#but anyone who can turn off all the lights on stage is usually behind the audience in a little control room with a lot of switches and dial
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one problem with a theatrical adaption of tlt is htn, where the reveal that Gideon lives on works because of the change of second person to first.
the only way i can think of it working is that the actor playing gideon works backstage, like the lights system (but is hidden from the audience aside from subtle hints)
the biggest hint is when when wake breaches pal's river bubble she 'breaks' the lighting system and the stage goes dark. harrow is ushered into the wings by pal so she doesn't see anything, but the lights flick back on just before the curtains drop for a scene change, and pal looks directly up at the light box in surprise and smiles. if the audience is quick to turn around they can see a flash of a black robe.
Oh boy my friend, have you come to the right place!!
So, fun fact about ninja. Bear with me, I am going somewhere with this. The image of a ninja covered head to toe in black, with a hood and mask, comes from Kabuki theatre. It was originally a stagehand uniform. Like stagehands in modern theatre, stagehands in Kabuki would wear all black to signify that they were not really there, and whatever effect they were causing (carrying a prop, creating a breeze, ect.) was to be taken as happening on its own. Basic stagehand stuff, a lot of productions in many styles around the world do it, especially if they don't have fancy rigging systems.
Someone (I don't remember who now, or in what play) had the idea to dress the ninja in a production up as a stagehand. In the convention of the theatre, this made them invisible. The audience was already so used to ignoring stagehands, they didn't know any more than the characters that the ninja was present, despite the actor being clearly visible on stage. Which meant when the ninja struck, it was as if out of nowhere. I can only imagine the uproar in the theatre the first time it happened. It worked so well as to become commonplace, and the rest is history. The popular image of a ninja is still a kabuki stagehand.
So, back to the stage play of Harrow the Ninth. I think you've hit almost exactly on how to incorporate the Gideon twist into a theatrical production. But not as a lighting tech. Gideon is a stage hand. Maybe there would be more than one stagehand, maybe she would be the only one, but she would operate in full view of the audience, literally setting the scenes. I think it works best if she's the only one, but if the production needs more, she should subtly stand out in some way.
As the play went on, we would notice that this one stage hand... increasingly interacts with Harrow, though Harrow never acknowledges it. At first it might look like she's playing Harrow's necromancy, because that would be the main special effect she would need to help with. When Harrow is unconscious at the end of a scene, it's always the same stagehand carrying her out. But we all know she's not really there. Until Palamedes acknowledges her. Turns to look right at her, and speaks to her.
I can see the scene clearly. He would look at her, stunned, until Gideon finally took off her mask. The line "Kill us twice, shame on God," would be addressed to Gideon, and then he would turn back to Harrow, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her to go. Gideon, always out of Harrow's line of sight, would guide Harrow away while Harrow looked back at Palamedes.
#the locked tomb#harrow the ninth#I have a few ideas how to do gideon as harrow but it needs a lot of workshopping#I love this idea#htn spoilers#gideon nav#speaking as someone who has worked as a light tech that specifically doesn't work so well#because techs are rarely on stage messing with the lights during a production#maybe if there was a spot on the catwalk or if the array was small and the gels needed changing#but anyone who can turn off all the lights on stage is usually behind the audience in a little control room with a lot of switches and dial#that said the stage SHOULD go completely dark immediately after this scene#and the lights should come up suddenly on Gideon and Harrow alone on stage together#harrow having a crisis and staring resolutely forward while Gideon behind her reaches for her and can't touch her#just for a brief moment
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hii 💌 can I request some angst with president!coryo & victor!reader, same plot line as tbosas basically, he was once her mentor & now she’s his first lady
except the quarter quell with former victors happens earlier & he deliberately leaves her name out but she ends up volunteering instead
his first lady
coriolanus snow x victor!reader
synopsis: after years of hiding from the public, ashamed of your past and your husband, you discover the only way to end this, is with you.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
he had lost his mind.
in the five years since your games, you had married the man who had given dr. gaul the ideas and tools to continue with the annual hunger games. he had also been the man to mentor you, showing you to an audience to get them to love you, simultaneously he fell in love with you.
he was powerful, you knew you couldn’t reject his advances, not while you were stuck behind the bars of the capital zoo. so you held his hand, listened to everything he said, winning as he promised you would.
only then did you hope that his attention on you would end, and you would be free to return home to your district, to put this part of your life behind…
except it haunted you, every day, every waking moment.
you never returned home, you never saw your parents again after being reaped, he became president, and you became his wife; his first lady.
and now, president snow stood on that stage, smile blazing as he announced that the fifteenth annual hunger games would reap its tributes, from the existing pool of victors.
he had truly lost his mind.
you gripped tigris’ arm as you watched coryo on the screen. he had just announced the changes, and you were left shocked.
tigris gulped, “i doubt he would leave your name in there.” she comforted you, “he would never do that-“ she paused, and you knew it was hesitation.
you stared at the screen, watching as the symbol of panem graced the screen, and you knew he would be home soon.
you shook your head, still in disbelief. you didn’t know what to think, coriolanus’ morality scale had gotten worse as the years went by and more power came, you were unsure what he would do to anyone, let alone you.
he loved you, more than you loved him. you never forgave him for what he did to sejanus, and coriolanus knew that, but he had made it known that as long as you were alive, he would never divorce you. his little loose end.
this could be the means to an end. if coriolanus was as smart as he was told, he would leave your name in, hope for the possibility to send you to your death, tying his loose end completely.
tigris stared as you grabbed the tv clicker, clicking the buttons to turn off the awful song that blasted with the logo. it wasn’t working, tigris tried to help you with it but your frustration over the games led you to slam the clicker into the tv screen, promptly breaking the screen.
coriolanus came home to a dark house. all the lights had been shut off, and he could still smell tigris’ perfume, lingering in the living room.
he set his bag down, taking off his coat and laying it down on the couch. he could see light emanating from the bedroom, and he could hear your soft singing.
coryo smiled, slowly walking down the hall, pushing the half cracked door open, seeing you on the bed. your nightshirt hung off your shoulder slightly, and your hair was loose. you looked beautiful, in the dim candlelight.
“my lady.” he greeted softly, bed dipping as he sat on his side. you turned, closing the novel you had been reading. you smiled softly, “coriolanus.” he frowned slightly, going in to give you a kiss, but you turned around to put your book away, effectively dodging his kiss.
“you’re upset.” he knew it immediately, you never called him coriolanus, not unless you were mad at him. usually he was called coriolanus every hunger games, as long as each games lasted. he had known eventually it would start up again, but this was far too early.
you didn’t say anything, opting to shrug as you stood up, pulling the sheets up.
coriolanus watched you get into the bed, snuggling into the snow white sheets, trying to avoid the conversation all together.
coryo stood up, removing his shoes and tie, “you saw the announcement.” he deduced, having put it together from the faint scent of his cousin’s perfume. “i didn’t want you to see it, i wanted to tell you myself-“ he kept undressing, and you sat up abruptly, “you had all morning to tell me what you had planned, but you let me go on about my day, let me think of you fondly and for you to announce that?!” you couldn’t help the tone of voice that you took with him, sometimes he was just irrational that not even you could get through to him.
he laughed softly, “so you wouldn’t have thought of me fondly if i had told you before the rest of the country?” he pulled the sheets on his side of the bed up, pulling them up to his chest as he turned to face you.
your back was resting against the pillows, arms crossed as you continued, “why would you do that, coryo?” your voice cracked, and his expression softened. one of his only weaknesses’ was you crying, whether it was someone else’s fault or his, it was a wretched weakness. “the victors are victors for a reason, why do we have to fight for our lives, all over again? hmm, haven’t we done enough?” you felt tears on your cheek, and you sniffled slightly.
coriolanus shook his head, “y/n, i took your name out.” he grabbed your thigh, “you won’t even have the chance of being reaped. you’ll just stand pretty on stage and watch the others get reaped.”
the others.
“you mean the children that i mentored to fight to the death and win?” you couldn’t see him through the puddles of tears in your eyes. you could only keep crying.
coriolanus stared, watching you sniffle and dab your tears away. he didn’t know what to say. this was his country, but you were his wife.
“just stand there y/n, they’ll be room for tears later.” he spat, and you stared at him in disbelief. coriolanus had become cruel, shrewd in his ways. this was a perfect example of one of the many ways he had changed.
you hauled yourself out of the bed, staring at coriolanus as you stomped out of the room. you had plenty of extra rooms in the house, and decided to go into one, leaving coriolanus to sleep in the bed by himself. he called after you, but you ignored him as you locked the door behind you.
you hadn’t seen so many people gathered in a long time. they stood in rows, long rows that seem to never end from where you stood. you stood next to the other tributes from your district, younger than you, eyes full of pain and sorrow.
the bowls containing their names were placed in front, one for the girls, and another for the boys. you knew your name wasn’t in there, coryo had said, ‘nothings changed’.
you listened carefully as the female victor was announced. valora grove, the young girl who you had just mentored this last hunger games. you watched as she hesitated to step up, face stricken with fear, this was happening to her all over again.
“i volunteer!” you panted, stepping up as you held a hand out, blocking valora from walking any further, “i volunteer as tribute.” you repeated, chest falling heavily as you stared out into the crowd, their faces displaying plain shock.
president snow’s wife, the first lady, the tenth annual hunger games victor, had just volunteered.
coriolanus must’ve just heard the news, because as you stood forward, accepting of what was to come, you were promptly escorted from the stage by peacekeepers, thrown into a car and driven straight back to the capitol.
coriolanus was furious, you knew. you knew your husband better than anyone in the world, better than his own family. he knew you well too, but you knew this was something he hadn’t anticipated, a small crack in his plans.
“you better hope i die.” was the first thing you said to him as the car doors open, coriolanus angrily gripping onto the handle. he stood there, fuming, “why y/n? why would you do that, you know that i can’t-“
“what? stop the games? of course not, that would make you look bad, coriolanus. but that’s exactly why i did it. you have no choice.” one thing that coriolanus had forgotten about you, was that you were smart, and usually, always one step ahead of him.
“i’m still a loose end, president snow.” you reminded him, stuck staring at his piercing blue eyes as his expression warped.
#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow smut#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x y/n#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus smut#coryo x reader#coryo snow#coriolanus x you#coriolanus snow angst#coriolanus snow fluff#coriolanus snow imagine
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Can Anybody See Me? Part 16
Hello, darlings! I am back with this wonderful story. I figure there will be about 20 chapters provided more drama doesn’t crop up for our lovely duo.
The Cinderella thing is mostly true. Not the throw up part but the English teacher part. And she did swear off drama.
Also I used real lines from the play 1776 all credit goes to the writer Peter Stone.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
*
Eddie always got tired of hearing the music by the time the last week before the performance came around. But he never got tired of watching Steve learn the dance moves or say his lines.
What was impressive was the fact that Steve picked up his lines faster then the kids that had been doing this for years. The actor playing John Adams kept stumbling over the line “Does anybody see what I see?” He kept saying “Does anyone see what I see?”
Eddie could tell even from the light booth that Steve was about to leap from the sidelines and strangle him.
Miss Lucy called out the correct line for the tenth time and the kid threw his arms in the air and walked off the stage in frustration.
Miss Lucy sighed. “All right, I guess we take a short break before getting back to it.” Marty patted her shoulder and went to go talk to him.
Steve turned to Janice. “You want to strangle Vince or shall I?”
Janice laughed. “How about we take turns?”
By then Eddie had made his way to them, the boring way. As in he actually used the stairs.
“Now, now, Stevie,” he growled low. “Threatening John Adams is a completely different part of the play!”
Steve and Janice laughed. Eddie loved this laugh. It wasn’t the dark chuckle or sneering smirk from his King Steve years. It was an actual laugh, open mouthed and loud.
“You ready for your first performance in front of a live audience?” Janice asked.
Steve gulped. “No?”
“There’s always someone who throws up,” she said with a grin. “So if you feel like up chucking, just do it in the designated garbage can with the lid to keep the smell from getting to everyone else.”
