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damienthepious · 2 years

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forgot to change my placeholder keymash intro text. oops. uh. enjoy......

Tomorrow’s Some Kind Of Strangerland (chapter 7)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [ao3] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum & The Keep, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, The Keep, Sir Damien, Rilla, Queen Mira, Original Monster Character(s)

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ceasefire, Pre-Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, (some characters tagged will not appear until later chapters), canonical character illness, asking for help, (i still dn’t know how to tag things rip), (uhhhhh canon-typical fantasy monster-hatred? that’s gonna be a thing)

Summary: When Mira took the throne, she did what no human ruler in living memory has done - she reached out, and brokered peace with the monsters. It is a shaky, uncertain sort of peace, but she and the current monster Senate have managed to maintain it for a handful of years now with only minor incident.

Lord Arum has not interacted with the human infection in the Northern Wilds since the ceasefire, but when his Keep becomes ill past his own ability to cure, the Senate has a peculiar idea for how to help the isolated Lord while testing the goodwill of their tentative allies at the same time.

Chapter Summary: The knight and the monster fail to maintain a consistent level of mutual respect.

Chapter Notes: tired. tired. tired. Damien's poem is Bond and Free by Robert Frost, just the first and last bits of it.

Eventually, Sir Damien no longer tenses every time that the senator or her twitchy faun attendant move or speak.

That fact does not make him feel any better about his evening. The particular collection of guests at this... dinner party is unswervingly nerve-wracking, and Damien cannot help the scalding little ball of fury behind his ribs, to share a meal with his queen and such an unworthy cohort at the same time.

And-

He misses Rilla so fiercely, tonight. He cannot stop himself from thinking of her, missing her. She has been so distant for so long, off with her brother teaching herbalists in the outskirts how to act as proper doctors, sharing her brilliant research and insisting on cleanliness and evidence and consistent methodology. Uncharitably, he thinks that they do not deserve her. Realistically, he is so terribly, achingly proud of her accomplishments and brilliance that it makes him want to weep.

And she will be back in his arms in less than a week, now. Except-

(Damien very deliberately does not look towards the monster at his side, sipping gingerly from a glass of velvet-dark wine.)

Except that she is not returning to soothe the longing in Sir Damien's heart. She is returning to assist a monster, in order to save another monster.

Damien has never wanted two things so diametrically opposed to each other at the same time, before. He wants Rilla here, in his arms, at his side, in his bed-

He wants Rilla safe, distant from whatever terrible curse afflicts the home of this monster lord.

Damien feels rather lucky that the conversation floats mostly somewhere above him throughout the meal, his queen and the monster senator gently tossing comments back and forth as they attempt to coax the southerners and Lady Lynnet into speaking as well, to varying success. He would be rotten for conversation at the moment, anyway; too distracted by the specter of his love while his nerves fray at the presence of beasts. It isn't until dessert that anyone else even attempts to engage him again.

"Sir Damien," Lynnet says, her voice chirping and hesitant, and when Damien blinks in surprise and catches her eye, her cheeks go rather pink again. A shame the poor dear is so shy, he thinks, not for the first time. She coughs lightly and then twitches a very small smile. "Sir Damien, have you- have you any new poems to share? I would like very much to hear you recite again. It has been so terribly long since last I had the chance!"

Damien feels his own cheeks heat at that, flattered and startled in equal measure, and before he answers (his heart leaps, words already flying to his tongue, so many possibilities, so many poems, oh to speak his heart-) he lifts his eyes to check Queen Mira's face first.

Mira smiles, gently pleased, and inclines her head in a nod. "Last I was present to hear your composition was Saintsrise, I believe, was it not? If you would be comfortable reciting for-"

"Of course, my Queen," Damien breathes, his heart fluttering hard even as he endeavors to ignore the way Sir Caroline rolls her eyes and grumbles under her breath. He stands, brushing down his shirt with his hands and clearing his throat, pursing his lips as he decides between three different potentials-

Best avoid the one that would take the better part of the next half hour, he decides with a dissatisfied little twinge. One of the shorter ones, yes, to appease the concision of their southern guests. And to avoid the majority of Sir Caroline's complaining.

He takes a steadying breath, closing his eyes to center himself, and he whispers a brief prayer - his Saint graced him with the Tranquility to find such words, after all - before he begins.

"Love has earth to which she clings," he says, the image of Rilla flashing quick and piercing through his mind, "with hills and circling arms about—— wall within wall to shut fear out. But Thought has need of no such things, for Thought has a pair of dauntless wings."

He slips into the rhythm, the words so at home on his tongue that they barely require thought, and-

Lord Arum has gone still.

The monster watches as he speaks, face upturned, his scaled lips just barely parted, his tongue flicking lightly in the air, his eyes fixed sharply on Damien as if spellbound by the words, by Damien's voice.

His eyes-

How can eyes of such vivid, inhuman color show such familiar cleverness, attention, intellect? What is that gleam , that spark? There is something- something-

His eyes. Damien is staring. Never mind that Arum is staring back, Damien is reciting and that is to be expected, but Damien transfixed on a single member of his small audience is- is unusual at the very least. He stammers just barely as he flicks his eyes away, safely neutral on one of the tapestries adorning the wall.

"Y-yet- yet some say Love by being thrall, and simply staying possesses all in several beauty that Thought fares far to find fused in another star," he finishes, his throat strangely dry, and he manages to sketch a little bow as his audience applauds politely, excluding Caroline's single perfunctory clap, and Arum-

Arum blinks, startling back to himself, and glances around as if puzzled by the sudden smattering of noise.

"Thank you, Sir Damien," Mira says, her smile very warm, and Damien feels himself flush again with billowing pride.

"Lovely," Lady Lynnet agrees breathlessly, pressing a hand to her cheek. "Oh, your voice is always... oh I wish I had words like you do, Sir Damien."

"I could not stand for the denigration of your own lovely voice, Lady Lynnet," Damien says with another quick inclination of the head, and Lynnet sighs and hides her face entirely behind her hands.

"Too kind, too kind, Sir Damien," she mumbles, and Damien gives a light laugh as he settles back down at the table.

"So prettily they speak, didn't I say?" the senator murmurs, tilting her head to speak the words almost directly to Lord Arum, who twitches and exhales a little hiss, glancing towards Damien for just long enough for the both of them to flinch.

"P-pretty is perhaps not the word I would- choose," Arum mutters as he looks away again. "Is- is poetry a common hobby for Citadel knights, then?" he asks, his claws dragging against the wood of the table.

Sir Caroline snorts. "Hardly. Sir Damien is... unique."

Said with an unsubtle sneer, and Damien lifts his chin in the effort of ignoring the barb even as Lord Arum breathes a strange little laugh.

"Unique," he echoes, and Damien feels the monster look towards him again, those violet eyes like a physical weight upon him. "A fascinating sort of knight... so furious and stubborn, yet delicate as honeysuckle."

Damien jerks his head towards the monster, his stomach pulsing shamefully at the note of mockery in his voice, but when their eyes meet again-

Something catches, like nocking the arrow to the string, and Damien sees-

The veneer of the mockery, the way Arum drapes it over his more honest emotion. He blinks, and his breath catches oddly at the idea that he has- his words touchedthis creature.

"I..." his voice wavers, and he pauses to clear his throat again. "Well. I am honored to have given you your first taste of human poetry, Lord Arum," he says, affecting an airy sort of haughtiness, and Arum chokes on a laugh. "I am flattered that you found it sweet enough for that particular comparison."

The monster laughs again, rolls his eyes, mutters ridiculous under his breath as if warding off a curse.

Lynnet distracts him, after that, with compliments and questions and bright enthusiasm, and Damien smiles and preens and pretends not to feel uncomfortable when Atha and her attendant sidle into the conversation as well. The senator speaks rather eloquently for her own part, at least, even if the intent gold of her eyes unsettles Damien with its knowing hunter-spark the way that - the realization startles - Lord Arum's gaze does not.

Lord Arum's gaze, which he feels flitting towards him intermittently for the entire rest of the evening.

Each time Damien feels it, his heart beats just the littlest bit faster.

If Lord Arum felt wilted after his trek to the Citadel, this "dinner party" makes him feel effectively stepped on. His entire body rattles with tension, that vague sensation of stiffness from his Keep exacerbated by his tightly wound emotions.

Damien does not speak on their walk back to Arum's quarters, thankfully. If the knight decided to criticize Arum's etiquette after all of that, Arum might either have tackled him to the ground or simply fallen to the floor and refused further movement.

He sighs, without really meaning to, and Damien glances over his shoulder towards him.

He must see something of Arum's exhaustion, because his mouth curls into an oddly sympathetic smile, further setting Arum's nerves on edge.

"Such evenings rarely pass quite so late," he offers, half-smiling, and Arum glances aside. "I hope it was not... entirely miserable for you."

Arum snorts. "The food was... not unpleasant," he admits with a shrug, fully expecting the knight to take offense, as he seems so keen to, but Damien only exhales a breath of laughter himself. "The company was challenging," he adds, and even then the knight fails to rise to the affront. He turns forward again, moving to open the door to Arum's rooms with his shoulders drooping.

"It was a... curious medley of guests, to say the least," he murmurs, and then he pauses. "My queen seemed rather more relaxed than she has, of late." He pauses to smile, his gaze distant as if he can see the horizon through the stone and wood of the tower itself. "I am rather glad, even if I cannot understand why such an evening would prompt relaxation in her."

Arum... does not know what to say to that, so he says nothing at all. When Damien presses the door open he sweeps past the knight, eyes scanning the corners of the room, the window where he can see the subtle webbing of his trap, untouched, the door to the bedroom still tightly closed.

Damien closes the door behind them as well, and Arum tries not to visibly relax to have the rest of the Citadel safely locked out. The little knight is still here, after all, setting the lantern down on the little table in the center of the room. Likely he should not feel too terribly unguarded, just yet.

"I suppose..." Damien trails off, standing just beside the door to his own small chambers, and Arum tries - again - not to visibly flinch in irritation that the knight still has more words in him somewhere, even after such a lengthy and social evening.

Though, he is a poet as well, Arum muses. Perhaps he should not be surprised.

"Oh, what is it?" Arum mutters, rubbing absently at his snout and already dreaming of his own bed in the Keep. He intended to begin work on that prototype creature tonight, but- he can feel himself fading. It would be pointless to try to work in this state. "Spit it out," he says. "Clearly you're just as exhausted as I am, and neither of us would like to put sleep off any longer than we must. What do you want?"

Finally, the knight huffs, his lips curling into that familiar pout. "It isn't what I want, Lord Arum, I assure you. Did you wish to do as... as the senator and Queen Mira suggested, tomorrow?" He pauses as Arum blinks blankly, and then he huffs again. "The- the gift, for- for-"

"For your betrothed," Arum suggests, and Damien's face twists and darkens with a fascinating combination of fury and embarrassment and fondness. "The royal physician," he amends, if only so Sir Damien does not have some sort of fit. He sighs as the poet composes himself with a deliberate set of breaths, and then he adds, "Again, honeysuckle, we are alone now, you need not pretend that you want to help me curate a gift for your mate."

Damien flushes harder at that last word, sputtering before he shakes his head hard. "It- I- it doesn't- it hardly matters whatsoever what my feelings are on the subject, Lord Arum."

Arum barks a laugh, and the irritation on Damien's face twists a little tighter.

"But your queen would be disappointed in you if you didn't help me, is that it? Such a good little wind-up soldier you are."

Fury in his eyes for a moment, shame and mortification beneath it, and Damien takes a step towards him with a snarl on his lips, and-

Stops just shy of something, either a shove or a punch or a scream, Arum cannot tell. The motion leaves him too close, though, breathing hard with his fury, and the flame lighting the room makes his eyes gleam like polished bronze as he glares up at Arum.

"Tomorrow," Damien hisses through his teeth, "we will go to the market, and I will choose some small trinket for Rilla, because she deserves such attentiveness for her own sake and more for bending her skill to your aid, and you will present it to her with grace and without a word of my own involvement, because it would be rude for you to have foisted off the choice of gift onto your bodyguard. And then we may proceed to ignore one another in the interim until she returns home. Do you understand me?"

Damien's scent is oddly fascinating, at this distance. His skin- some herbal-scented soap in his hair, the lingering hint of wine from dinner, pervasive leather and subtle ink and distant feathers, adrenaline. Part of him wants- to push, to push and see if the poet will continue to push back, if he might actually try to shove Arum against the wall against his orders, if the sharp command in his tone could be pressed further-

(wants to push, to hear the knight speak more, to tease out more of his voice, nuance and lilt, so strange and lyrical and unique)

He twitches his mouth into a scowl, as if he is bothered by Damien's aggression, as if Damien choosing the gift himself does not unburden Arum severely, and then he ducks his head.

"Whatever better serves to save my Keep," Arum hisses. "Fine."

Damien glares harder for another breath, apparently irritated by Arum's lack of argument, and then he steps back, cool air slipping between them again.

"Good," the knight mutters, the venom slipping out of his tone. He finally drops Arum's eyes, then, and turns for his door. "Until... until tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow, honeysuckle," Arum hisses, and Damien snaps his jaw shut with a flinch just before the door fully closes behind him.

The door thuds shut, and without meaning to, Arum thinks-

(wall within wall to shut fear out)

He shakes his head, and he turns for his own bedroom door. He is... far too drained to contemplate Sir Damien's mercurial moods at just this moment.

He locks his bedroom door behind him with the viper-rose, pushes the tapestry aside, and finally, sighing deep, he slips through the portal and back home.

#elle's fanfic #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #queen mira #tomorrow's some kind of strangerland #strangerland #god. i'm so fucking tired.

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volfoss · 3 months

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like... to get an idea of what all id need to do. for anyone curious ig and also to just... totally beat the allegations of yucky little beast:

survey the damage... bc shes obviously in VERY bad shape. so id need to see if i could even get her eyes out or if id maybe. need to dremel into them to get them free so i could start on faceup removal

get the eyes out. this is very scary bc of the hot glue and also the mysterious gray substance. if it IS apoxie sculpt like i think it is then good god. thats going to be the worst 7 bucks ive ever spent or smth

clean the head. im really hoping that its dirt and not.. the alternative on the forehead and other parts of the face. if it IS some mold or fungus, ive got pony experience here (as in. i have dealt with that a few times on MLP) so I'm not... too worried? My guess is its surface level grime that should go away w the faceup being removed.

attempt to remove the faceup. the paint rly looks like it goes ALL the way around her head (poor thang) so ill probably test with acetone at the back of her head. for whatever reason i feel very much like her head has to be fragile so id rather test the more strong/easy to use chemical in a lesser seen spot. i really do not want to be scrubbing with rubbing alcohol for 5 years. bc the faceup looks like at LEAST a few layers of paint with a bad sealant so (as someone whos removed two full body resin paint jobs) i know acetone would be quickest (but alcohol is safest. but we will see)

assess the damage AGAIN. i predict that she is severely yellowed (due to the cracks on the cheek) but the question of if it is either just. in those spots where the faceup cracked or if its all over is really unsure. i mainly want to get her to try retrobrighting (which ive done on older MLP with great success and it seems to be something that works for this kind of vinyl as well) on her and just. fix up a doll that is beyond repair for most people lol. from what ive experienced with resin, i think the yellowing could either be all over (and the head was painted to try and hide this. although this clearly did not go well lol, altho i think its a sealant issue and not a paint issue, as it kind of looks like when ive fucked up with MSC (a common sealant for bjds)) or it could be just... shes been in sunlight and where the paint cracked got unevenly yellowed (i experienced this most recently with my big blue boy, where all the blue paint kind of. protected his resin and the non covered parts got more yellow). so its kind of a toss up. or a mysterious third thing you never know.

once shes all clean (which i assume will take a while due to well... how bad of shape that she is in), ill probably sit with it for a few days and then get milliput and sculpt a new nose. this will not be fun for me i think because I just... am not a sculpting fan (funny thing when this project WILL have a lot of sculpting) and much prefer sanding. I'm not too mad about the chin being sanded down (as the original had an INSANELY pointed chin which I really didn't like. I hate sanding vinyl so this works for me) or the eyes being opened (other than.. having to figure out the size on my own and pray for the best). Most of the mods are not... bad to me and are partially why I'm drawn to miss yucky bc like... the diseases but also the fact that the mods do mostly make the head cuter for me

Redo the faceup. I would love to keep the elements of the original with the big eyelashes as I find them cute, but the BIGGEST order of business is eyebrows good god. I'll have to paint over the mod that I did but I'm not super worried about it (maybe falsely I've never painted a vinyl head in full bc I have exactly one vinyl doll) and then hope i can get the head right on the first try. depending on how bad the yellowing is (and if im able to retrobright her to a lighter skin tone, as the body i have is pretty light (altho it doesnt match any skins from this company so. its a whole thing its ok)) i might just paint the whole head (or even come up with a story or reason why its mismatched. I have a lot of heads and bodies like that so I don't mind fully lol). It's just kind of a scary tossup on how bad of shape everything is.

Done <3 i really dont think itll be TOO bad but i also like... think i wont know fully until i get my hands on her if i do. She would be pretty tiny too (as in 45 cm or so, or for the americans, 1.5 ft) but I do love that scale of doll so. it could work.

#twist rambles #bjd posting #im truly thinking abt it bc minus the eyes i do rly have all the parts id need for her?? and i feel bad for her so.#talking myself into horrific purchases IS my passion but I genuinely feel so charmed by her... like i just... its the same as w old ponies #where i go oh. i can fix you so easy and make u feel loved. and so i do. and this is the same case to me... im not super experienced w viny #dolls but i spent a few years in that side of the hobby so ik a bit. im just mainly worried abt the sculpting or... what will be UNDER the #faceup. and trying to size the eyes. and the eyes in general lol #long post #bc it probably is. i love to ramble about my dolls tho... or future scaries. but i think it would be fun and i am in the middle of a few #projects rn so. i might as well.#which reminds me after i finish the horrible thing im reading i need to finish scrubbing my doll... and get superglue on another. i have ha #two boys dismembered bodies on my floor for a few days so. i have to take care of it <- they had to get restrung #also sorry this is probably like... super incoherent for EVERYONE but. i hope you enjoy seeing my justification for a really bad purchase l #lmao. still holding off to see what buyee says on the shipping but... it would be so sillies <- famous last words.

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idridian · 2 years

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it goes like this:

i moved into my own place a few months ago (i live alone now. it’s quiet and uneventful, intentionally so)

this saturday, i have cards for a play (one card for me and one for my sister)

earlier today (in quick succession), both my sisters tested positive (not pcr. quick tests, for now. the final results will be in soon, i am told)

(i no longer live with my family. i dont think ive seen them in the past two weeks)

(i am safe)

my sister texts me: you might have to find someone else to go see the play with

tell me if the pcr test comes back negative, i reply

(our parents are middle aged. both used to smoke for years. theyre not perfectly healthy - i remember a time in late 2019, when my mother had a cough that just wouldnt go away. i remember being very, very afraid)

(what does smoking do to the lungs, long term?) (nothing good)

if both my sisters have it (they still live with our parents)

(they’ll have it too, wont they?)

i no longer live at home

(i am safe. i am young and my lungs are fine and i am safe)

the noose has tightened far enough to catch us (two and a half years. finally it’s here)

well... not us.

them

not me (i no longer live at home) (i got out just in time)

who am i going to go see the play with on saturday? (are my parents going to get sick now, are my parents going to walk away from this, are my sisters going to lose the coin toss and end up gravely ill despite their youth and their health)

who do i ask to see the play with me? (maybe the pcr test will come back negative. would that be any better?)

am i angry? (my sister was on a trip just the other week. both of them were recently. its easy to see the connection)

(im tired, mostly. tired and scared) (not for myself. i am safe)

(pulled my head back just in time before the noose drew tight)

(doesnt feel like much of a victory, all things considered)

#ramblings o' mine #covid19 #apocalypse boogaloo #hello i am having a stress dont talk to me

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amidstsaltandsmoke · 3 years

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Drabble challenge- 46 and maybe extra angsty please 🥲🥲🥲

Hiiiiiii! Ok, I don't think that I really pulled off the EXTRA angsty, but there IS angst involved!😆 Then I had to throw in the hurt/comfort/fluff. I also changed up the quote a little bit, I hope you don't mind! This is from an unnamed universe I'm currently working on 😌🥰 Hope you like!!!! Thanks for the ask! 🤗🤗🤗 ________________________________________________ 46.) “I thought you were dead!”

