her datapad with designs over her head at him.

Ruby’s tail flickered irritably as she set about adding more rock texturing paint across the windows of her home; the ones that weren’t going to be used for viewing. Although her hands worked on muscle memory, her mind was…distant and uncomfortable.

Vampires.

It should have been a funny fucking joke. A story for their amusement and now…they were real?? Like what the fuck? When were vampires a thing and how the fuck did they get onto this goddamn planet without anyone noticing? How come she didn’t…remember anything? What did the bloodsuckers do to them in their lapses of memory? Sure, their blood but…did they enjoy them in more than that way?

Ruby didn’t know and in all honesty, she didn’t know if she wanted to know. Blood was certainly taken, that was fact given the light Kendra had shone on them showing them the markings of being feasted upon.

Ignorance was truly bliss; she’d be much happier not knowing and living out here in peace and quiet. Why did Sully have to tell them? What was the point? It wasn’t like it was their problem now, was it?

“If Hell’s Gate finds out, then the vampires can leave then we’re on the menu. We’re not so protected. The Na’vi cannot protect us against these creatures.”

Sully did have some…logic, she supposed. She had squat to work on if these things came for them. They had Garlic. She could trade some for potatoes from their camp for some and get that growing. The Na’vi might be interested in Garlic as well which meant they had to get a lot more grown for the clan as well. It wouldn’t take long. All the plants seemed to grow and grew like weeds so it was likely to be harvested sooner than they would have been on Earth. A plus for them.

“You okay, Ruby?”

Her head turned, looking down to Zeke who barely came to her hips. He was dressed down into a tank top and shorts today and there was mud all over his hands and a large rough blue-ish rock in his hands.

“I’m fine.” She said, putting the wooden end of her brush into her mouth to dab some paint away with her pinkie.

“Wanna check out this sweet rock I found?” Zeke offered. “Copper ore!” he held out the rock to her.

Ruby turned to him though curiously peaked as he held it out. “Metal ore?” The Na’vi weren’t going to be happy about that. He set it into her palm when she knelt and set her paint pallet down, allowing her to turn it about.

“It’s… well I didn’t mine it. If it’s free game along the surface like any of the rocks they make for beads and weapons, then we can use this. We know why they follow their laws and we can follow the intention behind it after all. This isn’t much worse than their stone beads or stone arrowheads, after all.” He answered.

Even so, Ruby had a feeling it wouldn’t be welcomed but… he had a point. The Na’vi that used stone for tools clearly used some non-renewable resources. Plus, she supposed they could smelt this down and they weren’t doing what the RDA were doing.

“Collect what you can, sparingly,” Ruby said, handing it back. “If the rivers hold ores, we should be careful on how the rivers and plant life handle the minerals. I’ll make adjustments to our water filters so we shouldn’t have to worry about copper or metal poisoning.”

Zeke gave her a thumbs up. “I know sorta how to make a small smelter but gathering the tools will take time. I’m no engineer.”

“We can hold off on that until we can get to the other shacks.” Ruby mused. “It’ll be a pain going back and forth as there’s a lot but…we should probably think like hoarders and get what we can. We can split up the goods with the others.”

Zeke cocked his head to the side. “If you wanna think like a hoarder, just leave any junk behind and take the whole shack?”

There was a pause.

“The whole shack?”

Zeke nodded thoughtfully, “It’s just...an idea. Like, it’s a whole breathable atmosphere inside the shacks. More shacks, more space for us to have without masks, right?” He offered. “We can link the shacks together, or with someone engineering, we could cut a few up to make a bigger space than a module city.”

Ruby blinked but she felt the lights of ideas run through her mind at the…possibilities. She hadn’t thought of that; only of the stuff inside of what would be useful. Hell, Trinity’s group was using two shack modules for all of them while they got the lab. It had been a debate on which group got which but Ruby had won the Rolab for the basis of science; space needed to ensure that the thing they were eating would be safe or could be constructed in the RoLab or in an emergency situation, a sterile place for surgery. Not that they thought they needed it but they kept the lab clean for a reason. They had their living space and link-beds attached but it was separated by an airlock.

It would…be nice. Zeke could have his own personal shack as well. She could fuck Zane as loud as she wanted without giving their third wheel an eyeful or keep him up all night. Reza said they had wiped most and that left… at minimum forty shacks dotted about, excluding the numbers that had dual or more modules, which could up the shack numbers to maybe sixty or seventy modules. A lot of space; breathable space.

“Where could we put them?” She wondered.

“I don’t know but… I’m sure we could put them into some underground caves for storage in the meantime?” Zeke suggested, rubbing the back of his head. “Like, it’s risky and we have to use the Samson’s but…the prizes would be worth it.”

Ruby nodded softly. “It is…tempting. But we’ll need to run this past the others. If we take shacks, we’ll need to figure something out for everyone. Sully and Reza have a Samson, I heard the camp had an older one but it’s long dead. We can use that for parts. We have two Samson’s between our two camps. That’s three altogether. One can lift a single module. Two for a RoLab.”

“One for security.”

Ruby hummed, tapping her arm lightly with her brush and not realising it was the wet end. “Get these ideas written down for tomorrow, we can discuss with Sully on organising at least getting two modules. We can negotiate on the content.”

Zeke perked up. “Yep! Yep, that sounds fun.” He clapped her knee happily and with the copper held up, he dashed straight inside.

She watched him fondly, her earlier concerns remaining distant. Less relevant. Vampires weren’t a problem for them so why make it a problem for now? Ruby bent down to get back to work then tittered loudly as she realised her arm was covered in paint.

Wonderful.

The oven was surprisingly fun to create, Jake found as he was Nadine’s able hands as she set tasks upon him and Morgan with her direction. They coated a wooden surface with clay and let that sun dry with the sand. N’deh had been immediately against having them set a stone brick and mortar base as it was against the third law of Eywa; ‘setting stone upon stone’. Too similar to building a ‘house’ so they had to improvise with a portable clay oven. The bases were made of the Pandoran version of Bamboo shoots which were coated in clay in a square structure to act as the main firewood storage. It was bigger than planned to account for their portion sizes. So by the time lunch came, almost all the pieces of the oven were done, the rest had to dry. Like the dome’s ‘piping’ was still drying out before they could form the dome. But they had the dirt ready and waiting.

Lunch was a simple meal, Jerome cooked a simple stew but this time with spice now that they knew their avatar bodies could take it well. Kim looked positively gleeful and practically inhaled it and a second bowl as well. “I was craving something, didn’t think it was the spice” was all she had said.

N’deh had watched in amusement as he ate his own bowl of stew—Nadine had saved him some last second before the spices were added since he was the only pure-blooded Na’vi who couldn’t tolerate it.

Jake fed himself in his human body after that, did some stretches then returned to his avatar to help with the mother loom with N’deh and Kim.

Even after a month and a bit with this, Jake’s skill was not the best but he had seen improvements in the quality of his work which was very satisfying to see. Plus, working the threading was easier when he had made it as well. They were carrying on with a large mauri piece, so the loom was fully extended and the weavings were large and tight. Kim remained diligent in keeping the tension with the crank while Jake helped with the large shuttle and made a few minor corrections to the weave pattern.

“…as I said, sorry for not believing you, man.” Jerome’s voice reached them before either Avatar or Morgan arrived. Jake’s head craned towards them briefly but returned back to work when the shuttle came his way.

“I get it, but… thanks, Jer.” Morgan clapped the man on the leg. “Shame you can’t test and see if you were nibbled on any more. Seems the avatars weren’t part of the menu.”

Jerome snorted a little. “Yeah… kinda glad I don’t know. Who knows how long they’ve been here? But, it does make sense in the manner of how they’re doing it and why…from a scientific standpoint.”

Morgan gave him a weird look. “You really don’t mind them eating us? Attacking us? Wiping our memory?”

Jerome frowned, “I don’t know the mechanics of their abilities. I don’t condone it either but… they still have to eat at the end of the day. The fact they’re not hunting avatars, Na’vi or… well, the wild animals seems to say that they can’t. They have to rely on the human population. I’d rather have them fed and happy, with all humans accounted and healthy than any of them starving and going on a rampage. Anyone who’s died on Pandora seems to be killed by Pandoran wildlife or accidents at work. Even before I left, there were no injuries or death-related injuries where blood loss and bites were part of it.”

Morgan frowned. “Well, as someone who was bitten many, many times. I ain’t on board with that so…don’t go singing their praises to me.”

“Vampires are predators. Sky people are their prey.” N’deh called, also having been listening in. “It is natural for resentment. You fear them. Our prey species run from being hunted as well, just as much as the Na’vi run from Palulukan.”

“That’s different.” Morgan deflected. “The animals we eat aren’t sentient…or have any Sight of Eywa, as your people would understand. These people hunt on sentient prey. Us. They know we don’t like it.”

“And you wonder why they remove your memory?” N’deh remarked dryly, not looking away from the thread adjustment he was doing.. “But, they have not killed. That shows restraint. They do not wish to kill you. They may not be Na’vi or a human, but it shows that they are rational and thus, have their own culture and lifestyle that is beyond hunger-fuelled death. If they can only feed on humans, ignorance must be essential for peace otherwise they will starve, thus they remove the memory of their feeding.”

Jake eyed N’deh for a moment but opted to not stroke that fire. Clearly, as someone who wasn’t prey to these creatures, he didn’t see them the same way. If anything, he sounded fascinated by this species, more so than Jerome. Which again was weird. These people were capable of wiping out the entire Omatikaya clan within an hour alone if they wanted to; that knowledge alone should be terrifying. One vampire could kill twenty armed warriors within 5 seconds. No stone wall to stop them or the distance between even if they made a run for it. Humans were pursuit predators back in the day. But these things could outlast them. Human technology couldn’t outlast them either.

Morgan wrinkled his nose. “I’m sure you’ll feel differently after they get inside your brain.”

“Are you worried that they fed from you or that they may have taken more from you?” N’deh asked, gently climbing down the loom.

Morgan’s arms crossed over his chest. “One seduced me into my bed.”

N’deh cocked his head to the side. “Did this vampire touch you in a sexual manner in the time that you recall their feed?”

Morgan sucked his teeth but shook his head a little. “No.”

“Then it seems their interest is more for your blood, than your body. Perhaps there is culture in their feedings, they may have seduced you but not for sexual activities as you believed.” N’deh spoke calmly. “I cannot know for sure but.. I’m sure you would tell if someone took advantage of your body.”

Jake secured the shuttle then gently climbed down and took his leave—this was not a conversation he wanted to be a part of or one he wanted to think about—so he headed back towards the camp, treading carefully as usual to avoid footprints and thankfully, he spotted Neytiri but to his surprise, she was not alone as she jumped off Seze’s back. Tsu’tey also was with her with his own Ikran, peering into his shack curiously.

“Hey!” He waved happily, though he eyed Tsu’tey a little longer when he got close. Neytiri was an often visitor but not Tsu’tey. Clearly, something was up. “Is everything okay?”

Neytiri nodded, “Of course. I spoke to my father and he agreed to allow me to train you to be a hunter. Your human days at Hometree will be your rest days to allow your Dreamwalker to rest, but there can be…changes to account for your home chores.” She added, gesturing to his shack.

“You’re to watch gleefully from the sidelines, aren’t you?” Jake said, directing this to Tsu’tey had had since smirked a little; clearly knowing what was in store for him.

“Yes.” Tsu’tey agreed.

“Tsu’tey is here to get more accustomed to your home, he has only come to pick you up before now but had not learned its layout and purposes. There’ll be times when my duty as Tsakarem pulls me from your training. Tsu’tey will take over on those occasions.”

Jake eyes the warrior for a moment, not sure if that was for better or for worse. Neytiri was smart, brilliant and beautiful. Tsu’tey was grumpy, paranoid and looked like he’d take great pleasure from his suffering. He wasn’t sure if Tsu’tey could ‘teach’ anything.

“When shall we start?”

“Tomorrow. You’ll be in your Dreamwalker at Hometree then. Ashelysloan has also requested to be trained as a hunter along with MingxiaWu and Trinityharper. Tsu’tey will tend to a portion of them when they arrive but I will accept them as students as well.” Neytiri said though remained a little uncertain. “If they can keep up.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Jake added, mostly to Tsu’tey. “Our human bodies aren’t…designed to navigate this world like yours. Things will be difficult, they will be slower because they’re smaller and we haven’t had a tree to climb in generations. The moment you start judging on their inabilities, you’ll get a lecture.” He promised because he was sure that of all the people who needed to hear that warning, it was Tsu’tey.

“They will learn.”

“I’m sure they will.” Jake agreed, though made way towards their storage supplies where he knelt to find where Nadine left his cloth and sewing supplies. Parts of a loom N’deh was crafting were still about—later’s problem. “So, the others are at our main loom working on pieces for Kim and Jerome’s expansion for their mauri if you want to see them. She wants to get it done before she gets too pregnant to scale it correctly.”

“Many pregnant women work with our mother loom with no issue,” Tsu’tey remarked.

“I don’t doubt their abilities, but she’s carrying two babies which will double her efforts. Plus, she said as much to me anyway.” It wasn’t like he was judging. Kim knew her limits and they were respecting it. From what he had seen, Na’vi pregnancies were a little lighter on the Na’vi body than human pregnancies. Women hunted up to at least a week until they gave birth and even then, they could hunt after. They have better joints and movements so they weren’t as fragile and much more durable, and while the pregnancy was about the time in length, the Na’vi babies looked to pop out much more developed than humans. “You know, she’s having two girls?”

Neytiri’s head cocked to the side. “Now do you know? They’re not born yet?”

“No, but sky people have the technology to see into the womb.” He said, “We’ve used this technology for almost…two hundred years. It helped us diagnose babies’ illnesses or deformities before birth, allowing some doctors to operate and allow the child to grow into health prior to birth. We can see their faces or… see if it’s a girl or a boy.”

Neytiri looked a little perturbed but also intrigued at the notion. “So you are able to see if the babies Kim carries are healthy.”

“Yes, I think she plans to bring the scanner when the doc from Harper’s camp comes down to help explain it better. Any human who gets pregnant is gonna want that technology to monitor their pregnancy. Pandora is…different. It may affect our babies in ways we don’t know yet and our babies are already born premature as it is.”