Eddie winced. “Yeah, we really don’t need a repeat of Cinderella.”
Steve’s face drained of color. “What happened with Cinderella?”
Marty came up from behind Janice and said, “The kid playing the King threw up on the girl playing the fairy godmother. Like all over her dress. And apparently she had a weak stomach, so she threw up too. And then the girl playing one of the step-sisters threw up because of the smell...and it just spiraled from there.”
“They had to cancel that performance,” Janice finished with a grimace.
“That performance?” Eddie said. “Hell they had to push back all of the performances until the following week so that they had time to get all the costumes dry cleaned.”
“It was a mess,” Marty said.
Steve frowned. “When was this?”
“Oh this was in middle school,” Marty said. “Um...our seventh grade I believe if Eddie was there for that.”
Eddie nodded. “The English teacher wanted to direct that year and she was a way better teacher than the actual drama teacher. But after the puking incident she swore off drama forever.”
It was Steve’s turned to wince. “I can’t say I blame her.”
“So yeah,” Janice said. “Please use the designated receptacles if you decide you need to throw up.”
Steve grimaced. “I don’t usually throw up when I’m nervous or scared, so I think I should be fine.”
Eddie frowned at the edition of scared to that statement. When the hell would Steve have been frightened? He supposed he could be referring to his dad, but this felt like it was something else.
“All right, everyone!” Miss Lucy called out. “Places!”
Steve got back out there and stood on his mark. Vince and Martin, the kid who was playing Hancock got to theirs.
“I’m still from Massachusetts, John;” Martin said, “you know where I stand. I’ll do whatever you say.”
“No, you’re the President of Congress,” Vince said. “You’re a fair man, Hancock—stay that way.”
The messenger boy came in and handed Steve the dispatch.
“Tell me Mr Thomson, out of curiosity, do you stand with Mr Dickinson or do you stand with me?
Steve held up the dispatch. “I stand with the General. Lately–I’ve had the oddest feeling that he’s been–writing to me,” he said.
And this time the scene went off without a hitch.
“Cut!” Miss Lucy called. “Well done everyone!”
“Steve just a little more emotion in the ‘me’ bit, okay?” she said. “Your voice is supposed to crack with the despair of it all.”
Steve nodded.
“Kenny,” she said, “The way you uttered you line sent chills down my spine. Keep that up.”
Steve privately thought that Kenny should have been Adams instead of Lyman Hall. He was the much better actor. The only thing Steve could figure is that Kenny wanted the Georgia representative role.
It was one Steve had originally thought to try out for, but after reading the script a couple times decided that between Hall and Thomson, Thomson was a better fit for him.
They managed to get through the entire play that day.
Steve met up with Janice, Marty, and Eddie afterwards.
Eddie rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait for next week.”
Marty laughed. “Yeah, yeah, Mr High School Delinquent wanting a valid reason to skip class...”
Steve frowned. “Why would we get to skip class?”
All three heads turned to him in shock.
“How do you not know?” Janice asked, her eyes wide.
“Know what?” Steve asked even further confused.
Marty smacked his head. “Shit! We’ve never actually said it out loud.”
Janice and Eddie turned to him.
“Wait, seriously?” Eddie asked eyes wide as he tilted his head forward in shock.
“We assumed everyone would know because we do it every year,” Marty explained.
“Steve,” Janice began, “did you not go to the high school productions of the school play in elementary?”
Steve frowned. “I vaguely remember that, I guess. I don’t think I ever went to the assembly. I think me and Tommy would cut out and then show up for the last few minutes.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Of course you did.”
Steve pursed his lips. “So we preform for the elementary kids all next week?”
Marty nodded. “Just the first act. Just enough to whet their appetite for the full thing so they drag their parents to the show so that we get the money.”
Steve nodded. “Okay. Do you guys do it for the middle school as well? Because I vaguely remember watching some musical about pirates my eighth grade year I think it was.”
Marty sighed. “We used to according Miss Lucy, but they stopped that year. The middle school principal hates the arts and discontinued it. Combine that with a drama teacher that didn’t care and you get the mess that is middle school preforming arts.”
Steve’s frown deepened. “I have a friend in the drama club at the middle school, I don’t think he’s every said anything bad about it. And he complains about everything.”
Eddie looked over at him and cocked his head. “Which one?”
Steve hummed. “Oh? Um, Dustin. The curly haired one without the front teeth.”
Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, I can see him being a drama kid.”
Marty chose that moment to cut in. “The problem is because they don’t have anything to compare it to most middle school kids don’t know it’s shit. And by the time they do figure it out, they’re already in high school and have moved on.”
Steve nodded. “Make sense I guess. And with the year almost over it wouldn’t make sense to try and change the system now.”
Janice sighed. “Sad but true.” She looked at her watch. “Look, I’ve got to go, I’m going to be late for work. I’ll see you guys later.”
Marty looked at his own watched and nodded. “That’s my cue as well. I need to talk to Mrs Thompson about one of the wigs. Apparently James is allergic to the power in his Franklin wig and we need to find a replacement that won’t scalp our actor.”
Steve grimaced. “Ouch. Yeah, I hear that. See around, man.”
Marty said goodbye and dashed off.
Eddie turned to Steve. “You coming to my place to study tonight?”
Steve hummed in the positive. “I just have to stop by my place to pick up a couple of things. Do you want me to grab some pizza on my way?”
Eddie grinned. “Sounds great. I love all meat.”
“You would,” Steve said rolling his eyes.
Eddie pushed him playfully. “I eat veggies, dude. Just not on pizza. It makes the dough all soggy.”
Steve frowned. “Huh. I don’t think I ever noticed that. I like a good supreme. But I’ll forgo today and just get a pepperoni and an all meat.”
Eddie smiled softly. “You do that, then. And I’ll see you at seven?”
Steve gave Eddie’s shoulder a squeeze and let his hand linger for a moment. “See you at seven.”
And then he walked away.
Eddie practically skipped backwards before he turned and ran out of the auditorium.
There in the back, shrouded in darkness, Kyle Carver sneered.
*
Steve arrived at the Munson trailer seven o’clock on the dot. His backpack was slung over one shoulder and the hot pizza perfectly balanced in one hand as he knocked on the door.
Eddie threw open the door and smiled. “Right on time.”
Steve grinned back. “I try.”
Eddie stepped back and let Steve in. Wayne smiled at the sight of the pizza.
“I like your boy, Eddie,” he said with a chuckle, rising to his knees. “Anyone who brings pizza from D'Onofrio’s is okay in my book.”
Steve laughed. “Like I’m going to get it from that new chain store that just opened up. My Italian grandmother would haunt me in my sleep.”
“I didn’t know you were Italian,” Eddie said, taking the boxes from him to set on the counter.
“Quarter,” Steve said, tossing his backpack on the floor next to coffee table. “My mom’s half Italian, half French, all American as my dad would say.”
“And your dad is what? All asshole?” Eddie asked getting down three plates from the cupboard.
Steve smirked. “Something like that.”
Wayne grabbed a slice of the pepperoni and set it on his plate. “I’m going to watch the game, you two boys okay with doing your homework on the counter in the kitchen?”
Steve nodded and Eddie said, “Yeah, that’s fine.”
Wayne nodded back and went to go eat his pizza in front of the TV.
The boys bent over their English homework cursing every British author under the sun for foisting their very unamerican style of writing on poor American high school students. In particular William Golding. Eddie still had a soft spot for Tolkien.
“If this goes on for much longer,” Steve said after they were working on it for an hour, “we might have to call in big guns.”
Eddie sighed. “Why are we being made to care about some bratty teenagers trying to kill each other on an island?” He buried his head in hands and screamed.
“Fuck if I know,” Steve admitted. “Why don’t we take a smoke break? Sit out on the porch for a minute?”
Eddie lifted his head. “Yeah.”
They grabbed their jackets and went out to sit on the porch stairs. Steve pulled out his pack of cigarettes and handed one to Eddie.
“Camels?” Eddie asked, pulling out his Bic lighter.
“Got a problem with Camels?” Steve asked, flicking open his Zippo lighter and lighting Eddie’s cigarette when his Bic refused to strike.
Eddie shrugged. “I would have pegged you for one of those fancier brands. Clove or whatever.”
Steve shook his head. “My dad smokes ‘em and they were my first smoke.” He shrugged. “Can’t imagine smoking anything else.”
Eddie bumped his shoulder into Steve’s. “Yeah, same. Only for me, it’s Wayne’s brand.”
Steve smiled. “Makes it easier to share.”
Eddie smiled back. “Sure does, big boy.”
They finished their cigarettes and went back inside, finally able to finish their assignments.
Steve and Eddie lingered at the door, pressed together, Steve playing with the pins on Eddie’s denim vest.
“I wish there wasn’t school tomorrow so I could stay,” he murmured.
Eddie lifted Steve’s face by his chin. “I know, sweetheart. But we do and I would really like to graduate this year.”
Steve chuckled. “Yeah, me too.”
Eddie pressed his lips to Steve’s. “Good night, Stevie.”
Steve gave him a quick peck. “Night, Eds.” He waved goodbye and drove off.
Eddie watched him go and then slipped back into the trailer where Wayne was cleaning up in the kitchen.
“Eddie what did I tell you about leaving your comic books on the counter?” he asked with a sigh, holding up the comic in question.
He frowned. “That’s not one of mine.”
Wayne looked at it again. “I didn’t figure it was Steve’s. He doesn’t strike me as the type to read comic books.”
Eddie crossed the trailer and took the book from him. The cover showed a young man holding a bat filled with nails in front of a tentacled monster in a dark hallway.
The title read: The Monsters on Maple Street.
“Hey,” Wayne said. “That’s the name of one of my favorite ‘Twilight Zone’ episodes. It’s a real good one.”
Eddie nodded. Wayne was right. Steve didn’t read comic books. But he did write and draw one.
Or rather: two.
Holy shit.
Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21
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a3! | juza hyodo as your boyfriend...
part 1. part 2.