Jon was losing his damn mind.

Dany never went this long without responding to his texts and calls, especially when he was out of state for work and he only had technology to rely on to reach her. He wasn't possessive by nature, but ever since learning of her sometimes fragile condition - to which she insisted was not the case - he couldn't and wouldn't dare let his protectiveness be put by the wayside.

She was too important to him, and he really didn't know what he would do without her. Couldn't even begin to outline a picture of what his life would even look like without her right by his side in it.

He'd left the project early so he could return to the rental house and try her again. His boss had all but tossed him off the property by the hem of his pants because he'd been not only obsessively checking and rechecking his phone, but he was far too distracted and had already nearly drilled his thumb into a roof.

It was all in support, however - his boss knew Jon well, and understood the situation, and wouldn't sack him just because he loved his wife so hard it made him physically ill to think she might be in some form of danger. He didn't even care if she'd suffered a paper cut. He'd disinfect and bandage the shit out of that, too.

Gods, he was just as bad as her father had been, wasn't he? The very hovery, constantly-looking-over-shoulder person that Dany loathed and grew up with. He tried not to be, and most times he was successful. But he also wasn't typically eight hours away, halfway across the country, either.

He paced the living room, the other line just ringing and ringing with no answer. Her silky voice in the form of her voicemail passed through his ear again, and he sighed heavily. "Dany, I don't know what's goin' on, but you're really freaking me out. I'm sure you'll have my head when you see all the missed calls and messages...but please just let me know you're ok. You can send me the middle finger emoji for all I care. Love you more than anything. Bye."

Thumbing the red "END" button, he chewed on his lip and looked around the mostly-barren room, save for his suitcase which was still packed with his clothes. Tomorrow was the last day he needed to be here before flying back home...how crazy would it be to catch that night's red eye, anyway? And how livid would Dany be that he ditched this huge contract at the tail end?

His heart was made up before he could even try to rationalize it.

"Davos? I'm gonna take off...it's not like her to-," he chuckled nervously, while Davos commanded him to 'say no more and go get your girl'. "Thanks, mate. I'll keep you updated."

He wasn't sure Davos wanted to know any more than whether or not he found Dany safe and sound with all of the sulking he'd been doing the last several days.

Jon gathered up his toiletries from the bathroom in one hand, while his other was busy weaving around the airline website to book the soonest flight. To his relief, there was one in an hour and a half, which would give him just enough time to call for a rideshare and zoom his way over with thirty minutes to spare.

After the typical hell that was the airport and boarding process, plus the hole he burned through his credit card in just two hours alone (beyond worth it), he was in the air. Another torture was the distance; he managed to get himself a nonstop flight and shaved off two hours but still…

Naturally, he refused to sleep. His phone was clutched in his hand so the moment he landed, he could check it to see if he’d gotten any responses.

No luck.

He rushed through baggage and had already scheduled his next rideshare prior to his flight. Now that he was in his homeland and a mere twenty minutes from home, the anxiety and nausea were really setting in, the what-ifs and the endless possibilities; he wouldn’t know what he’d do if she wasn’t at the house…

When they pulled up, he was flooded with relief to see that her car was in the driveway, had he couldn’t have grabbed his luggage and get to the front door fast enough. He rifled for his keys and jammed it into the lock, Ghost’s howls instant and persistent until he got the door open and he whined upon seeing Jon walk through.

“Hey boy,” he greeted quietly, giving him a few good scruffs before haphazardly dumping his stuff on the floor and locking up behind him. He paused and strained his ears, exhaling when he heard the shower running upstairs.

Once he was in the conjoining bedroom, Ghost hot on his heels, he took his time shedding some layers and kicking off his shoes. On the nightstand sat a brown paper bag, folded shut, which was a little odd, but everything appeared to be in normal order. Their regular things skewed about as it was when they were there, Dany’s pajamas laid out on her side of the bed.

As he was going through his drawers to find some pajama pants, the bathroom door opened and he spun on his heel, just to confirm that she was there, safe and in the flesh.

A gust of air gasped into her mouth, her hand flying to her towel-clad chest as she jumped backward. “Seven hells! You scared the life out of me!” She breathed, her cheeks pink from the warm shower and damp hair tumbling about her shoulders. Even just the good-natured joke made him wince; it was the dormant worry that had been on his mind for hours now.

Then, a fond smile came over her face. “You’re home early.”

He was exhausted, and maybe that was why he couldn’t find it in him then to be playful, his brows twisting and her face falling a fraction. “You didn’t answer my texts or calls,” he said as gently as he could, but the fatigue was evident in his tone.

Dany blinked, then crossed her arms over herself, but she was still trying to keep it light. “Missi and I went on an impromptu girls’ vacation after my test and...,” she paused and stepped over to the mysterious paper bag, rustled her hand in it, then withdrew her phone and wiggled it, “dropped it into a pool.”

Jon took a moment to himself to shuck off his jeans and slip into his pajamas. He didn’t want to admit it...didn’t want to give her the ‘w’ word, but they were honest to the bone with one another. It was just how they programmed. He was still a little cowardly, avoiding her eyes when he said it. “I was worried sick about you.”

He heard her huff, and finally lifted his eyes to get a read on her. Clearly she was irritated, but not entirely furious. “There was nothing to worry about, Jon. I was stupid and dropped-”

“Not stupid,” he chided, cutting her a stern look. She was anything but.

Now she rolled her eyes. “It was only a little over a day; I didn’t think it was such a big deal if I just waited until I got home to try and fix it. All the stores were closed by the time I got in. And it was only a little over two days,” she defended.

Slowly, Jon frowned, and it grew deeper by the second. “A lot can happen in a little over two days, Dany,” he stated, tossing his jeans into the hamper in the closet.

“What did you expect had even happened?” She laughed humorlessly, getting more agitated by the second. Then she buried her phone back in the bag, which he now realized was full of rice, and disappeared into the bathroom, returning with her hair brush and began to detangle the damp knots.

He grit his teeth, fists clenching and loosening at his sides. “I don’t know, Dany, but I always get this terrible feeling in my gut after a period of time passes and I don’t hear from you,” his voice rose a hair. “I know you don’t want to hear it, and it’s bloody ridiculous on my end, but it kills me that I can’t turn it off. I worry when you’re at work, when you do a grocery run and I’m not there…,” he huffed and shook his head, running his hands down his face and briefly hiding behind them. He was overwrought with jet lag and lack of sleep and emotions on high, but he’d opened the floodgates now.

“Well, I’m not a fragile piece of glass that needs to be in a bubble day in and day out,” she returned, “or maybe I am, who knows! But I don’t want to be thought of that way. You know that. It makes me feel worse about myself and what I’m capable of and gives me heightened anxiety. I worry when you worry and it’s a vicious cycle!”

Closing his mouth, he forced himself to inhale a lungful of air through his nose, releasing it between his lips. “I do know. But it’s how I’m wired; I can’t help it sometimes.” Dropping his arms to his sides, he sighed. Gods, of course she wasn’t fragile. She was, far and away, the strongest woman, the toughest human being he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing let alone sharing a life with. He made it a point to remind her of that every single day, with all sincerity. She was the best thing that could have ever happened to him, bar none. Some days he wondered how and why he’d gotten so damn lucky, such as now. He was doing the very thing he swore he wouldn’t. Her father had been overbearing enough. And it wasn’t all-consuming always, but sometimes his nerves got the best of him.

Dany’s eyes narrowed. “Did you think I died or something?”

The dagger twisted in his stomach once more. “That’s where the worst of my thoughts went, yes.”

With a hard look and silence, she went back into the bathroom. For a while there was nothing but the sound of her trying to feed her brush through her hair.

“Dany.”

“What?” She asked through her teeth.

Maybe he ought to give her time and space to breathe for a few minutes, but gods, he needed her so, so bad. Just to physically hold her and know she was safe and whole and unhurt, but also that he had made a colossal fuck-up. He’d seen the tears welling in her eyes before she could hide them away, and it broke him. He was a blistering idiot. She had texted him that her test came back normal, and yet here he was with frazzled, totally frayed nerves.

Dany had one too many brushes with death in her young life, and he knew how she felt about that, too.

He crossed the room and stopped at the threshold, discovering that she was having a hell of a time getting the tangles out, and her face was scrunched adorably. Without a word, he reached for the brush and took it from her. A little stubbornly, her arms fell to her sides, defeated. Jon parted her hair in half and twisted it up out of the way while he gently began with the under layers first.

He could feel her eyes burning through him in the mirror. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as he looked her straight in the eyes, his voice thick and gruff.

Wordlessly she spun around and curled her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into his neck. In return, he secured her against him, nuzzling into her half dried hair and kissing the top of her head several times.

All of the fear seemed to evaporate off of his shoulders having her gathered up in his arms, grounding him, and maybe even herself. They stayed like that for a while before Jon moved them to the bedroom and he had her sit, then crawled up behind her on the bed to finish her hair. Nobody spoke for a time, but it wasn’t a tense silence, at least.

Once he finished, she reached back to squeeze his thigh, then stood to her feet and dropped her towel. Although his body reacted as it always did, it was evident that they both needed a good rest. He scooted to the edge of the bed and after she’d pulled on her silky sleep shorts, he motioned for her to lift her arms, and he slid on the matching top.

Before he could move again, she stepped between his legs and curled her arms around his head, holding him against her abdomen while he, happily, linked his arms around her middle and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered. Softly, she hushed him when he made a sound to argue. “I wish I didn’t get so defensive. Maybe it’ll get better with time.”

Shifting his head, he planted his chin on her breast bone and peered up at her, while she gazed back down on him and raked her fingers through his hair. “I don’t want you to change, Dany. Not anything, not ever.”

She studied his face for a few beats, her other hand cradling one side before she leaned down to kiss him sweetly. Jon did not consider himself a religious man, but she was the closest thing to heaven that he could conjure up. Rolling back, he took her with him fully onto the bed as she squeaked, and situated them so he could lay beside her. There was barely any part of them that wasn’t touching, their limbs a tangled mess.

“And anyway…,” he smirked slyly, “S’kind of sexy when you put me in my place.”

She quirked one thick eyebrow, her index tracing over his facial features. He was seconds away from completely passing out, the heaviness looming over his eyes. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” he conceded lazily, sliding his hand under her shirt to smooth over her warm back, her velvety skin a contrast against his worn hands and making her shiver under it. “How was your vacation?”

Dany pulled a face, lifting one shoulder. “Fun, but I bet I missed you more than you missed me.”

“I doubt that very much,” he croaked, blinking slowly now, but fighting it. “Has your boss ever thrown you out of your workplace for moping over your husband?”

“Jon!” She gasped, perfectly affronted and pinching his cheek.

He chuckled sleepily, then buried his face in her chest, kissing at the exposed skin there. “I think it did everyone a favor, honestly. And it was almost completed anyway, so…”

“So, you risked a job you adore and traveled eight hours unplanned, all because my arse was clumsy and let my phone go for a swim?”

“No,” he resurfaced from the warm haven of her skin, tilting his head up to see her properly, “because I love you. And don’t think I wouldn’t do it again,” he frowned in thought as an idea formed, “maybe we should get you one of those old people phones that you can wear like a necklace.”

Dany tossed her head back with a burst of laughter, and Ghost materialized on the bed to see what all the ruckus was about, until he decided he didn’t care anymore and stole Jon’s side of the bed. Jon grinned madly, rolling onto his back. Dany folded her arms over his chest while she caught her breath, her hair a silver curtain around them. “You wouldn’t dare,” she challenged quietly, leaning over to switch off the lamp, then curled herself around him completely, her breath tickling his cheek. “I love you so much,” she whispered, her hand returning to his face to caress.

The dull moonlight filtered in through the window, casting one half of her face in a faint blue. She pulled him closer and he poured all of his words and soul into his kiss, giving her a few small pecks afterwards. “I love you more than anything in this world, Daenerys.”

#jonerys #jonerys drabble #fic prompts #is it really a drabble if its 2700 words?

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angry-geese · 3 years

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At Dawn’s Break III

PB!Dio Brando x Maid!Reader, Jonathan Joestar x Reader (platonic)

Warnings: none! sfw, mention of death, but nothing too graphic. Mostly plot. Not the healthiest relationship dynamic. Technically yandere Dio but its very tame

Notes: Part One- sfw, Part Two- nsfw, Part Four - nsfw

This has been in my drafts for so long I’m so sorry. I do have a friend helping me edit my ao3 stuff so there might be some grammatical differences between that and the stuff posted here but i'll try to keep it as consistent as possible- story-wise its still the same.

In the coming months, word would arrive of your father’s death.

Sad wasn’t the right word for it. The man was old, sick, and frail. He fell ill and never recovered. Things like that happen. It was expected. His passing was quiet, happening in the early hours in the morning. You had grieved his death long before it actually happened. Your love for him was more out of a sense of duty than anything else. He was never a proper parent, the harsh expectations of life were thrown upon you rather young. At nineteen you were left as the sole guardian of your siblings. Some nights you would scream about the unfairness of it all, others you would wallow in your pity. The constant "sorry for your loss"s infuriated you. It would not bring him back. It would not fix this hole you've dug for yourself. It did nothing to justify what you've gone through. The world wasn't going to stop spinning just for you to feel sorry for yourself.

So you returned to work.

Your meetings with Dio grew fewer and further apart. Your conversations were short, ending with arguments. What he could dish out, you threw right back. Often you found yourself bitter and frustrated with him, leaving much space between the two of you. It wasn’t that you loved him any less, but he wasn’t exactly understanding in this matter. Neither of his fathers- adopted or biological- could he stand. Putting it plainly: Dio was awful at comforting people. Sympathy was not one of his strong suits. Going to him for comfort was out of the question.

Your life was soon after consumed by the mundane nature of work. The repetition of it you found soothing. It was nice to have a routine. Even if Dio wasn’t there for you, it was. The head maid took notice in your sudden interest in work, and blamed Dio for your lacking efforts. You just nodded and kept your head down.

Mr. Joestar would soon fall ill. Due to his old age, it didn’t come as a surprise to many. Very few questioned it. He was older, but seemingly healthy at the time. He fell sick overnight with the flu, which soon turned to pneumonia. It was not looking like he would recover. His coughing fits could be heard from across the manor. Much of it reminded you of your own father, so you often stayed away, only coming around when it was asked of you.

It makes you wonder if Dio feels the same sense of duty to his father. Probably not. He does not understand family ties in the same way you do. He was very attentive when Mr. Joestar fell ill, often providing medicine for him. If you were called to help, he would go in your place. It feels false, like a mockery of a doting son. Yes- he's providing for his father, but it feels like an alien trying to copy a human. Like a robot trying to replicate human love. It’s not out of any kindness in his heart. What he feels isn’t love. Sometimes you don’t think he’s capable of it. But if he did love something, it was power. He’d never admit it, but it was also you. Having you so consumed with grief enraged him. It was a childish want for attention that he found hard to conceal. He never took out his anger on you, finding himself afraid of turning out to be like his birth father driving his mother into an early grave. Often he thought about how easily he could force your hand, make you chose between him and your family. Deep down he didn’t want to toss out an ultimatum. You had just as much of a bite as him; unstoppable force meets immovable object. In no way he saw that ending well. Others had noticed the growing distance between you. People talked- as they did- rumors spread.

“Y/N.” Jonathan’s voice startles you.

“Mister Joestar, how-”

“Call me Jonathan.”

You cringe at the interruption.

“Jonathan.” You say. “How can I help you?”

“Will you take a walk with me?”

He guides you out to the garden. Winter has left it scraggly and barren, washed out in cold, white light. A few wilting leaves cling to the trees. Only a handful of rooms are lit within the house. It feels personal, being dragged through the place where you spent so many of your nights with your lover. Calling him that feels strange. Lover seems like too innocent of a word.

Over your time at the Joestar estate, there isn’t much you know about Jonathan. Dio talked of him. Often. It was never good, though he had a way of exaggerating things. By now you’ve learned to take it with a grain of salt. Your meetings with the second Joestar son have been few and rather brief. He seems sweet, albeit a bit naive and too engrossed in high society to talk with the likes of you. The girls in the kitchen swoon over him, although he’s sweet on a neighbor girl. Erina- you’ve heard of her. She’s been over for dinner before.

"How are you?" He asks.

"Fine, I suppose." You say, a bit irritated with the small talk. "What is it you need of me?"

"I heard what happened," absentmindedly he picks at his nails, "and I wanted to give my condolences. I imagine this situation is... unpleasant for you."

"I manage." You say. "But I doubt that's what you brought me out here for."

He nods. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Then ask away. I'd be happy to answer."

“You’re close with Dio, aren’t you?” He asks.

“A bit. Why?”

While you’re almost certain he knows, it feels easier to lie. You were not the star-crossed lovers that Jonathan and Erina were, the type of partners that made the girls you work with swoon and wish for such a thing, the type of love people write books about but fail to recreate. Your relationship was more out of a mutual agreement than it was proper love, but you suppose it was there. The two of you were angry, scathing people who were capable of god knows what. Together you could be terrifying.

“You two seem to spend quite a lot of time together.” He says. “Have you noticed anything strange with him?”

“No.” You say. “I haven't noticed anything like that."

"He's awfully attentive with father..."

"It's bizarre." You say. He laughs.

"I'm heading to London in a few days- to the university. Father's medicine hasn't been working, and I want it to be examined." From his coat pocket he produces a small green bottle. it's familiar. Dio has one quite like it.

"Do you need anything while you're away?" You ask, wishing to get back to your work. There was laundry that needed to be done.

"No," he says, turning to you, "thank you for your time. I should get going."

Before you can leave, he stops you.

"I know it's no business of mine, but my brother is bad news. You're a sweet girl and I don't want anything to happen to you. Dio is capable of things you couldn't even imagine."

"You're right. It is no business of yours."

He gives you a quick goodbye before leaving you alone in the garden.

Over time, Dio has grown more serious about keeping you close. He has a malicious, possessive streak to him. Your recent distance has only brought that out more. There is no talk of marriage- his adoptive father would never approve- but he talks of the future. Often. For you, the future meant work. To some extent, you could live with that. You never knew what it meant for him. He jokes of world domination.

You’re not quite sure you want to rule the world, but you do want to get out of London.

You stop just under the apple tree. It’s sickly and sad looking. The last of the fruit has fallen off and rotted. A few wilting leaves cling onto the branches. Jonathan gives you a quick goodbye, before returning to the house.

The door to his room is open. A lantern is lit, though the curtains are drawn shut. There’s no need to knock, you’re the only person who will walk in.

“Sit with me, pet.” Dio says.

Maybe the nickname has grown on you. It no longer draws out the same reaction of disgust and discomfort. Time has softened your hard outer shell. He opens his arms and instinctively you go into them. His chest feels unnaturally cold, but being so close to him makes you feel safe. The smell of his cologne is familiar and comforting, you find yourself leaning in closer. You allow yourself this one moment of weakness. He rests his chin on top of your head.

“I don’t have long,” you say, “I must get back.”

He pulls you closer. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Jonathan came and talked with me earlier.” You say.

You could almost swear you heard his heart skip a beat. His grip around you loosens, allowing you to shift to face him. His expression is unreadable.

“Yes.” He says. “I figured he would.”

“Why?”

You almost ask what he’s done.

Accusing him of something would only make him shut down. You already have a guess. The entire conversation leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It’s a constant unease and discomfort, more than it is outright pain. He's scheming- as he does- but more importantly, he hasn't told you about it.

“My brother doesn't believe in my ways.” He says. "I would never do anything to hurt father. It's no fault of mine that he won't recover."

"Then tell me what was in the bottle." You say. "As of right now, Jonathan is on his way to get that 'medicine' tested."

"I never gave any of it to him."

Jonathan won't see it that way. The authorities surely won't be as kind as his brother. And if he gets caught- what then?

"So you give it to someone else- so some unassuming person is killing him."