“I suppose we’ll find out how our pregnancies are alike or different at some point but now, it’s hardly a productive conversation. To my knowledge, sky people don’t have babies in our world.”

“I haven’t seen any but that doesn’t surprise me. The Sky people tend to have rules against relationships. Not that it stops anyone; it’s a formality.” He was a marine; he knew what went down and he was certain that a lot was happening behind closed doors. Ruby and Zane, for starters. He bet for one, Quaritch has a routine to get someone in his bed if he so desires it.

“How sad,” Neytiri replied.

Jake soon showed Tsu’tey around mostly; their growing plants in the ground that had sprouted well and on their way to be growing food in a few months tie and the weed was growing very healthily and taller everyday which he was excited for, he showed the Mauri’s; which was his mostly. Though getting to his own shack on the ground, he showed the pair how to work the door safely; if there was an emergency then how to shut down the link bed.

“It’s an emergency stop, but I have been warned by Ashley and… by some of the drivers, that this can hurt. Jerome said it had even killed an avatar once in the early days of avatars but… sometimes an emergency doesn’t care and it has to be done. If the RDA find my camp and I’m in here, they’ll hit the button to get me out regardless.” He had explained. Neytiri had worried a little. Tsu’tey had surprisingly lightened up a little.

“You trust us with this information?” he had asked. “You know I do not like you, even if you do provide our clan aid.”

“I don’t care that you do not like me. I know you do not hate me otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.” Jake had pointed out, “We’re… on neutral ground, I would say. I can trust that.”

The two didn’t stay too long after that and left, but Jake didn’t miss the lingering look Neytiri gave to him as she jumped back into Seze’s back.

“Once Captain Hale leaves for the night, we’re clocked in for the night shift.” One woman said quietly. “Everything’s on standby. Conner’s already got the schedules down and equipment loaded. Let’s do this quickly, quietly and go like we’re leaving for a shift. Put any extra clothes on underneath your current ones to make up for any space you’re lacking in your bag. Once we’re gone, we’re not coming back to do some shopping.”

“Sounds like a plan. But where’s the endgame?” a man asked.

“Right now, doesn’t matter. The night shift isn’t as tightly watched. They don’t find out till morning so we have to put distance between us and then in that time. We’re not taking a ship or anything. Gates got us the scent shit so the wildlife will leave us alone.” The woman said, eyeing the group. “This ain’t gonna be an easy trip. It’s still a high risk out there but…given there are a good few people gone and no bodies back, shows that we can survive. We don’t need Hell’s Gate or any of their bullshit. So, folks, Let’s live a little and thrive. Humans stick together, after all.”

Ten miners, one SecOps and one SciOps left after dusk.

They did not return.

Jake woke sharply to a knocking on his window, sitting up, and fumbled along the wall for the bar light before he squinted to see Neytiri’s face peering through the window at him, her rider mask on.

“Tell her to fuck off. Imma sleeping.” Nadine grumbled, having also awoken by the sound. Rolling over but her snores echoed a few seconds later.

Neytiri pointed to the link bed through the window, enough to give Jake an idea of what she wanted before he slowly made his way out of bed, turned the light off behind him and got into the link bed.

He blinked into the darkness of his mauri though his avatar was tired, it was still good so he clambered out and down.

Neytiri was on Seze though he greeted her tiredly.

“This is kinda late. Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”

“Possibly, but my mother said now was a good time before your training starts.”

“Good time for what?” Jake cambered up, his hands coming to her sides though his heart gave an odd squeeze as she lurched up and Seze took off, forcing him to have a tighter grip on her.

Neytiri didn’t answer but the answer came when the sight of a strange, glowing forest of pink trees with long willow-tree-like branches but without leaves that appeared in the distance and crawled close. He could feel Neytiri’s reverence in how she flew and how Seze touched down.

Jake slipped off softly as well, though he felt a little…awed at the beauty of these trees. He had never seen these ones before. It felt…certainly felt special.

“What is this place?” he jumped a little as a flurry of fan lizards were equally startled by his presence, his eyes following them as they circled about them.

“Utral Aymokriyä” Neytiri spoke, her eyes alight with fondness as she led the way. “You would call it… Trees of Voices. A very sacred spot.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Am…I allowed here?”

“Only for the reason we are here tonight. Nothing else. You are not one of the people.”

Ouch, but Jake didn’t disagree. He was an outsider which meant this was clearly very important.

Neytiri led the day, taking a shallow breath in doing so, reaching for the tendrils that seemed to shiver and move as they got inside, reaching for them almost but never touching until Neytiri extended her arm and let her fingers touch the tendrils lightly.

“When an Omatikaya has given birth, a child’s first Tsaheylu is immediately set with their mother. This bonds them emotionally as parent to a child with unconscionable love. Our second Tsaheylu is with Eywa when infants are a few months into life and able to…understand and experience the love our Great Mother gives to each of her children.” Neytiri spoke, her eyes ahead as she came to a spot close to some large roots. “We typically go to the Tree of Souls, which is further out but some would choose these trees as their first connection with Eywa.”

Jake’s eyes took in the trees with some awe, noting the few woodsprites that danced along the tendrils.

“Warriors and hunters come here often. We bond with Eywa before events, so our memory and soul will be preserved within her should we perish.” Neytiri pulled her tswin from behind her, coming to connect it to the tendrils in front of her. “This is also a place for prayers to be heard…. Or answered.” Her beautiful yellow eyes remained open, her pupils seemed to dilate a little in response. “Our ancestors can be heard for generations. It is how they live. Within Eywa.”

Jake swallowed as she turned to look at him, unable to help himself as she reached a hand for him and allowed her to guide him to sit down at the roots where a few tendrils lay down close. His heart thumped a little, in an odd sense of anticipation.

“Is…it possible I do it wrong?” he asked, a little worried.

Neytiri chuckled softly, disconnecting her tswin to sit beside him. “No. This will be your first…communion with Eywa. She will understand.”

“Am…I the only one doing this?”

“My mother has come to the agreement that a single Dreamwalker will commune at a time in a single night. My father was against it but saw reason.” Neytiri spoke, “he saw how proof of your vampires changed their attitudes quickly to belief. If…all those with Dreamwalkers can See, then I sense those without may follow but…we are extending a lot of trust by bringing you here.”

Jake didn’t feel less anxious by that fact alone. Sure, he could definitely see this was a huge deal….he hoped he didn’t fuck it up. Of all the things to fuck up, this should not be part of it.

“I-I won’t break it.” He promised faintly, “Just…what should I do?”

Neytiri reached for the tendril and pulled it forward. “Your tswin will curl around naturally, close your eyes and keep your mind blank of thought but allow yourself to follow what direction you’re pulled in. You will hear the voices of our ancestors first but try to seek below their presence. She will sense why you are here and respond.”

Jake took a steady breath, pulling his braid from behind over his shoulder until he gripped near the end, allowing the hair to fall away from the pink tendrils that still kinda freaked him out if he stared at them for too long. Couldn’t be too hard to mess up putting A to B, right?

Right?

Jake felt her hand on his arm yet remained quiet as he guided his tswin to the tendrils and closed his eyes.

At first, he felt a soft echo of noise in his…ears, yet he didn’t feel them twitch towards any direction. The sound, he realised was voices; barely catching enough to understand what they were saying. A singing song, a weaving chant—a child giggling happily. Yet, there was something else below that.

He could feel the soft pull and reminded himself to flow with it. He could…feel the soft pulsing, like a heartbeat that echoed around him that was subtle and quiet and lulled him onwards… but it was quick as he felt the teetering edge of something. Beyond the voices that these trees were renowned for, it was like his very being was…being guided.

The teetering stopped as he allowed himself to cave and fall. It felt the dam of emotion suddenly wash through his very veins, a warm and…connection that he hadn’t experienced before seemed to light through his soul. He felt…

Not alone.

An unfamiliar sensation.

The beating of the heart was loud, as was the soft breath.

Jake was…accustomed to being alone. Loneliness. The absence of people. He had gotten better, he had reconnected and while he struggled to balance his camp mates, there was that distance he had kept in his heart that…had a shred of loneliness. The absence of what he had needed.

Gone by the death of his parents.

Gone by the death of his twin brother.

It was just him. The last Sully of his bloodline on Earth. How lonely that was in the population of 20 billion people. How could he not be alone with that? Years before Tommy had died, just after his chair, he was used to it, the growth of absence when Tommy had vanished for years with little to talk about when he was training to come here. He had missed out on talking to Tommy. Missed out on his last few weeks of life. How little he knew of what had become of Tommy before his death. The RDA’s non-disclosure didn’t help.

His connections to his war group had dwindled with each of their losses, though he had taken great pleasures with Nadine in their time in the war; it was in most part to relieve stress but… he had closed that connection after what had happened to the both of them. He had gotten used to her absence after that, but they had connected back.

Jake was used to loneliness.

So feeling the sense of…warmth and connection was quickly overwhelming. He was aware his breath was shuddering, but he didn’t want to find his way back.

He could feel the pulsing warmth of…simply her.

It…wasn’t as strong as he expected but in some part, of why was simple; this place was not for such emotional visits like this; the Tree of Souls would serve a greater and more spiritual connection.

This was enough.

He could feel the connections were like a binding web, of voices of the dead, fragments of life still lived between both spirit and material. It went beyond where he was sitting. A delicate balance between predator and prey, the…unfamiliar love that seemed to connect even to him now to this balance of life.

Eywa’s presence was simply there. Under and around. Breathing with the wind or ratting through the leaves.

Now you see.

Jake opened his eyes, realising for a moment that he was crying softly but he couldn’t find the strength to disconnect as he seemed to surface back towards the voices. Not knowing if the absence would remain or not.

“Jake.” Neytiri’s voice echoed.

“I see.” His whispered.

Masterlist

#avatar #avatar au #avatar james cameron #grace augustine #avatar the way of water #jake sully #mo'at #avatar rda #neytiri #neytiri te tskaha mo'at'ite #tsu'tey #eytukan #norm spellman #vampire #vampire au #vampire grace

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echizen-division · 8 months

Text

“Love is a game, one that we play with ourselves and each other.” ―Unknown

Introduction 🕰️

Nishio Tokishou(時傷二四懊), aka 24:00 on rap battles, is a shopkeeper and the leader of the rap group Clockwork Lament representing the Echizen division. He runs The Rusty Rose, a watch shop and antiques store in Echizen which he inherited from his late father.

He was forced into the DRB for reasons even he doesn’t know, but he believes it has something to do with either his late father or his grandfather.

Link to neka used

Appearance

Nishio is a man of average height in his late 20s, he has pale ivory skin with visible scarring on his neck and face, he doesn’t really want to talk about that. He has brown hair of medium length usually styled with a small braid on the right side of his face while everything else is down. He has heterochromia, with his right eye being teal and his left being orange. His ears don several piercings, most notably a pair of industrial piercings resembling arrows, one of them containing a heart on the middle.

Nishio is typically seen in a white poet’s shirt with a frilly collar and sleeve cuffs, a black corset and a brown overcoat with ornate black printing of a clock tower at the bottom; he wears brown pants and black dress shoes. He wears a black tie with a brooch of a ruby and a gear on his neck, a silver pocket watch in his coat and black fingerless gloves for accessories. Sometimes, he is seen with a dark red bowler hat with roses, a bundle of black feathers and brass goggles.

He often puts on makeup and paints his nails.

Name Meaning

Ni (二) - Two

Shi(四) - Four

O(懊) - Grudge, worry

Toki (時) - Time

Shou(傷) - Scar, bruise

Nicknames and Aliases

24:00 - MC Name

Shio - others

Shi-nii; Shi-Shi - Kohaku

Nish; 4; bitchboy - Nayomi

TK247120 - Main PROFILE

rustyrose_ofcl - Shop PROFILE

“Time Traveler” - himself

Biographical Info

Gender - Male

Age - 29

Birthday - December 24

Star Sign - Capricorn

Ethnicity - Japanese

Hair Colour - Brown

Eye Colour - Orange (left) Teal (right)

Height - 5’10”

Markings - scar running across left cheek, scars at his neck

Piercings - Double industrial, lobes, tragus

Family -

Grandfather

Father (deceased)

Mother

Voice Claim: Kanon Hanayura/KANON69

Fun Facts

Occupation - Shopkeeper; horologist

Division - Echizen

Team - Clockwork Lament

Position - Leader

Favourite Food - You❣️

Least Favourite Food - Your tears 💔

Likes - Any kind of artisan craft, his family, sci-fi, poetry, clocks, origami

Dislikes - Failure, the government wanting his grandfather’s head for some reason, fickle customers, the concept of romance

Image color: Pumpkin (#FF7518)

Hypnosis Microphone

Nishio’s Hypnosis Microphone is a silver dagger with a brass handle that contain intricate carvings of gears, it has a red gem in the shape of a broken heart at the middle of the crossguard. The mic’s windscreen replaces the pommel at the bottom of the handle.

His speakers are 3 large, intermeshing gears with a circular speaker at the middle of each, the largest one has the numbers 1-12 in black engraving and 3 floating clock hands, there are also 12 smaller speakers of a similar design, 6 float around him and the other parts of the speakers while the other 6 are attached to the main 3 speakers. All parts of the speakers rotate according to the bpm of the song.

Nishio’s rap ability, Grinding Gear–??? (I am genuinely having a hard time with this fu-)

His rap themes mainly revolve around the passing of time, how one can’t stay stuck in the past and the calling of fate, this is occasionally paired with how he is a ‘time traveler’ who has seen the world across many eras. Another thing he raps about is love, wanting it and doing anything to have and kee— and then immediately take it back and switch to rapping about how people have messed up perceptions to love, how people approach love in unrealistic ways and how we should change that.

Just like his teammates, he references various literary pieces, he leans onto sci-fi and romance books(the irony). Recently, he is beginning to reference libertine novels.

Personality

Generally, Nishio is a soft-spoken and warm person, he is super friendly to everyone especially to those that happen to step into his shop and depending on his mood, he might start flirting with whoever catches his eye. He may be warm to everyone around him, but he has a hard time trusting people past his family and teammates and rarely truly opens up to others.