he cannot believe it at first
how could someone as kind and well-loved as you choose someone as intimidating and reserved as him? he can’t wrap his head around what you could possibly see in him
it takes a lot of words of affirmation to finally convince juza that he is so much more than he thinks
it saddens you that someone as hard-working and deeply involved in the company as juza could still doubt himself. he always says that he wished he could do more for mankai company, but to you he already does more than enough. although it took him some time to perfect his acting, his passion on stage inspires all the other actors to do their very best and mesmerises the audience
whenever he gets too stressed or pushes himself too hard, you offer him pastries and a long, soothing hug. you have him take breaks and go outside so that when he gets back, he feels a little lighter and more energized to resume his work
to thank you for your unwavering support, he invites you on surprise dates or takes you for a ride on his motorcycle. because juza isn’t the best at expressing his emotions, his love language is acts of service and he always makes sure to be available when you also need his help
when it is you who gets too anxious, he will hold you tightly and listen to you vent about the issue at hand. he will try to offer you words of comfort, but his primary course of action is to help solve the problem at the root
he gets more demonstrative over time, holding your hand in the streets or kissing you on the cheek in public. he is really proud of you and your relationship, but his fear of staining your reputation because of his scary looks holds him back from displaying affection more openly
in private, he is the sweetest. juza is self-conscious about his clumsy use of words, so he makes up for it by showing you love through physical touch and sharing his favourite snacks with you
he won’t say it out loud, but juza melts when it’s you who wraps him in your arms or hugs him from behind. being held is something new to him, and it feels so special, almost a sacred moment - before that, most of the physical contact he had with people was blocking punches or trying not to hurt anyone, so someone lovingly and willingly touching him moves him beyond reason. when you run your fingers through his hair and kiss his neck, his deep and raucous sighs speak louder than words
juza is straightforward and honest so he doesn’t shy away from telling you how grateful he is for you - especially when he is drunk. after a couple of drinks, he will look even more serious than usual, save for the tinge of redness blooming on his cheeks, and say the most heart-wrenching things about how you make him a better man and he wants to guard your happiness forever
he comes to you for help whenever he struggles with the interpretation of a line or wants to try out different acting techniques. reading lines together and acting out scenes is one of your favourite activities to do together, so you happily give him a hand with case studies or character analysis. if the scene involves yelling or violence, juza will apologise and make an effort to be extra affectionate with you when you’re done
you wave at him from the front row and offer him flowers after his plays - banri teases him about it, but juza can’t stop smiling and shrugs it off by telling banri that he’s just jealous. juza feels incredibly lucky to have you by his side
kumon adores you and plans family activities that you can join in. because they know juza so well, he and muku can notice the way his face lights up whenever you’re around
omi often asks juza and you to help him with baking because he guessed that juza has a sweet tooth and you find cooking relaxing. juza likes to taste the sugary ingredients just to make sure that they haven’t turned sour and are still good to eat, which always makes omi and you laugh because you can easily see through his excuses
although he is still a little bashful about his voice, you love to hear juza sing. knowing that you appreciate his singing is a huge motivation for juza to overcome his shyness and find the confidence to sing on stage
he is an attentive listener. it makes him happy that you trust him enough to confide in him, but he also enjoys listening to you talk about your hobbies and your current interests. he remembers many details about them and is never against watching something with you or looking up something you’ve been reading online. you do so much for him, so he wants to be equally there for you and
the two of you have a lot of fun together. although juza appears stoic and still has many insecurities to work through, having you by his side never fails to brighten up his days and fill his heart with joy. when you are hanging out, he smiles a lot more and is less apologetic about his behaviour, even cracking jokes from time to time (he feels like it’s awkward, but you find it exceptionally endearing). he hopes that you feel fulfilled, so he always offers you a shoulder to cry on when you’re feeling down or does his best to make you smile. he wants to learn all about your preferences and passions so that he can fully enter your world
most of all, he just wishes for you to be happy and safe. he has never been loved like this before and he wants to do everything in his power to reciprocate your love with as much force and sincerity
#juza hyodo#juza hyodo x reader#juza hyodo fanfiction#juza hyodo fluff#juza hyodo boyfriend#a3!#a3! fanfiction#a3! x reader#a3! fluff#a3! imagines#juza hyodo imagines#a3! act addict actors#my writing#writing
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11.
⚠️ SPOILER ALERT! ⚠️
Click here to read Neon Blessing from the beginning!
Kurtz led her to a booth on the balcony, raised up on a dais to provide a view of the rest of the club. Gauzy red curtains offered some semblance of privacy. There were no bodyguards in sight, but Kurtz didn’t give off the impression of someone who needed guards. “I need to find someone,” Shiv said.
“You’ll be wanting to talk to Odie, then.” Odie, the panoptispex. Kurtz’s pet info mage.
“Yeah.”
“It’s gonna cost you. Its time is my money.”
“I can pay.” She made the sign of the bird under the table, silently thanking Ornarch for his help.
“The usual rate is one thousand credits a minute. Does that work for you?” Fucking hells.
“Yeah, that works.”
“Alright. Do you have an ID chip?”
“Yep. Untraceable.” Ornarch had taken her old one the day she met him, leaving a new one in its place. Whatever he’d done, it hadn’t even left a scar.
Kurtz smiled. There was something perfunctory about it, about all of her actions, really. She moved and talked and smiled to get to the next thing, always to the next thing. She held a small tablet out to Shiv. “Transfer the money, and I’ll send you in to see Odie.”
Shiv tapped her card against the screen and transferred more money than she’d had at any one point in years, all to talk to someone for a minute.
“Basement. Second to last door on the left. Your minute starts when the door opens.”
“Thanks, Kurtz.”
“Mhm.”
Shiv wove her way through the dance floor, dodging elbows and flailing bodies as an electric guitar wailed with almost as much passion as the woman playing it. Now that Shiv was closer, the keyboardist, bassist, and drummer had the hazy, smoky look of holograms. Good holograms, sure, but it was undoubtedly a solo act. She absentmindedly wondered if anyone else had noticed.
The door to the basement was right of the stage, presided over by a woman cut from the same cloth as Headset and Scanner out front, who opened it as she approached. “Right this way, miss.”
Shiv smiled as she descended. The halls of the basement stretched off to both sides, all pristine and utilitarian, equally devoid of decoration and dust. Shiv turned left, and walked until she reached the door. It was obviously her destination. There were many rooms with many doors, but the rest were all sliding panels of white plastic, and this one was built like a vault door. The winking red light of a camera stared down at her, and a buzzer sounded as the door swung open, revealing a second door. An airlock.
Shiv stepped inside, and the huge door closed behind her. A voice came over a speaker as a portion of the wall opened up to reveal a shallow tray. “Turnoffyourphoneandputitalongwithanyweaponsinthetray,” it said, the audio remarkably clear in quality but the words were spoken too quickly to parse easily.
“What?”
The voice, with tremendous deliberateness and only slightly less haste, repeated the phrase, inserting each tiny pause between words as if it hurt. “TurnOffYourPhoneAndPutIt,AlongWithAnyWeapons,InTheTray.”
Shiv complied. “Does this count against my minute?”
“NoWorries.YourMinuteWillBeginWhenTheSecondDoorOpens.ThankYou.” The interior door swung open. “YourMinuteBeginsNow.”
The room was dark. Its only illumination came from dozens–no, hundreds–of screens that covered every surface. Each showed a different scene, each one cycling a few times every second: snippets of security footage, market metrics, news articles, primetime TV, and bird’s eye views of the streets of the Diluvian District.
In the middle of the room sat Odie. It was facing her, cross-legged on a mat on the floor, wearing a helmet which appeared to be composed of a single, shining obsidian surface. IV lines trailed from its arms and back to hidden reservoirs in the ceiling. Besides the helmet, it was naked, its body emaciated and pale from gods-knew-how-long spent without seeing the outside world. At a second glance, the helmet was neither helmet nor uniform in its composition: Odie had a thousand cameras set into its skull, a thousand unblinking eyes all fixated forever on the screens that surrounded it. It was a panoptispex, all-seeing and all-knowing.
“You’reLookingForSomeone,ShivGodschild.”
“Yes. For my…”
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Youngest Original ~ TVDU
Ch 1 - The End of The Affair
Mikaelson!OC
Warnings: mentions of blood, murder, injury, death, usual TVD shenanigans, female OC, Klaus being a bad brother lol
Corresponding episode: TVD 3x3
Masterlist
Prologue
Chicago, 2010
"Welcome back to Chicago, Stefan," Klaus says as they exit the car. Stefan gets out of the car, confused as to why they're here.
"What are we doing here?" He asks as Klaus opens the door of the storage room.
"I know how much you loved it here. Bringing back memories of the good old ripper days?" Klaus asks rhetorically.
"Blacked out most of them," Stefan admits. "Lot of blood, lot of partying. The details are all a blur." He adds.
"Well, that is a crying shame. The details are what make it legend." Klaus says.
~
Chicago, 1920s
Stefan gets out of the car wiping off the blood from his lips, and walks over to the back door of the club. He knocks and the bouncer lets him in. He walks through the hallway and walks into the club full of life and music. He looks around - Champagne, lights, pearls, people dancing on the dance floor...He puts his hands on the handrails and looks at the singer on stage.
"Guess who my eyes just spied, ladies? Looking for a good time, Mr. Salvatore?" The woman asks.
"Save me a dance, Gloria," Stefan says with a smile as he walks down the stairs. He sees a waiter walking with a champagne glass and he goes to take it, but a woman grabs it right in front of him.
"Oh. Please, help yourself." He says sarcastically. She turns around and looks at him. She's wearing a pretty flapper dress with pearls decorating her neck. She has white gloves on her hands and her blonde hair is done to perfection.
"Oh, I always do." She says with a smirk on her lips and a sparkle in her blue eyes. She walks over to him and licks his lips.
"Careful, Mr. Salvatore. You're still wearing your date. She's lovely." She whispers to him and starts walking away.
"No, no. Who are you?" He pulls her back to him. She just puts a finger over her mouth and walks away. Stefan looks at her bewildered as she sits down in a booth next to a pretty brunette. They whisper something to each other and giggle as they look in his direction.
~
"Chicago was magical," Klaus says.
"Yeah, well, I'll take your word for it. Like I said, I don't remember most of it." Stefan responds.
"Down to business, then?" Klaus asks sarcastically.
"Why am I still with you? We had our fun, your hybrids failed. I mean, don't you wanna move on?" Stefan asked.
"We're going to see my favorite witch," Klaus answered. "If anyone can help us with our hybrids problem...it's her." He added and got in the car.
~
1920s - Rebekah's POV
Rebekah was dancing on the dance floor with a man. She was trying to enjoy the music and the atmosphere but it was becoming increasingly difficult because Stefan and his rowdy group of friends were being loud and annoying.
She could hear her sister huffing in annoyance somewhere behind her. She turned around and made eye contact with her younger sister who was also dancing. Her sister pointed to Stefan with her head and Rebekah knew what she had to do.
"Sorry to crash the fun boys, but some of us actually came here to hear the music, not you." She told Stefan and his group of friends.
"Oh. I'm so sorry sweetheart. Are we offending you?" Stefan asks in mock concern. His friends laugh.
She smiled and walked up to Stefan. "It'd take a lot more than a baby face like this to offend me." She responded and headed back for the dance floor. Stefan once again pulls her back.
"Hey. Are you ever gonna tell me your name? " He asks.
"Sure. When you earn it. Now do Gloria a favor and stick a sock in it." She told him and went back to search for her sister.
She found her sister sitting in one of the booths, sipping on champagne. "He likes you." Her sister broke the silence. Rebekah rolled her eyes.
"Kassie..." She started but was cut off.
"Bekah..." Kassandra teased with a smile. "And you fancy him back. Don't you?"
Bekah just smiled and refused to look at her sister.
"See. You're blushing." Kassie continued teasing. Rebekah slapped her arm teasingly.
"Where's Klaus? I haven't seen him this whole evening." She asked her sister. Kassie just sighed and chugged down the rest of her champagne.
"I don't know. Eating an innocent girl, I assume." Her sister answered with disdain in her voice.
~
Klaus and Stefan walk into Gloria's old bar which still works, 90 years later. "Looks familiar, doesn't it?" Klaus asks as they look around the bar.
"I can't believe this place is still here," Stefan responds. Then, the owner of the bar, Gloria, comes out.
"I remember you." She says to the two vampires.
"Yeah...You're Gloria." Stefan says, shocked that the woman is still alive. "Shouldn't you be..."
"Old and dead? Now If I die who's gonna run this place, huh?" She responds with sarcasm.
"Gloria's a very powerful witch," Klaus adds.
"I can slow the aging down some. Herbs and spells. But don't worry, it'll catch up to me one day." She tells them.
Klaus tells Stefan to go behind the bar and pour them something to drink. "You look ravishing by the way." He compliments the witch.
"Don't." She waves him off. "I know why you're here. A hybrid out to make more hybrids? That kind of news travels." She tells him as they sit down at a table.
"So what am I doing wrong?" Klaus asks. "I broke the curse." From behind the bar, Stefan eavesdrops on their conversation with his supernatural hearing.
"Obviously you did something wrong. Look, every spell has a loophole. But a curse that old, we'd have to contact the witch who created it." Gloria informs Klaus.
"Well, that would be the Original witch. She's very dead." Klaus comments.
"I know. And for me to contact her, I'll need help." Gloria says. Stefan sees a picture on the wall as he's pouring drinks. He picks it up to examine it.
"Bring me Rebekah." She says to Klaus.
"Rebekah. Rebekah is a bit... preoccupied." He tells Gloria.
"She has what I need. Bring her to me." Gloria responds.
"What is this?" Stefan asks as he points to the black and white photo in his hands. In the photo are Klaus and Stefan, together.
~
"This doesn't make any sense. Why don't I remember you?" Stefan asked Klaus as they entered the storage room where Klaus kept his sibling's coffins. Klaus tries to avert Stefan's questions but Stefan grabs him and demands an explanation.