Dio doesn’t respond. Do you really expect more of him? He’s proven to be capable of many things. You’ve long since learned he wants to be the sole heir to the Joestar estate. It was a given. Power is something he craves. As much as he jokes about world domination, there's always a serious tone behind them. In the beginning, it just seemed like his nature; he was always collected and intense. Some truth must have been behind them. He makes no attempt to hide that. But this...

Murder is a bit too cold-blooded for your tastes. Morally you don’t have the high ground. You don’t find yourself above much, but you'd like to think you're above murder. If its what you need to do to survive, you believe you'd give it a pass, but as the time comes you're less sure of it. Mr. Joestar gave Dio an opportunity that doesn’t even come once in a lifetime for many. It feels like a slap in the face, just adding insult to injury. This feels like betrayal in the purest sense of the word. While you aren’t close to his father, you have a bit of respect for the man. His death would not cause you the same grief as your own father’s, but you would be sad.

But he is old, and not all old people recover from illness.

Most of the estate would go to Jonathan upon his father’s death. Really, this seems short-sighted. As the younger son, Dio isn’t entitled to all that much. But getting rid of his brother might be easier said than done. Part of you is angry for how little he’s thought this through. Truly, you expected more from him. With as much as he schemes, you had expected a better plan.

Your reaction isn’t quite what he expected. Anything but blind love and acceptance is seen as betrayal to him. To you, everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong.

If he fails- if- there is no recovering from this. If he is caught, many signs point to you as an accomplice.

Silently he exits, leaving you alone in his dark room.

#jjba #jojo part 1 #phantom blood #jojo's bizarre adventure #dio brando #dio #dio brando x reader #dio x reader #jjba x reader #yandere dio brando #i guess???#yandare dio brando x reader #cw yandere #ik i abandoned this for a full month #but #its back #fem!reader

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saltysideblog · 2 years

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Delilah's Kill Count: Fever

Author's Note: Delilah's sick :(

Masterlist

On Ao3!

Delilah sat awkwardly at one of the cafeteria's marble countertops.

The stool she sat on was bolted to the floor, so there was no way to make herself more comfortable. The whole room was sleek and modern, steely greys and red glass panels, much like the rest of the LexCorp building. It hardly seemed like a cafeteria at all. Delilah never liked it, even when she worked here. She bounced her leg nervously, the prospect of visiting the lab filled her with anxiety. Bianca placed a comforting hand on Delilah's arm,

"It's just a physics lab. Mostly boring calculations and paperwork."

She laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood. Delilah hummed, playing with the food on her plate. Kale. Ugh. Bianca's face softened and she leaned in,

"Thank you for agreeing to this. I know it can't be easy."

Delilah nodded, her throat felt tight and her voice came out small, "Don't mention it."

They made their way past security, nothing unusual, Delilah had walked past the metal detectors more than once during her time here. Bianca punched in the passcode to the secure elevator and used her card key to access the thirteenth floor. That, Delilah had not seen before. The lab was vast, a blackboard covered in math she didn't quite understand and counters covered in paperwork and computers. Bianca led the way, explaining as she went,

"This is where my team works, see, mostly calculations and paperwork..."

She gestured quickly to a metal door, also passcode protected,

"That's where we do our testing... and this..." she led Delilah to a corner office, the name Dr. Bianca Krill written in gold letters on the window. It was cramped, two desks facing each other filling the small space. Bianca pointed to the tidier desk,

"This is where you'd do most of your work."

Delilah walked around the room slowly. It looked nothing like what she remembered a lab to look like. It was a lot warmer. Cozier. A corkboard was hung on the far wall, full of pictures of Ted and little notes pinned with heart shaped thumbtacks.

Delilah traced the edge of the empty desk with her finger, "What would I even do? I'm not a scientist..."

Bianca turned and tapped a filing cabinet, "You take what's in here", she leaned over and tapped the computer, "and put it in here."

"Data entry." Delilah made the same face she had when Bianca had suggested they eat kale, "Again..."

"No, well... yes. But you'd be more like an assistant." Bianca sat at the cluttered desk, playing with one the pencils there; it was topped with a little rabbit shaped eraser.

"And we'd be working together, wouldn't that be fun?"

Delilah gave a quick glance to the metal door. Something about it made her feel uneasy. "I'll have to think about it." Bianca frowned.

The sales pitch continued over dinner.

That night, however, Delilah fell ill...

Ted smelled something delicious cooking in the kitchen. He rounded the corner and found a pot of soup, bubbling away on the stove. He looked around, making sure Bianca wasn't watching him. He grabbed a spoon and was about to to help himself when his wife scolded him,

"Ted, you know that's not for you!"

He startled, "I just want a taste, chicken noodle is my favourite."

Bianca shook her head, grabbing a container from the cupboard above her, "This batch is for Delilah, she's been awful sick you know..."

Ted sighed, "I know, but can't you spare a spoonful?"

She smiled warmly at him, "No, I'm making this one special, just for her."

Her husband pouted and she laughed, stirring the simmering liquid, "I can make you some later" she pecked his cheek, "Just for you."

Delilah tossed the covers off her body, her shirt soaked in sweat. The last time she felt like this, she was a child...

"It hurts, mommy..."

Her mother shushed her, pushing the hair off her face, "You want to be a hero, don't you?"

Delilah made a sound halfway between a whimper and a sob, "Yes..."

Everything went dark, "Then sit still and be quiet."

She shivered, the fever burning through her like a wildfire. She grit her teeth and curled in on herself, sit still and be quiet... it'll be over soon...

It wasn't until a cool, damp rag was gently placed on her forehead that she felt even an ounce of relief. Bianca cooed sweetly,

"Poor thing... it's one hell of a cold you've got there..."

She wiped away the tears and pulled the blankets back over Delilah's trembling form. "I'll get you some more soup and we'll see how you feel then."

Delilah's fever spiked and her entire world shifted. The straps around her wrists tightened...

"No more, mom, please..."

Her mother's hands felt gentler...

Delilah pulled against her restraints in vain; she was too weak. She tried to open her eyes, but she was blindfolded. Her voice was strangled,

"I don't wanna be a hero anymore..."

Her mother sounded different, "Hush now, sweetheart",

Different... Still familiar...

"I'm making you so much more than a hero."

#idk how well this is gonna go over #alea jacta est #dr bianca krill #what's she gonna do to her 👀#delilah's kill count #delilah #wallflower #the suicide squad #the suicide squad oc #dceu oc #polka dot man #abner krill #fanfic #text #self insert #fever

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years

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Vampr Erik Origin: Part Two

okay so I wanted to quickly get this out to basically wrap up the origin half of my new vampire Erik series Faerie and Vampr that I am starting.

Origin Part One

Let’s start with a little background on vampires:

In order to create a vampire, a human must be drained of their blood by a vampire and the blood lost needs to be replaced by some of the vampire's blood. The vampire and human must then sleep in the ground (this is presumably the point where they technically die) until the newborn rises as a vampire the following night. The newborn and the maker will subsequently have a maker-progeny bond, unless the maker deserts or releases their progeny.

If the head, or the heart are missing at the time of death, the person in question will not wake in transition; but simply stay dead. Currently, it is unknown what will happen to a person who lost other organs, such as a liver, or kidneys, and woke up in transition. Most fatal injuries, such as snapped necks, slit throats, stab wounds, and shattered bones from falls will be healed before the fledgling vampire awakens in transition. Furthermore, the person must be mortally wounded or ill to the point that conventional means cannot save their lives. I

A newborn's existence depends upon their abilities, which are taught to them by their maker. These abilities take time to learn and develop. As vampires age, they become more adept at controlling their abilities. According to the history of the creation of vampires, two-thirds of newborns die during their first year without the guidance of their makers.

Newborn vampires will be thirsty and will need to feed to survive. Although newborns have some control of their abilities, they are mostly controlled by their impulses and can cause serious harm and accidental deaths to humans around them. In addition, newborns cannot resist blood at all, as resistance develops with age. The biggest difference is the fact that a vampire gains extreme strength, and has much agility and reflexes. This is more than a match for almost every human alive, and serves the vampire well for hunting and feeding. Of course, like humans, some vampires are just naturally stronger than others.

Also, if a human who is strong is turned into a vampire, then that human strength is added to the vampire strength, creating a very powerful vampire. This is why many vampire leaders will sire huge men; they make incredible bodyguards even against a Slayer. As a vampire grows older, it’s demon side becomes more and more powerful. Vampires do not age, their bodies are, for the most part, just reanimated preserved corpses, and do they, through supernatural means, stay the same forever. There are some exceptions, for example, vampires still appear to grow hair...though perhaps at a much-reduced rate.

A vampire can suffer terrible injuries and heal from them easily. Since they can only be killed by a few select things, they can suffer injuries a human could not heal from, like a broken spine. Gunshots, swords, and any injuries caused by weapons that aren’t wood can’t kill a vampire, only cause pain. Certain vampire poisons and magic do exist though, which will permanently hurt, or kill a vampire. In 1610, a powerful witch named Antonia Gavilán de Logroño cast a spell that summoned all vampires within a 20 mile radius to expose themselves to sunlight. This caused a number of vampires to die and caused vampires to be very fearful of necromancy.

Another example of the supernatural preservation is that vampires don’t need to take oxygen to live. They can, however, force air in and out of their lungs, which allows them to do things like smoke, or perhaps cool air into their chest if they get too warm. They do not have a beating heart like humans do. Although this is true, through some supernatural means they still seem to have blood flow. Without a blood flow, a vampire can’t bleed, or react to drugs, which they clearly do. They can’t however become pregnant or produce waste.

Vampires are recognizable from their fangs, which are located behind the maxillary lateral incisors (as opposed to the canines, as per vampire mythology). Fangs can be extended and retracted by choice, and are controlled by the movements of certain facial muscles. However, fangs protrude automatically when vampires are feeding, angry, excited, sexually aroused (colloquially referred to as a "fang boner"), need to fight, or see blood. Fangs can also be removed, but grow back after three months. Without fangs, vampires cannot feed on live victims unless the victim is already wounded….

——————————-

Erik’s eyes shot wide open in a flash. Darkness surrounded him and his large, muscular body was resting on a hard surface. He could hear the springtails, beetles, centipedes, and ants that make their home in the soil, crawling around. The katydids and crickets were chirping much louder in his ears now. He could smell the odor of dry blood and decay in the earth from the deceased. His body no longer aches and he felt like he had the strength of an entire army.

The last thing he remembered was waking up on a makeshift bed surrounded by burning ritual candles enchanted with herbs, oils, and crystals chosen for their metaphysical and magical properties. He could recall a voice, a captivating voice speaking Jamaican patois in his ear. Now that he forced himself to remember while lying beneath the cold, damp earth, she said she was Mama Dalma; Tia Dalma. The powerful voodoo priestess Erik heard many stories about in his youth.

Like flashes, Erik could vividly see her coming down on him speedily and sinking her teeth into his neck, draining him of his blood. What was she? She said that she would give him the power of immortality, superhuman strength, and healing capabilities. Did that include drinking blood too? From what Erik could tell from his razor-sharp senses is that it’s nightfall. His hands reach above him, feeling around since he could only see pitch black. He noticed wood beneath his fingertips. Erik pushed with ease, although the top flew off and landed somewhere far within the distance. He sits up, finally breathing in the night air.

Erik stares at his hands in bewilderment before looking around him. Erik could see the full moon peeking through the branches of the oak trees. As his eyes moved he could make out a sprawling wooden shack surrounded by a damp, gloomy world. It’s a steamy bayou and the forest within this area looked like a spooky cypress where fireflies flickered in the heavy air. The swamp water surrounding the shack was eerily still. The sprawling shack clings to the branches of a tree within the swamp. This had to be Tia Dalma’s home.

...Yuh can stay here on muh table and die slowly...or I can give yuh immortality….

Her words rang true in his ears. Tia Dalma saved his life. Erik was about to die by the hands of white men who seeked revenge for burning down their homes and killing their families. He now remembers tasting the mixture of saltwater and freshwater, also known as brackish water in his mouth after being tossed inside the swamp by the white men. The gators would have devoured him in minutes if it wasn’t for him being pulled from the swamp. He figured Tia must have killed those men and rescued him.

Standing slowly, Erik tested his ability to move by stepping out of what appears to be a wooden coffin and into the shoveled-out ditch. He clearly recovered from the multiple stab wounds to his abdomen. His cream colored linen blend shirt with a collar was still covering his torso even though it was ripped. Erik delicately touches the skin of his much smoother chest, his head lowering to follow his movements with fascination. His blood still stained the shirt that is also covered in dirt and grass stains. Lifting his shirt up, he examined his abdomen, the muscles crunching the more he bends his back to get a good look.

There are no wounds. The jagged knife used on him to create deep gashes was apparently gone. All that’s left is smooth skin and an eight pack so rock hard that if a mortal punched him their phalanges down to their carpals would be fractured beyond repair. Erik breathes irregularly and his eyes are wide with astonishment. He quickly touched his face and head, his hands moving rapidly with shock. His face is back to normal before the white men kicked, punched, and pistol-whipped him.

“Wut kind of magic is dis’?” He spoke with a staggering voice. While staring at his hands, a drop of blood landed on his skin. Startled, Erik touches his nose, bringing it down to examine. He’s bleeding. After that realization an insatiable need to eat overpowered him. It hit him so fast and strong that it made his body weaken and stumble. He grabbed at his throat as more blood dripped from his nostrils. Erik lets out agonized gasps that turned into deep growls. His fingers damn near clawed at his throat. He felt like he was going to die if he didn’t eat something, anything.

“Wah yuh still doin’ down dere?”

Erik turned with great speed towards the direction of the vivid voice. Standing above him, was Tia Dalma herself. She’s wearing the same sheer, black gown Erik remembers, her long, slender dreadlocks framing her face and a sneaky smile was plastered on her black painted lips.

“Wut happened to me? Did I die?” Erik says while looking up at Tia Dalma with his inky black irises outlined crimson twinkling in the evening night.

“If yuh climb out of deh, Mama will tell yuh everything,” Tia Dalma steps back, “Come mi child.”

Erik grabs hold of a few vines sprouting from the soil-covered wall before climbing up with superhuman agility, his body standing before Tia Dalma in a matter of seconds. The speed still amazed him. It felt like everything around him was moving at a slow pace. Tia locked eyes with Erik before circling him. She was especially proud of herself. She finally has a progeny after 175 years of immortality. Tia smelled Erik’s dreadlocks and squeezed his muscles while circling his beautiful frame.

“I give yuh more life, Erik Stevens. Yuh will walk deh earth unstoppable, like mi,” Tia caresses Erik’s cheek with her sharp, long black nail. He looked her up and down before his eyes moved to the finger on his cheek. He gently brings his hand up, grabbing her finger and bringing it away from his face.

“Wut am I?” He spoke carefully with squinted eyes.

“Yuh a Vampr, Erik, a creature of deh night, deh undead.”

“Ondèd? Mwen? Ondèd?” He walks away, his head moving up, down, and side to side with curiosity and confusion. Mama Dalma watched like a proud mother with her arms crossed, allowing Erik to get a feel of things before she started teaching him. The sooner the better since he’s a newborn. Erik could see with perfect clarity in the darkness of the night, to the point of being able to detect bodily heat emanations. The keenness was comparable on many levels to a bat or owl but ten times more.

Erik starts moving extremely quick, testing out his new abilities. He would run to the left and stop, then turn and do the same thing, creating diagonal patterns with his movements. This speed made it impossible for him to be detected. The more he moved, the more excited he became. He was like a curious child, wanting to explore what else he was capable of doing. Erik ran towards an oak tree, wrapped his arms around it, and without even trying, he uprooted the entire tree before dropping it. The oak tree landed on the ground heavily, causing it to shake like an earthquake. This startled the animals, leading to a few deer and owls fleeing.

“Just rampin around huh?” Tia Dalma laughs before walking up to Erik. His eyes are wide and his nostrils flared. All he wanted to do was move. Staying still only agitated him. Mama Dalma grabs his arm, yanking him towards her with her strength superior to Erik’s since she is much older.

“Ah, yuh have deh bleeds,” Tia wipes Erik’s nose with her fingers, “Deh is what happens when yuh need to eat.” She checked his ears, and sure enough, he’s bleeding from there as well. Erik raises a single brow in question, clearly not understanding a word she was saying.

“Out and bad, yuh will have deh chance to play, but for now, mi have to teach yuh about what it is to be a vampr. Listen to mi, Erik,” She spoke sternly while grabbing his chin harshly, “Yuh have to feed. Deh is mi first lesson. Feedin’. Come.”

Tia Dalma grabs Erik’s hand and the both of them zoom off into the night.

___________________

A white young lady named Isabella Guidry was playing her violin on the open porch of her family's plantation home. The Guidry plantation had about thirty field slaves before they were all freed because of the abolition of slavery. The only negros left we’re the house negros who prepared meals, cleaned, and baby sat. Isabella had just turned 21 years old and she was in preparation to be wed to a veteran named Alex Bellefleur who served as First Lieutenant in the 28th Louisiana Infantry. She suddenly stopped playing her violin when she heard her mother calling for her.

“Isabella! Come in darling! Yvette has to do ya hair! Ya have to teach the new debutants in da morning!”

“Coming, mama!” Isabella places her violin back in its case before securing it. She fluffed out her full forest green skirt that reached the ground, the bustle providing fullness in the back. The cream-colored corset top with cotton bell sleeves cinched her waist giving her an hourglass appearance. She stepped inside of the grand plantation home, the eldest house negro named Mabel approaching her cautiously. Mabel was wearing an apron over her withering cotton dress, her silver hair sprouting from underneath her sun bonnet.

“Miss Isabella, ya needin’ any help?” Mabel asks.

“Just take my violin, please,” Isabella spoke dismissively, “Da last time one of ya broke my precious violin...DONT break this one,” Isabella spoke harshly.

“Yes ma’am,” Mabel grabs the violin case from Isabella carefully before turning to leave with a limp in her leg.

“Why are ya walking like that, Mabel?” Isabella studied Mabel’s legs.

“Nothin’ just tired is all,” Mabel smiles despite her pain before turning the corner to leave.

“Isabella!”

Her green eyes looked up to find her mother standing at the top of the stairs dressed in a black gown with a full skirt, her jet black hair pulled to the back of her head in a neat bun, and pearls dangling from her slender neck. She was clutching a handkerchief and before Isabella could ask why her mother began coughing into it.

“Get up here, Bella. Yvette will put barley curls in ya hair and roll dem up. She’s waiting in ya room.”

Her mother turns away abruptly, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor before disappearing into her bedroom. Isabella climbs the stairs to her room, worry filling her belly for her mother. When she finally made it to her room, Yvette was waiting for her patiently by her Astoria Grand Vanity. Yvette is a mulatto slave who Isabella’s father treated differently from the others because she’s his secret daughter. Her father slept with a house slave named Edna and impregnated her. Isabella’s mother found out and sold Edna to another plantation; the Compton plantation in St. Tammany Parish.

“Evenin’ Miss Isabella,” Yvette spoke with her beguiling voice. She has smooth tawny skin, loose curly, sandy brown ringlets framing her face while the rest was hidden beneath a red and khaki tigon, which was simply the French New Orleans version of an African head wrap. She wore a brown southern belle dress with lace drop shoulder sleeves, a low neckline, and a voluminous skirt. Isabella hates that this is her half sister and the fact that she gets to dress so nicely.

“Who gave ya dat dress?” Isabella asks with an attitude and jealous eyes.

“I made it, Miss Isabella,” Yvette blinks her chocolate brown eyes away, “I have to do ya hair.”

“I know, barely curls,” Isabella takes a seat at her vanity, her eyes sharp on Yvette. Yvette could feel her burning holes through her head with her furious eyes while she took down Isabella’s black hair. Yvette grabs a brush to smooth it down, “Well? Wut are ya waitin’ on?! Do my hair!”

“Yes, Miss Isabella,” Yvette moved at a faster pace before grabbing a clip to pin up some of Isabella’s dark strands.

“I hate ya,” Isabella didn’t hesitate to say, “Ya brought down my family, ya negro tramp.”