If there’s something he truly looks down on, it’s love, or rather… how people think of love. He doesn’t buy into the idea that love will be the thing fixing everything in one’s life, that love will bring a person true happiness. The irony of it all is that love is also the same thing he yearns for, even after breaking up with his ex which completely jaded his perception of love.

He harbors a sadistic side, this is mainly in the form of teasing others to the point that they’re flustered red, this is more often than not accompanied by racy behavior from him. If he’ll be honest… he doesn’t even know where that came from.

Background

<???>

Trivia

His birthday is at Christmas Eve

His grandfather was a knifemaker, when H-age started, he hid the remaining knives that weren’t sold in his basement

In the other hand, his mother is a seamstress

He used to be a heavy drinker and smoker

His main PROFILE is private, it’s full of him ranting about his day to day life outside his shop persona and pictures of himself; he’s more active on promoting his shop account

He thinks Raiden Otoha of Chiyoda is very fascinating, whatever that meant

#hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone oc #hypmic #hypnosis mic #echizen division #clockwork lament #Nishio Tokishou #24/7 #character bio

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blakegopnik · 11 months

Text

THE FRIDAY PIC is the J. C. Leyndecker painting used in an ad for Kuppenheimer menswear in about 1920, from the little Leyendecker survey now at the New-York Historical Society.

I wrote about that show in Friday's New York Times, and that text is copied below. But after publishing my piece, I had a new thought about its comparison between Leyendecker and Picasso. I admit that I only meant the comparison as a rhetorical gambit, but I now think that there's a credible art-historical connection between the two figures.

In the painting reproduced in his collar ad, Leyendecker is very visibly, aggressively deploying what a painter friend of mine calls the "rectilinear brushwork" that's a feature in certain Old Master-ish artists, beginning maybe with the great eighteenth-century portraits of Henry Raeburn. That brushwork is at the root, I think, of the similar facture that you see in Picasso's Cubism and its so-called "passages," where I think it stands for the connection that Picasso was always keen to assert to the art that came before him, to show how he transformed it. As I said in the Times, Leyendecker also wanted such a connection, in his case to act as camouflage for his radically queer subject matter. But I now wonder if he's also secretly nodding to Picasso, to tie his new erotics to the latest in modern art and thought.

That makes Leyendecker not only a predecessor to Robert Mapplethorpe, but also to Robert Ryman.

--------

Here's my New York Times piece:

J.C. Leyendecker: The ‘Arrow Collar Man’ Who Hid a Radical Idea

The celebrated illustrator shaped American visual culture in the 1900s, but his traditional imagery carried a defiant queer message.

By Blake Gopnik

June 29, 2023

As the 20th century got well underway, who was more radical, Pablo Picasso in Paris, or Joseph Christian Leyendecker in New York? I asked myself that as I toured “Under Cover: J.C. Leyendecker and American Masculinity,” a fascinating show at the New-York Historical Society. In a score of paintings and countless magazine pages, it gives a compact survey of Leyendecker’s work across the first three decades of the last century, as one of this country’s celebrity illustrators.

His calling card was male beauty: Jazz Age youths in their finest finery populate his ads for shirts and starched collars; athletic collegians grace his covers for the weeklies.

Picasso did amazing things to the surface of his pictures that Leyendecker’s crisp realism couldn’t match. But just because Picasso’s radicalism was visible right there on that surface, it was easy to take steps to avoid it. Whereas Leyendecker’s wildly successful illustrations were simply unavoidable. In 1908, a popular magazine felt it worth reporting that, at 34, Leyendecker was booked 12 months in advance and charged the vast sum of $350 for one commercial illustration — what an ordinary worker might have earned in a year.

That meant a large part of the public had no choice but to encounter the radical idea that hid under the traditional surfaces of his imagery: that two elite men could be in love, or in lust, and might even be the happiest of long-term couples.

Those with the will to see could not have missed the possibility that romance is budding, or maybe already blooming, between the two square-jawed hunks in Leyendecker’s 1920s ad for Kuppenheimer menswear. One man is immaculately dressed in gray suit and boater, the other at ease beside him in a one-piece swimming costume.

Contemplating the two men in an ad for Arrow collars, lounging of a morning in an Ivy League club, it takes just the smallest skip of the imagination to think that Leyendecker introduces them to us as mere bosom buddies only because it would be rude to tell some more explicitly amorous story.

Even in the Jazz Age, when homophobia was less aggressive than it later became, to offer up such scenarios to the mainstream was more outrageous — more silently, secretly outrageous — than anything Cubism’s show-offs could propose. I think of Leyendecker’s art as a Trojan horse that released a gay fifth column into American culture, undermining the majority’s straight erotics in preparation for the uprising that came in 1969 outside the Stonewall Inn.

Dan Guadagnolo, one of several scholars studying Leyendecker’s queer culture, has written about how the illustrator “generated commercial appeal among normative men while simultaneously offering a novel vision of middle-class white queer masculinity for those who might experience same-sex desire.” Queer identities had barely begun to jell in Leyendecker’s era; his images helped a nascent gay culture imagine itself folded into the American power structure, however remote that reality might still have been. After Leyendecker took up with his life-partner, Charles Beach — who modeled in that bathing suit and for many other ads — he felt the need to withdraw from public life into the privacy of the mansion his works had bought them.

Norman Rockwell, 20 years younger than Leyendecker and eventually his neighbor, writes quite brutally in his memoir about how Beach had “insinuated” himself into Leyendecker’s life and especially about the duo’s social withdrawal once he had. Leyendecker told Beach to burn his papers and art upon his death, in 1951, but luckily a few of the pictures were spared.

Leyendecker painted those pictures with all the bravura of a great society portraitist — of a Gilbert Stuart or a John Singer Sargent — but with every gorgeous lick of paint magnified and exaggerated so it would come through even in reproduction on the printed page. That showy technique was faux-conservative camouflage, I think, for the defiant message hidden beneath.

Most members of the American mainstream might have been too blinkered to recognize that defiance. But I can’t shake a mental image of the artist and Beach at ease in their mansion, reveling in their ads’ secret subversion. As a gay couple, how could they not have recognized it in the male duos so lovingly portrayed? There’s one case where the subversion was barely hidden at all: In an ad for Ivory Soap, the shadow Leyendecker placed on his model’s crotch seems clearly to hint at an erection, according to an exhibition wall text. You can’t unsee it once it gets pointed out.

Leyendecker’s queer daring could have played a role in his market success. The gorgeous young Ivy Leaguers in his ads seem the epitome of privilege — more privileged, certainly, than the working stiffs actually meant to buy the clothing being pitched. And what could have been a greater sign of privilege than the freedom to love anyone you fancied, of any gender? Choose an Arrow collar, those ads imply, and you’ll soon have the same power to make choices as the elites.

Just what’s being chosen is beside the point: Many American men might have been horrified at the idea of sleeping with another man. But Leyendecker’s imagery gets at the very idea of untrammeled choice. You might say that imagery stands, subliminally, for the unending options that American capitalism had started to offer consumers.

Compared to the freedom that Leyendecker puts on the table, Picasso’s preference for facets and angles hardly counts as all that unfettered.

Under Cover: J.C. Leyendecker and American Masculinity

Through Aug. 13 at the New-York Historical Society, 170 Central Park West, Manhattan; (212) 873-3400; nyhistory.org.

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thunderboltfire · 2 years

Photo

You’ve called for reinforcements and they’re all you’ve got, or first special counter-magic unit’s group photo.

From left to right, top to bottom: Daen, Theria, Haart, Igna and Argo. Most of them have appeared in one form or another in my drawings, but I finally redesigned all of their gear and hopefully get some consistency, lol.

(ID: A digital drawing featuring a group photo of five characters placed on a white background - two are standing in the back, three are in the front row. In the front on the left side there’s a dwarven man with blonde hair and short beard, standing nonchalantly and scratching his brow with his middle finger. He’s looking to the side and smiling, holding a wooden pipe between his teeth. He’s wearing lamellar armor with a blacksmith’s apron over it and a pair of heavy, runic gauntlets on both his hands. He’s wearing heavy boots with metal reinforcements, red, loose trousers, torqouise padding with short sleeves and orange shirt underneath it. There’s a yellow and red scarf around his neck and he’s got a war pick/warhammer strapped to his belt.

In the center there’s a half-elven young woman with green eyes, dressed in a chainmail, place bracers, mismatched plate gauntlets, a steel helmet with raised visor and a chainmail coif around her neck. She has a dull brown tabard with a white griffin and a vertical sword on her chest and she’s holding a sheathed longsword in her right hand. Her left hand is resting on a visibly used heater shield with the same griffin and sword as on her tabard, only on a red field. She’s grinning and looking straight at the viewer, singular strands of hair from her black bangs are peeking from under her helmet’s brow.

On the right side, there’s an elf sitting on a chair, resting his head upon his right fist, with elbow propped up on his knee, looking at the viewer with a crooked smile on his face. He’s got light grey hair, blue eyes and pale complexion, the right side of his face is crossed by four fresh scars, running from the line of his hair down to his chin. He’s wearing leather bracers, right one reinforced with steel on the outside, leather archery gloves, brown trousers, knee-high leather riding boots, short-sleeved green padding with dark green shirt underneath it, and a sleeveless dull brown brigandine, closed with a series of leather buckles in front. He has a blade strapped to his left side, and a quiver of arrows on his right hip, a recurve bow is laying on his knees. His left hand is doing something with its bowstring.

In the back, there’s a tall man in an indigo zhupan, reaching half of his calf. over it he’s wearing a steel breastplate, he’s got leather boots and leather gloves, both in shades of brown. He’s got long, black hair tied behind his head, with a visible parting in the middle of his head. His skin is unhealthily pale, with dark circles under his eyes, whose irises are almost white. He’s facepalming and has a bitter expression.

Next to him is an even taller, visibly muscular woman, with unkepmt long, brown hair, golden wolf-like eyes framed in black and big teeth with sharp canines, that she’s showing in a grin, holding her tongue out. She’s got her hands on her hips, she’s wearing a dark brown sleeveless top, and over it an olive green folded kind of garment similar to a chiton or a kilt, reaching just above her knees. It’s pinned with a brass fibula on her left shoulder, and is gathered with a wide, leather belt around her waist. She’s wearing worn leather boots on her feet, a collar with a chipped piece of metal hanging on it on her neck and she has taped fists. She has tanned skin, and several lighter scars are visible on her bare arms.)

#Isaldi #Igna #Argo Riss'Aerle #Igna Sharille #Theria The Cold Paw #Daen #Haart #OCs #OC group portrait #I'm so happy with it #I rarely have wnough energy to finish such big portraits #even if it's only in flats #also oof I'm not sure if this was the best picture to test out text IDs #thunderboltfire's art #my art

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chaosworthy · 1 year

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↳ @familylightfox asked: “Mini!” Gibbous was excited, for good reason. She had left her collar up in their room and happy tapped beside the former soldier’s legs in anticipation. Even Light looked amused, if a little out of sorts in the trunks and t-shirt. Yet he had the two towels they would need over one shoulder.

“I do hope you know that she’s been nonstop talking about this.”

“Oh-shun!” Point proven.

{➹} – THE SUN WAS UP, the weather warm and just the faintest breeze keeping things from getting too unbearable warm outside. It was time to go to the beach and everyone in the house knew it. While a certain infant had been dressed in more appropriate swimwear, pink of course, her parents had done much the same. Mina in a one-piece suit and Arrow, if only to keep Light from being too self-conscious, like swim trucks and a very loose tank top. The latter of which the hero fully intended to lose if it got too warm.

And, of course, in the hero's hands were towels, a handful of Lyra's toys (buckets included) and a few snacks and drinks to boot. Going to the beach was tiring work but there were smiles and excitement all around as the family started towards the door.

"It's her first time at the beach, she should be excited," Mina told Light. She decided to leave out that this might be the last chance they got for a while. Today was about having fun and enjoying each other's company. Nothing more and nothing less. Hence the playful glare that came next. "And so should you. You won't regret it, it's more fun than it looks."

"Minus the water, anyway," Arrow had to chime in, grinning as it caused his partner to roll her eyes but, nonetheless, he knew it was going to be a good day. Hopefuuly one Gibbous and Light could look back on fondly.

#playing a different game from the shadows | light and gibbous #mina | guest stars #lyra | guest stars #familylightfox #reading all the papers | ask

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softly-gazes · 2 years

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I'm having so much fun overanalysing Jimin's photofolio!

This ensemble reminds me of J.C. Leyendecker's Arrow collar and shirt advertisements from the early 20th century, which famously featured his lover Charles Beach as their primary model, envisioned as the pinnacle of sophisticated masculine beauty. The adverts became so popular, he gained a fervent fan following, beloved for Leyendecker's loving depictions of him.

Of course, Jimin's outfit is of a much later time period, but there is a distinct similarity in the way Jimin is positioned in front of an empty background, intended to be the sole focus of the image, regal, handsome, yet not acknowledging the camera, as if he might be unaware of being looked at, lost in thought.

He's leaning on a bust of Artemis that looks as if it had shattered and been put back together like a piece of kintsugi crockery, the cracks highlighted in gold. She is positioned looking away from Jimin, as he takes up space in the frame, crowding into her half of the composition. She is beautiful, yet weathered, damaged in comparison to the polished, impenetrable mode of gender Jimin is performing. He is in the man costume, visually overpowering a symbol of femininity that is marked by violence. I feel like these photos could be interpreted as symbolic to Jimin confronting his own gender presentation. Decked out in masculine armor, he inspects the damage done to an avatar of his own femininity, which has been suppressed. It is still whole, and beautiful because of what it has withstood within a hostile environment, rather than in spite of it.

When Jimin is no longer emulating this very specific, romanticised ideal of masculine presentation, Artemis is joined by a bust of her twin brother, Apollo.

Apollo amd Artemis literally bloom together, as Jimin has shed his restrictive armor, dressed casually, surrounded by colour. The whimsically colourful crown and his relaxed pose in the arm chair communicate his full power over himself and his gender presentation. He is comfortable and in control.