"Let's just say we didn't get off to a brilliant start. To be honest, I hated you." Klaus says.
Klaus then tells Stefan of how they first met and how Stefan knew Klaus's sister. "Your sister? So I knew another Original vampire?" Stefan asked. Klaus smirked at him.
"If you can't handle it, then don't ask," Klaus says and walks over to one of the coffins. He opened it and inside was his sister, Rebekah, gray and desiccated with a dagger in her heart. Klaus looked fondly at her and caressed her cheek.
"I don't recognize her," Stefan confessed.
"Don't tell her that. Rebekah's temper's worse than mine." Klaus says and removes the dagger from his sister's heart. "Time to wake up, little sister."
"Any day now, Rebekah. She's just being dramatic." Klaus comments.
"Look why don't you just tell me what the hell is going on? I mean you obviously want me here for a reason, right?" Stefan asks Klaus as they both look at Rebekah.
"Well, you have many useful talents. In fact, I learned some of my favorite tricks from you." Klaus informs Stefan.
~
1920s - Stefan's POV
"So Stefan, enlighten me. What makes you worthy of an Original like my sister? She's pure vampire and you're no more than a diluted bloodline." Klaus asks him as they all sit in a booth. Next to Stefan was Rebekah and next to Klaus was a beautiful girl named Kassandra and she was also an Original.
"Don't listen to him, Stefan. Nik's an elitist." Rebekah says to him as Klaus smirks and puts his arms around Kassandra who just chuckled at Klaus's words.
"And where's the rest of your family?" He asks Klaus.
"Well, let's see. Um, I killed most of them." Klaus stated matter-of-factly.
"But not all," Rebekah remarked with a pout.
"And you're ok with that?" Stefan asked her.
"Well, we all had the chance to choose a side. I chose the right one, eventually." Rebekah said and grabbed Klaus's hand.
"And you? What about you?" Stefan turned his attention to the pretty brunette who was wearing a pale green dress and was looking down at her nails.
"Me? Well, I was always on the right side. Wasn't I, Nik?" She asked rhetorically and leaned closer to Klaus who kissed her temple and smiled at her. The girl gave Rebekah a side glance and smirked at her and Rebekah just rolled her eyes.
They were then approached by a man who accused Stefan of being inappropriate with his wife and demanded to know where his wife was. Stefan Stefan told him to sit down and called for his wife.
When the woman, Lila, sat down, Stefan compelled her to cut herself and poured her blood into a glass. After dismissing the woman he compelled the man to drink his wife's blood.
~
"I was your number one fan," Klaus told Stefan as they walked toward the exit of the storage room.
"Why should I believe any of this?" Stefan asks. Klaus compels the guard of the storage room to inform Rebekah to go to Gloria's bar and to offer himself to Rebekah as food when she wakes up.
"We know each other. You trusted me with one of your secrets. Now I'm gonna prove it to you." Klaus tells Stefan and informs him they're going to Stefan's old apartment.
~
After visiting Stefan's old apartment, the two vampires went back to Gloria's bar. "Where's Rebekah?" Gloria asked them as she handed them both a bottle of beer.
"She'll be here. I can't just conjure her on demand." Klaus answered as he took a sip. He turns to Stefan and asks him what's wrong.
"This is why you asked me to be your wingman? Because you like the way I tortured innocent people." Stefan comments.
"Well, that's certainly half of it," Klaus says as he grabs a bottle.
"And what's the other half?" Stefan asked, curious.
"The other half, Stefan...is that you used to want to be my wingman," Klaus informed the other man as he poured them a drink.
~
1920s - Klaus's POV
Stefan passes Klaus a shot. Klaus chugs it down in one go. "They're jealous. Your family wants you dead because they can never be what you are." Stefan says to him.
"What? An abomination?" Klaus asks with self-loathing lacing his voice.
"No...a king." Stefan corrects him and they both laugh.
"Look at us. Two sad orphans." Klaus jokes. Stefan looks up where Rebekah and Kassandra are standing and talking. Rebekah looks down at Stefan.
"My sister fancies you, you know," Klaus informs Stefan who hums in acknowledgment.
"But I should warn you, Rebekah doesn't do anything half-speed. That includes falling in love. Just be careful. She's totally mad." He tells Stefan and both men laugh.
"I appreciate the advice," Stefan says as he takes another shot.
"And when the point comes when she inevitably leaves you...she can't help it, it's just who she is, don't let your heart do anything stupid," Klaus adds.
Stefan thinks for a second then asks. "What about your other sister? Am I not her type or what?"
Klaus ponders the question and looks up at his youngest sister and sibling. "Kassandra is...more reserved, shall we say? She guards her heart viciously. It will take more than a handsome face for her to fall in love." He explains to Stefan who is now also looking at the beautiful brunette. She looks down at Stefan and gives him a small, polite smile.
"She knows that, sooner or later, she will have to let go. So, instead of going through an inevitable heartbreak, she lets no one in. She's different from Rebekah in that sense." Klaus adds. A silence falls between two men.
"You know what? You're a good friend, Nik. I'm glad I met you." Stefan says to him and raises his glass for Klaus.
~
"So, I'm confused. If we were such great friends, then why do I only know you as the hybrid dick who sacrificed my girlfriend on an altar of fire? Huh?" Stefan asked.
Klaus smiled. "All good things must come to an end."
~
1920s - Kassandra's POV
She and her older brother were sitting at a table while Rebekah was on the dance floor with Stefan. "Are you sure you don't want to dance, love?" Klaus asks her. She looks at him and shakes her head with a smile.
"No, I'm good. But thank you for asking." She tells him as she plays with the pearls around her neck. "But it seems Bekah's having a fun time." She remarks with a smirk. They both look at Rebekah who is happily dancing with Stefan.
Then, the smile from Klaus's face disappeared and was replaced by a seriousness that only meant one thing - danger. "What is it, Klaus?" She asked him but he didn't respond. He looked around like he was searching for someone.
"CHICAGO POLICE!" All of a sudden a rain of bullets falls over the bar. Klaus chugs his drink and grabs Kassie's arm as they move away from the table. She tries to look for Rebekah but can't seem to locate her in the frenzy.
"Rebekah! Come on, we gotta go, sweetheart!" Klaus yelled across the bar as he kept a tight grip on Kassie's arm. Bekah appeared from behind the bar and Klaus grabbed her as well. Stefan asked what was going on but got no answer.
Klaus yells at both of them to go and pushes Bekah toward Kassie. "Come on, Bex!" Kassie says and grabs her sister and together they run out of the club, neither of them noticing that Rebekah's special necklace fell off of her in a hurry. What they also didn't witness was Klaus compelling Stefan to forget all three of them.
~
"You compelled me to forget," Stefan said as Klaus finished telling him the story.
"It was time for my sisters and I to move on. Better to have a clean slate." Klaus admitted and chugged another shot.
"But why?" Stefan wondered out loud. "You shouldn't have to cover your tracks. Unless you're running from someone." Stefan pieced the pieces of the puzzle together.
"Story time's over," Klaus says and turns away. Stefan then turns his head left and sees his brother Damon at the other side of the bar.
"I need another drink. A real one." Stefan says and walks out after his brother.
Outside of the bar, Stefan warns Damon that he has to get Elena out of Chicago, lest Klaus finds out that Elena's survival is the reason why all of his hybrids failed. Damon leaves for the club to distract Klaus while Stefan talks to Elena.
Elena tries to get Stefan to come back home, but Stefan refuses, telling her that her plan isn't gonna work. In the meantime, Klaus tries to kill Damon but is stopped by Gloria.
Elena argues that this situation is the same as it was when Lexi found him in the 1920s and helped him.
"And do you know what I did after that? I spent 30 years trying to pull myself together. To a vampire that's nothing. To you, that's half your life." Stefan says to Elena. She says that she won't give up on him.
"I don't wanna see you. I don't wanna be with you. I just want you to go." He tells her and walks away, leaving Elena heartbroken.
~
Klaus is back in the storage room where he kept all his coffins. He noticed that Rebekah's was empty meaning that she had awakened. He also noted the dead guard on the floor, further cementing the fact that Rebekah was now awake.
"Rebekah. It's your big brother. Come out, come out wherever you are." He said in a sing-song voice when all of sudden Rebekah appeared from nowhere and stabbed Klaus with the dagger.
~
1920s - Kassandra's POV
"Hurry up, Rebekah. Let's go." Klaus said as he opened the door of the truck.
"He'll be here any second," Rebekah said as she looked out, waiting.
"Do you wanna die? We've been found. We need to move." Klaus said to his younger sister.
"Not without Stefan," Rebekah said, refusing to move. Klaus told her Stefan was not coming.
"What did you do?" Rebekah asked with tears in her eyes.
"Come on. We don't have time for one of your tantrums." Klaus said and grabbed Rebekah by her arm but she pulled away.
"I don't want to run anymore Nik! All we do is run. I want to be with Stefan." Rebekah admitted.
"Fine, then choose. Him or us?" Klaus says. Rebekah looked at him and Kassie.
"Bekah, he's not worth it. Please, let's just get into the truck and go. Please." Kassandra pleaded with her older sister. Rebekah closed her eyes, not wanting to answer.
"That's what I thought. Get in the truck. Let's go." Klaus said as he put his hand on Kassie's back and guided her toward the truck.
"Goodbye, Nik," Bekah said. Kassie turned around in shock. There's no way Bekah was choosing Stefan over them!
"Bekah, you can't be serious. Him over us? Please, Bekah, just get in the truck. I beg you, please let's just-" She tried reasoning with Bekah but her words were cut short when Klaus daggered Rebekah out of nowhere, shocking Kassie.
"Oh my god! Rebekah!" Kassie screamed as her sister's body became grey and desiccated and fell to the ground. She looked at Nik with tears in her eyes.
"How could you!? How could you!?" She yelled at him as tears fell down her face. He grabbed her forearms.
"You better get in the truck, now, or you'll be next. Do you understand me?" Klaus threatened. She looked up at him with rage and anger in her eyes, but ultimately she obeyed him, as she always did.
~
Klaus pulled the dagger out of his heart. "Don't pout. You knew it wouldn't kill me." He said to a now awakened Rebekah.
"No, but I was hoping it would hurt more," Bekah replied cooly.
"I understand that you're upset with, Rebekah...so I'm gonna let that go, just this once. I brought you a little peace offering." Klaus tells her and then he tells someone to come in.
"Stefan..." Bekah whispered, shocked.
"Now, you remember," Klaus says to Stefan who suddenly gained back all his memories from the 20s.
"Rebekah..." Stefan said as he looked at the girl.
"Gloria tells me you know how to contact the Original witch," Klaus says as he walks over to his sister. "What do you have that Gloria needs?" He asks her. At that, Rebekah touches her neck.
"Where's my necklace? What did you do with it? I never take it off." Rebekah asked with panic in her voice. Stefan gulps, knowing exactly where the necklace is.
"Tell me that's not what she needs, Rebekah!" Klaus yells at her. She pushes him off and sprints to her coffin to search for her necklace. When she doesn't find it, she pushes her coffin and screams in frustration.
***
We see Kassie in a flashback! We won't see her in person for a couple of chapters, but I tried establishing her as a character and her relationships with other people so that you have a sense of who she is before we officially meet her. Hope you enjoyed it.
If you haven't already, you can read the prologue I already posted. The link is at the top.
Thank you so much for reading, If you have any opinions feel free to share!
💓💓💓
#the vampire diaries#original vampire#vampire diaries#the originals#the mikaelsons#mikaelson family#finn mikaelson#elijah mikaelson#klaus mikaelson#rebekah mikaelson#kol mikaelson#kassandra mikaelson#fem oc#my original characters#my oc stuff#liv tyler#fancast#mystic falls#tvdu#tvd universe#tvd aesthetic#stefan salvatore#tvd fanfiction#the originals fanfiction
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𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕚...? - eddie munson x reader (nsfw)
complete masterlist | stranger things masterlist | eddie munson masterlist
words || 𝟜𝕜
summary || in which eddie finally talks to the cute bartender
a/n || hi i'm not dead. also ppl on this blog who don't care abt eddie munson must hate me and for them i am so sorry. for my fellow eddie simps, i bring you another installment of horny.