Yvette bites her tongue. She had a lot that she wanted to say to Isabella but she would only end up killed. It wasn’t her fault that her father slept with her mother, Edna, around the same time Isabella’s mother was pregnant. Yvette didn’t ask to be here. She couldn’t control the fact that she was half white, even though she despised that side of her because of how they treated blacks. Yvette will always feel disgusted about that part of her. While Yvette began working on Isabella’s hair, wetting a few strands, a scream rang out from her mother’s room. It went on a few more times, the sound so scary it made Isabella’s fingers tremble. Yvette was in the middle of wrapping Isabella’s damp hair around a piece of soft rag to form the curls when she stopped, a startled expression on her face.

“What da hell?” Isabella stands, “mama?” She called. Her father wasn’t home yet from an outing with her fiancé, Alex, and the rest of the men for drinks, preferably hard apple cider and rum. It was unnaturally quiet. A pin dropping would probably echo throughout the room from how silent it was. Isabella lets out a panting breath before standing from her vanity. Yvette began to quickly clean Isabella’s vanity, her hands shaky. She heard tales about Ricardo Dupoux and his revolt burning down plantations throughout Louisiana. She didn’t want to be around for it to happen.

“Go see what dat noise is!” Isabella ordered. Yvette pauses, giving Isabella a dirty look.

“Did I stutter, nigger?! Go see what dat is! NOW!” Isabella yells with a trembling finger pointed to the door.

Yvette drops the items in her hand onto the vanity before gathering the bottom of her dress to walk away. Before she could even make it to the door it was torn from its hinges. Yvette runs to the other side of the room, tripping over the bottom of her dress, and falling to the floor while Isabella screams, falling back against her bed. Standing at the door, both bodies covered in blood, is a black man and a black woman. Their eyes are round with pitch black irises, mouths wide open and sharp fangs protruding automatically to threaten. Their faces from the nose down are covered in blood and some of it stained their clothes. The woman, however, barely wore any fabric, her small breasts with hardened nipples and her hairy mound clearly visible.

“WHO ARE YA?!!! WHAT DID YA DO TO MY MAMA?!!!” Isabella yells with fear. Yvette was hugging herself in a corner, tears filling her eyes as she prayed in Haitian creole.

“Chè Bondye, tanpri, mwen pa vle mouri,” She sobbed while praying.

“No use in cryin’ child, hush yuh mouth,” Mama Dalma spoke with an evil tongue, “hole yuh cahna, gurl,” She insulted Isabella, putting her in her place when she kept yelling about how they are a bunch of niggers and how her father will find them and kill them.

Erik tasted his first victim and it was glorious. It was like an unimaginable, indescribable sweet heavenly nectar. It’s like being able to perpetually exist off nothing but sweet desserts without any negative health repercussions. The taste of Isabella’s mother's blood reminded him of fresh gala apples. It satisfied his hunger but it didn’t give him that feeling he yearned for, a feeling close to an orgasm. A feeling close to his dick chubbing up in his brown knickers. As he stared at Isabella with predatory eyes, he could hear her heart racing, and smell her fear, a scent that Erik relished. While he was draining Isabella’s mother dry he could hear Isabella’s heartbeat through the thick walls. His new powers as the undead allowed him to see Isabella’s blood and brain activity as well.

“Mwen pa ka tann pou tiye sa a,” Erik spoke with a deep, gravelly voice before licking blood from his chin with his thick pink tongue. Mama Dalma gave him a seductive look, her clit jumping below her tightly coiled pubic hair. Yvette shudders from his words. He said he couldn’t wait to kill Isabella. Yvette wondered if he would say the same about her.

“Eat mi child,” Mama Dalma says with a wave of her hand, granting Erik permission to drain Isabella dry. Mama Dalama couldn’t keep her eyes off of Erik’s blood-covered lips and fangs. Isabella tried to run with a high-pitched scream filling the room but Erik already detected her escape, running up on her at a whizzing speed that ripped through the air, grabbing her by the back of her frail neck and slamming her face first on the hardwood floor. Erik twisted her neck painfully before sinking his fangs deep into her pulsating jugular vein. Since he’s new, he drank from Isabella with so much excitement to taste her blood that Tia had to stand by him to instruct him.

“Patience, Erik, slow down,” Mama Dalma moves some of his dreads from his face, “Feel her heartbeat...yuh feel that? Yuh hear it slowing up? Deh is what yuh want to look for. When yuh feedin’ yuh must never take deh last breath or it will draw yuh in and yuh will drop out. If yuh plan on feeding yuh have to learn how to do it without killing dem, yuh know?”

Isabella’s cries grew fainter and fainter. Yvette was staring her in the eyes, watching the life drain from her body. Tears of fear fell from Yvette’s eyes and a hand came up to cover her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. She didn’t understand what she was witnessing before her eyes.

“Good job, Big up yourself,” Mama Dalma congratulates Erik on properly feeding from his victim, “Now, yuh may finish her off.”

Erik didn’t need to be told twice. He sank his fangs deeper, ripping the flesh from her neck, and in a matter of seconds, Isabella was lifeless. Erik retracted his fangs before dropping her body to the floor with a loud thud. Her blood was much better than her mother’s, it tasted like cinnamon apples. He could easily tell Isabella and her mother apart from their bodily odor, down to their blood types.

“Now, appreciate yuh prey,” Mama Dalma smashes Isabella’s head like a watermelon with her bare foot, “Deh are food, and only food.” She reminds a newborn Erik.

“More,” Erik says while the blood of his victims electrified his body.

“There’s one more,” Mama Dalma points her sharp black claw nail at Yvette, “She’s a pretty one too...I bet she tastes better,” Mama Dalma says with a honeyed voice.

The echo-sensitivity of Erik’s hearing is what made him notice Yvette. When his eyes landed on hers and his nose sniffed the air she openly cried, her hands flailing and pretty face stained with tears. His sheer speed made it impossible for Yvette to escape. Erik picks Yvette up by her neck and slams her against the wall, grabbing her chin to aggressively turn her head so that he could have access to her neck, or, another area…

“Mwen...Mwen...bèl, Mwen,” His eyes are glued to the copious amount of cleavage she has spilling over the top of her dress. Her skin was translucent to him and he could see her veins and arteries contracting and pushing blood throughout her. Then, Erik could hear her heart like ritual drums pounding his ears. She smelled so...good. Her scent was like Heliotropes with their vivid purple beauty that reminded Erik of cherry pie.

“Tanpri, pa touye m’. Mwen ansent!!!” She pleaded and shook with fear, “Mwen gen yon ti bebe k ap grandi andedan mwen!!” She couldn’t look Erik in his killer eyes.

Erik retracted his fangs, his eyes tearing away from Yvette’s cleavage with great restraint. He lets go of Yvette walking away to control himself. Yvette slides down the wall to the floor clutching her belly. She trembled as she cried. Erik clenched his fists, trying his best to control his breathing and his temptations to drain her dry.

“Erik? Wuh are yuh doing?!!!” Mama Dalma spoke with rage, speeding over to Erik and standing in front of him, “Yuh stopped...why did Yuh do deh?!” Mama Dalma was hysterical.

“Not dis one,” Erik spoke with a low trembling voice, “She’s pregnant.”

Mama Dalma tilted her head up at Erik before grabbing his chin roughly, causing her sharp nails to sink into the flesh of his cheeks, drawing blood,“Yuh came here to feed, right? Wat a gwaan? Yuh killed the other two just fine. Yuh can’t have remorse, it’s not in our nature.”

“I can’t do it,” Erik moves his head away from Mama Dalma’s grip, “There has to be another way, I can’t-I can’t kill her.”

Mama Dalma’s eyes were scornful on Erik. He didn’t cower under her gaze because he knew she wouldn’t kill him, she needed him, that much Erik could tell.

Mama Dalma closes her eyes with a shake of her head, “Yuh queff dem whites...Yuh need to glamour this one then, wipe her memory.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed with confusion.

“It's a form of hypnosis. Come, I’ll show Yuh.”

Both Mama Dalma and Erik dash to Yvette causing her to scream. Erik places a hand over her mouth to calm her but it wasn’t working. Mama Dalma rolls her eyes with frustration, preferring to kill her but Erik did need to learn how to glamour his victims.

“Alright, now, stare into her eyes.”

Erik locks eyes with Yvette.

“Keep eye contact...yes...now, yuh will feel yourself invading her mind...when yuh feel that connection, hold it with all Yuh might. Now...use your voice to compel her to do wuh yuh want her to do...now try.”

Erik felt tethered to Yvette’s mind. It was hard to hold on but Erik pushed himself to keep Yvette under his control. He liked the challenge and if this was going to be his life he needed to do it right the first time. That was the perfectionist in him, even as Ricardo Dupoux.

“...I’m going to release ya mouth now….” Erik spoke calmly and carefully. Yvette didn’t make a sound as Erik’s hand left her mouth. She stared at him with a dazed expression like she was in a dream-like state.

“Tell me, what’s ya name, girl?” Erik asks.

“Yvette,” She spoke with reverie.

“Yvette...ya very lucky tonight. Ya get to leave dis plantation and never look back. Ya can find ya family, and be free with ya babies,” Erik smiles with his blood stained lips and deep charming dimples causing Yvette to smile.

“I can finally see my mama?” even in a stupor, Yvette couldn’t fight the tears of joy falling from her eyes.

“Yeah, ya can go to ya mama. Ya won’t remember wut happened here tonight, ya never even saw me, or her,” Erik reaches out to stroke Yvette’s face. She leaned into his touch while staring at him like she was stuck in a daydream.

“Now, I’m gonna let ya go now, girl. Forget this plantation, just keep going and don’t look back, ya hear me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl, now, go on, love, leave and never, ever look back.” Erik stressed while holding the eye contact he had with her. Yvette blinked her pretty chocolate brown eyes at him like she was under a love spell, “Say, yes sir so I know you understand what I’m telling ya to do.”

“Yes sir,” Yvette says with a nod of her head. Erik left her in suspended animation while Yvette lifted from the floor, gathering the front of her dress, and walking out of the room. She was gone.

“Yuh gonna tell mi wuh happened back dere?”

Erik turned to Mama Dalma and she was on him in a flash, slamming him to the floor hard and breaking the floorboards beneath him. His fangs extended and he hissed at her with his dark eyes unblinking on her. Mama Dalma’s hands are a blur as she holds Erik down with his arms above his head. She hissed in his face harder, her fangs inches away from biting a hole through his pouty bottom lip.

“Yuh enjoy misbehaving I see. Let me tell yuh something,” She spoke with venom, “I am Yuh maker, I created yuh, and I can take Yuh life away,” She snaps her fingers before dragging her hand down his body to his crotch, squeezing his erection hard, “Just...like...deh, do yuh understand? I command yuh, I have a link to Yuh body and when I call on yuh...yuh come to mama,” She whispered before pushing off of him with great speed, standing above him.

“Retract yuh fangs,” She says. Erik glared at her on that floor, disobeying her yet again.

“As yuh maker, I COMMAND YUH TO RETRACT YUH FANGS...NOW!” Her voice boomed.

Erik retracted them without any more trouble.

“Good boy,” She says, “Now get up. I’m not finished feedin’.”

_______________

There are rows of Cajun homes within New Orleans that belonged to many white people. Some were plantations, others were of regular architecture. Mama Dalma and Erik have been feeding all night and it would be dawn soon in a couple of hours. Since Tia has already killed the men that attempted to kill Erik, Erik seeked revenge on their families. They couldn’t walk into the homes unless they were invited which is what got them inside of the Guidry plantation. An elder house negro named Mabel invited them inside when Mama Dalma persuaded her. As soon as Mama Dalma and Erik stepped into the home, Mama Dalma killed Mabel by draining her blood through her throat.

Mama Dalma made Erik glamor each white person that owned the homes so they could invite them inside to kill them. Bloody footprints made a trail up the road to each and every home. Children, mothers, and fathers all lay in a bloody pile for the flies to swarm them. It was sensual and addictive to feed from his victims. He didn’t feel sexual attraction towards them, especially the racists whites all over New Orleans, but the tastier the blood, the harder his dick became. His mortal life was becoming an afterthought, especially with what happened at the Guidry plantation. He couldn’t bring himself to kill Yvette, even as a newborn, because she was pregnant. Her fear and her words made him think about Justine Dupoux; his wife, and his two little girls, Rose Fabiola Dupoux and Felicie Ines Dupoux.

With Dawn approaching, Mama Dalma and Erik are simply walking through the bayou, dried blood on their skin from head to toe. Mama Dalma tells Erik the story of how she was created. A mob of pirates came looking for her to kill her because of a curse she placed on them. They hunted her down and each of them took turns raping and stabbing her to death. She was coughing up her own blood in her shack in Cuba similar to the one she has in New Orleans. Just minutes later, a handsome vampr with smooth bronze skin, a broad and hooked nose, thick curly hair, and a tall, slender frame cane upon her. He said he had traveled from the Eastern Desert that extends from the Nile Valley all the way to the Red Sea Coast. He was stunned by Mama Dalma’s bravery and beauty, so he granted her the gift of immortality.

Erik impressed Mama Dalma for his thirst for things. She, however, knew that Erik was going to be trouble since he’s not used to taking orders from anyone. Within their walk in the remaining hours of darkness, Mama Dalma taught Erik all about the world of a vampire and its history from what her maker shared with her. As for Erik’s new powers, he was beside himself with the pleasure of it all. He will live forever, he is strong and unstoppable, and he can hypnotize people at will. One downside to it all was that he was going to miss the feeling of the sun on his skin, releasing endorphins such as serotonin; proven to improve mood, and energy, and increase feelings of calm and focus. Another downside stood before his eyes right now. Erik didn’t mean to come here.

Hiding in the trees, Erik stares at his old home. It was a beautiful forest retreat surrounded by green. He remembers building this home from the ground up. Focusing his eyes, Erik can see an oil lamp ignited in the small window of the living room. Just beyond the glass, Justine could be seen praying with Erik’s mother, Fabiola. He could hear them calling on the spirits for help to bring Erik back to them. Rose and Felicie are sound asleep in their beds. Erik can hear their soft breaths. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the times he would enter that home, kicking off his riding boots and sneaking up on his wife while she sewed their daughters clothing, placing a delicate kiss to her neck before trailing those kisses down to his wife’s copious cleavage. He could almost feel her curves against his solid frame. Then, the smell of his daughter's hair; a lavender scent. They were always so happy to see him.

“Come on, we’ve stayed long enough,” Mama Dalma says with a hand to Erik’s shoulder, “A vampire's life is a life of discretion.”

“Discretion?” Erik looks down at Mama Dalma as his eyes become glossy before they leaked bloody tears, “Why must we hide, Mama Dalma? We are da powerful, we are da immortal, we should walk fearless in da open,” Erik spoke with a raucous voice. He didn’t like that he had to leave his family behind. Stopping here to see his home one final time was a grave mistake.

“Deh cannot be, mi child,” Mama Dalma wipes away Erik’s bloody tears with her fingers, slipping them into her mouth to clean off, “Mortals must never know bout’ us for deh sake of our kind-

“So I can never know my family?!!!” Erik’s voice was thick with emotion.

“Not unless yuh plan on killing all of dem. Yuh have to cut out, Erik,” She steps closer to him, her eyes more serious, “Yuh must be dead to deh world.”

“I can’t accept dat,” He steps away.

“As yuh maker, I command yuh to leave yuh family behind.”

Erik’s body felt like it was being controlled just from those words alone. Mama Dalma starts walking away, and Erik has no other choice but to follow her while bloody tears stained his cheeks.

“Yuh will do nothing but feed and feed until yuh are satisfied. We are savages, it is time for yuh to understand deh...I am sick of repeating myself wit yuh,” Mama Dalma scolds, “Now, let us go to ground until tomorrow night, I’m craving infant blood,” Mama Dalma wickedly laughs while twirling around in a state of euphoria, her hands playing in her dreadlocks, “I know where deh newborn nursery is at Charity Hospital!! Nice, plump babies!!!”

Tia Dalma is the epitome of vampiric evil and malice, all because of her abusive, cold-hearted, and manipulative maker named Abasi. Abasi and Tia traveled all over from South America, Africa, Europe, and North America.Together, Abasi using Tia’s abilities to seduce and entice men and women, he lured them into his clutches, thereby raping and murdering countless men and women then mutilating their bodies. Abasi created a sadistic vampire. Erik has yet to see what Mama Dalma is capable of and she couldn’t wait to transform him into a male version of herself, just as cruel, limitless, sadistic, and torturous.

____________________

It is the year 1891, three years after Erik Stevens was made vampr. Mama Dalma and Erik often traveled to the French Quarter, also known as Vieux Carré and Barrio Francés. Anglophone Americans and Francophone Creoles would meet and do business in both French and English. It was a big tourist destination. There are multi-story Creole townhouses with businesses occupying ground floors and living quarters above. There were railroad tracks, warehouses, and industries built near the riverfront. Some wealthy Quarter residents relocated to Esplanade Avenue and North Rampart Street when things became overcrowded. Here, Mama Dalma and Erik felt most alive at night. It’s been a while since Erik came to the French Quarter.

The old Lalaurie mansion that was burned down by a mob in 1834 and remodeled in 1838 is used as a public school for girls. Evening parades with drunken civilians who engaged in sex and violence thrilled Mama Dalma and Erik. There is a luxury hotel that Mama Dalma and Erik often decide to bombard and take the riches from the wealthy whites after draining them. Erik especially loved to steal three piece lounge suits and polished shoes for himself from local shops. He looked dapper with the slim fit, always wearing his jackets partially undone to reveal the high buttoning waistcoats and watch-chain. He didn’t bother buttoning his shirt since he preferred it to be open to show off his defined pectorals and sculpted eight pack. He still dawned the Vodou jewelry he adored so much.

Mama Dalma is a confident woman who screams sex. She often wore long, sheer gowns that gave you a view of her nudity. She wore heavy jewelry like Erik and dark makeup that made her inky black eyes pop. She was determined to fuck Erik, waiting patiently for him to finally accept his new life. It took him over a year to freely accept being a vampire. He never talked about his family again which made Mama Dalma very happy, especially if he was going to be her lover. It was his compelling eyes, his remarkable body, his voice, the way he fed on his victims, how his dick would thicken and leave an enormous bulge that she wanted nothing more but to ride, suck, and nibble on with her fangs. She noticed the way women; white and black, looked at him. She noticed a lot of traits in his new vampire body. Erik is calculating, disobedient because he didn’t like to be told what to do and when to do it, seductive, calm and methodical unless pushed towards a lethal violence with surprising strength for a newborn.

One evening, Mama Dalma and Erik visit a brothel, posing as a wealthy black couple. The prostitutes of the brothel were a mixture of races; French Creoles, Spanish, Haitian Creoles, African Americans, White Americans, and the list goes on. It’s been three years since Erik had sex with a woman. He would often lure and seduce them to kill them or feed but not to have sex. Seeing all of the half naked women offering themselves to him stirred something within him that he hadn’t felt since his wife. He could never see them again so there was no use in denying himself of what he craved besides drinking blood. Mama Dalma sensed his struggle and decided to let Erik have some fun while she watched, that is, until she intervenes.

Erik chose a beautiful African American girl named Althea who physically reminded him of his wife; short, curves in all the right places, and lips so round and full he wondered how good they tasted. She wore tight, barely curls in her hair and Victorian lingerie with a corset in a peach color. She looked timid, constantly staring at her bare feet to avoid Erik’s piercing black eyes. Just simply extending his hand for her to grasp made her gasp. When Erik took her to a room draped in red velvet with fancy suede red furniture lit by an electric lantern, he informed her that Mama Dalma simply wanted to watch them have sex. This poor girl Althea didn’t know what was coming to her. Mama Dalma took a seat in a corner, removing her long coat and revealing her sheer gown underneath.

“I’ve never done dis before...having a woman watch me,” Althea whispered nervously.

“Just act like she’s not even there, girl,” Erik kisses down Althea’s neck, “Ya like da way I kiss?”

“Yes,” Althea gasps when Erik’s tongue snakes down her neck to her cleavage, “Ya sure love to lick my skin, Sir,” Althea laughs nervously. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of Mama Dalma.

“Ya smell just like honey,” Erik drags his nose along Althea’s skin, “I bet ya taste like honey too, girl...right here,” Erik says while rubbing her pussy lips through her lingerie.

“Please,” Althea lays back in the bed, “ya so handsome, I need ya to fuck me.”