The other photos in the folio add so much more to interpret, but these are the ones that I formed thoughts on off the top of my head 😅

#jimin #park jimin #me myself and jimin #id: chaos #bangtan #bts

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 8 months

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Prison Uniform

"Convict prisons were busy places, with many people moving throughout the facility and its grounds during daylight hours. The visibility of convicts was therefore of considerable importance to prison staff. All convicts wore identifying circular cloth badges (around 3 inches in diameter and sewn to their uniform) that showed the type of sentence they were serving (e.g., PS for penal servitude), their prison register number (e.g. 50844), and the length of their sentence (depicted in numeral form, with the exception of those sentenced to life imprisonment: this was designated by an ‘L’); but such badges were not large enough to be read at a distance.

Therefore, convicts’ uniforms were designed to make it immediately apparent to staff (and indeed to other convicts) what the current status of a prisoner was in terms of both their respective conduct and their present stage. Those inmates in the ‘star class’, for example, had a scarlet star on their cap and the right and left sleeves of their jacket. Prisoners in different stages were kept apart. All convict uniforms were stamped with a large, broad arrow, signifying they (and by extension their wearers) were the property of the government. This mark was intended to shame the wearer and was used on both male and female prison uniforms (it often featured widely in contemporary publicity photographs of suffragettes who had been imprisoned for their cause). The usual male convict prison uniform for inmates in the probation class (i.e., those who were at the start of their confinement or had been demoted as a result of an infringement of the prison rules) consisted of a drab or light-brown two-piece suit of fairly coarse cloth with no other identifying features. Convicts in the third class wore the same basic uniform with black facings; second class had yellow facings and first class had blue facings.

Edward Bannister Callow, who wrote under the pen name ‘one-who-has-endured-it’, describes these facings in more detail: ‘The facings consist of nothing for probation, three inches of black or yellow cloth one inch wide on each side of the neck and across the upper part of the sleeve at the cuff for 3rd and 2nd class, and a blue stripe one inch wide all around the collar and cuffs for 1st class.” Those prisoners designated as ‘special class’ convicts had a different blue uniform. A convict of Dartmoor Prison, where able-bodied convicts carried out their labour on the moors, one-who-has-endured-it explains that ‘every man who was drafted for outdoor work had an extra suit of clothes supplied to him, and a blue and red striped canvas short jacket, reaching just below the hips, and termed a “slop”. This he wore over all, and it was the only protection against either cold or rain, except during the winter months, when every man was supplied with a thick blue Guernsey shirt.’ Again, visibility over long distances on the bleak moors was clearly at the forefront when it came to design and choice of colours. There was some variation in uniform when a convict became a trusted orderly; one-who-has-endured-it vividly describes his new uniform after being granted a position of trust in the prison administration block: ‘Let the reader picture to himself the dress. Grey woollen cap striped with scarlet; drab jacket and vest, with a blue collar, and badge on [the] left arm, and scarlet cuffs; blue breeches to the knee, with blue-grey stockings embellished with three scarlet rings round the legs an inch wide. Add to all this an embellishment of the broad arrow stamped in black all over, and conceive anything more like a macaw if you can.’ Convicts undergoing punishment were required to wear what was known as a particoloured dress. This consisted of a uniform with quarter facings of bright colours, which immediately identified the wearer as a potentially troublesome individual – such uniforms looked like a parody of a Harlequin costume. Those who destroyed their clothing were given an additional punishment of having to wear a tear-proof canvas uniform made from No. 1 Grade Navy Canvas that was ‘not to exceed 12lbs in weight’. There were eight grades of Navy Canvas (used to make sailcloth), and No. 1 Grade was the heaviest, weighing twice as much as the lightest grade. This must have been a considerable inhibitor of movement and – as the material was particularly ungiving – a very uncomfortable experience. Female convicts were provided with serge dresses. In the probation and third classes, these were ordinary brown in colour, although prisoners in the third class also wore a badge that said ‘No. 3’. Those convicts in second class wore a green serge dress and a ‘No. 2’ badge, while those in first class wore a dark blue serge dress and a ‘No. 1’ badge. A special dress was worn in refuge class (while awaiting a space at a refuge), which was later called special class, and then a grey linsey dress. Women were also subjected to canvas dresses – weighted Navy Canvas garments (as described above for male convicts) – if they destroyed their normal prison uniforms.

By the end of the nineteenth century, there were seasonal variations, too: serge dresses in winter and cotton prints in summer. While wearing different uniforms at different stages may have played an important role in the security of the prison, to those subjected to this feature of prison life, it was often viewed as a process of shaming and anguish as their body was given over to the institution. Florence Maybrick gives the following account: ‘I was dressed in the uniform to which the greatest stigma and disgrace is attached ... The warder then stepped quickly forward, and with a pair of scissors cut off my hair to the nape of my neck. This act seemed, above all others, to bring me to a sense of my degradation, my utter helplessness.’ This uniform was not necessarily shed upon the end of a convict’s sentence: prisoners were given a suit of clothing upon release, which became known as ‘liberty clothing’, that was normally made within the convict prison tailoring shop." - Helen Johnston, Barry Godfrey and David J. Cox, Penal Servitude: Convicts and Long-Term Imprisonment, 1853–1948. Kingston and Montreal: McGill-Queen's University Press, 2022. p. 63-66

#convict prison #uk prisons #life inside #prison routine #prison conditions #convict uniform #home office #sentenced to the penitentiary #prison discipline #penal servitude #academic quote #history of crime and punishment #reading 2023 #good conduct prisoners #classification and segregation

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womanlives · 8 months

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They lick their wounds near the edge of the waterfall that rolls underneath the goblin camp. Or what’s left of it, anyway. Luther uses a fallen log as a seat while Mercy fusses around them. Pieces of armor litter the ground — pauldrons, chainmail, belts. A glove. All Luther’s, who’s dressed down to the fabric of their shirt: off-white and dirty, except near the collar where the red’s soaked through. It’s ripped — Mercy’s doing, who else? — and pulled down to expose their shoulder. Still bleeding. Courtesy of the arrow Luther took for her only scant minutes before.

“Don’t move.”

Mercy stands before them, gloriously uninjured — Luther’s doing, who else? — and dressed to the nines in black and leather. Her eyes meet theirs. Violently soft. Like any second she’ll erupt. Slowly, deliberately, she lowers herself onto their lap. Shifts her hips once or twice to get comfortable, then reaches back to reveal the healing potion she’s kept stored in her belt pouch. This isn’t the first time they’ve been here, nor will it be the last. Mercy knows what’s coming next. Waits for it, really, like a snake in the grass. Luther opens their mouth to protest — no, save it, that’d be a waste — and she strikes.

She closes the space in an instant. Her lips find theirs, impatient and eager, and she kisses them. It’s raw and hungry and not near as gentle as she means it to be. She’s a thief, see; she can’t help if she’s made to steal the words from their throat. The breath from their lips. Her free hand reaches up to skim the wicked curve of Luther’s cheek, then further, and further still. Her touch is just like her lips: searching, greedy. Mercy curls her fingers into the thick of their hair and pulls herself closer. She doesn’t relent until she feels their chest heave, their body shudder. Not until she’s left them gasping against her kiss.

Only then she retreats, and not even fully. A nip — this isn’t over, dear-heart, war-priest, whatever you are — at the bottom of their lip as she releases them. Her right hand presses the cool glass of the potion into the center of their chest. “More?” It comes out breathless and ragged and self-satisfied. There it is: that signature grin, that lazy little smile. She runs her lips along the underside of their jaw. A promise disguised as a phantom kiss. “Drink, Adonis. All of it.”

Not once does she let go of her grip on their hair.

@breathetender head empty. surprise kiss.

#breathetender #mercy/ic.#swirls my martini menacingly

0 notes

vizuart · 4 years

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J.C. Leyendecker - Arrow-Dress, Shirts, and Collars Advertisement (1930)

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

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If I Fell For You (Part 5) - Date Night

Summary: The reader and Jensen go on their first fancy date together before attending a nanny happy hour the next night. The reader makes a new friend there to Jensen’s dismay but someone from the past will come along and change things between the new couple...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 4,200ish

Warnings: language, lying, angst, mention of past child abuse/assault, fluff

A/N: This a rough one, not gonna lie. Enjoy!

________

Friday Night

“Y/N, I’m downstairs when you’re ready,” said Jensen through your closed bedroom door.

“I’ll be there in five,” you said.

“See you in fifteen,” he chuckled before he walked away. You walked back into your bathroom, looking over your hair in a bun. It looked like a freaking messy bun actually. You should have done it down and in big flowy waves instead. You pouted and smoothed out your dress. Of course you were bloated and you’d nicked your leg more than once shaving earlier.

“It’s Jensen,” you said to yourself, taking a deep breath. “He’s never even seen you in makeup before. You’re fine. He’s not gonna say anything.”

You forced yourself out of the bathroom and slipped on your heels, your clutch in your hand. You wobbled for a step or two on the carpet but did better once you were out in the hardwood hall. Ten seconds later you were downstairs, heading over to the foyer area.

“All set?” you asked, Jensen spinning around. He smiled as he stared, eyes looking you up and down more than once, not even trying to hide it.

“Y/N, you look pretty,” said Arrow as she rushed in from the family room.

“Yes she does,” said Jensen. “We’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Okie dokie,” she said, wandering off with a little wave.

Half an hour later you were sat at a table in a very nice restaurant, Jensen tugging on his collar. His cheeks were slightly pink but it wasn’t from the cold outside.

“So...what’s a good wine?” you asked, sliding the drink list over to him. “I’m not really good with the names.”

“You like red or white?” he asked.

“Normally red,” you said. “You?”

“I like a Merlot,” he said. “You like dry?”

“Sure,” you said.

“We’re not going dutch tonight you know right. This is all on me.”

“We can go dutch, Jensen.”

“I asked you out and this is fancy, even for me. My treat, okay?” he asked.

“Alright,” you said, looking around the restaurant and over in the distance to the bar. “You know I could go for a lemon drop actually.”

He smirked and set the list down, a waiter coming by. He ordered a gin and tonic for himself while you got your cocktail, Jensen breaking off part of a breadstick from the basket.

“Bread’s good,” he said with his mouth full.

“So. Ackles,” you said, picking up a piece and tearing off a chunk with your teeth. He stared and started to laugh to himself. “Ah, there’s my sweet guy.”

“Thought you were gonna say boyfriend for a second.”

“This is our second official date,” you said. “So. Boyfriend.”

“Yes girlfriend?” he chuckled.

“What’s an appetizer look like in a place like this? Like a tiny cube of cheese with some dressing they’re gonna charge twenty bucks for or something like that?”

“You’re goofy,” he said, a big smile stuck on his face. “Uh, they probably have something like that. There’s normally some kind of bread olive oil bowl option.”

“Fancy people eat like a starving college student apparently,” you said. He tried to hide his laugh as your waiter brought over the drinks and a pair of menus. “Excuse me but can you recommend an appetizer? We’re both new to town and are wondering what you think is a good choice.”

“You can’t go wrong with our sourdough and seasoned oil dipping sauce,” he said. You glanced at Jensen and smiled. “The artichoke spinach dip and tartar crackers are also quite lovely.”

“Do you have anything with a little more substance? We’re quite starving,” said Jensen.

“The fried calamari and crab cake poppers combo is a great option,” he said.

“What’s calamari?” you asked.

“Squid, miss,” said the waiter.

“We’ll have that combo,” said Jensen.

“Perfect. I’ll put that in and be back shortly to get your dinner orders,” he said. He took off and you made a face at Jensen.

“Squid?” you asked.

“It’s fried. Trust me, it’s pretty good,” he said. “I could go for a good steak. You see a filet on here yet?”

“Uh,” you said, eyes scanning the page and seeing most everything was something you’d never heard of.

“There it is,” he said. “I’m getting that and scalloped potatoes. See anything you want to try?”

“Uh, why does half of this seem like it’s a foreign language to me?” you asked. Jensen looked at his menu and chuckled.

“That would be because it’s in French. We’re in Canada and this is a french restaurant.”

“Oh. Gotcha,” you said. He got up and leaned over the back of your chair, glancing at the page.

“These are soups and salads,” he said, pointing near the top. “Sandwiches. Pasta. Main dishes down here.”

“Uh, maybe pasta?” you said. He knelt down and read off the dishes to you one by one, your waiter returning by the time he was just finishing.

“Anything I can assist you with?” he asked.

“I’ll have the fettuccine alfredo with chicken please,” you said, handing the menu to him, Jensen returning to his seat.

“Face principale?” he asked. You stared at Jensen and he smiled.

“She doesn’t speak French,” said Jensen.

“My apologies miss. What would you like for your main side dish?” asked the waiter. “Steamed vegetables, scalloped potatoes, lobster bisque-”

“I’ll have the vegetables,” you said. Jensen ordered and the waiter went to get your appetizer, a sad smile on his face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think twice about the French thing.”

“Kinda hot that you know French,” you said. “I should try to learn it if we’re gonna be up here for a few months.”

“I’m an idiot and I learned it so you’ll do just fine picking it up,” he said.

“So where’d you learn in the first place?”

“I’m stuffed,” you said, plopping your napkin from your lap onto the table awhile later. Jensen took the last bite of the piece of mouse pie, licking his lips as he finished. “This might have been the best alfredo I’ve ever had.”

“I enjoyed it. Mostly I enjoyed listening to you talk,” he said. You blushed and looked away, Jensen letting out a small hum. “It’s funny. Doesn’t really feel like just a second date, does it.”

“No, not really,” you said. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re friends first.”

“Well I definitely like being friends with you,” he said.

“Me too, Jensen.”

“Want to get out of here?” he asked. You smiled and nodded, the two of you outside a few minutes later wrapped up in your coats. Your feet were cold in just your heels, Jensen’s arm wrapping around your waist when you almost slipped more than once. It was slow going back to the car, especially when it started to snow lightly.

“You know, that dress would still look hot with winter boots,” he chuckled.

“Sorry,” you said.

“No apology necessary. I got freaking dress shoes on and my feet are cold. I can’t imagine how you’re holding up,” he said.

“The perils of being a woman,” you said.

“Well, no need to impress me is all I’m saying. I ain’t looking at your feet anyways,” he said.

“Oh well in that case I’ll wear some nice baggy sweats next date.”

“Please do,” he said.

“You really don’t care, do you.”

“I think you look beautiful tonight. But I think you look beautiful every night. You did your hair and makeup and this is stunning, don’t get me wrong. But she’s not more beautiful than the girl at home with hair tossed up all messy walking around in oversized shirts and leggings. It’s like flowers. Both are pretty but one isn’t more pretty than the other.”