➵ there is smut in this, making in 18+ content. please do NOT interact if you are under 18
➵ not yet proofread - if you see mistakes tell me because typos are a massive turn-off
➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!
warnings || fluff/smut
smut warnings:
➵ porn with some plot
➵ consent checks (like every other word)
➵ oral (m receiving)
➵ cum eating
➵ p.i.v. unprotected sex
➵ not that glamorous tbh (like ppl get tired & body fluids are kind gross but you're also horny so they're not that gross but their still sticky i.e. gross)
the hideout was empty, as usual. eddie was warm, sweating under his shirt, as he found himself blinking to rid his eyes of the glare of the harsh lights on the stage he’d just been playing on. corroded coffin had earned themselves a smattering of applause after their act - with a record four people clapping as they walked off.
he’d helped gareth load everything into his parent’s van, and waved off his three bandmates as they drove off. usually, he’d join them, but he found the warm atmosphere of the establishment beckoning him back inside.
the sound of the door creaking open was rather loud in the otherwise quiet building, and, as he looked up to the bar, he could see a small smile on her face.
he’d lied - it had not, in fact, been the establishment beckoning him inside, but, rather, its sole employee - the pretty bartender currently turned away from him as she organized drinks on the shelves behind the counter.
he slid - maybe not as smoothly as he hoped, but whatever - into a bar-stool, absentmindedly rapping his ringed knuckles over the wooden surface. he stared, quite obviously, at her as she meticulously arranged the drinks by type and size.
she knew he was behind him, probably waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t just yet. she thought it might be helpful to build some tension as he sat and she worked in silence.
finally, she placed the last bottle into place, tinkering with it to make sure it stayed on the shelf. then, she turned around, smiling in a way that made it look like she was pleasantly surprised to see him.
“hello, sir. what can i get for you?” she didn’t really call anyone else sir, it was just fun to see his hard swallow after she did.
“i’ll take a beer, thanks.” it’s a little mumbled, and she goes to reach for it, before stopping.
“am i gonna need to see some i.d.?” he stared blankly for a second, before laughing, causing her to laugh as well. of course she was teasing - he’d been here so many times before. and his face - well, it wasn’t one she’d easily forget. she slid the chilled glass bottle to him, the foam at the top fizzing just a little at the movement. he clutched it in his hands with a grateful smile, happy that the cold of the drink could neutralize the flush of his cheeks as he held her gaze for just a moment too long. they were silent for a moment, as she toyed with a rag that she was now using to clean the already spotless counter.
they’d never really gotten further than this: his request, her handing it to him, and then the two of them existing in a unbelievably tense silence. when he wasn’t looking at her, she’d let her eyes drift over his post-performance appearance, almost wanting to reach out and touch the soft frizz of his hair. similarly, he ogled at the pretty get-up that she had on, a small skirt and thin t-shirt, while wanting to trace the mauve nail polish on her fingers. she had on some sharp eyeliner that looked like it’d taken a while to perfect, and her dark mascara made her eyes less visible in the low light.
“you write all those songs?” shit, she’d caught him following her every move, and he blinked before looking up at her. she doesn’t seem mad, though - rather, she had the light dust of a flush on her neck.
“hmm? yeah - i mean, uh, some of them. the rest are covers.” she nods, a tight-lipped, almost conservative smile on her face.
“they’re - uh, you’re good. you guys are.” she clarified herself, but eddie took the initial complement. he tipped the bottle in her direction with a wink, making her roll her eyes, before taking a long sip.
there was another silence - well, not really - as she was humming a small tune. was it one of the songs that he’d written? he sure hoped so. another patron walked past, waving her goodbye as he headed out of the door. she smiled and half-waved at him.
“how long have you been working here?” she looked up from her task of checking there were no dents at the bar counter, and her eyes looked so damn doe-like for that moment that it made him want to smile so wide his cheeks hurt.
“oh, since i graduated - about a year and a half.” he nodded. really, he’d already kind of known that - he’d been in school with her and had starting seeing her around the time after she graduated while he played shows. he’d not really spoken to her until about seven months in, though. he wouldn’t like admitting it, but she intimidated him a little bit, “what about you? how’s school?” it’s small talk of the highest degree, but he’s still latching onto it.
“school is -” he exhales a laugh, poking a tongue into his cheek, “- it’s school, y’know?” she did in fact know.
“mrs. o’donnell still not treating you well?” at the mention of the name he groaned deeply, placing his head in his hands. with her question practically answered, she laughed loudly, the sweet sound echoing throughout the bar.
he takes another sip of his drink as she comes back down, a small smile still on her lips.
“when’s your shift over?” he asks, after a moment of silence. for a moment, she seems the process the question - nay, the insinuation - as her smile fades, before she turns away from him to hide her grin.
“oh - in about -” she checked her watch, in an act of nonchalance as opposed to practicality, “- a half-hour?” it’s a statement, but phrased as a question, as she’s really asking him if he’s willing to wait that long.
lucky for her, he was.
the last step of the closing process had been flicking the lights off and locking the door and, through that process, he had been following her around like a puppy. watching as she cleared patrons, cleaned the tables and dusted the floors a little, before striking a cigarette once they were both outside. his eyes were still glued to her, though, almost as if she’d disappear the moment he turned away. he fumbled with the box in his pocket as he offered one to her, and she found it pretty endearing.
“i’m alright, thanks.” he nodded, pulling the cigarette he had been balancing out of his mouth in order to exhale.
“where’s your place?” she looked up pointing to a side road about a hundred meters away.
“it’s a right there and then a bit of a walk.” when she looks back at him, she can see that he has a bit of a grimace.
“and you walk home at this time by yourself everyday?” with every word, the concept seemed more and more ludicrous to him, making her feel a bit sheepish in answering him.
“um - well, i didn’t have to today, did i?” he pauses for just a half-second, before laughing and falling back into step with her.
soon, he’s filling her in on the latest gossip at hawkins high, and she was telling him about the mischief that occurred at the hideout. he was easy to talk to, and she was more interesting than he thought that she’d be - being a little blunt with her language and anecdotes. though - he figured - that was likely necessary in a field such as bartending.
they reach her place quicker than expected, and both of them can tell that the other didn’t want the conversation to end. after a moment of loitering at her door, they decided to speak up.
“do you wanna-”
“i should-” they both looked at each other for a moment, before she laughed.
“do you wanna come inside? it’s a little late, but-”
“yes! uh, sure.” he hopes he doesn’t sound too excited, but the smirk on her lips implies that he wasn’t as smooth as he hoped.
she ushers him in, locking the door behind her as she shrugged her light jacket off. she gestured to a coat rack behind him so that he could hang his jean jacket, and her eyes traced over the tour dates of the metallica t-shirt he had on. he cocked his head to her, catching her eyes on him, so she looks away, deciding instead to show him around.
“- and that’s the kitchen and living room, and -” she pointed at a semi-ajar door, “- that is my bedroom.” he nodded, hands shoved deeply into his pockets. he didn’t exactly feel out of place, instead, it was just a awkwardness in how to keep the conversation smooth, “you want anything to drink? i’ve got a couple beers in the fridge.” he smiled.
“what, ‘re ya tryna get me drunk?” she scoffed at the implication.
“off two beers? i know you won’t.” she’d observed that he had a solid tolerance after his many nights in the bar. though eddie knew she probably had to keep tabs on regulars to cut them off or anticipate bad behavior, but it still felt somewhat intimate that she knew that.
she knew that the only reason she knew that was because the one or two times he had gotten drunk, has been the only times he’d overtly flirted with her, his blurred boundaries making his mouth saying things his sober one would never, but that his sober brain was always thinking.
she procured a can from the fridge for him, as well as one for herself. passing it to him, he nodded gratefully, watching her with a little less shame than he usually did as she leaned back on the counter, her shirt riding up ever so slightly. her outfit was simple - comfortable - but the t-shirt-and-skirt combo was currently doing something for him that he didn’t really wish to admit.
she watched him watch her, not saying anything as she found the way he looked at her when he was oblivious of her own gaze to be marvelous.
“you’re not very subtle with that.” her voice is soft, and it seems to break him out of a trance.
“huh? with what?” she smirked at the shocked, oh-so-innocent look on his face.
“the sta-ring.” she says it in a sing-song tone, and it makes him go cherry. it’s almost comical - the sudden rush of blood to his cheeks, as he shakes his head adamantly.
“i don’t - i don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“sure you don’t.” she took a long sip of her drink, wincing just slightly due to the acidic tinge of it, before smacking her lips, “but those nights at the hideout seem to tell a different story.” he narrowed his eyes at her, angling his body to face her as a devilish smile played on his lips.
“oh yeah? mind telling me it?” she had a similar cheeky smile on her face, as she licked her lips and averted her gaze to her can, feigning nonchalance.
“oh, you know. it can get kinda hard to do my work when one of my regulars is eye-fucking me the entire time.” he gulped as she turned to head to look at him again, her smirk goading a response.
“and - and why’s that?” his voice is a whisper now, knowing that this was his make or break moment. she moves closer to him, subtly, and before he can even think of anything else, her lips are under his.
“because it makes me wanna rip his clothes off on top of the bar.” his head spun at her blunt words, and his tongue’s tied. luckily, she takes the step he’s too scared to make, shifting forward and pulling him down lightly towards her.
for a moment, he’s still in shock, but he’s quick to reciprocate, pulling her hips into his as his lips hungrily chased hers. his wandering hands caused a squeak to emit from her, and she felt a smirk press against her skin.
she’s the first to break away, tracing her mouth from his semi-swollen lips down towards his neck. he squeezes at her hips, taking handfuls of her flesh and rolling it in his palms as she peppered featherweight presses over his throat.
“fuck me.”
“plan on it, handsome.” she mumbled it, and it tickled his skin. in also surprised her, as she suddenly felt something harden against her hip. she smiled, and he could feel it on his skin, so he pulled her lightly away from him.
“not on a kitchen counter, babe.” she pouted, but quickly retracted when she realized that instead of wanting to stop, he was cocking his head towards her bedroom. without a second thought, she grabs him by his shirt, taking him in tow to the room.
as she kicks the door shut behind them, he presses her back against it, kissing her with a newfound gusto, as his hands played at the hem of her shirt. tentatively, he trailed his hands up her stomach, causing goosebumps to erupt over the skin. the sensation makes her shiver, and her hands push onto his scalp tugging at his hair lightly - making him groan against her lips.
he hooks his fingers into the elastic of her skirt and, with a moment of hesitation, pulls away from her.
“can i-?” she nodded vigorously, her hands wrapping around his and encouraging him to push the garment off.
“please - please.” he doesn’t need anything more, pulling her skirt down so quickly that she stumbles as she tries to step out of it, he trails his fingers across her soft thighs, before quickly turning her around and helping - handling - her onto her bed. she pulls him down with her, his legs spreading and his knees kneeling around hers. he goes to kiss her again, but she stops him, instead urging him to take his shirt off. he’s quick to conform, pushing his shirt up, and she presses his shoulders back to admire his inked chest.
“ya like ‘em?” he watches her with endearment, as she traces the tattoos with a nail, and she hums in agreement.
“’ve always wanted one.”
“i’ll take you some day.” she looked up at him, shocked he was actually willing to pause and indulge in her feeble attempt in conversation. it made her smile, though, and she grabs his jaw, placing a softer, more tender kiss on him.
for a moment, there exists just that softness - that more gentle aspect of sex, the kind you would see between a loving couple - and, though she knows it’s just a casual hook-up, she decides to savor it for that moment.
it goes as quickly as it comes, though, as she can hear the distinct sound of a belt buckle unfastening. she looks up at him with hooded eyes, glancing down to see him unbuttoning his jeans and she, in turn, grabs her shirt and pulls it over her head.
he’s in his boxers, his jeans thrown into a corner, as she emerges from behind the cloth of her shirt. he reaches around her, unfastening her bra and allowing her tits freedom, watching with an salivating focus at the gentle bounce of them. she watches the hardened outline in his only remaining article of clothing, and she smirks at his breathy sigh when she gently cups him with one hand, her other hand lightly placed on his thigh.