Mama Dalma brings her hand down between her legs, resting her fingers over her curly pubic hair. Wet wasn’t even the word to describe how slick her folds are. Watching Erik undress Althea made her fangs extend on its own. Luckily, she’s in the shadows and Althea can’t see. Erik used one had to rip Althea’s corset and lingerie from her body, causing her to moan from his aggressiveness. Althea has nice big, round breasts with dark chocolate areolas and nipples. Mama Dalma could only imagine how it must feel to sink her teeth into all that flesh.

“Goddamn, girl,” Erik practically rips his shirt from his body followed by his waistcoat, trousers, and shoes. Althea couldn’t believe the body before her was real. She touched Erik with intriguing eyes filled with so much desire they began to water.

“What a beautiful man,” Althea expresses, “What are ya?”

“Ya Master,” Erik gives Althea a wicked smile, “And da one dat plans on making ya cum,” He licks his lips before leaning forward to suck on Althea’s nipples.

Her heart rate banged in his ears and the constant pulse coming from her veins and arteries was driving him insane. He was extremely hungry and after three years of being a vampire his control became better. His fangs didn’t extend prematurely anymore, now, Erik could control it. Althea’s sweet moans made his fat dick cast iron hard. He quickly drags his lips down Althea’s body while she grabs a fist full of his long, slender dreadlocks. Erik wasted no time while bringing Althea’s legs up and out, causing her to whimper. The smell of her inner folds was what caused his fangs to extend. Althea heard it and lifted to try and see but Erik held her down with a single hand around her throat while he vigorously lapped at her pussy. Pussy. He forgot how amazing it tasted but with his heightened senses he had to be licking grains of sugar.

“Oh, yes, oh God, yes,” Althea was gripping the sheets while struggling to breath from Erik’s strong hand around her neck, “Yes, Master, eat my pussy like dat.”

Mama Dalma was rubbing her clit in a circular motion with her razor sharp eyes focused on the way Erik’s tongue would lick Althea’s pussy. That thick, pink tongue would flick Althea’s clit up and down and then he would occasionally move that muscle side to side up and down Althea’s inner folds. She was nice and engorged down there, her hips constantly jerking like she wanted to shower Erik with her liquid. The minute Erik’s full lips wrapped around Althea’s clit and labia, Mama Dalma slips three fingers into her pussy to stroke herself. Althea couldn’t handle it. Mama Dalma however would have taken that sweet torture like a champion.

“Unh! Unh! I’m cumming! Master, I’m cumming!”

Althea’s hips levitated off of the bed and Erik followed her movements with his lips still sucking on her clit.

“Jesus,” Mama Dalma whispers, “Yuh tore deh girl up, Erik...her pussy is nice and wet now.”

Erik’s lips slowly pulled off of Althea’s clit to place kisses along her inner thighs. He licked with a circular motion to make her shiver before sinking her teeth into her thigh. Althea screams, yanking Erik’s dreadlocks. Her entire body spasms beneath him, soft whimpers escaping her mouth. She didn’t understand what was going on. Erik retracted his fangs before licking her blood up that constantly leaked. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before kneeling between Althea’s legs with his dick in hand. Althea watched him clutch that long pipe before bringing her knees back further.

“It’s so big,” She says with a stunned voice, her hands holding her pussy lips open now with desperation, “ya fucking me wit dat?” She was nervous and aroused at the same time.

“All of dat,” he leans over Althea’s body, his dick in one hand and his other hand wrapped around her curly strands. Erik rubbed the wide tip of his dick against her clit before slowly entering Althea. She let out ragged breaths with her mouth unhinged. Erik licked and kissed all over Althea’s neck all while his hips were pistoning in and out of Althea’s pussy. The entire bed would moved, the brass headboard banging against the wall covered in elegant ornate French Victorian wallpaper that is a black and red color.

“Fuck, dis pussy is so tight,” He whispers.

“It’s so much dick, Master, so much dick!!!!” Althea pushes at Erik’s chest but he wasn’t going anywhere, “Jesus! it is filling me up!! unh, FUCK!”

“Ya better take all dis dick I’m giving ya girl,” He whispered to her, “Don’t run from me, I’ll hold ya down and fuck ya some more.”

Mama Dalma moaned from his words before bringing her fingers to her mouth to taste herself. With her spit covered fingers she rubs her clit, bringing one leg up so she could have a better reach. She could only imagine the pleasure Althea was experiencing. The more Erik fucked her the more possessive Mama Dalma became. Althea was taking all that dick, dick that belonged to Mama Dalma. Erik’s stroke was dangerous. The muscles in his back rippled and flexed each time he entered Althea.

“Ya making me cum again!” Althea twisted her head to the side, tears falling from her eyes, and moaning into the pillow beneath her, “UNH GOD!”

Erik’s inky black irises dilated when he saw Althea’s jugular vein protrude from her neck. While stroking her, Erik takes a single finger to trace her vein before extending his fangs from simply flexing his jaw, startling her by coming down on her with speed, his teeth sinking right into her vein. Like a pipe bursting, Althea’s blood spilled into Erik’s mouth. His eyes rolled and the grip he had on her hair became painful and uncomfortable. Her screams turned into scared cries as her hands attempted to push him off of her.

“Yes, feed, mi child!!! take her blood!!!” Mama Dalma felt overwhelming joy and lust instead of a building orgasm since she is the undead. Mama Dalma sucked the lubrication from her fingers before speeding over to the bed. She moves Erik’s dreadlocks out of the way so she could sink her teeth into Althea’s right breast. The fleshy area was like a cushion for Mama Dalma’s lips while she fed off of her. Althea could do nothing but cry. Erik continues to fuck her until his body tingled and the same overwhelming lust that Mama Dalma felt blasted through him. It was strange and intriguing to not ejaculate but still very powerful like an orgasm. It hit him so hard that the hand in Althea’s hair yanked some of her strands out. Blood began to soak the sheets and Althea’s body soon became lifeless.

“FUCK,” Erik stares at Althea’s dead body. Her blood was so rich and sweet Erik couldn’t help but to lick and suck on his fingers. His dick was standing straight up and pointed out with deep veins and a tight sack.

“I’m gonna suck and fuck deh sweet dick so good, Erik,” Mama Dalma grabs Erik’s dick, her fingers barely touching, “Oooh, it’s so damn thick.”

“I bet ya been wanting to suck dis dick for a long time...wut took ya so long? Huh?” He says with a sly smirk.

“Eva since I first laid eyes on yuh.”

Mama Dalma forces Erik to the bed with her superior strength. Erik’s fangs retracted instantly when Mama Dalma started stroking his dick. Erik hisses while taking his strong hand to rip Mama Dalma’s dress to shreds, revealing her toned body with small breasts. Mama Dalma lowered her head between Erik’s legs and with her superhuman strength and stamina, Mama Dalma tightened her jaws and bobbed her head expertly to fill her entire throat with his dick. She would suck him all the way down to the base and back up.

“Fuck, kenbe souse m’tankou sa,” Erik closes his eyes, “sa kaka santi li tèlman bon,” He spoke gruffly between moans. He was telling Mama Dalma how good it felt and that she needed to keep sucking on him. Erik felt a pinprick on the side of his shaft that made him bite down on his pouty bottom lip, drawing blood. Mama Dalma was tasting the blood from the throbbing and protruding veins of his meaty length. Erik instantly healed from her bite.

“Yuh are one sexy man, Erik, and yuh are mine. I always get wuh I want. I will take it by force if I have to. Deh dick is mine, yuh hear me? Alllllllllll Mine.”

Mama Dalma couldn’t be stopped the more she gave Erik fellatio. Suck long, suck hard, and suck often. That’s exactly what she will do every chance she gets. With Erik’s newfound strength, his dick was practically impenetrable; unyielding; tremendously solidified. That pleasure stick will have Mama Dalma feeling intimacy stronger than she ever did in her early vampire life. It was different at first for Mama Dalma to be sexual but not in a reproductive way. Since discovering Erik, she felt the strongest sexual lust in her 175 years of being a vampire. Mama Dalma mounted Erik speedily, grabbing his dick at the base before lowering herself on him.

None of the sex is quite as good as vampire sex, though, which can happen at the astonishing rhythm of 120 bpm while simultaneously devouring one’s neck and making your eyes roll back into your head. If they go from a base level, vampires create a hole in the neck where there wasn’t one before. It’s a devirginization—breaking the hymen, creating blood and then drinking the virginal blood. And there’s something sharp, the fang, which is probing and penetrating and moving into it which is pretty sexy.

As she bounced on his dick Erik fed from her neck, tasting the very blood that heightened the feeling like ecstasy. His strong, powerful hips met hers in sort of a race to see who was in charge. Mama Dalma clawed at Erik’s chest with her sharp nails, creating deep claw marks that healed instantly. Her nimble body moved at a swift speed above Erik causing him to grip her hips to try and keep her in place. They were fucking so hard and fast that the bed banged against the floor loudly. The mind-blowing passion was most exhilarating while feeding. It’s not simply “feeding” but it’s sex, breathing, having the best dinner you’ve ever had, feeling the life force of another filling you and making your flagging essence re-surge with vitality. It bolstered your sense of well-being as well as gave life to your body, mind, and demon spirit.

The sensation of feeding is akin to an orgasm, but even more powerfully so in some instances, particularly when properly hungry, which is why stopping can be an issue for vampires. That’s what Erik was experiencing. He lets out a guttural rasp, gasping for air until Mama Dalma finally stops. Erik sucked on her nipples and trailed kisses all over her flesh before forcing her head down so he could nibble on her lips with his fangs. Her moans were stuck in her throat the more Erik fed from her lips. She couldn’t get enough of it, and neither could he.

_____________________

After three months of torture, kill, and sex, Erik became concerned for his family’s welfare when a pox epidemic broke out. Just when he was finally accepting his vampire life, Erik was soon reminded of his mortal family and how they must be struggling to survive. Maybe the faith of the Vodou Religion kept them stable but this epidemic was killing hundreds of people. After Mama Dalma and Erik had sex at their home in the shack, Mama Dalma went to ground earlier and that gave Erik an opportunity to check in on his family. He speeds over to his forest home, peeking through the trees to see how things were. It was dark inside, almost lifeless. Erik became afraid and made the risky choice to approach the home. Out in the clearing now, Erik walked towards the home, nervous and afraid for his family to see him like this.

“Ricardo?! Ricardo se ke ou?!”

It was Justine, standing on the porch wearing a poor Victorian style dress made from cotton with her hair wrapped in a tigon. She looked exhausted with dark circles under her eyes. She was 30-years-old now, and his daughters would be 8-years-old. Fabiola’s birthday had just passed in August, she turned 56-years-old. All of the time had slipped away. Living as a vampire, time wasn’t important with the exception of when dawn was approaching. Justine had lost weight, her fullness that Erik loved no longer there.

“Kote ou te ye?!!” She yells while running down the front steps to their home. She wrapped her arms around Erik’s neck, pulling him down into a tight, suffocating hug. Erik’s nose landed in her hair and it smelled earthy, floral, sweet, and relaxing. This was the scent he remembered. It took all of his will power not to sink his teeth into her neck. They stayed like that for some time while she weeped into his cotton shirt.

“Ti fi Yo? Manman m?” Erik asks, pulling Justine away by her upper arms so that he could look at her. He asked where the girls and his mother were. Justine broke down crying again, her knees buckling. Erik held her tightly while a crease formed in his brow.

“Ricardo, ou ta dwe retounen!!!! Poukisa ou kite nou!!!!” Justine attempted to push Erik over and over but he wasn’t moving.

Hearing Justine refer to him as Ricardo felt strange. He almost forgot that was his birth name.

“I had to leave...for ya safety...dem white men would have killed all of ya.” Erik squeezed her tightly to calm her down.

“Fabiola...li mouri.” Justine’s voice was barely audible when she told him the news. Erik felt like he was dying all over again. Fabiola was dead.

“How?” He asks, holding back his tears.

“Fever... a year ago... couldn’t save her...she died in her sleep,” Justine’s words halted as she began to cry again, “Her last dyin’ wish was to see ya again but ya never came back!” Justine looked at him like she was looking at a stranger, “Ya look so different, Ricardo.”

“Da girls, Justine, I want to see dem,” Erik says.

“Ya too late,” Justine fought for oxygen in his arms.

Erik’s eyes grew wide and he stormed past Justine and into the house. There, lying in a coffin, was Rose Fabiola Dupoux and Felicie Ines Dupoux. They are dressed in cotton gowns, one purple and one pink with floral crowns and white dress shoes. Their coily hair is long and luscious, even in death. The last time he saw them they were five years old, running through the little garden in their yard, playing hide-n-seek. They were covered in pox that left nasty scars on their beautiful melanin skin. Erik couldn’t stop the bloody tears that began to flow. He walked up to their wooden coffins, his hands reaching out to touch them. Erik dropped to his knees, loud, uncontrollable sobs filling the room as his body shook.

“I tried, Ricardo...dere was nothin’ I could do,” Justine kneeled by his side, resting her head against his shoulder, “Dese precious girls…I prayed to Papa Ghede for help but nothing worked. I’ve exhausted all of my tears…I accept dat dem girls have to go...Marie is dead, ya mother is dead...I had no one to turn to.”

Erik stands, walking up to each of his daughters to place a final kiss to their heads. He felt disgusting. If he wouldn’t have chosen this life, he would have been here for his daughters, he would have been here for mother, and he would have been here to comfort his grieving wife. He couldn’t begin to understand what Justine was going through. She assumed that Erik had perished when he left their home to go with Augusto. Justine clings to Erik so tightly she was afraid he would slip through her fingers. Erik tried to hide his face from her but Justine’s delicate fingers smoothed his dreads from his face so that she could give him a kiss. It’s been three years.

“Ricardo, ya so cold,” She says before her eyes fell upon the bloody tears spilling from his eyes. Frightened, Justine practically leaps away from him before grabbing a shotgun that used to be Erik’s. She pointed it at Erik’s back with her shaky hands before cocking the gun.

“Who are ya?! Wut did ya do with my husband? Ya not Ricardo, ya are a demon!!!! A zombie!!!” Ricardo turns, his hands up in surrender. The blood tears made him look like a monster.

“Justine, it’s me...it’s Ricardo,” Erik walks towards her, “I won’t hurt ya. I just wanted to check on ya to make sure everything was fine. I can’t stay, not like dis-

“DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!!!” Justine yells, “I WILL SHOOT YA!!!”

“Justine-

Pop!

Justine shoots Erik in the chest. He stumbles back with disbelief that she just shot him before his eyes went down to stare at his wound. The bullet wound healed immediately causing the bullet fragments to fall on the floor. Justine drops the gun, screaming at the top of her lungs while running towards the door.

“Justine! Wait!” Erik was right on her tail but his maker, Mama Dalma unexpectedly appeared at the door. She grabs Justine, pulling her towards her and holding her hostage with her hands, yanking the tigon from her head and grabbing her by her hair, pushing her down to her knees. Erik’s fangs extended, ready to attack Mama Dalma. Justine gawked at the sight of his fangs. She was ready to scream but Mama Dalma brought her to her feet speedily, wrapping a single hand around her neck.

“If yuh so much as scream, I will rip yuh throat out,” She spoke between clenched teeth before showing Justine her fangs, “I don’t care if yuh are Ricardo’s wife or not, I will FUCKIN’ kill yuh.” Mama Dalma snarled in Justine’s face, scaring her half to death. Justine was paralyzed with fear.

“Tia, let her go...now,” Erik says as anger stirred within him.

“Yuh planned on leaving mi? Erik?”

Panic surged through Justine, “Erik?! Who is Erik?!”

“Yuh hear deh? She wants to know who Erik is…tell her, Erik, tell her who deh is,” The corners of her mouth quirked up into an evil smile, “TELL HER!!!!”

“I’m Erik, Justine,” Erik spoke to Justine but his eyes were focused on Mama Dalma.

“So, if yuh Erik, why would Yuh come back after I told Yuh not to? Dis isn’t yuh life anymore. When yuh left yuh home that night, yuh left Ricardo behind.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Justine’s stomach clenched.

“Of course yuh wouldn’t understand, child, it’s alright, yuh won’t see Erik anymore after dis...Erik, yuh know wuh yuh have to do, right?”

“Tia-

“DO IT. It’s either deh, or I kill her.”

“I can’t do dat to her-

“So killin’ her is better? Fine,” Tia was on Justine fast, Feeding on her viciously from her neck. Justine’s throat tightened and she could no longer scream.

“STOP!” Erik speeds over to Mama Dalma only for her to push him off of the porch. Erik fell painfully against the ground.

“AS YUH MAKER-

“ENOUGH!!!” Erik yelled so loud his voice could probably be heard a mile away, “Awrite, I’ll do it...I’ll glamor her.”

Tia drops Justine carelessly, “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Justine’s body felt numb and the blood froze in her veins. Erik approached her, his eyes locking with hers, holding her gaze before finally connecting with her brain. Justine was transfixed under Erik’s spell. He tried to hold back his tears but they disobeyed him.

“Justine,” Erik strokes her face with his fingertips, “Ya never saw me, ya never saw her, I am dead, have been for da past three years. Ya will move on with ya life, start a new one hopefully because ya deserve it.”

“Yes,” Justine’s pensive eyed saddened Erik.

“Now, I want ya to go on upstairs and get some rest. Rose and Felicie will be buried in da St. Louis Cemetery. Ya can go visit dem anytime ya want.”

“I’d like that,” Justine says.

“I know, baby,” Erik kisses her forehead. He brings his fingertip to one of his fangs, pricking it before bringing it down to the bite mark on her neck, rubbing his blood into the wound to heal it, “Everything will be just fine.”

Erik stared at Justine one final time before she stood up, walking into the house and up the stairs. Erik’s temper sparked again when he noticed Mama Dalma smiling like the entire thing was a joke.

“If you would have killed her, I would have ripped ya fucking head off,” Erik says.

“With what strength more than mine? Yuh can be angry all yuh please but dis needed to be done. Now, yuh have no reason to come back here.”

“Ya evil, ya have no remorse, I’m exactly like ya. Didn’t care to check on my family, I let my manman die, my babies die, Nothin’ will change dat.” Erik was defeated.

“Like I told Yuh, yuh are a vampire now. Deh won’t EVER understand deh. Keep this up, and yuh will end up dead. If anotha vampire catches yuh acting weak deh will make an example out of yuh. It’s okay...I have a lot more to teach yuh. Now, let’s bury deh babies and leave for good. Deh is deh last time I’m telling yuh.”

“Erik Stevens,” A single bloody tear fell from Erik’s eye.

“When yuh bury deh babies, yuh burying Ricardo Dupoux. As yuh maker, I command yuh to never come back here, and never go back to deh cemetery. Do yuh hear mi, child?”

Erik simply nods his head before walking into his old home to grab the coffins that held his deceased daughters. What this vampire life has in store for him Erik could only hope it would get better.

#killmonger smut #Erik Killmonger #black panther killmonger #vampire #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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lokilickedme · 3 years

Text

Submitted by @fudgemuffinanon

Ok I think I’m up to date….

1. HOLY SHIT WOMAN! You had Covid and just learned about it? How did you find out? Was it with a test? And you handled the asshat at the grocery store way better than I would have. I’m not patient, nor diplomatic, and I have major RBF syndrome… The temper goes with the face more ofter than I care to admit…

2. Your grandmother’s story was incredible. I know you don’t need another project but this could be a beautiful book. No fandom incorporated, just her story.

3. As @mollage said, the Universe is after you! But you may be one of the strongest woman I know, going through all your adventures with that attitude. Thank you Elizabeth for passing down your fiery spirit!

4. With everything that happened to you in the last few weeks, I can’t expect you to write anything. I’ll just wait and take what you give us. Fuck, I just have to deal with Baby Girl’s online school - Big Boy is responsible enough to deal with his class mostly alone - and I have to tell her to go back to the computer every 5 minutes and I’m going NUTS! And we have one more month to go…

Ontario has been in stay-at-home order since April 8th, and non-essential stores MAY reopen mid-June at 15% capacity and outdoor activities in small groups MAY resume IF we have 60% of population vaccinated with their first dose. We’re about 58% now according to Health Minister but they stopped giving Aztra as first dose, so all the pharmacies that could give it now can’t. There’s a lot less Pfizer and Moderna doses available so I don’t know how fast it will happen. But it means I will most likely get my second dose quicker than August. Yay me! Second phase won’t happen until we get 70% 1st dose vaccination. So we’re stuck for a while. We’re going out in the woods for walks once in a while so we don’t get too close to people but I want to go to a fabric store sooooo bad!! I’m done picking ticks off hubby everytime we get out. And I’m running out of crafts to learn on youtube.