“Where the fuck did I find you?”

“At my house,” he chuckled. You whacked his arm and leaned your head on his shoulder. “Almost back to the car. I’ll blast the heat for us when we’re in there.”

“Thanks Jensen.”

“Thank you for the date, honey. I mean it. We’ll do it again sometime. Promise.”

Saturday Night

“Your boyfriend seems pissed,” said Brandon. You sipped up the last of your beer, glancing over to the bar where Jensen was tapping his finger.

“He’s fine,” you said. “So any good parks around the west side of town?”

“Center Grove is always my choice. Good playground, nice area, cops routinely are around. Parking can kinda be a bitch sometimes but it’s worth it in my opinion. My kids love it.”

“You’ve been their nanny for five years you said?”

“Mhm,” he said, knocking back the last of his drink. “Shawn’s mom is their mom’s best friend.”

“Oh. So you had an in already.”

“You know long term gigs are the way to go in this job,” he said. “Not too many American girls come up here. Your accent is cute.”

“Is it, eh?” you chuckled.

“Like I’ve never heard that one before,” he said, Jensen walking back with two beers and a clenched jaw.

“You okay?” you asked as he sat it down in front of you.

“I’m fine,” he said, taking a long sip. Brandon slid off his seat and made a face.

“I need a refill anyways. Nice meeting you Y/N. We gotta hang some time,” he said as he walked away.

“For sure,” you said, Jensen rolling his eyes behind his back. “Jensen what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Well you obviously have a problem with Brandon.”

“I don’t have a problem with him. I have a problem with my girlfriend flirting with another guy.”

“I was not flirting. I’m trying to make new friends. It was your idea to come to this thing tonight anyways.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed.

“Excuse me?”

“In case I wasn’t clear, I’m not the kind of guy where I’m okay with you dating multiple people at once. I don’t get that not exclusive shit.”

“I’m with you and only you. I was being nice. Geez, let’s just go,” you said. You got up and pulled your coat on, bumping into a guy on the way out. He turned and apologized, staring at you a little long.

“Y/N?” he asked, a big smile on his face. “My Y/N?”

“Dad?” you said, his face much older looking than you remembered but his eyes still the same.

“Dad?” said Jensen. You brushed past your dad and outside, Jensen hot on your heels.

“Y/N,” your dad said as he left the bar.

“Stay away from me,” you said. “Jensen I want to go home right now.”

“What-”

“Right fucking now!”

He held up his hands and you walked around the block to the car, getting inside and Jensen taking off.

“So your dad’s alive huh,” he said. You stared out the dark window with crossed arms. “So is everything I know about you bullshit?”

“What?”

“Is literally anything you’ve ever told me true? Your dad obviously didn’t die when you were a kid. All those late night talks about family and shit, you just like to fuck with people or something?”

“I was not flirting with Brandon you asshole. You didn’t need to know my whole life story the second I meet you.”

“Oh. Okay. Just your fake life story then, huh?” he said. You shook your head as he got stuck at a red light. “If I can’t trust you, I can’t employ you let alone date you.”

“Whatever,” you said. He drove in silence until you were out of the city, going along quieter roads. You were close to the house when he suddenly turned right towards the local park and stopped in the lot, putting the car in park. He touched your arm and you turned, Jensen leaning over and kissing you roughly, far more roughly than you thought he was capable of. You blinked when he pulled back, Jensen looking you up and down.

“He won’t hurt you.”

“What?”

“Did he walk out on you and your mom?” he asked. “You told him to stay away from you. Sort of shouted it at him. Maybe you lied but maybe...I’m sorry I got jealous of Brandon. I’m still scared and I think you’re still scared too and that’s okay. If you lied about your dad, I’m gonna trust you have a good reason for it. I’m sorry for what I said. I trust you and I don’t want to know what my life is like without you in it.”

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I forgive you.”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he said. “We can just go home, okay?”

“Why’d you pull over?”

“Because I knew I didn’t mean it and I knew I overreacted. I said I’d mess up when we started. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I’m 42 with three kids. Brandon is thirty and young and stronger than I am and can go out to the bar whenever he wants. You have options. You don’t have to settle for me.”

“If I’d wanted to settle, I’d have married my ex. What I wanted was the guy that forgives me for not telling him the whole story cause I’m not ready to say it. I want the guy that makes me happy and feel like I have a teenage crush but it’s deeper than that. You’re not the settle for option, Jensen. Why don’t you get that?”

“The last time I felt like this, I married the girl,” he said quietly. “That didn’t turn out so well.”

“You didn’t get the time you deserved with her. It doesn’t mean it ended badly. You loved her and she knew it. She wants you to be happy again, whether it’s me or somebody else.”

“See? That’s the shit that tells me...it tells me to keep falling for you. I’m so sorry for how I acted tonight.”

“I lied about my dad and not a little white one either,” you said with a nod. You turned away and felt his hand on your cheek. “So much of what I told you was a lie.”

“You don’t have to tell me the truth right now, Y/N.” He stroked your cheek and you glanced over, meeting his soft green eyes.

“My mom died giving birth to me,” you said, Jensen nodding. “He hated me for it. Hated me. He would hurt me when I was a toddler. When I was four he started doing...other things.”

“Four?” he breathed out.

“I didn’t know it wasn’t normal. Not until I started school. I was scared though so I never said anything. One of my friends mom’s realized what was going on when I was over playing one day. He went away and lost custody. I went into foster care briefly and got adopted when I was eight. Single mom who’d lost her husband young. That’s my mom. She was a kind person. Ray was always good to her and to me. But I asked him not to adopt me after she was gone and he knew it was because I was still scared of a dad again. Being a nanny, I’ve met fathers that look at me and I just know what was going through their head. I reported him and kinda fucked up their family situation but-”

“That was the right thing to do,” he said.

“I know it was. I’ve just...I’ve had more than one guy and even a woman walk in on me changing or into my bathroom and it’s like, she’s just the help, nobody cares. They don’t touch so it’s like...what can I even do? Then my house before this one, the guy tried getting in my shower with me and I shoved him and he broke his arm and I just don’t understand why so many people think I’m just a piece of meat. Even my ex never got why it bothered me so much. They didn’t touch me so what was wrong with it? He just didn’t get it. He would get mad if I wasn’t in the mood for sex. Nobody ever fucking gets it except you who I lied to and pissed off tonight and without a word of an explanation why, you say you won’t let somebody hurt me. Do you get why you’re the opposite of fucking settling Jensen?”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“I know you won’t Jensen.”

“How?”

“Because you’re a good person. You’re so gentle and kind. I know you’re strong and tough but I see it everyday. You should never be worried about how your kids will turn out. If they are half as good as you are they’ll be fucking great people. Your daughters aren’t gonna put up with shit and your son is gonna be kind to everyone and say fuck you to the toxic guys out there. I can already tell the kind of person you are through them and it’s a good one. A really good one.”

“I’m not the only good person in their lives,” he said. You sniffled and looked down, Jensen’s hand sliding under your chin and tilting it up. “You don’t have to apologize for not telling me all of that. Never apologize for not telling me that. Okay?”

“I never told anyone about…the other stuff,” you said, wanting to look down but Jensen’s hand holding your chin up.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m sorry it took you so long to find people that would protect you.”

“You mean…” He nodded and dropped his hand away, running it over your head. “You’re not gonna like, go back and kick his ass are you?”

“Want me to? I’m very tempted at the moment,” he said.

“I just want to go home. I could use one of those hugs right now.”

“Do you want to stay with me tonight? Just to stay, nothing more.” You nodded and he kissed your forehead, a tiny smile crossing your face. Ten minutes later you were home and the babysitter was gone, Jensen pulling you into his room next to yours. You blew your nose in his bathroom and washed off your face, lifting your head to find a pair of your pajama shorts and one of his shirts on the vanity beside you. He smiled as he ducked out, leaving you to change. You let your hair down and took off your bra before you walked out and saw his blanket on the opposite side of the bed. “Warm enough?”

You spun around as he walked inside and you nodded, Jensen pulling you into a hug.

“I’m sorry for how I was at the bar,” you said.

“I was the one that overreacted, not you,” he said. You felt goosebumps on your arms and he pulled away to turn up the heat, nodding over to the bed. The covers were flung back and you climbed underneath, Jensen getting in on his side. His arm wrapped over your waist and pulled your chest close to his, face only inches away. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore. No one will hurt you again. I promise.”

You moved closer to him, resting your forehead against his.

“Remember last Saturday when we were on the trampoline and you talked about those safety nets,” you said.

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re a really good net,” you said softly.

“So are you,” he murmured. He kissed the tip of your nose and you shut your eyes. “What’d you want to be when you were little?”

“A princess,” you said. He chuckled and you smiled. “I wanted a prince to come take me away and everything would be just fine.”

“Really?”

“Princesses were always happy at the end of the movie,” you said. “They got the boy and they were happy. Then I grew up and prince charming doesn’t exist.”

“Cause you’re not a damsel in distress. You didn’t need the prince to save you.”

“But the prince would have made life so much easier.”

“I’m partial to badass princesses myself,” he said. You opened your eyes and he was smiling.

“I’ve never noticed your freckles before.”

“They come out more when I spend some time in the sun.” You moved a hand up and traced under his eye, Jensen nuzzling into his pillow. “Make you a deal. If the badass princess saves me, the scared prince will save her too.”

“Okay,” you said. You kissed him lazily, Jensen smiling through it.

“Do you want to be a nanny forever?”

“Not forever. It’s an easy way to feel like you have a family when you don’t.”

“Now you do,” he said.

“Jensen you don’t know if this will work out.”

“I do and you do and we’ll take it slow anyways,” he said. “Which is why I’m asking do you want to be a nanny forever.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe someday I won’t need one,” he said.

“I thought about being an elementary school teacher when I was eighteen for a hot second.”

“You did? You’d be amazing.”

“Pay in Texas is crap though. I make more as a nanny.”

“If money wasn’t an issue though, would you want to be a teacher still?”

“Anything at all?” you asked, Jensen nodding, nose brushed against yours. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“You okay?” he asked, reluctantly letting you out of bed.

“I’m good. I want to show you something,” you said. You slipped out of the room and down the hall to the playroom, picking up a book. Jensen was sat up in bed when you returned and crawled under the covers. You handed him the book and he smiled.

“I don’t remember buying this,” he said, flipping it over. “There’s no serial code on it.”

“You can’t buy it. I wrote a children’s book and printed a few copies for myself,” you said.

“You wrote a book?” he asked, flipping through it. “Did you draw this?”

“Yeah,” you said, Jensen staring at you. “I don’t know if it’s any good. I never tried publishing it.”

“You want to write children’s books, don’t you?” he said, starting to read the story.

“I have a number of them written out. I would make up the stories for kids at bedtime and decided to write them down. It’s kinda like whinnie the poo, that age group, you know? Same group of characters but different stories,” you said.

“These are adorable,” he said, turning another page. You were quiet while he read through for a few minutes, Jensen smiling when he shut the book. “I’ve never read a children’s book where they deal with the loss of a parent.”

“The kids really like it,” you said.

“You should publish this. Seriously. It’s cute and I’m a grown ass man and it made me feel better about Dee.”

“It’s just a story,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck.

“I make stories for a living. This whole place would fall apart without stories. This is good. You should consider trying to get it published.”

“Maybe if that nanny job doesn’t work out I will,” you said.

“Do you mind if I keep this?” he asked.

“Not at all. I gave it to JJ in the first place.”

“Thanks. I want to read this to the twins tomorrow,” he said. He set it on the nightstand and slid back down, pulling you with him. “Why’d the mom fox die in the story? I would have expected the dad wolf considering…”

“Wish fulfillment for a nice father,” you said. “Plus I like drawing the wolf.”

“I like him. He’s fluffy,” chuckled Jensen. “Is that why you asked if I carry a picture of my kids when we met?”

“I’m done with asshole parents. If they treat their kids like shit they sure as hell aren’t gonna treat me any better. You seemed like a good guy. Good guys tend to do that kind of thing.”

“I’m not always good.”

“Yeah, you are,” you said. You shut your eyes and nuzzled close to him, Jensen letting out a soft hum. “You okay? With me being here.”

“Very. Feeling better after everything that happened?”

“Mhm,” you said. “I’m still sorry I lied to you.”

“Did you ever lie about your mom?” he asked. “I mean aside from the fact she adopted you, did you lie about her?”

“No.”

“Then you didn’t lie, not really. I’m sorry it came out like that. You should have been able to tell me in your own time.”

“You still would have been angry,” you said.

“I still would have come to my senses too. I’m not perfect. I never was.”

“I don’t want someone perfect,” you said. Your head rested against his chest and you let out a soft sigh.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said. He kissed the top of your head and tucked it under his chin, adjusting the blankets once before he stilled.

“Goodnight, Jensen.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 6 here!

#spn #supernatural #jensen x reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles au #rpf #jensen series #rpf series #jensen ackles x reader #spn fanfic #jensen fanfic #jensen ackles fanfic #supernatural fanfiction

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

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you+me+the Devil, m | myg, jjk | collect

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The mind seeks to understand, to categorize, to make something out of nothing. You are a vessel of this Disorder, driven to collect the final two souls your body is tasked to hold. One, the right-hand of the Devil, Jeon Jungkook. And two, the Devil himself, Min Yoongi. How to obtain them? By fucking, but on the Devil's terms, because when the Devil is involved, his domain regains supreme.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you're religious, maybe skip this one; world building; supernatural and horror (extra arms / hands, eyeballs, mouths); smut (fem reader, unprotected sex (you're getting fucked by the Devil, STIs and pregnancy are the last of your problems), a collar and leash is involved, voyeurism, scratching / marking, choking, nipple play, cowgirl, creampie, m and f-receiving oral, double penetration, (double?) handjob, penetrative sex on top of a puddle of cum on JK's abs, spanking); non-idol!AU - Hell!AU; Devil!Yoongi x chaos!reader x Devil's right-hand demon!Jungkook and switches between their POVs

yes, you read the horror warning correctly

–

you and me and the Devil makes 3 prologue | the summoning | the collection | 666

if you get in bed, someone will fall in love

The Disorder is a strange thing.