“can i…?” she trailed off, suddenly embarrassed by the idea of speaking so vulgarly. on the other hand, he absolutely wasn’t, as he took a deep breath, smirking at her in a goading manner.
“can you… what, babe?” she averted her gaze for a moment, before looking up at him.
“can i suck you off?”
“fucking christ, do whatever you want to me, babe.” though he said it with so much conviction, his hand went to rest gently on her head, maintaining some control over her actions. she pushed his boxers down, her mouth opening in excitement upon seeing his cock. he took the complement of it, groaning with a playful smile, “don’t look at me like that - i won’t last.” deciding to put him out of his very visible, almost painfully hard misery, she gently stroked him, taking just his tip into her mouth. she looked up to see him biting his lip to restrain himself, and she took the challenge, pushing forward as far as she could. it took a couple attempts, with her bobbing her head slowly and with purpose, before her nose reached his base, the back of her throat already sore from the stretch. though, she’d gotten her wish, with him releasing a string of curses and praises and she kept her head in place, his entire cock behind her lips.
finally, she moved back, releasing him with a loud pop and taking a deep breath as she continued to stroked him with her hand. similarly, he was trying to keep his breath even, and pulled her hand off of him, pulling her up a little so that the were a little more level.
“tell me what you want to do.” he was at her beck and call - just grateful for the opportunity to see her beauty in such a raw, animalistic way.
“let me ride you?” her response is direct - honestly, it was a no-brainer, and, instead of answering, he adjusted to be resting against the headboard of her bed, beckoning her into his lap. she does just that, hovering over him for a moment as the both of them line her up with him. she sucks in a deep breath, before sliding down onto him.
“oh, fuck-!”
“oh my god.” they groan in unison, her taking a moment to adjust as she struggles for a moment or two to adjust to his size. he’s impatient, addicted to the way she feels around him, and he squeezes her ass to restrain himself.
finally, she gently raises her hips, sighing at the emptiness, before she pushed back down. a moan rumbled in the back of his throat, while high-pitched squeals escaped her, trying not to be loud, but struggling not to be as she rhythmically raised her hips up and pushed them back down on his cock.
after enjoying the show for a while - the warmth of her cunt, the slap of her ass on his thighs, the jiggle of her tits - he gripped her hips, seeing her legs quivering both at the exertions and sensations. he guided her, allowing her muscles to rest a little as he simply rolled her hips back and forth on him. at one point, he heard her moan come out in a garbled choke, and he realized that she was beginning to fall apart.
“you gonna cum?”
“can i?” his eyes rolled into his head at the knowledge that she was asking his fucking permission.
“fucking hell, babe, ‘re ya asking me? ‘course you can, baby, ‘course you can.” he stopped her hips for a moment, and she let out a whine, obviously going to ask why he’d stopped before, her voice is stopped - with her eyes widening and her mouth falling open. he kept her hips still, planting his feet and fucking into her with a vigor. her moans - loud and unashamed, sounded like music to his ears, and though it was physically exerting - the pleasure becoming too much for him as well - he kept his eyes open and his focus on her.
“’m gonna cum - ‘m gonna cum, please don’t stop, ed, fuck, please don’t stop, please-!” she can’t finish her sentence, falling limp into his chest as she came, her moans being muffled into the tattoo under his clavicle. her cunt pulsed around him, making his breathing pick up and his head fall back, his thrusts continuing languidly a few more times, before he lightly pulled her off of him.
even through her post-orgasm haze, she gripped his cock, stroking it slowly as he twitched in her palm, before he came, the liquid flowing into her hand.
“fuck, sorry, let me clean that-” she stops him by retracting her hand and placing her cum-soaked fingers into her mouth. he looks at her in awe, “christ, you’re perfect.” she smiles shyly at his comment, like it was off-hand and casual, like they didn’t literally just have sex.
they stay in her bed, the light mist of sex around them for a moment. it felt right.
she’d finally pulled off the bed, and suddenly felt the sticky liquid on her hand, sweat on her skin, the humidity in her hair. she’s not sure how to feel about it all, but she doesn’t have to think for very long, as she’s quick to get to the sink, wash her hands, and wipe her skin with a towel. as she glanced up, she saw the disarray of her make-up - her lipstick completely smudged and her mascara and eyeliner clumping to make dark stains around her eyes. she’s got reddened marks on the skin of her chest, but none of them look like their gonna last. she swipes at her make-up remover, going to clean her face and devoid it of its zombie-like appearance. she retrieves another cloth and dampens it once she’s finished, and she takes it out to eddie.
she tosses it at him as she begins to rummage through her drawers for something to sleep in, behind her, she hears a soft hum. she turns to face him again, and he looks a little embarrassed that she’d caught the noise. that only made her want to know the cause of the reaction even more.
“hey, stranger.” she jokes, commenting on his rather shocked countenance. he blinked at her.
“what?” she rolls her eyes, as if he was actually clueless.
“you’re looking at me like we’ve never met - were the past few hours a dream?” he lets out a breathy laugh at her comment.
“it’d have been one of my better ones.” she flushes at the complement, but doesn’t avert her gaze, prompting him to answer he question, “no, it’s really nothing. it’s just-” he pauses and she can feel her curiosity pique, “i guess i’ve never seen you without makeup on before.” her eyes widen a bit, suddenly heavily conscious of the natural state he was now witnessing her in. she gulps a little.
“yeah, i guess. are-” her voice cracks a bit, and she almost doesn’t know why, “are you okay with it?
his eyes widened as he went to clarify.
“no! no, i just meant that it’s different.” she raises an eyebrow, shocked by the vagueness of the comment. besides, ‘different’ usually had a negative connotation. he hits himself, realizing how bad he sounded, “good different, you look good, i-” he stops himself, shaking his head, and groans. she can feel a weight off her shoulders as his stuttering clarifies his feelings.
“thanks, ed.” she mumbles, walking back to the bed with an over-sized, plain shirt on. he grabs her waist as she nears, pulling her down into the sheets with him, making her squeak a bit in shock, as he angles her chin towards him, pressing soft, chaste kisses on her lips, and then her nose, and then her ears. he peppers them all over her face - and there’s no sexual connotation to them. as they drift away from her lips, she lets out a soft giggle.
“what’s this for?” he kisses her lips once again - deeply, sweetly.
“to convince you to say yes: will you let me take you out?” her eyes widen a little.
“out, on - on a date?” he nods against her, and she lets out a breathy laugh, “where’re we going?”
“wherever you want, babe.”
“sounds dangerous, ed. i’m not a great influence, y’know.”
“good.” they both laugh, and she can feel his fingers traces shapes into her arm, as her own trail through his hair.
“i’m hot-” he agrees immediately, and she smacks at him, laughing, “i’m hot, so let’s go get ice-cream.” he smiles.
“what a daredevil.”
“tell me about it.”
#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things 4#eddie munson#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x reader#joseph quinn#eddie munson smut#stranger things smut
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Chapter 14 Episode 8 Part 2:
We start with a flashback to when Kirito and Mononobe first met. Mononobe tells Kirito It's dangerous to be alone in a place like this. Kirito narrates that his first encounter with that old man was the worst. He got tangled up with a nosy teacher somewhere. Kirito tells Mononobe to take his adulthood elsewhere. Further in the flashback, they bump into each other again. Kirito thinks to himself that he just don't want to be in this world. So, he don't care about anything. He wants to do something for himself, that kind of energy. There is nothing. He don't want anyone to understand that, and he don't think anyone will. More flashback, Mononobe bumps into Kirito again. Kirito noticed Mononobe’s shoes is dirty as if he’s been in a basement all this time. Kirito ask him what is he staying here for. Why is he calling him in the first place. Mononobe tells him that if Kirito make that kind of face, as a teacher he can't leave hin alone. Kirito tells him “what do you know just by looking at someone's face? Don't say anything disgusting, old man.” By that time, Kirito had already heard about how the world works. In the midst of that, he also learned what kind of silly and meaningless things they were repeating all the time. Unlike transients, the locals can't even get out of here no matter what they do, even if they die. Even if he took his life, it wouldn't bring any meaning to this world. For those who have been watching this world for a long time, the usual repeating scene that they have seen many times. Even if he commit an "unforgivable sin", he’s just one of many others. There is nothing he can do in this world. There is nothing that only he can do. It was that there was not even a single “reason for me being me” in this world. Further flashback, Kirito tells Mononobe that he doesn’t want to be here and be elsewhere. Mononobe stares at Kirito’s face seriously. Kirito tells him “Don’t be silly. Why are you making a face like you understand? Why do you always care about me? There's no reason why you should care.” Mononobe tells Kirito that's no good, Unless there is a plot that everyone can agree on, no one can "do it". Later Flashback, we see Mononobe outside of the police station. Kirito shows up to tell him that he did everything. He already knows very well how the world works. Yes, in this narrow world, there is nothing he can do on his own. But it can also be said in reverse. There are "crimes that only nobody can do". Originally, he wanted to disappear. But now is the time. if this "perfect crime" goes well, he might be really alone. Mononobe turns out to be really Christine in disguise. She tells Kirito that the Entertainers will create the perfect stage for him.
We cut to the present to see the True King Solomon standing before MC. He introduce himself to MC. He tells MC he knows everything that his terminal, Kyouma Mononobe, has seen in every loop in the past. He lacks the Mononobe MC knows. Therefore, if he were to be properly described it, he would be "an omniscient being in the past." so far him and MC never exchanged words like this. If you don't have the qualifications to be a player of the game, you won't be able to meet such rare conditions as this time. This is because there is no meaning or motivation for the World Reps to do so. Solomon will answer, as far as his "Omniscience" extends. MC stares at Solomon. Solomon said it's understandable. Solomom has no connection with MC. But Solomon does know the many people (the past loop MCs) who resemble MC. Solomon will answer any question as atonement for the sins committed by Mononobe, the part he cut off. Solomon will reveal the truth behind the original incident. At that time. Kirito appears between Solomon and MC. Kirito tells MC to don’t chase after them. Kirito gtabs Solomon's hand, and falls further to the bottom of the black hole. MC tries to chase after them but the Missing Mobs are blocking the way. Just then a flashing lights appear and the Missings are distracted. It was Amduscias, who is glad he was able to make it in time. Back to Duo, who explains that the Entertainers were trying to recreate the urban legend of Jack the Ripper. The unsolved incident that once happened in Shinjuku. The first person to discover the scene and the prime suspect was Kirito. What was left at the scene was "one arm" of the victim. Later, as a result of forensics, it was speculated that it belonged to MC. However, the important fact is that at the time of the incident, "the victim had not lost an arm." Of course, they don't remember losing it in the past. Then, where did that one arm come from? Yes, if it's not the present, and it's not the past, then there's only one answer. And this time, the performance in Yurakucho happened to imitate it. But the culprit of this incident is It is clear that it is Kirito. It's as if you want to convince the world that the last incident was the same. The Entertainers did a perfect job. If it weren't for the "whistleblower," the case would still be in the fog. The Entertainers lost its management privileges. That's because they used it for something other than the "original purpose". What did they still want to achieve? For whom did the Entertainers do all of this for?