Ok, enough ranting… gotta go finish knitting Baby girl’s bday gift. A 6" turtle. With clothes. And a shawl. And boots. Yeah… Love ya!

*******************************************************

Fudgey!!

Yup. All four of us had covid back in November of 2019, before it broke wide and before anyone really knew it was in the US. Husband was able to track it back to a coworker who’d returned from a family visit to China (he works with a large community of Asian Americans who travel back and forth a lot). The coworker came home sick, and shortly after that our household got the worst “flu” any of us have ever had (that was what we thought it was, a weirdly violent flu that hit each of us differently). I’ve never been sicker in my life, my husband thought I was going to die and he claims I told him to just let me go if it looked like I wasn’t going to make it. I’m pretty sure I meant it…it was that bad. I may have actually requested an assist to the other side at one point.

So anyway, a little while later it broke wide and when the symptom lists started coming out we started wondering if that wasn’t what we’d had. Husband finally a few weeks ago went and talked to the guy that had come back sick from overseas and the guy said “Oh yeah, I had the covid, did you get it too?”

By that time there had been approximately 150 known cases at husband’s workplace and six confirmed deaths from it. Grrrr.

At this point it was too late for us to get confirmed, but husband contacted a friend in Colorado who is a covid specialty ER nurse and described our symptoms and the timeframe of our illness to her. She said we absolutely had it - she’d had it too during that same timeframe, before it broke wide and before anyone knew what it was.

So now all my lingering weird-ass symptoms make sense. Big and Little are fine, they don’t seem to have any long-term problems, though I’m keeping an eye on them (especially Big). Husband is fine as well. Me? I took it in the seat of the pants, but like I was telling someone the other day, as soon as one of the longhaul clinics sets up here I’m gonna be there.

The putz in the grocery store was nothing unusual for here. What really gets me is the way people glare at us for continuing to wear masks - it’s almost scary. WTF is wrong with people.

Glad you liked my grandma’s story. Honestly I don’t know enough to write a book about her without having to speculate on a lot of in-between stuff because she was a very secretive person (probably for a good reason tbh) but what a tale it would be. She was a mess :D My mother has always been mad at me for taking after her - she never liked my grandmother much, there was some bad blood between them from decades back, and yeah that’s kind of a good story too lol

Ah, speaking of writing, I’m going to toss out a short chap of that silly self indulgent side-thing for The Department tonight (probably as soon as I send this reply off) and then I’m shooting for a chapter of the actual fic tomorrow at some point. Taking advantage of the husbandary absence (yes I know that’s not a word but it works)

I feel ya on the homeschooling - the boys finished their semester two weeks ago and the stress of that final week for Big (9th grade) was insane.

I wish we were under a stay-at-home order, but where I live hardly anyone obeyed it when we WERE. I love living here but I swear sometimes the people make me want to move off-planet just to find a higher intelligence demographic.

Anyway, I gotta see this turtle when you’re finished with it. You mentioned it so now you gotta show it. I’m going to bug you every day until you provide pictures because even though I can crochet a blanket like nobody’s business I cannot crochet a doll to save my own ass. Gonna have to rely on you for that ;P

@fudgemuffinanon

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quinncupine · 3 years

Text

Among Us Heroes

Chapter Word Count: 3,714

Summary: What are you supposed to do when you wake up trapped in an unknown location, with people you don't know, and are forced to complete a series of bizarre tasks without the use of quirks in order to be set free while trying not to die? Hold on, someone isn't who they say they are?

Izuku Midoriya, Shoto Todoroki, and Katsuki Bakugo need to work together to figure out a way out of this insane experiment before someone dies.

Notes: I've been playing a whole lot of Among Us lately and I couldn't help but wonder how a game similar to that would play out between these three. The only difference is this isn't a game and if they aren't careful, someone will die.

Warnings: Blood and Violence

Quinn's Masterlist!

...

Hushed breaths filled the air. The only other sounds were the eerie creaking of the vents overhead. Izuku worked quickly, his hands racing over the thick wires that controlled the lights and flinched when one of the wires sparked, nearly shocking him. He'd already messed up twice and the complete darkness surrounding them was freaking him out. It had been dark for almost a full three minutes now, anything could've happened.

"How's it coming?" Shoto glanced around them, straining his ears for the slightest sounds. The dim flashlight he was holding over the wires blinked off for a few seconds before he tapped the back and the light weakly fluttered back to life.

"They've been severed. I have to strip them and twist them back together." He mumbled, tying the last two together in the hopefully correct pattern this time. "I don't know how long that'll last though."

"We need to find the others. Bakugo ran off on his own again." Shoto clicked the flashlight off as the pale fluorescents flickered back on above them.

"It's better to stick together, given the circumstances, but teamwork isn't really in Kacchan's vocabulary." Izuku sighed, pulling at the itchy black collar locked around his neck. "It's dangerous alone."

Shoto tucked the little flashlight back into his belt and motioned for Izuku to follow. "Come on, we shouldn't linger here." He stepped out of Electrical, glancing in both directions. The dim hallway was void of life and he couldn't decide if that was more or less unsettling. "Clear, let's go."

The boys had decided early on that it would be safer to stick together, but Katsuki being Katsuki, had decided he didn't need anyone's help and stormed off by himself. His pride might very well be the death of him.

Two pairs of footsteps echoed around them as they walked down the corridor, heading for their next task. If they completed all the tasks, then they would win, they would be set free. At least, that's what the voice on the loudspeaker had told them. Katsuki blew it off, running off on his own saying he'd find his own way out, but after what happened in the Cafeteria earlier, Izuku and Shoto had decided the safest option was to complete the tasks until they could figure a way out for everyone.

"The closest task is in the Engine Room." Shoto had pulled out the small holographic map that highlighted his face in a gentle blue. "There are no windows. Do you think we're aboard some sort of ship?"

"That could be the be case." Izuku shuffled through the contents in his utility belt. "If we are on some sort of ship, then that adds to the dangers of trying to escape. If we were-"

Shoto held out an arm, shutting Izuku up. "Do you hear that?"

Izuku blinked and looked around the dingy hallway, straining his ears. In the distance, they heard the faint sounds of soft footfalls. The light didn't even let them see properly all the way down the hall, like it was meant to obscure their vision.

"Be on guard." Shoto tucked the holographic map back into his pocket and spread his feet into a more defensive position.

A figure slowly emerged from the shroud of darkness, leaning against the wall as they dragged themselves forward. It was a girl, wearing the yellow version of the same uniform they'd all woken up in. Well, it was mostly yellow, aside from the giant splotch of red running down her right side. There was a dazed look in her eyes when she looked up at them.

"Help." She whimpered as her body gave out and she slid down the wall.

The boys glanced at each other before Izuku rushed forward, Shoto following close behind. He caught the girl, who was at least a few years younger than him, before she could hit the ground. Thinking back on it, she was one of the youngest ones here, just a middle schooler dragged into some sort of twisted game.

"What happened?" Izuku helped her sit up against the wall.

"It was Sugi-Sugiyama." She spluttered out, clutching her side. "I don't understand, he would never..." Hair fell in front of her face. "He wouldn't."

"Sugiyama?" Shoto knelt next to her. "The big guy in red?"

She nodded, wincing at the movement. "H-he came at me with a knife right before the lights went out. He was my friend, why would he do that?"

A small alarm went off on their wrists. It was a device that they had quickly learned alerted them to any sabotages. No one was given much explanation when they'd woken up, only that they had to complete their tasks in order to be freed. Only one thing kept running through his mind; their captor, who had only given them the name Sentry, had said not to trust anyone. Was someone not who they said they were? If they did have an imposter among them, trying to kill them, then that meant that they had to find the others- and fast.

"It's communications." Shoto informed them. "We won't have access to our tasks until it's fixed."

"Okay, let's go. Can you walk...uh..." Izuku never got her name.

"Seno." She gave him a grateful smile as he helped her up, letting her lean on him while they walked. "Thanks. Midoriya and Todoroki, right?"

They nodded. No one had gotten much of an introduction before everything broke into chaos after they had all woken up. Only a few names were tossed around before everyone scattered, too shocked to stay together.

"Do you know what this place is?" She asked, limping along with them.

"I don't know," Izuku mumbled, "but it's obvious they want something from us. I'm just not sure what it is yet. The voice, uh, Sentry, said something about a test."

Her breath hitched as she jostled the wound. "Do you think...do you think we're going to die?"

"No." He said firmly. "We're heroes. If we can work together, we can figure this out. We will make it out of here."

"But I'm not a hero like you guys." Her grip around his neck tightened. "I don't know why I'm here. I wasn't even planning on going to a hero school."

"Don't worry Seno," Izuku gave her a confident smile, "you've got us now. We'll protect each other."

She took a shaky breath and dipped her head, hand digging into her bloodied side. "Thanks."

Izuku readjusted his grip. "Let's head to Medbay. There should be some supplies to help with that wound."

Shoto took the rear, keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings. He wasn't going to let anyone sneak up on them; a mistake he'd already made once. The silence roared in their ears as they shuffled down the hall.

It was odd that they hadn't seen anyone in what Izuku deemed too long. The place wasn't overly huge and if everyone else was running around doing tasks, it would only be logical to assume that they would run into each other at least a few times. They'd been alone since the lights went out. Something seemed off (aside from the entire situation) and the issue gnawed at the back of his mind.

When they neared the open doorway, Seno raised her head. "Oh, Medbay." She bit back a groan, pressing her hand further into her bloodied suit. "Good thinking."

Izuku crossed the threshold and the door immediately slammed shut behind him with an angry hiss. He barely had time to dodge the heavy metal that slid in from seemingly nowhere.

"Woah, is everyone oka- Todoroki!" Izuku spun in a circle looking for his friend. He must have gotten locked on the other side. "Todoroki, can you hear me?"

No answer. The doors were soundproof and with no handles, it was useless to try to pry it open. They were stuck until they opened automatically.

Seno slipped away from him, staggering to the wall to balance herself. Her eyes were closed and her breathing turned ragged and panicky. "We're dead." She gasped through shaky breaths. "They've trapped us. We're gonna die."

"No, Todoroki can handle himself and I'm right here." He stepped closer. "We'll be alright, I promise."

She turned to face him, leaning against the wall. "How can you promise something like that? You have no idea what's at stake."

He blinked. "What do you mean? Do you know something?"

"Your smart Midoriya, can't you figure it out?" She gestured to her bloodied suit. "Someone is in here trying to pick us off one by one." A groan drew past her lips and she slid down the wall, curling in on herself. "We're all going to die."

Of course he'd suspected something like this. It was only confirmed once Seno showed up. This Sentry person, whoever he was, had given them a clue. But the question still remained: why?

"No. Not as long as I'm still around." Izuku glanced at the heavy metal door. "I'll get some supplies, just hang tight okay? Ill be right back."

Once she nodded, he turned to the shelves of medical supplies not quite sure what to look for. They'd only been taught basic first aid so far, so anything more advanced was beyond his current capabilities. Medbay wasn't all that large, only consisting of a few rolling shelves full of supplies and a few pieces of lab equipment. He ran down the rows and picked up anything he deemed useful, gathering an armful of bandages, antiseptics, and so on.

"Seno, are you still with me?" He called out, trying to balance a roll of gauze on his pile.

No answer.

"Seno?" He poked his head around the edge of the shelf, only to see an bloody spot on the wall, sans one injured girl. "Seno? Seno, where are you?"

A tingle on his neck was barely enough warning to whip around just as a knife slashed down his shoulder. He dropped the supplies in his surprise and stumbled back bumping into the shelf. The shelves themselves were the plastic movable kind, which provided no support when he hit them. He and the shelf crashed into the ground, breaking a few glass containers that he unfortunately landed on top of.

The angry burning sensation of the knife cutting into his flesh and the pieces of glass poking into his back was thrown on the backburner as he rolled to the side, dodging the second strike.

Above him, Seno, knife in hand, glared down. "You're too trusting Midoriya." She said scolded softly. "A smart person never trusts anyone."

Izuku kicked out his leg, striking her in the knee. She gasped and collapsed backward, dropping the knife in the process. Izuku used those few seconds to jump to his feet, ignoring the fire running down his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" He dropped into a defensive stance when she grabbed the knife and climbed back to her feet. "Seno, stop this."

"No." She said it so quietly, he almost didn't hear. "I can't." Back on her feet, she held the knife out, looking like she might start crying at any minute. "You wouldn't understand. I have to kill you. I'm sorry."

She charged, swinging the knife around wildly. It was obvious she had next to no training with the weapon and Izuku easily countered. He twisted the knife hand until it clattered away and almost on instinct, pulled her arm over his shoulder and threw her down. Her back slammed into the floor and a strangled cry flew from her lips.

"I can't understand unless you tell me!" He yelled, still holding her arm that kept her pinned the ground. "Why are you doing this?"

Thick tears gushed from her eyes and she opened her mouth, but instead of words, a thin black spear-like object shot out so fast he didn't have time to dodge. The barbed tip sunk into his shoulder with a sickening Schunk. He stumbled back, but even the slightest movement tore his skin, sending razor sharp pricks of pain all the way down his arm. He was essentially locked in place, but then, so was she.

If he had his quirk, he would've been fast enough to dodge, but he didn't have his quirk. No one did, well, except for Seno apparently. The heavy metal collars adorning everyone's necks were supposed to suppress any significant use of quirks. Seno's must have been different or it was just for show. Whatever the case, she seemed free to use her quirk.

"Seno," He ground out, gripping the spear so hard his knuckles turned white. "Stop, I can help you if you just tell me."

With that spear sticking out of her mouth, she couldn't speak even if she wanted to. Instead, she reached into her pocket and produced a gun. Her hands were shaky as she pointed the barrel up at him. Lying next to his feet gave her the perfect shot and getting shot from point-blank range didn't exactly stack the odds in his favor.

The door finally clicked and hissed back open. A frazzled Todoroki squeezed through the door before it even finished opening. He took less than a second to take the whole scene in before he rushed forward. "Midoriya!"

Izuku kept his eyes on Seno who was clearly starting to panic. Her finger slipped over the trigger and Izuku did the only thing he could; he ripped the tip from his shoulder with a scream just as the gun fired. Through the haze of pain, he saw one of the lights shatter overhead and glass rain over him. White hot agony spread through his whole torso and he collapsed with a choked gasp.

Seno retracted the spear and scrambled to her feet. There was nowhere to run, she was trapped, or so he thought. She ran for the corner of the room where a floor grate opened up and she slid into it. The metal grate slammed shut once she dropped through and sparked in warning. He couldn't follow, not that he would, there was a more pressing matter to attend to.

Behind him, Izuku had dropped to his knees, curling around his shoulder with eyes squeezed shut, biting his lip to keep from screaming. Todoroki knelt next to him and inspected the wound. The green of his uniform was quickly turning red. He needed to stop the bleeding. Luckily, they were in Medbay.

"Hang on." He rushed to the pile of supplies Izuku had dropped earlier and came back with a handful of things that he laid in front of them. "We have to stop the bleeding."

Outside his bubble of pain, he registered Todoroki's voice, but he was having a hard time understanding him. Hands gently grabbed his arms and he flinched away, only for a new wave of pain to wash over him.

"Midoriya." Shoto was frantically trying to get his attention, but Izuku couldn't seem to pull himself out of that haze of pain. "Stop moving. I need you to look at me."

Izuku scrunched his eyes open to see Shoto's bi-colored eyes staring at him in concern. After a minute, he managed to get his breathing under control enough to glance down at the bloody mess that was his shoulder. It was bleeding way too heavily and soaked straight through the multiple bandages Shoto was pressing on it. He'd been hurt worse plenty of times by now, but he couldn't remember any other injury hurting this much, so what was the deal?

"I need to get more bandages." He grabbed Izuku's hand and put it over the soiled bandage. "Keep pressing, I'll be right back."

Shoto left his vision and Izuku squeezed his eyes shut again, trying anything to dull out the pain. It was as if every nerve on his body suddenly went on high alert. He didn't even realize he'd fallen backward until his shoulder hit the ground, jarring the already sensitive area. His mouth fell open, but the agonizing cry at the tip of his tongue couldn't seem to come out. The pain had effectively muted him.

In no time, Shoto knelt next to him again, ripping open a new packet of bandages and unzipping Izuku's uniform enough to pull the saturated fabric away from his shoulder. Once he wiped the blood away, he saw a nice sized hole right below the collarbone that seemed to have torn out in a gritty star shape. With this much bleeding, it was entirely possible that an artery could've been severed. If that was the case, Izuku would bleed out in minutes at best; at worst, seconds. He needed to stop the bleeding, but how?

"Heat." He mumbled, looking down at his hands. He couldn't use his quirk, so he was all but useless, but maybe something in here could help. "Hold on Midoriya."

He was up again, sifting through the medical equipment like a madman to find what he was looking for. In his haste, he slammed into one of the rollaway shelves, knocking it over. After a desperate search through the cabinets, he found what he was looking for and rushed back to his friend.

"Midoriya," Shoto tapped his cheek to get his eyes open again, they were hazy and his pupils were completely blown. "I need to stop the bleeding. I'm going to cauterize the wound. It's going to hurt...a lot."

Izuku swallowed thickly and nodded, looking more tired than in pain. His body was quickly diving towards shock. Shoto wasted no time in turning on the Bunsen burner and dipping the scalpel he'd found in betadine before holding it over the flame. Once he judged it heated enough he pulled back the bandage, wiped away the excess blood, and poured the rest of the betadine on. Then he stuffed a clean rag in Izuku's mouth.

"Bite on this and hold still." He said and quickly pressed the heated metal flat on the wound for two seconds then pulled it back just as quick.

As soon as the hot metal touched his shoulder, Izuku howled through the cloth and tried to squirm free from Shoto's grip. His breath caught in his throat and a series of muffled coughs followed. Shoto leaned over him, keeping him pinned to the floor as he brought the scalpel back down for a second time and Izuku could only writhe under the pain.

"I'm sorry." He whispered and pushed the metal down for a third time.

When he pulled back, the blood had finally stopped spilling out of the wound. That part was good, but he still needed to see a proper doctor, something they were sorely lacking at the moment.

Izuku went slack which only prompted Shoto to work faster, quickly cleaning the wound and dressing it. He'd lost a lot of blood, so he wasn't entirely surprised that the boy was on the verge of fainting, but that put them in a compromising situation. Seno was still out there and now that her secret was out, they were in danger. If she was smart, she would eliminate the both of them before they found the others. No, if she was smart, she would have shot Shoto. She had enough time, but instead she fled.

"Midoriya, hey look at me." Shoto pulled the rag out of his mouth and tapped his cheek. He squinted open his eyes before they fell shut. "Come on, no time for sleeping. Are you with me?"

A heavy groan rolled from his mouth and he opened his eyes again, trying his hardest to focus on his friend. "S'rry." He mumbled.

"Don't worry about it." He dropped his head with a small sigh of relief. "Can you stand? We can't stay here."

Izuku nodded and tried to sit up, only to immediately fall back with a sharp wince, mouth hanging open in a painful grimace. A few deep breaths and he tried again, this time with Shoto's help. After a few agonizing seconds, he was finally on his feet, leaning heavily on Shoto, clutching his shoulder for dear life.

"Where'd she go?" He managed to rasp out.

"She ran off into the vent." He glanced at the sealed vent cover. "She could be anywhere at this point, but I have a feeling she isn't far off."

His head sagged and he would've fallen over if Shoto wasn't holding him up. "We gotta find the others." His voice was all but a mumble. "Warn them."

The devices on their arms suddenly beeped in tune with the loud warning bells that blared over the flashing red lights. Something big was happening. Shoto shifted Izuku enough to grab the map from his belt. It was glowing the same bright red with the words MELTDOWN flashing across the screen.

"A meltdown. What does that mean?" He muttered.