The world attempts to make sense of and organize things as if it knows. Everything must have a reason, an explanation, a why, until you get deeper and deeper, realizing biology is only chemistry, and chemistry is only physics, and physics is only math, and math is… simply theory. A hope of truth, clawing together the chaos. But the real truth is, all order comes from disorder. To organize means to be disorganized from the start.

Beings of Order are not supposed to touch Disorder, not directly. It trickles down, slowly flowing though, a part of life everyone has, but no one can harness. Senseless moments brushed off as nothing. To encounter such a concentrated form, well, surely, nothing good can come of it.

Then again.

The Devil wasn’t good. Far from it.

Would he learn anything at all? Doubtful. Did he care? No. But he had time. He had forever. And he had souls, for he could consume them, an amalgamation of all the previous consumptions combined. The original Devil. The many faces thereafter. The current, Min Yoongi. If all you wanted was a little piece of one, well, he wouldn’t even miss it.

Jeon Jungkook?

His right-hand demon would lose a soul shard and become yours, just like the rest of them. Infatuated, consumed, blinded. He was a fool for agreeing so easily, clouded by anger and lust. But that was no matter. If eventually the Devil decided he wanted to change faces, it would no longer be a problem.

Yoongi had plans.

He would see them through.

You sat in the center of the bed, holding the black goat-man plush to your chest, squeezing his leather hooves, legs tucked under you.

They were at the end of the bed.

Jeon Jungkook, long black hair in messy and tangled curls, clinging to his cheeks and forehead. A cut on his high, tanned cheekbone from fighting the chains, dark red blood coagulated. Sharp jaw tensed, borderline fury and uninhibited deviance. Dark brown eyes with an exquisite shape, forever memorable. His black suit was torn up, blazer and dress shirt hanging by threads and exposing his toned chest. He made no move to correct it.

The Devil's right hand.

Your gaze shifted to the Devil.

Shorter black hair, pointed, more intrusive dark eyes. Paler, standing out against the black. The faintest trace of a smile on pink lips, a face with predatory feline grace. He was shorter than Jungkook, not as heavily built. Slim and sharpened, deadly like a sword. Hands in his pockets, suit pristine. There was no mistaking who was in charge here.

You squished the goat-man to your breasts.

The human heart was beating.

Singing.

Fuck me.

"Hyung."

Yoongi was observing you carefully.

"What is she?"

The Devil chuckled. "Does it matter? You love to fuck."

"But she has the soul shards of the five highest ranking demons in Hell," Jungkook hissed in his ear. Goosebumps on his skin at the younger demon's hot breath. Yoongi felt the sides of his lips curve upwards, tilting his head slightly so Jungkook's voice drifted on more of his neck. Still not looking at him, eyes on yours.

You kept pushing the plush into your chest, dark lips parting.

Jungkook stepped closer, body barely brushing against his, body heat radiating. "Why does she have them? Where are they?" he breathed, head lowering, so close his black hair feathered onto the Devil's neck, his lips almost touching Yoongi's skin.

Yoongi's eyes bored into yours, his own flaring with sparks of red. Voice deepening, taking up the whole room. He doubted you would be affected by his persuasive power. It wasn't for your sake.

"Show me the shards."

Jungkook moaned softly in his ear, shuddering.

You smiled that little smile. Yoongi held up a hand, preventing Jungkook from touching him. The younger demon whined, but he paid it no mind. You lowered the little goat-man, placing him on the nightstand.

To watch.

You reached to the high collar, to the zipper of the dress. The pull was shaped like a cross. Yoongi’s smile widened. A cute joke. Down it went, smooth, revealing your neck, waiting to be bitten. Exposing your collarbones, a small tattoo in the center just below them, at the top of your sternum.

Now the Devil was grinning.

An upside-down pentagram with two rings around it. Black. Simple. Most likely christened on that smooth skin before you became what you are now. A sweet little foreshadowing.

Lower.

Then Yoongi’s expression hardened.

Right below the tattoo, there they were. Thin diamonds, needle-like black gems that gleamed red and purple, pulsing as if they were alive, embedded in your skin below your tattoo and above the swell of your breasts. The demon soul shards, five of them in a semicircle, with an empty space at the center and one at the bottom left, not yet filled. Your flesh was indented in those two spots, clearly waiting for Jeon Jungkook and the Devil.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, removing his hands from his pockets.

They were part of you.

That made you a human, bedded with shards of high demon soul, soiled with Disorder. Yoongi eyes widened, realization streaking through him. Something flickered in the vacancy of your eyes, torn back down by ice-silver. Like a spider’s web suspended delicately in air, you were wound with silken string, demon soul shards penetrating the human shell.

Is that what was keeping you, the Vessel, from collapsing?

The four horns protruded from Yoongi’s head, black-red and wicked. He narrowed his eyes as you lowered the zipper more, revealing the black lace bra molded to your breasts.

“Let me bring part of me to you,” he rasped, the power soaring through him, dark smoke simmering from his lips. He heard Jungkook suck in a tight breath, pressing himself against Yoongi, drawn to the power, intoxicated by it.

The Devil’s voice boomed, resonating to an inhuman octave.

“Domain Expansion: Devil’s Advocate.”

The room rippled, his power manifesting in time and space, creating a pocket of Hell itself. Black shadows wrenched open every crack, snaking out and crawling all over, long spider-liker arms ending in elongated claws, skittering, skittering, rushing towards the bed, pawing at the black sheets. Advancing on you, threatening, more and more and more, black shadows twisting and writhing, trying to get to your legs. The air shimmered with red, almost as if it was on fire.

You tilted your head, pausing.

Seams on the thin shadowy arms opened, bloodshot eyes rolling in their sockets until they fixated on your form on the bed, quivering slits of black pupils surrounded by red irises. The hands sank into the sheets, claws flexing, almost touching you.

But not quite.

“Jungkook, leash her.”

Like a black arrow, Jungkook lunged at the bed, launching himself above the eyeball-covered shadows, crushing them, sending jets of gushing blood across the sheets, soaking them red, and yet the hands stroked his muscular fit body, lingering before he appeared before you, dark brown orbs gleaming with red and black flecks, his power amplified by Yoongi bringing Hell to the surface. His horns protruded from the sides of his head, swirled like ram’s horns, blacker than they were red. They were large and sharp, framing his strong features with more strength.

His hand raised, voracious grin on his face.

“Let’s begin, pet.”

And then it was on your throat, you gasping in his tightening grasp, cutting off your circulation, hands falling into your lap, leaning into Jungkook’s hold. He hesitated, seeing the look in your eyes. They weren’t void of emotion.

An ice-silver shimmered through them, and there was a flicker of something.

Need.

You dug your fingers into the bed and whimpered, catching your lower lip between your teeth, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes.

“J… Jungkook…”

He pulled his hand away, but it was already done, the thick black leather collar on your neck, imprinted with red pentagrams and a silver center ring, black leather leash extending in Jungkook’s fingers, tangling him in it. It had already begun and the lust was brimming within him, insatiable, eager to consume, no longer worried about that small flicker of humanity he might have imagined. To be a demon is to be cursed to feel, emotion and free will entangled, a servant of the Devil but not without indulgence.

Full of sin and prepared to act on it.

Jungkook grinned, long black hair wild and curled around his horns.

“What’s your name, pretty pet?” he purred, flicking his middle finger on your chin, your dark mauve lips parting, looking up at him.

You told him.

He savored it with his lips, already aroused by it. He lowered the hand with the leash, snaking it between your legs, lowering his face to you and your hot breath, moaning at the intensity of the feeling, not quite human, but something more and something familiar, demon lust and human reaction mixed with an unknown drug.

Jungkook loved to fuck.

“Can’t wait to make you my plaything,” he breathed against your cheek.

You whined as his hand trailed down your ass, pulling out the end of the leash between your legs, gripping it from the front and back, snapping it up into your clothed pussy. A loud, sharp slap cracked the air as it connected, making you moan depravedly and tremble in his hands, your own coming up to grab his torn shirt. He ground the leash into the folds of the clothing, hot friction and unforgiving leather. He could feel it, the pleasure and the pain radiating off you, sparks of heat as you bucked down into the strap, the sweet scent your juices soaking through your panties.

Jungkook inhaled deeply, the taste at the tip of his tongue, shoulders shaking at the scent of sex, invigorating his veins, heart racing. Your fingernails dug into his chest, your eyes reflecting his high, his pleasure in abusing your pussy, tainting you with him in this Hell domain.

The Devil leaned over, tongue sliding out. Jungkook stiffened, biting his lip, watching intently as Yoongi neared, closer and closer to your ear. When was the last time Jungkook was allowed to indulge with the Devil? Even if it wasn’t, it felt like forever ago. Too long. His blood was boiling, singing to the Devil, praying for more.

Yoongi’s dark eyes shifted to him for a moment.

Jungkook’s lower lip popped out of his teeth, small whine in his chest.

The Devil smiled knowingly, leaning even farther in so his soft lips brushed against your earlobe, the taste of your skin on his wicked tongue. An interesting taste, but distinctly human. Yoongi sighed in satisfaction, nearly a moan, eyes shifting back to your profile. You were staring at Jungkook and Jungkook was staring at him.

“Five demons this body has withstood.”

The thought made him hard.

“What’s two more?” Yoongi chuckled deep in his chest, placing his hand on your heaving chest, right above the soul shards.

No.

It hovered, the faintest sliver of space between his hand and your breasts. The more he pushed, the more it pushed back, gleaming sparks scalding his palm. Yoongi gritted his teeth, seeing the black tendrils laced with ice-silver snake around his fingers. The scent of burning flesh stained the air. Not holy magic. Something else. Something far less controlled. The Devil could feel pain, but it was nothing more than fuel for his emotions, a means to an end.

You lowered more of your weight onto the leash, moaning as the leather dug in deeper, the scent of sex stronger, rocking your hips back and forth. Yoongi suddenly felt the pain lessen, the black tendrils retreating, ice-silver fading into nothing. His eyebrows raised, fascinated. The introduction of passion and your human body reacting to it. The disembodied black arms around them scabbed around, nonsensical red eyes veering in all directions, crawling across the sheets, desperate to touch and soil the human.

His palm was getting closer.

Closer.

Closer to your chest.

Yoongi’s hand touched your shuddering breast.

Instantly the shadowy, eyeball-covered hands were on your body, clawing at your clothes, caressing your skin, up your back and to your head, pulling you by the hair and making you moan, Jungkook completely letting go of the leash and placing his hands on your breasts, one over Yoongi’s, curling the Devil’s fingers under the lace cup, pulling hard.

Yoongi made no move to stop him.

Jungkook ripped your bra apart, sucking in a tight breath as your breasts bounced free, diving down to latch his lips onto them, his hot mouth to your cool skin, moaning at the taste of human mixed with demon, the five shards on your chest glimmering, his five hyungs infused into this body with the exception of the Devil himself.

“Fuuuuuuuck…”

He shoved his hands under the ribbons of your dress and yanked your body up to his greedy mouth, biting and lapping at your skin, flickering his tongue over your nipples, your hands finding his shoulders, wanton whimpers quivering from your chest to Jungkook’s mouth. He drank it all up, the sweet taste of flesh, the heavy scent of sex, the sound of tainted lust, whining as his shirt was torn to bits by exploring shadowy hands. The Devil’s work. Jungkook looked up to see Yoongi on the other side of you, one of his pale hands in your hair and the other pushing your chin back, his head descending.

“A kiss from Hell, just for you,” Yoongi murmured.

The Devil’s lips on yours.

You audibly moaned right into Yoongi’s mouth as he tilted his head, fitting his lips to your dark mauve ones, soft but rough, tongue sliding in, fucking you with it, slow and maddening, the aphrodisiac of his kiss turning even the most prudish of humans into a sobbing mess, begging and pleading for more.

But, as he suspected, you were no ordinary human.

Your tongue wound around his, pressing your lips harder to his despite his hold on your hair, exhaling in his mouth, intoxicating all on its own, pushing your chest into Jungkook’s face, your arms held back by Hell’s shadows, your muscles tense and shivering.

Yoongi felt it, the hot spark of near pain.

You could break out at any time.

Yoongi broke the kiss, breathing hard, his eyes finding yours. Like small mirrors, they reflected himself back. And yet. There was definitely something underneath that standing water. Poison? Or something else?

Jungkook grabbed your chin and kissed you hard, moaning at your taste and the Devil’s lingering saliva.

“Yes, fuck, yes…”

Your dress ripped apart, the demon hands doing the Devil’s work, leaving red scratches on your skin, Jungkook doing the rest, rough fingers shoving the fabric scraps out of the way, bits of your bra thrown aside, shreds of black adding to the shadows already surrounding the bed. All eyes on you and your exposed body in Jungkook’s arms, his hard bare chest pressing into yours, skin to hot skin, lifting you like a doll, one hand winding around the leash.

Kissing you like he owned you, already his possession by the way you gasped into his mouth, breathless as he took your sweet exhale with his fiery inhale, his fingernails scraping down your back.

“Stop playing around,” the Devil commanded harshly.

Jungkook started, breaking the kiss as the shadowy arms encircled him and you, locking your bodies in a tight embrace. The red eyes in the shadows flickered, blinking, morphing, changing.

Into mouths.

Into tongues.

“H-Hyung…!”

Yoongi smirked behind your head, eyebrow cocked as Jungkook shuddered and moaned, red forked tongues from ghostly arms flickering across his skin, grasping you so tightly that you whined against his chest, the tongues on you too, drenching you in swipes of Hell’s saliva.

As if the Devil himself was licking you, but all over.

“Hyung, w-wait…” Jungkook managed to get out, hands on your shoulders.

Like two star crossed lovers, except one was a demon and one barely had any humanity left.

Yoongi cracked his neck, grinning widely, all malice and no mirth.

Devilishly, even.

“Can’t wait any longer. I just have to know.”

The Devil’s hands swooped down, twisting between your body and Jungkook’s, undoing the button and the zipper of Jungkook’s slacks impossibly fast, the shadows aiding him, pulling them down, ripping apart the underwear, Jungkook gasping as Yoongi’s long fingers closed around his hard, leaking cock.