Back to Amduscias and the others. Amduscias introduces himself. MC says they know from the broadcast they saw. Yuma goes into fanboy mode and tell Amduscias he’s been a fan of his for a long time. Amduscias thanks both MC and Yuma. They turn their gaze towards the Exception in the distance. We can see that Barong is still in there. More Missing mobs show up as the three fight their way through. We cut back to Duo who said, that that Kirito literally played the unidentified, missing "Jack the Ripper". He tried to hide the real culprit behind the fog. And he tried to disappear from this world. as someone once said. "No one is innocent in Tokyo". Solomon's terminal committed a rule violation that should not have been violated in this "game". It was probably a direct interference with the Trophy. We cut to Kirito and Solomon. MC managed to catch up to Kirito. Kirito throws his knives at MC but MC block then with their hollow blade. Kirito tells MC don’t take this from him. Kirito, who had tried so hard not to show any emotion until now, showed this expression for the first time. Even if it is negative, it is filled with a strong absolute value. Kirito yells at MC to don’t take his tile of "I'm nothing" from him. Don't steal the one and only "I am who I am" he has to define himself!! MC vs Kirito. Final battle start!
After the battle, we get Amduscias narration. He’ll keep on being an idol. Because all of us walk in search of "something that doesn't exist anywhere". If someone somewhere "you" who is watching it. That's right, anyone could have started, but I want to say a special "thank you" to you who watched it. Amduscias uses his sacred artifact. It is a sacred artifact that reflects "fiction". Make something that doesn't exist yet resound to someone who isn't here, shining light. Mononobe from within Solomon talks to Kirito. He tells that’s enough, he can’t bear Kirito to lie for his sake. Kirito tries to deny it, saying it wasn’t for Mononobe. Mononobe thanks Kirito for looking at me. He was able show him something that no one else can see. Kirito breakdown in tears. Solomon was about to tell MC what he (Mononobe) did but a flash of light cut him off.
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this dadwc friday I come for fluff PLEASE SJHGKFJGHFGH and the prompt "kissing their lover’s knuckles" for solas/lavellan? 🥺
dusts off this solavellan prompt from....a while ago it's sort of fluffy??? but c'mon bb, it's solavellan
for @dadrunkwriting
~~~
The Winter Palace is aglow with Orlais’ best decorations and their gaudiest patrons, but nothing holds a candle to the Inquisitor.
She positively sparkles. The dress she contrived with the Ambassador and Madame de Fer falls in sheets of silk and magic, though Solas doubts any of her admirers in their pastry-like attire appreciate it for what it truly is. It is a shade of what she should be, what she would be, if not for his interference.
She is busy. There is espionage afoot between many factions, his own people among them. They do not approach him directly, but he knows who they are, notices how they fail to bow to him as they bow to every other patron in his vicinity. Any observer, should they be oddly inclined to note the behavior of so many elves, would simply assume the servants thought him one of their own. But Fen’Harel knows, and he holds their loyalty to his chest like gold.
Let none be beholden but by choice.
He shifts his feet slightly, adjusting his posture against the stone column, and suddenly she is before him, resplendent in her glory and flushed from both the wine Vivienne has pressed upon her and the partner who has just whirled her across the floor.
“Solas,” she stage whispers, eyes alight as he failed to expect. “Isn’t is fabulous?”
His eyes linger over her, from her ankles strapped up in golden heels, to the fabric that clings at every dip and curve, to the braids and curls that have tamed her usually wild hair. The torchlight catches the freshly shaved side of her head; it catches the dark lines of her vallaslin, too, but he is adept at looking past them now. He holds her violet eyes with his own, deep and solemn, and knows she can see the trickery flickering behind it all.
“I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger and sex that permeates these events,” he says, hiding a smile in his wine glass. He’s had more than is advisable, perhaps, but there are few joys in this sundered world and he finds that Antivan wine is one of them, especially when one has just cause to celebrate.
And he certainly does, what with the key to Briala’s network nestled safely in his mind.
Irosyl leans closer and suddenly his senses are filled with her lavender perfume, the elfroot he knows she adept at sneaking past even the Spymaster, the gently zing of mana that says she has been recently casting. She cups his face with one hand, one long, lithe finger tracing his ear with a caress so gentle. His breath catches and for a moment he forgets his walls.
“Save me a dance, vhenan?” she ghosts over his lips.
His heart stutters and before he can stop it, his mind puts her in Mythal’s ballroom, the centermost of the dancers, draped in light and mana and glory and wrapped up in his arms, the envy of the Evanuris. They dance a dance forgotten to time and it goes on for longer than anyone cares to track, because they have forever and a day.
Except they don’t.
His fantasy shatters around him and he surges forward, closing the distance between their lips so she will not notice the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.
“I will not give that to them,” he says when they break apart. “I will not give them us.”
She looks crestfallen for a moment and he almost wavers, almost casts aside his hat to sweep her away to the shame of these shems. But she is a master of sealing the cracks and she draws herself up in the face of his refusal with an understanding, if somewhat bitter smile.
“Ar lath ma,” she reminds him. Even here, in the heart of Orlais, in this next of vipers. Ar lath ma. They cannot take that away.
He catches Irosyl’s wrist as she turns away, off to see to what intel the Spymaster has gathered. She pauses at the gentle pressure of his hand, turns back as his lithe fingers sip down to cradle hers and he brings her knuckles to his lips. They are spit-slick and swollen from her attentions still as he brushes them across her hand.
“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he echoes.
He wishes it was not true.
#dragon age#dragon age fanfic#dragon age inquisition#solavellan#solas dragon age#solas x irosyl#oc: irosyl lavellan#my writing#dadwc
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Prompt: why mountain doesn't like wearing shoes
Special, wearing his custom jersey (black with red sleeves and the word COACH on the back), his usual skinny jeans, and a glamour of black sneakers, walked down the line of his band siblings, inspecting their shapeshifting. On stage, their glamours, shapeshifting, and the stage hands' own amazing work with the lights and fog, obfuscated their ghoulishness. But Special was savvy. He knew the ritual-goers had ludicrously powerful phones. He knew they would make gifs and videos and zoom in to see details like rings or, weirdly, teeth. The fans really liked teeth. So he had to make sure the glamours were perfect. No shine where there wasn't supposed to be shine. No wrinkles where there weren't supposed to be wrinkles. Appropriately-sized teeth and mouths.
Special marked off items on the notes app on his phone- not that had had an actual list; he had typed "pretend to mark things off a list" and went with it.
"Okay guys, y'all are looki-" He stopped mid-sentence as his glamoured green eyes traveled downward.
"Ghoul" Special said quietly. The other band ghouls looked at one another. When Special didn't use their fun Internet names, it was serious. The drummer was in trouble.
//SPECIAL?//
Special pocketed his phone and pinched the bridge of his glamoured nose. "What are those?"
The Earth ghoul looked down. //MY HOOVES.//
"Are you supposed to have your hooves visible on stage?" Special asked with the tone an exhausted teacher might take with a child who just poured glue into the fish tank.
//NO.//
Special pressed his hands together and took a deep breath- or actually, he chose to create a rudimentary lung inside himself to temporarily inflate with air, as ghouls do not breathe or have lungs- and sighed.
"So why have you not glamoured your boots on?"
The other band ghouls were staring at their tall sibling. The Earth ghoul shrugged.
//I DO NOT LIKE IT.//
Special frowned and turned his head as if to hear better- which he did not need to do, as ghouls sent and received communication telepathically- and said "I'm sorry, what was that?"
//I DO NOT LIKE HAVING TO GLAMOUR MY LEGS WHEN I AM BEHIND THE DRUMKIT, SPECIAL. NO ONE SEES ME BACK THERE.//
Special put his hands on his hips. "Okay, but, like, it's not about whether or not anyone sees you, and you go out for the bows anyway, and you have the boots for that. But all this is, is 'I don't like it'?"
The band ghouls craned and turned their heads like barn owls, unable to anticipate their sibling's response.
//I LIKE TO MAKE SOCKS, NOT SHOES.// The ghoul demonstrated, his hooves flickering into vividly coloured, striped socks. //CAN I BE IN SOCKS FOR THE SHOW, THEN PUT MY SHOES ON FOR THE FINAL BOW? IS THIS A FAIR COMPROMISE?//
Special contorted his glamoured features into what he called his 'thinking face.' Normally, he would say 'no' to such a request, but the socks looked amazing. If he had not witnessed the shapeshifting himself, he might have thought they were real socks. He could feel the eyes of his siblings on him and he debated internally, trying to settle on what a good coach would do.
"Yeah, sure, okay."
The drummer ghoul picked Special up and squeezed him. //I AM GIVING YOU A HUG TO EXPRESS MY JOY. AM I DOING IT RIGHT?//
"Yes," Special wheezed, for no other reason than to keep up his own costume of humanity. His band siblings had come a long way, but there were still things to learn.
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@gyubby99 oki I know I've made so many of these, but Jessica rabbit is amazing.
Alastor x OC fic
youtube
Alastor sat behind some demons in his club, supposedly blending in with the crowd somehow.
Aponi was going to sing tonight, and Alastor had told her to go all out. A little experiment he was playing through.
Everyone knew she belonged to Alastor, but the radio demon himself wanted to see how many demons would still try to touch her.
So, alastor sat in the back, a red hood over his clothes and face.
He listened into the conversation just a few feet away at the bar husker was working at, with special request from the radio demon not to tell anyone about Aponi.
"I heard there's a new singer here. My guy told me she was incredibly fucking sexy," a cockroach demon stated.
"Oh I love those ones. Usually they're asking for it," the other demon replied with a sharp toothed smile.
"I wouldn't say that if I were you guys," Husker muttered with a smirk as he took a swig of beer from behind the counter.
"Shut up asshat. We can talk about whatever the fuck we want," the first demon scowled.
"Your funeral then," Husker replied as he sat down to watch his friend's performance.
You had a plenty money 1922
You let other women make a fool of you
Aponi sang as she stepped out from behind the curtain, only showing her leg at first before walking out.
Her dress was sheer, and a dark orange. If the lighting was right, you could see right through it.
Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too?
The cockroach demon chuckled darkly as he looked Aponi up and down and walked up closer to the stage to sit at a table.
Alastor watched with an evil grin.
You're sitting down wondering what it's all about
You ain't got no money they will put you out
Aponi sang as she walked toward the demon, rubbing her legs together as she walked to appear more sexy.
The cockroach demon attempted to look up her dress before Aponi kicked his head away.
Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too?
As she sang she walked off the stage to walk around the club.
"You're tellin me she's datin the radio demon?" One of the demons asked the servers in a whisper.
"Yeah. He's a real lucky guy," the server answered.
If you had prepared twenty years ago
You wouldn't be a-wanderin' now from door to door
As she sang she leaned on one of the tables, letting a few of the demons get a full view of her chest.
Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too?
The demon gulped as she walked away.
As alastor watched he couldn't help the small amount of jealousy coursing through his grey skin.
The cockroach demon made himself known again when he whistled out.
I fell for you jiving and I took you in
Now all you've got to offer me is a drink of gin
Aponi walked over to the demon as she sang and started touching his shoulders.
Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too?
She hit the demon on the head before she continued walking back to the stage.
"Awe come on. Don't be a prude, sexy!" The demon called out.
Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Like some other men do?
Aponi ignored him as she sang out the last high note and the lights went out.
Alastor stood up briskly when he saw the cockroach demon walk backstage.
Aponi sat in her dressing room.
"Hey baby," the cockroach smirked as he stood in her doorway. "You lookin for a good time? Insect to insect?" He asked.
"I don't do sex. Please get out. That'll be your only warning," Aponi replied as she touched up her makeup.
"Oh c'mon baby girl. You could make a guy very happy," The roach stated as he got closer to her.
"Let me be clear. I only make one man happy in the way you're insinuating, and he is the only one who gets to call me 'baby girl'," Aponi stated as she stood up.
"Yeah well I don't see'em here. Baby girl," the roach taunted.
"Then I reccomend you turn around, my dear man!" A static voice sounded.
The roach turned around, sneer on his face before he realized who he was looking at.
"Oh what fun I'll have!" Alastor exclaimed as his smile grew.
The only sounds from Aponi's dressing room were the screams of the cockroach demon.
A few minutes later Alastor and Aponi walked into the main arena of the club and to the bar where husker stood.
"Ya got some blood there," Husk stated as he cleaned a glass. Alastor looked down to see his suit almost caked in blood.