"I think..." Izuku took a shaky breath. "I think it's the engine. We gotta go there."

"Are you sure you can walk?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He looked the exact opposite of fine. "Thanks Todoroki...for saving me."

"Don't thank me yet, we're still not out of here."

His eyes drifted over to the vents. He'd seen a lot of vent access points on their way over here. A lot of opportunities for a sneak attack. They really needed to find the others.

Izuku took one step forward and nearly fell over. Shoto managed to steady him and looped his good arm around his neck. "Take it slow. I can't have you passing out on me."

"Don't worry, I've had worse." He chuckled, raising his head just enough to look Todoroki in the eye. "This is nothing."

Shoto gave him a disbelieving look, but kept his mouth shut. Izuku was so pale he was starting to match Shoto's right side. They needed to find a way out of this place before Izuku collapsed for good.

The two limped out of Medbay following the map towards the Engine Room. It was clear across the facility. Shoto would have to stay on constant guard, especially now that Izuku was injured. It was a dangerous trek, but they were left with very little options. All they could do now was survive until this nightmare was over.

#izuku midoriya #shoto todoroki #katsuki bakugo #bnha #mha #among us #blood and violence #its among us but this isn't a game #this is life or death #Izuku Midoriya is having a bad day #everyone is having a bad day #is someone going to die?#Shoto Todoroki is a good friend #my hero academia #just a thought I had

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wanderinginksplot · 3 years

Text

Nobody Listens to Kix

Sorry, Rebels fans. This is not Chopper the droid, but Chopper the clone trooper who was part of Slick's squad before the battle on Christophsis. Chopper has a number of physical and psychological scars, and that should be enough background for you to enjoy this chapter.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Case 00389: Chopper

Kix packed his medic's bag, preparing for the trip mentally as well as physically. The dread he felt at the prospect was only slightly lessened because he knew his patient dreaded their appointment equally much.

Neither of them liked their meetings, but they were extremely necessary. After the explosion that had caused such extreme injury to Chopper's face, eyes, and body, the 501st's medic at the time, Coric, had started Chopper on a strict physical therapy regimen. Since then, Coric had been reassigned, but he had passed the physical therapy responsibility down to Kix.

The extensive scarring on Chopper's face, chest, arms, and back required constant physical activity or they would stiffen and he would essentially become paralyzed by the scar tissue.

Chopper, for his part, was terrified of all medics and medical personnel, a holdover from his time being treated after the injuries, when the non-clone staff had debated sending him back to Kamino. Even then, every vod had known that was code for reconditioning. Much as Kix had gotten a reputation for treating his brothers whether they liked it or not, he didn't enjoy torture, and that's how Chopper saw their sessions.

An hour later, the transport Kix had hopped was preparing for arrival at an outpost on the secluded edges of wild space… which was a nice way of saying it was in the middle of nowhere on the galaxy's shebs.

Parable Outpost was the kind of place troopers prayed they wouldn't be assigned to. It was quiet to the point of dullness, there was no local life to speak of, and no combat had ever come within 100 parsecs of it. The outpost was the home of foolish brothers, the lazy ones, and any men who had found some way to piss off a superior officer badly enough enough. No brother wanted to go to Parable, but more than a few ended up here. Chopper, however, was here on purpose.

Just before Coric had left the 501st, the medbay had been subjected to an audit and Coric, Captain Rex, and General Skywalker were required to submit a form detailing general medical expenses over the past year. They had managed to disguise the amounts that had gone toward Chopper's treatment due to - as the general put it - creative bookkeeping, but Coric had moved on and Chopper had shared his desire to do the same.

It made sense to Kix. After all, if the GAR or the longnecks found out that there was a trooper with such severe injuries - and several psychological problems as well - they would order him sent back to Kamino for reconditioning.

No one was willing to take that chance, but Chopper had to be moved out of such a combat-heavy detachment. To everyone's surprise, Chopper had come up with a list of places he would be interested in moving, including Parable Outpost.

Chopper had been marked for infantry almost as soon as he was decanted, and he was karking good at it. Over the years, his injuries and aggressive attitude had kept him from being promoted to higher ranks, but he had gained expertise on a remarkable level when it came to battle analysis. Now, Chopper worked at Parable Outpost as a Combat, Munitions, and Enemy Tactics Specialist, a division all of his own invented by General Skywalker and ratified by Generals Kenobi, Secura, and Koon.

It was a dream assignment for the temperamental trooper. In short, Chopper stayed at Parable Outpost and analyzed battle footage sent to him. He compiled reports and sent suggested improvements for tactics and weapons technology to the appropriate departments and generals. He had complete control over how much contact he had with brothers - most of whom he outranked - but could train as much as he wanted.

Even so, Kix couldn't fight back a shudder as he stepped out of the transport and approached the door leading from the hangar into the outpost itself. He wouldn't want to be stuck here, not surrounded by brothers with chips on their shoulders, trapped with troopers who had been reprimanded for underperforming.

He exchanged nods with a few random men as he made his way toward Chopper's office. The first few times he had come to Parable, Kix had been stopped over and over by men who didn't recognize him and wanted to check his credentials. Now, he was accepted as a common sight on the outpost and no one questioned him.

Chopper's office was at the end of a long hall on the officer's side of the outpost. There was nothing marking the door as his, nothing to invite anyone in, but Kix knocked with total confidence.

"Enter," Chopper barked after a long pause.

Kix stepped through the door, carefully closing it to avoid making any unnecessary noises. Chopper was a bit sensitive to unexpected sounds. The trooper in question sat at his desk, surrounded by datapads while a holoprojector adaptor threw footage from a battle on a far wall. Chopper's two-toned gaze was fixed intently on the scene, and he scrawled hasty notes on a pad of flimsi as he watched.

"It's time for your therapy," Kix said, loathe to interrupt, but equally eager to get this over with.

"We just kriffin' did this," Chopper grumbled, still writing.

Kix scoffed. "Three months ago. You know we have to work the scarring at least four times a year or it'll-"

"Yeah, yeah, it'll freeze up," Chopper interrupted. He sighed, pausing the holovid in place while he finished making notes and stood. Despite his dread of the therapy, he was already dressed in the gray outfit all clones wore to work out and spar. "Let's get this over with."

Kix nodded, opening the medical bag. He tossed Chopper a bottle of medicated lotion. "Here's enough for the next three months, at least. Are you still applying it twice a day?"

"Mostly."

Now it was Kix's turn to sigh. "Mostly? Vod…"

"I've only forgotten a few times," Chopper explained defensively.

"We'll see about that," Kix told him threateningly. "If you've been skipping applications, I'll be able to tell from the results of your range-of-motion tests."

To the medic's pleasure, the results were positive. "You've gained three more degrees of movement in your right shoulder and two in your left. That's really good, Chopper."

"Uh-huh. Let's just get through the rest of this," Chopper dismissed.

He infamously hated the next part, he always had. Kix had to work the muscles in each area, a process that required a great deal of physical contact. From what he understood, that had never been one of Chopper's favorite things, but now, the trooper despised touch on a nearly phobic level.

Kix worked to complete the process as quickly as he could while still working every patch of scar tissue as much as was necessary. By the end of it, Chopper was sweating lightly and his jaw was clenched to keep in the small pain noises.

From past experience, Kix knew his own face was pale. He hated - hated - hurting his brothers, and causing Chopper so much pain made Kix feel physically ill.

When he finally stepped back, Kix fought to observe Chopper with a medic's gaze. The trooper was pale and sweating, eyes glassy as his attention turned inward. He was fixating on the pain - never a good thing.

"Do you want the therapy machine?" Kix asked carefully.

Most sessions, Chopper refused the additional help, but it had been a long time since Kix had seen his brother in so much pain. It was a testament to the strain of physical therapy that Chopper gave a single jerk of his chin in the affirmative.

Kix wasted no time setting up the machine and attaching the small pads to Chopper's scars. The trooper's joints got a few more attachment points just because Kix had worked them so hard. Chopper didn't speak or react at all during the process.

Within two minutes, Kix had attached all the necessary equipment and powered up the machine. Chopper's shoulders crept downward slightly, dropping further from his ears with every breath.

As he stared at the small, lightweight machine that was currently blocking Chopper's pain receptors and causing a surge of endorphins, Kix fought not to fill the silence. Chopper didn't like unnecessary conversation and there was nothing Kix needed to say, anyway. He was just used to checking on the men's pain level and progress. He already knew Chopper's pain level - kriffing high - and there would be no real progress. This wasn't healing, it was preventative maintenance. Saying anything would just drive home that Chopper was deeply damaged.

Kix took in a deep breath, intent on releasing it as a silent breath, but words snuck out before he could hold them back: "I'm sorry."

Chopper's dark brows furrowed and he stared up at Kix through mismatched eyes. "No need," he said simply, dropping his gaze again.

The room's silence remained unbroken until Kix had detached Chopper from the machine, packed it away, and began to move for the door. Chopper stopped him.

"Hey," Chopper said, avoiding eye contact and speaking in a low-pitched rush of words. "I know I don't act like it, but I appreciate what you're doing for me. I don't like medics, but… I know you're a good man. A good brother. Thanks. See you in three months."

It was probably a good thing Kix walked with the crisp gait of a soldier and a medic. If Chopper had caught a glimpse of how much those words had affected Kix, the scarred trooper would have been more uncomfortable than he had been during the therapy. Still, Kix allowed Chopper's soft pronouncement to bounce around inside his helmet during the trip back to the Resolute, smiling all the while.

#Nobody Listens to Kix #one-shot #but part of a series #star wars the clone wars #clone trooper kix #clone trooper chopper #physical therapy #i'm not a doctor #the 'therapy machine' is a TENS machine #Parable Outpost #scar tissue #clone troopers deserve better

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-3)

Word count: 3.8K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Some angst, some fluff, mention of depression

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23 I love you, Athina <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

Monday morning rose brighter than it had a right to be; to the point that the sun was stabbing you in the eyes. You had been over and over the plan in your head throughout the weekend. By now, you were absolutely sure that you had mapped every second of the day and nothing could go out of hand.

The plan went sideways almost as soon as it started.

You dropped your bag at the threshold of the lecture room with a loud crash. All of the last row turned to look at who was that much of a klutz. You did not meet anyone’s eye as you took a seat at the very end of the top row. Maybe that would make you inconspicuous.

It did not.

“Y/N!”

Madison slid next to you on the bench, followed by her brood of friends. Lacey and the other two, whose names you didn’t remember.

“How are you, Sweetie?” Madison asked sympathetically. “You looked awfully ill when you left the other day. We were so worried about you! Weren’t we, Mer?”

Meredith- you remembered her name now- did not look worried in the least.

“What happened?” Madison asked.

“I was just really faint,” you answered automatically, having anticipated this. “I’m feeling much better now. Thank you so much.”

Madison looked relieved. “I’m so glad, Y/N. I wanted to check on you over the weekend, but I didn’t have your number or knew where you lived. You have to give me your number right away.”

You did, and she texted you immediately.

“Awesome!” she said. “Now you have my number, too.”

You tried to smile. “Hey, if it’s not too much, could you tell me what I missed in the two days?”

Madison became animated instantly. “Well, lets see. After you left, there was advanced legal writing by professor Mills, then Supreme Court Litigation by Professor Mcleod and Organisation and transactions law after that. Most of Friday was free except for another lecture by Professor Mills. I have the notes. Once you put your email id on the class database, I’ll forward mine to you.”

“That’s seriously more than I can ask from you,” you said, feeling small.

She placed her hand on top of yours. “You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“Thank you!” You said, looking down.

Madison huffed. “You thank me too much, Y/N! Besides, you really didn’t miss any of the fun.”

“What do you mean?”

“Professor Winchester didn’t show up either,” Lacey giggled. “Didn’t we turn up fifteen minutes early for his class on Thursday? And the man never came.”

Your stomach lurched, a feeling you hadn’t quite experienced in years had you feeling lightheaded.

“Well, he didn’t completely disappear,” said the blonde. “He did turn up for the last half an hour of his lecture on Friday and outlined the syllabus of the semester.”

“He looked stiff and serious. Nothing like his first day here. And even that day he stormed off, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Madison nodded. “Right after you left, Y/N. It was a bit weird.”

You swallowed nervously, your forehead already clammed up. What was it? Was it fear or worry that you felt for Sam? You had been so wrapped up in your chaos that you hadn’t stopped to consider about Sam, assuming that he must have grown passive and wouldn’t care about the past anymore.

Sam had looked warm and at ease with himself that day, happy even, while you had only survived all these years. You’d be lying to yourself, if you said that the image of Sam on the podium, smiling at the students hadn’t felt like a knife in your gut.

But if he had not turned up for classes either… did that mean….

There was noise at the front and you saw Sam on the podium. He looked every bit as dressed up and neat as he had on your first day, if not a bit more severe.

He greeted the class curtly, and instantly jumped to the lesson. You tried not to stare, but it was hard to look away. It was harder still to keep looking. His features seemed more angular now, and he was definitely leaner than when you had first set your eyes on him. Today he was dressed in a dark grey suit and no tie, the button at his throat was undone.

He spoke for an hour about the merger of disputes and cases where it had benefited the original plaintiffs and not once did his eyes stray towards the corner of the class where you sat. It was as if he was deliberately avoiding that very portion of the classroom. He wasn’t genial today. A good teacher, just like he always had been, but absolutely formal. When the class ended, he retrieved the attendance sheet from a kid in the first row and exited the class.

“Well, that was quite intense,” whooshed Meredith. “Hadn’t pegged him for the serious sort.”

Blonde hair giggled at the double entendre, and you almost gagged.

“He’s actually quite good,” Madison murmured, uncharacteristically serious. “He knows what he is talking about.”

Absentmindedly, you nodded. Not that you had paid much attention to the lecture, what with your heart struck in your throat.

The classes that followed weren’t as eventful as the morning and you were more than grateful about it. The other professors all seemed so knowledgeable and expert. You had enough on your mind by the time you left the university, your plate already full of assignments.

When you got home, Meg was sprawled on one of the two sofas that came with the house and were perched in the living room.

“Hey,” you said tentatively.

Meg raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised that you were initiating a conversation after a whole week of thoroughly avoiding her.

“Hey,” she said.

You placed your bad and laptop on the side table at the entrance and went to sit on the empty sofa. “I’m sorry about not greeting you earlier… I was going through some stuff.”

“Clearly,” she snorted.

The hurt must have shown in your eyes, because she straightened up into a sitting position.. “I’m not offended,” she said. “Locking myself in my room and avoiding human contact like it’s the fucking plague is my monthly PMS schedule. I’m not mad or anything.”

“Oh, alright,” you breathed out.

Meg looked amused. “Your face is like an open book,” she said. “If you keep that up, you’re going to be a terrible lawyer.”

You didn’t fight her on it. It was a problem… it always had been. Over the years mostly it had been a blank and your boss had commented on your excellent poker face… but clearly even the dumb expressive face was back with all the feelings.

“I don’t know what you’re studying,” you changed the topic.

“MS, Applied physics.”

“Damn. That sounds hard.”

Meg chuckled. “You really think that, don’t you? You look terrified.”

You rearranged your expression into what was just polite interest. Enough with Meg’s expert face reading class.

“You wanna grab dinner?” Meg asked.

“Sure,” you said. “What’re we doing?”

“I made some stir fry. I didn’t know if you’d be up for dinner, though.”

You felt terrible about skipping the meals and in turn her company over the past week.

“No worries,” she said, getting up. “I’ll just toss some pasta and we’re good to go.”

“Hey, Meg?” You asked, “I see you’ve stocked up the pantry. It’s incredibly kind of you. I might drive to the supermarket tomorrow after classes, why don’t you let me know if there’s anything you want.”

She looked at you with some surprise and a hint of actual liking. “Sure. We can make a list over food.”

“Great,” you smiled.

The rest of the week passed without any more surprises, and you took your time to settle in… getting to know Stanford- both, the University and the town. You attended all lectures regularly and gave your hundred percent effort to every assignment.

In classes, you listened with utmost concentration… all except one. Civil Procedure wasn’t a lecture, it was slow seething torture. Watching Sam talk on the podium, interacting with students simply made it hard to breathe. The walls of the lecture room converged in on you while you gasped for air. On Sam’s part, he ignored you completely. It was as if you didn’t exist at all. Over the course of the week, his stiff, formal stance loosened and you could see more and more of the guy who had introduced himself on the first day. You didn’t know what you had been expecting from him? That one day he would suddenly look at you with hatred and throw you out of the class? That he’d lose his mind and yell at you? Ask you the questions that you didn’t want to answer?

But even for all that, he’d have to acknowledge your presence. Look at you. Somehow the ignoring and pretending that you didn’t exist was so, so much worse. It was killing you. Every second of the class, you fought your tears. However, you did not miss a single class.

Apart from those two hours everyday, you were doing well, all things considered. On Thursday, you packed more food than just your lunch, and after classes, walked to the Green Library. It was just as breathtaking as it had been on the first day. You set out to find that one table that felt right. After a quarter of an hour of testing and teasing, you finally found a desk that looked oh so inviting. It wasn’t the one below the tall, arching windows, but rather a small desk niched between the bookshelves. It was perfect.

You unloaded your bag, and set to work with the assignments that had been set for the class by Professor Mills. You personally thought Jody Mills was a total badass. She took up cases that others were too scared to touch. Her assignments didn’t require you to reference too many books, so you could make yourself comfortable in the chair. Your mind wandered as the time passed. There were a lot of things to be thought through. For starters, if you had to afford living here, you needed a job. Your savings would last a couple of months at most. The expense of moving across the country then having to pay for the lease of the apartment had taken a massive toll on your bank account. By the time holiday season began, you’d be as broke as the china in your grandma’s old cabinet.

Earlier, you had put in an application at the Student’s employment centre for oncampus jobs. You weren’t hopeful, given the number of applications they received, but you sure meant to check in on them next week in hopes that something suitable might have come up.

It was past 8 in the evening when you finally wrapped your stuff up, somewhat satisfied with how your assignment had turned out. You lowkey congratulated yourself on finishing it a week before the deadline as you made your way back home, crashing the minute you found your bed.

********************

18th July 2008

“Y/N! There’s someone here to see you!” Jo hollered from somewhere in the living room.

Thankfully the door to the room you were sharing with Jo was open.

“Coming!” You yelled back, wondering who could it possibly be. Maybe it was the postman with your grandma’s letter. She was a weird old lady who still loved writing handwritten letters. Gramps had been to the war and their love story had blossomed over letters sent across borders. Even though gramps had passed away many years ago, she still got that rosy look on her face whenever she talked of him. You wanted a love story like hers. Was it too much to ask for?

You made your way down the steps two at a time, excited for the letter. Maybe she had sent cookies along with it. Oh, how you loved her.

On the bottom step, you stopped. Sam Winchester was standing in the hallway, one hand balancing a lot of books, the other scratching the back of his neck, looking adorable in old jeans and an open button up over his t-shirt.

“Hey!” He said.

You were wearing a loose shirt without a bra over a pair of boy shorts, with hair falling over your shoulders. Needless to say, you were mortified.

“Give me two minutes,” you muttered and rushed back upstairs.

As you were pulling on a pair of leggings, it occurred to you how dumb the interaction had been. He was here to see you and neither had you invited him in nor asked him why he was here.

To add to your embarrassment, when you returned downstairs, he was still standing at the bottom of the stairs five minutes later, exactly where you had left him.

“Why’re you still standing here? Please come in!” You urged, scandalised that you had kept a guest waiting like that. Gran would have tutted so hard had she been here.

Sam followed you into the living room. Jo was lounging on the smaller sofa chain and you glared at her. She could have easily invited him in when she opened the door.

But no! How else would Y/N suffer in life?

Jo gave you the evil grin and waved to Sam.

“Would you like something to drink?” You asked, not meeting his eyes.

“I’ll have coffee!” Jo ordered and you threw her the stink eye again.

You gave Sam a chagrined look. “I’ll put the pot on the stove for her anyway. Do you want coffee?”

He looked like he was trying very hard to smile. “Black please. With half a spoon of sugar.”

You tried to calm your nerves as the pot boiled. Being a nervous wreck wasn’t going to help your case.