“Ah, don’t–”

But it was too late, the Devil’s hand wrapped around him, pleasure sprinting through his veins and swarming every nerve, Yoongi’s other hand pushing your wet heat closer, closer, dark chuckles and fiendish words invading his senses, the Devil himself pulling all his strings.

“Ah, I know all the things you like, Jungkookie…” Yoongi drawled, placing the head against your slit, coating it with your slick but not letting Jungkook enter you, making the younger demon growl with want. “I know you love playing with the humans for hours…” Leaning in, putting his face above your left shoulder, hovering with a sinister smirk. “And I know you secretly love it when you’re being forced to do something.”

The Devil’s pink tongue snaking out, licking Jungkook’s cheek, making him moan in your face and lean his forehead against yours, the lust overwhelming, unable to move due to the shadowy mouth-covered arms and the Devil’s power. Your body trembled in his embrace, your whimpers against Jungkook’s lips and Yoongi’s cruel, raspy laughter ringing in his ears as Jungkook’s cock swelled in his hand.

“You just love it when it’s me ordering you around, don’t you, Jungkook?”

Jungkook was staring in your eyes, seeing his own desperation and shameful happiness reflected back at him, admitting the truth because there was nothing he could hide from the Devil.

“Y… Yes, hyung,” he breathed into your mouth.

Yoongi let go of his cock the same time he pushed your dripping core onto Jungkook, sinking you all the way down, two simultaneous moaning screams intertwining and filling up the entire room infested with Hell’s domain.

Inside.

You felt it, a tiny pulse.

You looked around in the abyss, not expecting to see anything.

How long had you been here? Ah, did it matter? Nothing mattered. In this world, there was only emptiness. You saw nothing, heard nothing, remembered nothing, cared about nothing. If there was no sadness, there was no happiness. If there was no existence, there was nothing to worry about, cry about, feel pain about. Nothing to live for. Nothing at all.

And yet.

You had sensed something.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You looked up.

Four black horns adorning a head of black hair and fair skin, lips peeled back, eyes glittering.

Menace. Amusement. Glee. Lust. Fascination.

Passion.

Who was that?

You squinted.

You… had eyes.

And suddenly it all rushed to the surface, jammed into sensory overload, tongues on your skin, heat overwhelming, a sweaty cheek pressed against yours, your chest prickling with sensitivity, pain from a tight embrace, and you gasped a lungful of air as you felt the demon’s cock enter your tight, wet hole, saturated with arousal, eye to eye with blazing dark brown orbs surrounded by wet black curls, your pussy stretched too far too fast, but adrenaline adapting the pain into even more pleasure.

Felt.

You could feel everything.

“J-Jungkook…”

Words.

You could hear the demon’s lips curve into a wicked grin.

“I love it when you’re whimpering my name, pet,” he drawled.

There was nothing to wonder about. No desire to know your past or if you had a future, no desire to know why you were here, what was going on, not even the need to know how you were aware of the demon before you and his name, Jeon Jungkook.

There was only one goal.

Chasing all aspects of pleasure and passion.

The shadows around your two retreated slowly, forked red tongues sliding back into shadowy pits surrounded by crevices slashed on black disembodied arms, but none of that mattered as you leaned in to Jungkook’s face, hands rising to grip his shoulders, cracking pleas in your throat at the sensation of being too full and sensory overload dominated by lust.

“F-Fuck me, please…” you panted, adjusting to straddle his lap better, his raw cock twitching against your throbbing walls. “Please, Jungkook…”

His hands were on your shoulders, his head lifting and eyebrow cocking, arrogant expression on his face.

“Of course, my little human.”

He lowered his hips, nearly pulling out, leaving you in a whine, almost empty before roughly shoving himself back in, filling you all the way to maximum ecstasy igniting all of your nerves, your nails digging into his skin and a choked moan as you took it all, straining against the brink of almost too much but not quite.

Utter perfection.

How did he know?

He didn’t.

Jungkook was a demon. And demons intuitively delivered the exact amount, instinctually sensing how the human body desired more, every brutal stroke a delicate balance of pain and pleasure, every rock of his hips matching yours, you involuntarily bouncing on his cock with his hard thighs in between your soft ones, cries bubbling from your throat. Every rush of stimulation potent, Jungkook panting intoxicatingly in your face and you drinking it up like a starved hyena, your hands clawing up, tangling in his hair, gripping the curved black horns on the sides of his beautiful head, staring into his enchanting eyes.

The demon smiled at you, almost lovingly, as he fucked you raw from below.

“That’s it…”

Rising from Jungkook’s left shoulder, four horns and glittering dark eyes.

A devious, open-mouthed smirk.

Your grip on Jungkook’s horns tightened, staring into this new, yet familiar gaze. A smokey whisper, rasp infesting your eardrums, reaching in to the humanity inside you. Your ice-silver irises reflected in the endless darkness of those ravenous orbs.

“Fuck him harder,” the Devil coaxed.

Sin.

“Yes,” you breathed.

Body automatically reacting, crashing your mouth into Jungkook’s, wild kiss punctuated by your hips smacking down hard onto his crotch, walls clenching around his stiff length, his moan and words filling your lungs.

“H-Hyung, fuck!”

You threw your weight onto him, slapping your hips together violently, repeatedly, biting his lower lip and sucking on it, pressing his body into the Devil, Jungkook’s nails digging into your shoulders and his cock swelling inside you. Pale hands coming up to grip Jungkook’s broad, tan shoulders, pink tongue sliding out and stroking the demon’s ear wetly, scorching breath on your fingers.

“Take it,” was the animalistic growl from those perfect pink lips, the low octave on an otherworldly level. “Cum in that pretty little pussy. Warm it up for me, Jungkookie.”

So hard, turning you so wet, greedy kisses and bites not enough, more, more, Jungkook groaning and powerfully thrusting up as you squelched down, splattering your juices all over his balls, pussy throbbing with the intensity of pleasure, staring into beautiful eyes and the hauntingly handsome angles of Jungkook’s face soaked with sweat on glistening tan skin, one of his hands grabbing your head and kissing you back with just as much fervor, filling you again and again, your name dancing on his lips.

“Yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me, you humans are so fucking good at serving us…”

“J-Jungkook, ah, f-fuck… I–”

“Give it to me, give it to me, delicious little pet,” he growled in your throat, harder, faster, rougher, racing to the edge and flying off.

A millisecond of euphoria.

You gasped out his name, saturated in mindless ecstasy.

“Jungkook.”

The Chaos swallowed you up, leaving you in nothingness once more.

Yoongi noticed it immediately.

He could feel it course through him, your orgasm explosive and mixing with Jungkook’s crescendo, invading the Devil’s senses and igniting throughout his body, feeding off of every throb of your pussy as Jungkook moaned and pumped you full of his hot cum, packing you with demon seed that your human body could do absolutely nothing with, soaking it into your abused walls, painting your sweetness with his heat.

Demons purely had sex with humans for the sake of pleasure. Nothing could come of it other than the obscenity in enjoying primal passion.

Fucking delightful.

Palpable and intense, Yoongi’s tongue slid out and tasted the air, his hands moving up and caressing Jungkook’s horns, making the younger demon shudder and squirm with pleasure, rutting into you more, squishing his thick cum around inside you, your eyelids fluttering and shivering gasps grasping your lungs.

But your eyes.

While you were fucking Jungkook, your eyes had turned that icy silver.

Now your irises were that reflective mirror.

The Devil felt it.

A pulse.

Jungkook’s naked body trembling against his, tantalizing moan implanted with lust incarnate, lost in the throes of passion, unable to get out until his orgasm was over. His voice sounded thin as if there was pressure in his ribcage.

Yoongi looked down at Jungkook’s heaving chest.

It was glowing.

He couldn’t stop it.

Spider-silk thin strands of ice-silver plunging inwards, needles of power forcing its way inside Jungkook’s chest cavity, all the way in. Yoongi was so close that he himself could feel it, the power of his domain letting him feel everything that happened within, from your passion to Jungkook’s desire, and now he could feel the needles pouring in, chipping away at the vibrant demon soul of Jeon Jungkook.

Collecting.

Jungkook whimpered, head falling against Yoongi’s shoulder, turning his head to kiss the Devil’s cheek.

“H… Hyung…”

The slim, black-red diamond extracted from Jungkook’s chest in glimmering lines of ice-silver, suspending it in the air, so spellbinding that even Yoongi could do nothing but watch in awe, the strings winding around the shard of demon soul and affixing it to your chest, the spot to the bottom left below the center. Six now, the filled semicircle underneath your pentagram tattoo, center empty.

The shadowy arms, covered with red eyeballs and tongues, rose.

Your eyes reopened, cracks of ice silver in those vacant irises.

Now, the Devil, Min Yoongi, understood.

What were demons cursed with?

Emotion and free will.

The Vessel was using the soul shards to stabilize the Disorder. The human body was too weak alone and those high above had nothing to give, for they gave away all they had to serve his father. That’s why you needed demon soul. Not just any demon soul, but the six most powerful ones, driven to finalize your collection with the most powerful of them all to contain what was within.

The Entropy.

The Chaos.

A slow, greedy grin graced his lips.

How interesting.

A tiny blip.

You had one piece of knowledge. Six.

In the nothingness, the only knowledge you possessed was the number six.

Six.

The resurfacing.

You gasped for air, lungs expanding forcefully, chest burning and heart racing, sensory overload, knowing only what you needed to know, the demon Jeon Jungkook in front of you once again, except this time he was leaning against the headboard, breathing hard, his tan shoulders crisscrossed in red from your nails, his two curved black horns luminous, arrogant smirk on his face.

You were on your hands and knees.

No.

Your arms were being held up by dark shadows of disembodied hands, eyes and tongues surrounding you, shoulders bowing a little from the strain, but not enough to be unbearable.

Jungkook licked his lips, slow, glossing them with wetness.

“Pretty pet,” he purred, gripping the leash and tugging on it, your breath dying in your throat, circulation cut off by the leather cutting into the sides of your neck. “Don’t waste any of it now, or you’ll anger him.”

Dancing fingers sliding up your hips, the space in between your legs achingly sore and full, but demanding more punishment, unable to look back to see, but already knowing who it was. You whimpered in your throat, shuddering at the light touch.

Jungkook quirked his eyebrows. “You’re right, little pet.” He yanked your body to his lap, jerking you forward unforgivingly, forcing you to stumble, the hands on your hips holding you up, your arms jostling in the grip of the shadows, their forked tongues swiping across your skin.

“That mouth needs something to fill it too, doesn’t it?” Jungkook drawled dangerously.

Your eyes widened, the scent of sex attacking your nose.

“Down,” he snarled.

You gasped, the grip on your neck lessening, Jungkook’s large hand fitting behind your head and forcing you to lower, your open mouth suddenly filled with his already rock-hard, cum-covered cock, yours and his, sex painting your tongue, swallowing his huge length in one gulp, tip engorging in the back of your throat, filling it to the brim of near-choking, but not quite.

Leaving you on the edge.

The edge of too much and not enough.

Perfection.

“I love to fuck,” Jungkook sighed above you, audibly savoring the feeling of your tight mouth around his length, your shaking eyes looking up at him. “And I’m the second best at it.”

He was.

You didn’t have to wonder. You just knew.

He leaned down, his thumb caressing your forehead. “Guess who is the best, pet?”

You yelped around his cock as forked tongues brushed against your flesh, shadows squeezing and kneading your beasts, latching onto your already hard nipples and stimulating them, pinching and tugging at the sensitive nubs. Jungkook’s naughty smirk was right in front of your face, his hardness twitching and pulsing in your mouth, those hands on your hips tightening, the velvety hard head of another cock skimming your cum-soaked folds, slicking with your juices.

Jungkook’s long fingers curled in your hair, gripping your scalp.

His voice a silvery, perilously low octave.

“The Devil.”

The familiar, raspy chuckle drenched in deviance.

“That’s right.”

Jungkook pulled out and roughly thrust in your face the same time the Devil slammed his cock into you, your eyes flying wide, Jungkook’s previous orgasm stuffed back into you by a different cock, slippery lewd squishes of too much thick liquid expanding your walls. Your pussy and mouth both clamped down on the two cocks, Jungkook’s swollen head ramming into the back of your throat, the Devil…

Holy shit, the Devil.

Whereas Jungkook’s cock responded to your body’s needs and kept it at the teetering maximum of lustful pleasure, the Devil had you suspended on his puppet strings, slow pace agonizingly teasing an orgasm out of you, fast pace tearing another out, rough pace amplifying yet another out, every one feeling like an eternity and leaving you craving more, the true meaning of insatiability, moans vibrating Jungkook’s throbbing length as your pussy convulsed from back-to-back orgasms. The surrounding shadows with bloodshot red eyes were watching you as forked tongues and shadowy hands caressed your trembling body all over, two mouths specifically latched on your nipples and one on your clit, rippling against the sensitive bundle of nerves, soaking it with saliva and sucking on it, all while Jungkook fucked your face relentlessly and the Devil drilled you from behind, grunts, groans, moans, mixed together, stifled by cock and accented by wicked slaps of flesh on flesh, all for the pure intent of only obtaining carnal pleasure and nothing else.

Unconstrained ecstasy, pure sin.

And you, suspended between torture and pain of overwhelmed senses.

“So fucking good…” Jungkook panted, black hair sweaty and sticking to his clenched jaw, dark brown eyes glinting with madness, thrusting wildly into your puffy mauve lips while harshly clutching your head, the shadows holding your body and taking the force of his movements off your neck so he could enjoy the delights of abusing your mouth without causing you pain, therefore allowing you to serve him as he pleased, keeping your throat tight for every punishing slide of his thick cock down the wet hole.

“You take me so well, little pet, almost like a demon, but human mouths are always better, so compliant and subservient. Demons are selfish, only looking out for their own pleasure, but your kind… Your kind is always begging to serve and be used.”

Jungkook caught his lower lip between his teeth, the mole underneath bouncing your vision with every plunge of his cock between your lips, large curved horns on the side of his head surrounded by long black curls, deliciously muscular torso right above you, tattoos on his right arm and shoulder flexing with his movements, the epitome of sex.

The entire time, the Devil’s cock was forcing you to new levels of pleasure you didn’t even know existed, blazing hot and intense, the ever-changing pace almost frustrating, but, somehow, he always knew what to do, speed up or slow down, harder or softer, the Devil’s trill sonata a complex and intricate mess being played, your pussy acting as the violin, coating his cock with Jungkook’s cum and yours, so much that it was spilling out and splashing onto your thighs, dripping down in sloppy squirts.