When you brought the two mugs of coffee outside, Sam was reading one of the books he had bought along and Jo was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Jo?” You asked, carefully placing the steaming mug before him on the table.

Sam shrugged. “She said she suddenly felt sleepy. And that you should drink her coffee because you both like it the same way.”

Oh, that sly girl.

“So, what brings you here?” You asked, taking a seat next to him on the sofa.

Sam smiled shyly. “You said you could use a second pair of eyes for the application.”

He had come all the way from wherever he stayed just to help you with the applications?

“Really?”

“Sure.” He tilted his head, the bangs on his forehead sliding to one side. He just had such beautiful hazel eyes. You have to avert your gaze so you wouldn’t just blatantly stare at him.

You excused yourself a second time and pulled out all your application stuff. Forms, copies of essays, documents and everything. It would be absolutely stupid to not make the most of this opportunity.

Sam took his time with all of it, going through each paper carefully and you counted your breaths to keep away the anxiety. At least he wasn’t laughing at how ridiculous your applications were. That was something. When he was done, he slowly put the papers down and looked up at you.

“Where else have you applied?” He asked.

You told him.

“You didn’t think of applying to any major universities?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t think I had a chance… and I don’t even think I was cut out for those.”

Sam reached out to place his hand on top of yours. A tingling sensation went up your spine. “Y/N! This looks great. Your essays are top notch. You should apply to Ivy Leagues.”

“I’ve already missed deadlines for them… and there are some good universities on my list as well.”

“But you deserve better!” He insisted.

You shrugged. “I don’t have that sort of money, and before you say scholarships, I don’t have those types of recommendations either. I come from a small town. People who are born there, spend their whole lives in the same house. They are happy with what they have.”

“Are you happy with what you have?” He asked, the light from the setting sun hitting his face, illuminating those eyes so they looked like burning topaz.

“I’m happy,” you said, looking at your lap where his hand rested on yours. He seemed to have forgotten about it. “But I know I can do better… for myself and my Gran.”

You made the mistake of looking up then… into his eyes, and they were closer than you had expected them to be. As if, he had no control over it, his hand reached out to touch your hair, the fingertips caressing your cheek on their way there. Slowly, but surely, he drew your face towards his… and you went, willingly. His lips had barely grazed yours when there was a loud noise in the hallway.

You sprang apart.

“Y/N!” It was Jo.

Ordinarily, you’d have flicked your tongue at her or something for interrupting like that. Afterall, she was the one who kept egging on you to get lucky, and the one time you had… that too with Sam frigging Winchester, she had to come barging into the room. Uhgg… Jo was going to get it.

But her face was completely white, and her hand, which was holding the phone, was shaking.

“Y/N,” she whispered again. Your neighbour called. It's your grandma… she passed away last night.

********************

You woke up in a cold sweat to the sound of the blaring alarm.

Gran!

The worry felt so fresh, you had to remind yourself that it had been seven years since she had passed away. Grief was peculiar like that… even after years and years of feeling it, some days it just felt fresh and new. Sad memories opened up the box of more memories, not all of them sad. The thought of gran was always accompanied by a warm feeling and memory of sunlit kitchen, and freshly baked bread.

This… dream or whatever it was had triggered more than just that… you could almost feel the whisper of Sam’s lips on yours. You had suppressed it so long that the feeling was almost forgotten now and how it ached knowing that you would never feel it again. The raw, desperate part of you tried to cling on to that feeling, the memory of his touch. It was three in the night, no one could blame you for wanting this comfort of your own memories. As painful as they were when you were completely in your senses, in this darkness, they were all yours to do what you pleased with them. However, like a dream, the memories kept evading your grasp. The more you tried to hold on it, the further away it slipped. Sleep eluded you completely after that.

Needless to say, you were tired and sleepy and irritated by the time the last lecture for the week commenced. You hadn’t memorised the lecture schedule yet…. you only knew when the Civil Procedure class was. First lecture on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and the last lecture of Thursday and Friday. Lacey had mentioned something about Sam having to travel to the City for work on the first three days.

Sam was dressed more informally today. He was without a coat and glasses, hair just a little out of order… less sleek.

“Oooohhh looks like the professor had a rough night!” Lacey giggled.

“You don’t know that,” Madison shushed. “Maybe he’s single.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Lacey rolled her eyes. “He lives in the faculty residence on Alverado row. And his house is definitely a family house, not a bachelors pad… So that means he at least has a woman.”

You caught your breath. Alverado row was right behind your Santa Ynes street, where you lived. Literally right behind, less than a block away. You knew a majority senior faculty staff resided there, but it had never crossed your mind...

“I don’t see no ring,” snarked Rebecca, Madison's blonde friend, who was sitting a row ahead of you to the left.

You quickly looked. She was right… there was no ring. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Doesn’t have to be a wife,” Lacey made a face. “Could be just a girlfriend.”

“Whatever,” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t mean we can’t try our luck.”

It stung, listening to them talk about it stung more than you wanted to admit even to yourself.

“Before we start today's lesson, I have a question for you,” Sam said, calling everyone’s attention and the gossip promptly stopped.

“Basic Property damage,” he said. “The plaintiff has proved beyond a shadow of doubt that the defendant is liable. The only issue of debate which remains is the amount of damages to be recovered. Before the last hearing, new evidence comes to light about a completely unrelated matter where the plaintiff has unintentionally harmed the defendant. If you were playing the part of the DA, what would be your obvious course of action.”

‘Settlement’ you muttered to yourself, just loud enough for the few people around you to hear.

“Anyone?” Sam asked, and on cue, Rebecca raised her hand.

“Settlement!” She called out.

“That’s correct,” Sam said, “It should occur to you faster than lightning to draw out a settlement. Good job there. That was quick.”

Next to her, Madison was looking at her friend incredulously. Then she turned around and gave you a sorry look. The boy sitting on her opposite side, the blond one, who had snickered at you on the first day also raised an eyebrow.

You didn’t care one way or another if Rebecca got the praise for your answer. You were simply relieved that you got that answer right… and that you were able to concentrate in the class better than you had been able to uptil now.

Perhaps that was the reason that it caught your attention, the quickest flick of Sam’s chin in your direction, before he stiffly averted his gaze. When the class ended, few students rushed to Sam’s desk, while you made to leave the room.

“Hey!”

You turned to see the blond dude standing right next to you.

“Y/N, isn’t it?” He asked.

You nodded.

“Brad,” he offered his hand. “Brad Rowan.”

“Nice to meet you.” you murmured, shaking his hand whilst glancing at the door.

“So, we have a party tomorrow evening,” he said, grinning with too much confidence. “Down at the western dorms. Everyone cool is coming. You should, too.”

“Thank you,” you said politely. “But I already have plans for the weekend.”

“Better than spending time with me?” He winked, stepping ever so slightly in front of you.

You were firm this time. “Yes.”

“Oh, let her be, Brad.” It was Madison, who had come sauntering down the aisle. “If she says she’s busy, she probably is. We’ll miss you, Y/N!”

You threw her a grateful look… Madison didn’t seem to catch it.

You said your goodbyes to her and Brad and left the room quickly.

Maybe it was your imagination, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sam’s gaze flicker towards you… if only for one moment.

********************

A/N 2: The next chapter is Sam’s POV ;) So we’ll finally know what’s up with him, huh ;)

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flowerfan2 · 3 years

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One Night in Milwaukee - Chapter 3

David x Patrick, 10k so far, read on A03

Summary: Being stuck in the Milwaukee airport is bad enough. Then David realizes that the man who broke his heart is sitting right next to him.

Chapter 3

David says goodnight with a quick peck to Patrick’s cheek, and shuts himself in the hall bathroom, ostensibly to shower before bed. But before that he spends a while leaning his palms against the sink and taking slow, deep breaths in and out, trying to steady himself.

It’s been one of the most uncomfortable days of his life, and given his life, that’s really saying something. Within the past twenty-four hours he told Patrick he still loved him, Patrick said that he wanted them to be together, and a crowd of sleep-deprived strangers in the Milwaukee airport security line cheered as they kissed. Since then, David has felt like he has been walking a tightrope, waiting for his balance to fail him and send him crashing to the ground.

David knows that he can’t expect their relationship to snap back together like a puzzle, connected and perfect like it shines in his memory, at least not without some awkwardness along the way. And Patrick is injured and hurting, understandably not at his best. Even with all that, though, he can’t shake the feeling that something else is wrong.

He sits on the closed toilet and checks his phone. This afternoon he finally texted Alexis to tell her that he was in Florida with Patrick, which, not surprisingly, resulted in a flurry of messages. He really wants to talk to her and hear her voice, but the house isn’t that big and he doesn’t want Patrick to overhear him voice all his insecurities. Maybe he’ll call her when he goes out for a run tomorrow morning.

Alexis has apparently told his parents, who have sent both encouraging (his dad) and vaguely foreboding (his mom) well wishes. David sends back polite responses, not wanting to get into a detailed back and forth with either of them. Then he spends a few minutes sending instructions to his assistant purchaser at the motel group, and emails the director of operations to let him know that he’ll be taking a week off. It’s not as if he can’t work remotely, but he’d like to have the freedom to spend the time with Patrick, and he’s got plenty of vacation time saved up. At least taking care of this item on his mental list quiets his work-related anxiety for the time being.

Just a little while ago, sitting on the couch with Patrick, David had tried to raise the topic of exactly what they would be doing here in Clint and Marcy’s little retirement fantasy home, but Patrick had rebuffed his attempt. David doesn’t even know if Patrick has a job. Patrick only stayed in Schitt’s Creek for a few months after their break-up, and David’s pretty sure he took a consulting gig after that, but Stevie was light on the details.

As he thinks of Stevie, David’s fingers automatically find her name on his phone, and he considers filling her in, but he’s not sure how she’ll take it. His break-up with Patrick had caused a rift in his relationship with Stevie, one David has never been able to fully repair. Because of Stevie’s role in the motel group they kept working together, but they were never as close again as they used to be.

Stevie stayed in touch with Patrick, at least for a while, but they don’t talk about him. David didn’t press; he wasn’t entitled to know more. He plays out in his head Stevie’s likely reaction to the news of their reunion, and given all that he still doesn’t know about what’s going to happen, he decides not to contact her yet. He’d like to talk to Patrick about it first. He’d like to talk to Patrick about a lot of things.

David absolutely doesn’t mind spending time taking care of Patrick, like he did today. In another context, he would cherish it, being able to show the love of his life how much he cares. He knows Patrick is in pain, and not just from his wounds. It makes David physically ill to imagine what happened to him. He hopes Patrick is able to share more details with him sometime soon; he shouldn’t have to bear it alone.

David tries not to believe that Patrick’s distance today was some kind of test – he doesn’t think it was. Intentional or not, though, something is definitely off.

More than anything, David wants to reestablish their old connection. He felt it a few times, sparking across the distance like electricity, but mostly Patrick hadn’t seemed open to letting him in. They had been more in tune sitting in the darkened food court at the airport than they were on the couch this evening.

David sighs and stands up, opening the bathroom cabinets and poking around to see what kind of products the Brewers have on hand. He’s pleasantly surprised to see the Rose Apothecary label on the shampoo and conditioner, body milk and cleanser. While the newer items aren’t quite the same quality as the originals he and Patrick had first sourced (quality gave way a little bit to quantity, and price), they are still products David is proud to have his name on.

David spends a long time in the shower, which does make him feel marginally better. He towels off his hair, leaving styling to the morning, and scoots into the bedroom he’s staying in. He hasn’t unpacked yet, so he opens his suitcase up on the floor and finds clean boxer briefs. Unfortunately, the rest of his clothes really need to be laundered; he had thought he’d be back in Toronto yesterday evening, not on a spur of the moment trip to the land of sunshine and tourists.

He frowns as he pulls on a wrinkled black t-shirt and soft gray sleep pants. Regardless of what else happens tomorrow, he’s going to have to do his laundry.

The air conditioning comes on with an annoying whir, and David looks around, spotting a vent in the ceiling. The noise doesn’t bode well for getting any sleep tonight, although there’s nothing wrong with the rest of the room. While ostensibly Patrick’s, the bedroom has very few personal items in it, maybe in case the Brewers decided to rent out the house. The bureau drawers are mostly empty except for swim trunks and some sweatshirts, and the closet contains one windbreaker, two pairs of sneakers, and a vacuum cleaner.

There’s a fluffy white duvet on the bed, with a seafoam green sheet and matching pillowcases peeking out underneath. Not a very Patrick color-scheme. Marcy must have been going for some kind of Florida feel. David feels lucky the whole place isn’t covered in a Hawaiian flower print, although that would probably be more practical than white if they anticipate having strangers using their linens. The whole concept of renting out one’s home makes David cringe, although it’s no worse than living in a motel.

David climbs under the blanket and top sheet and closes his eyes. He makes himself stay there as the air conditioning cycles on and off two more times, and then gives up.

The house is quiet as David wanders around, taking a closer look at the rooms he saw earlier today. There are a few framed photographs on the desk in the office. The one of Patrick seems to be relatively recent, him and his dad outdoors. Patrick’s smiling, but he doesn’t look happy. There aren’t any of David and Patrick together, for obvious and yet still painful reasons.

David wonders what happened to all their mementos from Patrick’s apartment – the posters from Cabaret and the Apothecary’s open mic night, the ticket from the ropes course that they stuck on the refrigerator with a magnet. It would be nice to think that they are still boxed up safe somewhere, not tossed in the dumpster behind Bob’s Garage.

The open plan kitchen and living room is nice enough, and the couch is comfortable, covered in a safe tan twill with throw pillows in shades of white and blue. David draws the curtains open and looks out through the sliding glass doors to the back yard with its screened-in pool and lanai.

With a shudder, David reminds himself that the screens are to keep the alligators out. David knows this because he read it online this afternoon, waiting for Patrick to wake up from his nap. When David told Patrick he would brave the alligators for him, David imagined that this was only a theoretical danger, or perhaps one to be encountered on a wildlife tour of some kind, not one he would have to face every time he left the house to get the mail.

David messes around with the light switches by the door, and finds one that turns on a spotlight under the water in the pool. It’s pretty, lighting up the water and bathing the back yard in a gentle glow.

“It’s a little chilly for a swim,” Patrick says behind him, making him jump. The wall-to-wall carpet is thick, and apparently Patrick hasn’t lost his ability to sneak up on David.

“Oh god, sorry, did I wake you?” Maybe flashing the lights wasn’t such a smart idea.

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep anyway.” Patrick turns his face up towards David, and David is convinced that he’s going to kiss him, his heart racing in eager anticipation. But Patrick’s face shifts into sadness, and he looks away.

“Patrick?” David reaches out and touches his fingers to Patrick’s bare arm. “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t say “besides the obvious,” because he can tell that it really isn’t necessary. And he thinks Patrick wouldn’t have come out here if he wasn’t ready to talk about whatever he’s been holding back.

“I have to tell you something,” Patrick says, crossing his arms over his chest and then, noticing, deliberately uncrossing them.

“Okay…”

Patrick bites his lip. “I’m afraid to say it.”

David feels a shiver run through him. “You’re afraid?”

“Yeah.” Patrick looks defeated.

“Why?”

Patrick shakes his head and turns away from David, leaning on the back of an armchair. “Because you’ll leave. And I don’t want you to go.”

David closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Obviously I don’t want me to go either, Patrick. That’s why I’m here.” He tugs at Patrick’s shoulder, turning him so he can see his face. “I promise I won’t go anywhere. But if you take much longer to tell me, we may well have a panic attack situation here on top of everything else, and I’d really rather not add that to today’s list of events.”

Patrick stares at him, eyes wide, and David just wants to take him in his arms and tell him everything will be all right. But it’s clear that Patrick can’t be so easily convinced, and frankly, until David knows what the hell is going on, David isn’t so sure himself.

Patrick moves to the couch, and David follows him, sitting on the coffee table and putting his hands on Patrick’s knees.

“I didn’t cheat,” Patrick says, and David frowns.

“I know that now. You said so yesterday. I believe you.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Patrick says again, “but I think Mark wanted me to. He was flirting with me, and I didn’t stop him.”

“You’re cute. People flirt with you, there’s not much you can do about it.”

Patrick looks at him briefly and then away. “I could have not flirted back.”

David digs around in his head for the right thing to say, but all of the sex-positive, trusting relationship language he comes up with sounds hollow in the context of Patrick’s guilt-laden confession.

“Well, um, harmless flirting isn’t a big deal. It’s nice to feel wanted,” he tries.

“David. It wasn’t harmless.”

“What do you mean?”

Patrick peels David’s hands off his knees and takes them in his own. “It wasn’t harmless because it hurt you. It hurt us.”

“But if I had known you didn’t mean anything by it-”

“That’s just it, you didn’t know. Because I didn’t tell you. I wouldn’t have felt so guilty about it if there was nothing wrong with it. I wouldn’t have worked so hard to hide it. At the same time we were planning our wedding, I was creating an opportunity to let another man flirt with me. I knew if you met Mark you’d suspect something. I told him to come to the store for training when I knew you’d be out visiting vendors.”

Patrick’s practically babbling now, his words tumbling out. It’s so unlike Patrick’s usual calm demeanor, it makes what he’s saying even more unsettling.

David struggles to find an angle where Patrick’s behavior is okay. He’s done it before, made excuses for partners who toed or crossed the line, but he doesn’t know how to do it with Patrick. He slowly pulls his hands out of Patrick’s and stands up, stepping backwards with a hand over his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Patrick says. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Just give me a minute.” David feels ill, but he knows there has to be a way through this. His mind is spinning, but he’s not leaving, he’s not, he’s going to figure this out. “Were you planning on – doing anything with him?”

There’s a moment when David thinks Patrick is going to say yes, yes, I wanted him to kiss me, but then Patrick is in front of him, his face open and vulnerable. “No, absolutely not.”

“Were you having some kind of… naughty cheating fantasy?”

“No,” Patrick says firmly. “You remember the Ken incident. I didn’t want anyone else. Then or now.”

“And yet…”

“I know,” Patrick says, reaching out to wrap his hands gently over David’s biceps. “I can’t explain it.”

They stand there in the dark kitchen, both of them breathing heavily. Patrick slides his arms around David and pulls him in, until David’s head is resting on his shoulder. David lets Patrick hold him, comforted by his touch even now.

“I’m so sorry, David. I thought about it so many times, after you left. I convinced myself that I didn’t cheat – and I didn’t, not physically. But what I did wasn’t <i>right,</i> either. It felt wrong to me, and you picked up on that, and that’s why you thought I was cheating.”

“But what you said in the airport-” David’s voice catches, and he has to stop and suck in a breath. “You made it seem like it was all my fault.”

“That was not my proudest moment.”

David forces himself to straighten up and step away from Patrick, wrapping his arms around his own body. Patrick holds his gaze, tears streaking his cheeks. Patrick lied to him – maybe not three years ago, when David didn’t give him a chance to explain, but just last night, in the airport. <i>But he’s telling the truth now,</i> David thinks. He’s put all his cards on the table, and he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop - for David to leave. To give up on them.

But the thing is, David doesn’t want to drop the shoe. He doesn’t want this to be the end. He’s not done with Patrick – he tried that, and it was the worst decision he ever made.

Patrick isn’t just another one of David’s exes. He’s not someone who was willing to take and take from David and never give in return. David simply can’t believe that of Patrick. It’s not who he is. Patrick gave David everything.

“If when I confronted you that day, back at the store, I had let you explain,” David says carefully, “we’d essentially be right here, wouldn’t we?”

Patrick’s eyes widen, and he nods. “Well, not in Florida, but, yeah. More or less.”

“So…” David closes his eyes and lets himself feel, the pain and the hope and the love, all whirling around in his chest. “If that’s the case,” he opens his eyes and reaches for Patrick, his hands landing on his shoulders, “then we can just start from here, minus the overreacting, and figure it out.”

Patrick chokes out a wet laugh. “We can?”

“I think so. I’d like that.” David watches Patrick’s eyes as they light up.

“David, I’d really like that too.”

David leans in, cupping his hand around Patrick’s head and bringing him close for a tear-stained kiss. David’s not sure that the odds are great for them this time around, but if there’s any chance at all, David’s going to take it.

#Schitt's Creek #Schitt's Creek Fic #David x Patrick #David Rose #Patrick Brewer

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