“You going to cum down that pretty throat?” the Devil drawled, his words resonating in his domain. “I want to watch you fill it up with your delicious cum so you can show me, Jungkookie.”

The young demon shuddered, intoxicated and driven by the command, his breathing swallowing, desires brimming to the surface, your name bubbling off his lips and your throat painfully sore but, oh, so good, so satisfying to be used like a toy, leather leash and collar on your neck jangling, inflamed clit pulsating as you came again with a feral moan around Jungkook’s stiff cock, pushing him over the edge with your suppressed cry, spilling into your throat with thick salty strings of his orgasm, shooting streaks all over the insides of your mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” he gritted out, jerking the last few spurts onto your tongue before removing his cock, smearing residual cum on your swollen lips. “Fuck, yes.”

He snarled and grabbed your chin, other hand on your chest to push you up, up, forcing you to arch your spine to an almost ridiculously painful level, the Devil’s pleased expression halfway in your vision.

“Open,” Jungkook growled.

You opened your cum-smeared lips, showing the Devil the thick white coating the insides of your pink tongue and abused throat, barely able to breathe, almost choking on Jungkook’s orgasm.

The Devil grinned.

“Swallow.”

You did in noisy, desperate gulps, sucking in sweet air, only for the circulation in your neck to be cut off as Jungkook hooked a finger on the collar ring and yanked it forward, his other hand and the shadows preventing your body or head from moving as he did so.

You could feel it, the Devil’s cock jolting, hitting you so deep and so satisfyingly that your eyes rolled back, vision spotting with black, completely and utterly consumed by the bodily pleasure of being forced to take exactly what you asked for.

Your name, so soft and sharp, driving deep into your pounding, rapid heartbeat, soaking your body with unholy touch, craving to be broken.

“Take it.”

The faintest of gasps, nerves a flaring wildfire as the Devil thrust his orgasm into you, euphoric in simply being pumped with his seed, the hold on your neck suddenly gone, air smashing into your lungs and the rush of oxygen making your lightheaded and dizzy, your body flinching as it attempted to drink it all up, shocks tearing through your system, forked tongues lapping up what was slipping out and another thicker, wetter tongue.

Jungkook on his belly, needy wanton moans in his chest, sucking the mixture of cum – you, himself, and the Devil pouring from between your joined crotches.

The ice-silver tendrils creeped from your chest, but shadowed hands forced them back.

Pain.

Yoongi could feel it in midst of the intense orgasm, the pain of his power being disintegrated, but he was no ordinary demon, he was the Devil, and no power, not even the Disorder, was going to take a shard of his soul without a fight.

No.

He pushed back against it, forcing his will upon the power unknown.

You will get your payment.

The pain subsided a little, layering with the shivering tremors of your pussy barely able to hold all that cum. Yoongi clenched his jaw, feeding on it all. He pulled out of you, his cock smacking Jungkook in the face, smearing the demon’s lips and cheeks with his still hard length, feeling the desperate tongue lap at him eagerly before he pulled away, hearing the explicit squelch as Jungkook’s mouth latched onto your pussy, devouring the cum from three beings trapped inside you.

Not until I’ve had a decent meal.

Your irises remained infested with ice-silver.

The Chaos, merely at bay, waiting for him.

Jungkook shoved his tongue into your sensitive hole, licking and suckling on your engorged clit as well as eating the delicious nectar, lustfully groaning at the taste of the Devil, you, and him, so flawless, a meal incomparable, his blood singing with joy.

No drop was to go to waste.

He would grovel at the Devil’s feet to have this taste forever.

Yoongi grabbed you by the hair and pushed you down, kneeling over Jungkook’s hips, letting the younger demon do whatever he wanted down there. He had more pressing matters.

He lowered himself, lifting Jungkook’s still-stiff cock, and dropped his dripping cock and balls on top the other, hissing in satisfaction as his hard length rubbed against Jungkook’s. Underneath you he heard a throaty, gleeful moan, your body shuddering as the sound went through you.

“Hand,” Yoongi commanded.

He grabbed your hand that his servants freed, wrapping it around the two cocks with his own long fingers, rocking his hips back and forth, too much fluid and too much slick making everything slippery, flickering tongues from the shadows adding to the mix, licking at the purple-red heads, adding saliva to the mix.

Your eyes were glued to this downright obscene display of indecent passion, mauve lips wetly parted, gasping with tremors of orgasm, two hands around two cocks and surrounded by shadows with tongues and eyes, Jungkook’s uncontrolled moaning stifled by your lush hips sitting on his beautiful face, his hips still humping your joined hands and smacking his balls into Yoongi’s, begging the Devil to let him cum and for Yoongi to cum all over his stomach as you came on his face.

The Devil chuckled.

He and you pumped together with Jungkook’s thrusting, his eyes roaming all over, drinking in the sight of his favorite demon and his new shiny toy.

No, not a toy.

His possession.

He lifted his free hand, cupping your chin forcefully, staring into your eyes.

Ice-silver, reflective glass, the original human shattered, so thoroughly intertwined and blended together with powers unknown that it was hard to tell what was what, impossible to know if they even could be separated, and Yoongi, the Devil himself, having no personal reason to bring you back from whatever you were now.

The greater good?

Heh.

The Devil cared not for such things.

“Cum for me,” he breathed hotly to your lips.

You blinked hard, gaze unfocused, the edge already in your sights, headed straight for it at an impossible speed. He watched as you tipped into free-fall, eyes rolling back, whining and moaning hoarsely as you came for the umpteenth time, soaking Jungkook’s face with your orgasm, the younger demon yelping and his cock jerking, spurting cum over his stomach with Yoongi’s mixing at the same time, the Devil sharply hissing as his cock violently shivered and pressed against your palm, shooting thick strings of white all over those sculpted abs.

Yoongi clenched his jaw, the ice-silver needles sprouting from your chest once more.

“Your… name…” you whispered, whole body trembling.

Yoongi exhaled hard, locking his glare with your fucked-out expression. The power pierced him, a bizarre feeling of euphoria and excruciating prickling, pressure unbearable, the threads of the Chaos stumbling through the massive collection of souls within him. Skittering, frantically searching.

Pain.

But not from him.

From you.

Your shaking hand rose, your voice thinning out, anguish coating your features.

It was killing you the longer he hesitated in giving you a name.

The Devil could give you any name of the souls within him. The lesser ones, the insignificant ones, the pathetic ones. The contract did not specify. That was his loophole. The ice-silver threads were tearing you up from the inside, pouring more and more into him with every second that he waited. Your fingers brushed against his cheek.

“H…”

Something shimmering in those eyes.

“He… help… me…”

The power within the Vessel a vehement storm, sadistically demanding the contract to be sealed. You were going to die if he withheld a name from you. The Devil reached up and touched your hand, holding it against his cheek.

He smiled softly.

Yoongi would not let his precious new possession die so quickly.

“Hold on,” he rasped.

The Devil pushed back.

He forced it out, taking the pain and using it to fuel his power, pushing it back, back into you, your airless shrieks trapped in your chest as the six black-red soul-shards gleamed, radiating heat.

Helping him.

Even now his six closest confidants were helping him, their small bits of demon soul rushing to his aid, collapsing onto the power of the Disorder, forcing it back, buying him more time.

Yoongi chuckled.

Guess they really were his friends.

Whatever pain you felt became a distant memory the second the Devil lifted your hips from Jungkook’s face, arms wrapping around your body, his knees sliding up a little to hover your two bodies right above the cum puddle on Jungkook’s stomach. The demon beneath you panted, fucked-out, still shuddering with aftershocks of orgasm.

You held his face, looking deep into dark brown eyes full of the knowledge of every sin known to mankind. His lips curved into a sly, open-mouthed smirk.

“You’ve been so good,” he drawled. “Such a resilient little thing.”

Everything was sore, throbbing, muscles burning with exertion, and yet you still wanted more, caressing the cheeks of the Devil with your fingers, leaning against his body for support.

“After this, I think we should be a little closer, don’t you?”

Your body was lowering, abused pussy meeting his hard cock once more.

The Devil wasn’t done until he was done.

And those shadows of arms ending with claw-like fingers, covered in eyeballs and mouths? Always willing to lend a hand, encircling around your bodies, holding up your weak human body so the Devil could fuck you.

“Let’s be together for all eternity, you and I.”

You whimpered as you sank down again, so wet and slick that he slipped in easily, hardness swelling against your trembling walls.

“A contract?” you croaked, barely able to speak at this point.

“No, my pet,” the Devil lured, drawing you into him as he rocked his hips, lowering the two of you on the mess of cum on Jungkook’s abdomen, smearing your thighs in it, sticky and strong-smelling, Jungkook losing it under you, scooping up the demon seed to coat his fingers and palms. “Not a contract. Just a promise. Dedication.”

Now Jungkook’s hands were covered in the Devil’s cum and his own.

He began to spank your ass with every rough thrust of the Devil’s cock burying in your velvety folds, adding stings of pain to the devastating pleasure.

“You have dedication, don’t you?”

Dedication?

Slap! Thrust. Slap! Thrust. Slap!

The Devil leaned forward, raspy laugh deep in his chest.

A trickster’s kiss capturing your swollen lips.

“Faith, if you will.”

Your body instinctively bucking back into the Devil’s cock, Jungkook hitting you repeatedly, cum caked to your ass and thighs, pussy spasming and drenching the impossibly hard and thick cock inside you, taking it all with fierce enthusiasm, now throatily moaning to the bruising pace, ensnared in his words. Fucking you, punishing you, freeing you, violent hard thrusts, smacks on hips on hips and hands on hips, flesh singing with feral pleasure, Jungkook’s nails tearing at your skin and leaving red scratches with his stinging, cum-stained palm prints.

The Devil’s hand closed around the collar around your neck and you felt the leather melting away, disappearing, joining the mass of shadows around you. The black spidery arms flared out, circling around the Devil’s head like black fire, surrounding his four hours as his fingers gripped your neck, his left hand splayed on your back as he choked you.

The shadows opened.

Red eyes with black slitted pupils, watching everything.

Slashed mouths with black lips and forked red tongues, grinning.

They closed in, wrapping around your joined bodies, long predatory fingers tangling in your hair, hands clutching on your breasts, pointed nails clawing at your thighs and leaving red scratches, the Devil’s hot breath in your face as he smirked, wide and open-mouthed, canine teeth glinting ominously, driving his punishing girth into you as Hell’s shadows pushed you back down, Jungkook’s nails digging into your ass and his lustful, throaty moans ringing in your ears as he relished in the feeling of the Devil fucking you on top of him.

Your head clouding, circulation thinning as the pleasure thickened, rising to an impossible crescendo on a scale no longer known to man, consumed by lust and shadows, covered in cum, vision blurring, sound intensifying as one of your senses faded.

All Hell breaking loose.

“Do you have faith in the Devil, human?”

You scarcely managed to croak out an answer.

“Yes.”

A millisecond of euphoria.

A growl so deep it seemed to reign and command all souls within his presence.

“I am the Devil, and my name is Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi let it happen.

He set his jaw and shot into you, once more cramming you full of his cum, the pleasure of your orgasm amplifying his own, savoring the addictive high as the ice-silver filaments crowned from that center point on your chest, eagerly darting forward and plunging into his.

For a moment, he felt nothing.

He looked into your eyes.

You reflected ecstasy.

Then he felt an overwhelming pressure, sedation, and a crushing weight mixed with high-voltage passion, shattering through him, the unknown power pinpointing exactly what it needed and knocking on the door of the current soul embodying the Devil.

He was already waiting patiently.

The tendrils of ice-silver became your hands, cupping together, begging.

“Here.”

He ripped it himself, breaking off the thin diamond-like shard of black-red, a piece of his soul that he handed to the waiting hands, knowing he was forever bound to you, forever drawn to you, the Vessel, the Entropy, the Chaos.

His now.

“And this.”

He pressed a little something into it.

“It’s yours.”

The ice-silver snatched his soul-shard and vanished.

The darkness closed in, leaving you trapped in nothingness once more. The Chaos received what it needed. There was no need for your consciousness any longer, for the Vessel was complete. The nothingness just was and you were in it.

Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

Then.

A pulse.

You opened your eyes.

Everything hurt.

Everything was sticky, covered in cum.

Everything was scattered everywhere, bedsheets and clothes shredded, shadowy arms swaying this way and that, no longer covered in strange eyeballs and mouths, simply all-black and waiting for command.

Why?

You felt something soft tucked into your arms.

Your eyes lowered, seeing the black goat-man plush cradled in the crook of your less cum-coated arm. A pale hand took yours and placed your fingers on the leather hoof. You stroked it, almost innocently.

“Would you like to come with me?” said the deep, raspy voice.

Your eyes flickered to your chest. Six black-red demon soul-shards surrounding a bigger, more lustrous, and sinister-looking one. It sparkled red and purple. Something was trapped inside it, glowing violet from within. It seemed to pulse, slowly, following a unique rhythm.

You looked up.

Into Min Yoongi’s dark, dark eyes.

You felt a strong grip on your shoulders from behind, matched by a teasing chuckle as a playful chin resting against your shoulder. Your eyes flickered to your right, seeing the hand tattoos on that hand, feeling the hardness of the body of Jeon Jungkook behind you. He held you to him, tracing the curve of your neck.

Yoongi held his hand out, smirk on his lips.

You took it, affirming your desire to follow, even if it meant going to the depths of Hell itself.

“What did you do?” you breathed.

The Devil shrugged.

The domain around you was collapsing, but not melting away. Instead, it seemed to cave inward, bowing from strain, surrounding you, Yoongi, and Jungkook, swallowing the three bodies and the goat-man plush in your arms. Yoongi drew close to you, lips on your lips, half-lidded eyes smoked with arousal.

“I gave you a small shred of my heart, pet.”

The fist-sized muscle pounded in your chest as the surface disappeared and the Devil dragged you down to Hell with his right-hand demon.

“Now you have emotion and free will.”

Yoongi pressed his lips to yours, kissing you deeply as the world around you turned into everlasting flames.

666 You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.

masterpost

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