"Ohoho whoops!" Alastor exclaimed.
"No worries darling, I'll get it clean later tonight when we get back to the hotel," Aponi replied with a smile.
"Wonderful!" Alastor exclaimed again.
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Leading Us Along
Chapter 28 of my Mayari series
Mayari Masterlist | Complete Masterlist
Summary: Loki and Mayari have a fight while she's under Dreykov's Widow Serum.
A/N: I wrote this at the end of last year. In light of what recently happened in Texas, I'm hesitant to put this up because of the first paragraph of the story. It was horrific and appalling, and I, as a registered voter, have exhausted all my resources in trying to make changes. As a mother myself, I fear for my son's safety when I let him go to school. I shouldn't have to feel like that. NO ONE SHOULD (Breathe in, breathe out) So, let me get off my soapbox. I know you didn't come here to read my rant. I just wanted you to know, that I don't take gun violence lightly. This might trigger some of you. So I hid all the text under the 'read more.' I hope you enjoy this angst-filled chapter. This entire series is inspired by songs. The complete playlist can be found here on Spotify.
Word Count: 2226
Warnings: Action sequence, fighting, angst, gore, violence.
Art by: Katy Lipscomb
“He’s got a gun!” you heard someone shout. The crowd panicked and screams were heard as people hurried to the exits. Only the Avengers had stayed behind. The man pulled his shot. No! Not Loki, you thought. You pushed him off the stage, trying to save him. But the shooter wasn’t pointing the gun at Loki. He was pointing it at you.
Thor raised Stormbreaker and swung it down. The gunman’s hand dropped to the floor with his pistol still in hand. A bloodcurdling scream was all anyone could hear as he was surrounded by people trying to subdue him. Heimdall ran to the stage, his vision from earlier coming to fruition.
Loki held you as you lay in his arms gasping for air. The ammo had a syringed tail. The contents depositing into your body.
“We’ve talked about this Mayari! You were not to get injured again.” Loki lectured you.
“Is it poison?” You said in between breaths. You felt weak. You felt dizzy and short of breath. It was as if someone had punched your gut so hard that it pushed all the oxygen out of your body. It was depriving your brain of the air it needed to think, giving you a massive headache. Someone pulled out the syringe.
“Bruce, analyze this. Find out what it is.” Tony spoke.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” You said quietly.
“No, you’re not. You just got shot with an unknown substance.” Loki said angrily.
“I said, I’m fine!” You yelled out. One second you were deprived of oxygen and energy, and then the next, you felt so rich with electricity running through your veins. “Where is he? Where’s the idiot who dared act against me.” Your voice held an echo. A dark aura formed around you. If you had been your usual self, Loki thought, you would’ve transformed into your moon form. You got up and walked over to the man lying on the ground. He cradled his missing hand and cried. Your teammates parted as you walked closer.
“Doll…” Bucky said, trying to calm you down.
“Pain,” was all you said. Bucky fell to his knees, clutching his sides. When he was no longer able to stop you, you focused back on the assailant. Everyone was alarmed. You had essentially attacked one of your own teammates.
“Suffer.” A louder cry came from the gunman. He writhed in pain, convulsing on the floor. Drool bubbled from his mouth, escaping his lips.
“…Find…Dreykov…Follow…Him…” The gunman wailed with his last breath.
“How is she able to do this? She’s not singing.” Natasha asked Tony. Loki came up to you and held your arms.
“Darling. Come back to me.” He said softly, trying to coax you out of this blinding wrath you had put yourself in.
“Pain.”
Loki buckled to his knees. Sharp stabbing pain in his gut as if he was being sliced open.
“Mayari! That’s enough. Thor yelled out.” His eyes changed with the call of his lightning. You turned to face him but were met with Steve Rogers. He was standing so close to you. You did not hear him sneak up behind you. He took your surprise and quickly fastened a metal gag around your mouth.
You grabbed Steve’s hand and flung him across the room. The indignity you felt at being silenced. You screamed with your entire rage. Your whole body heating up. Light flooded the room, your body levitating.
“She’s calling the moon,” Nat said. “What was in that syringe?” Everyone looked away, the light too bright from where you were floating. A heavy gust of wind knocked everyone to the floor. When they all looked up, you had gone.
Screams could be heard from outside the gates. The encampments were under attack. Dreykov’s army was in full formation as they marched up in squadrons to attack New Asgard. Dreykov decided on one final push. He was sick of being attacked by the team. It had cost him a valuable lieutenant and some sensitive information regarding his privacy and assets.
He would gamble all his resources on this final attack, and he would be victorious. As soon as you were on his side, it wouldn’t matter the cost. You could compel your way into any office, into any meeting. You would be able to convince everyone to follow him. He would sacrifice all of his men and all the black widows to get to you. You would have the power to get them all back tenfold. So he set up one of his men to infiltrate the party and somehow try to get the black widow serum into you.
It worked. As soldiers closed in on the gate, you met them halfway, walking down the lone road. The army parting like the Red Sea to let you pass. Still, in your party gown, your long black hair waving in the cold night. Your eyes were black and absent as the night sky. The metal mask, still around your mouth. Dreykov got out of the rear car and approached you. He held out his arm and you took it as he escorted you into the backseat.
“MAYARI!” You heard your name being called in the background. This is wrong. Something’s wrong. I have to stop. But you couldn’t stop. Your body was subconsciously following orders. Is this what being compelled feels like? The car was speeding away. You sat quietly, looking forward. There were two others in the car with you. Both were widows. Both sat just like you. Looking forward without a word.
“You are much more exquisite in person, my dear,” Dreykov said sitting next to you. A tear rolled down your cheek. He grazed his finger against your face, catching your tears. “Yes. You will be a lovely addition.”
The car sped forward. You tried to move your arms. You tried to kick your legs. Sweat beaded down your forehead from the exhaustion you were putting yourself in. The other widows looked at you. with mixed looks on their faces; Stop! Or we’ll have to subdue you. Stop! You’re only making things worse for yourself. Save your energy. You can’t get out of this. You could see it all in their eyes.
You couldn’t stop. You won’t stop. What had you done? You did exactly what you were afraid you would do. You had hurt The Avengers. You had hurt your team. You could still picture Bucky on the floor, clutching his sides as you compelled him to feel pain. You remember throwing The Captain across the room. You saw Loki gasping for air, holding on to your arm, pleading with you to stop.
What. Had. You. Done?
You can’t stop. You had to try. Only if to just call them back and apologize.
A clash of lightning struck the car, followed by thunder. Green smoke soon enveloped the inside of the cabin, causing everyone to cough. “GO!” Dreykov said to the two widows. Quickly, they got out of the car and hurried to fight whatever was waiting outside. Dreykov grabbed your hand and pushed out in the opposite direction.
Once outside, he grabbed your muzzle, trying to break it free from your face. “I need you. I have a jet ready to fly but we can’t leave till we get this off you.” He grunted with one last pull. He was scratching your cheek, his nails leaving welts on your face. The pain momentarily brings you back to the forefront of your consciousness. With a backhanded smack, you raised your hand and Dreykov flew several meters away from you. But not because you hit him. Your hand was frozen in place up above you. You couldn’t move to strike Dreykov. An unsaid rule not allowing you to. You tried prying the mask off yourself, but couldn’t. You wanted to use your power to subdue him while your body was still yours to command.
Loki appeared next to you. His seidr pushing Dreykov down into the cold ground.
“Did you really think you could take her? From ME?! NO ONE takes what’s mine.” A dark green cloud formed behind Loki. A large wolf formed from the vapors. It sped past Loki towards Dreykov, snarling and growling as he ran the short distance. His teeth found purchase around Dreykov’s neck. This time it was real. This time, the wolf had teeth.
“The others will be here soon. Your paltry infantry keeping them busy. My brother is off fighting your two lapdogs. I could kill you and I can make it look like an accident. No one else would have to know.” Loki said with a smirk. His eyes had gone dark and vacant. You could see the blood trickling from the sides of Dreykov’s shoulder as the wolf held his snout shut.
You whimpered on the ground, still trying to get the muzzle off. Loki looked down at you, but you turned away. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. Shame engulfing you from what you had done to him earlier.
Loki faltered. I’m horrific! I’m a monster! She can’t even look me in the eyes. She can’t even stand the sight of me. Loki stopped. He lowered his hands commanding the wolf to drop Dreykov to the ground. I promised to protect you. I promise to be the man worthy of you. Dreykov yelled on the ground in pain. He held onto his shoulder trying to stop the bleeding.
“Get him!” Dreykov panted. Your senses started clouding again. A thick fog hazing your brain and your thoughts. You stood up, your daggers materializing in your hands. You slashed towards Loki. Nearly gashing his left arm. Loki jumped back avoiding your attack. He raised his hand to command the wolf.
The wolf snarled at Dreykov and bit his neck. It pulled its muzzle as his front paws held Dreykov’s body to the ground. You could hear a tear of flesh as his head was severed from his body. The wolf followed suit with the rest of Dreykov’s limbs, not leaving any scrap behind.
You fell to your knees the compulsion slightly wearing off. You had just attacked Loki again. You had to get away. You don’t want to hurt anyone else again. Especially the one that you love. With your hands on your muzzle, you tried one last time to take it off.
“Let me, darling,” Loki came to you quickly. He was soft and gentle. He touched the back of the mask and it folded in on itself till it resembled nothing but a small metal square.
“Get away from me. I don’t need your help.” It had sounded angrier than you wanted it to. You pushed him away from you and you walked off in the opposite direction.
“Mayari, where are you going?” Loki was confused. He was hurt. He can’t let you leave. Not like this. He wanted to apologize for scaring you. He didn’t mean to frighten you. He didn’t mean to kill Dreykov. He had to. Or else some part of Dreykov’s serum would still have a hold on you.
“Leave me alone.” You screamed at him. Loki felt like the world was crumbling around him.
“I had no choice!” He yelled at you. “It was either you or him, Mayari. And I chose you. It will always be you!” Loki followed you close. “Love let’s go. Bruce has something that will help with this…this…brainwashing. It worked in our favor that you are Vanir. That serum was not enough to subdue you completely. Come.” He gestured. But you kept walking. Where? You didn’t know. You just had to get away from there.
“I can’t Lo…” You didn’t feel right. You felt off balance. Your vision was blurry, and you felt nauseated and sick. You had just attacked him. What if you did it again? You can’t risk hurting any more people that you loved. Loki won’t give up that easily though. You knew that he would fight for you. Even if the one he was fighting was yourself.
Loki continued to trail after you. He tried to grab your hand to pull you back. “Mayar…”
“Do not tell me what to do! For so long I have had to bend to the likes of men. Men who always want me for something. To use me. As if they own me to be used at their whim. Then, when they don’t need me anymore they say that I’m too weak! Too young to know how the real world works. Gaslight me into thinking that I’m not good enough. I AM SICK OF IT. You don’t even know me, Laufeyson, yet you claim to have me like I’m your possession.” Your use of his last name felt distant and impersonal. He was stunned and hurt. More so that you claim he doesn’t know you. That the moments you spent together were superficial and fake.
“Love, let’s talk about this.” He tried to hold your hand again, but you called out your daggers and swiped against him. He parried your attack, taking out daggers of his own. You attacked him trying to get him to back off, but he stood there immobile, defending himself. “Forgive me pet for what I am about to do.” He grabbed one of your hands and with the other, he touched your forehead.
⬅️Chapter 27: Heavy In Your Arms | Chapter 29: Demons ➡️
Tags: @user13cabs @alexs1200 @lokiprompts @huntress-artemiss
#loki fandom#loki fluff#tom hiddleston fluff#loki fanfic#loki laufeyson#tom hiddleston angst#tom hiddleston fanfic#tom hiddleston fanfiction#loki angst#loki smut#loki series#mcu#loki x you#loki x reader#loki x OC#Marvel fanfic#MCU fanfic#Mayari#filipino mythology#norse mythology (MCU)#song fic#song lyrics#asianwomen#asian oc
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Find The Word Tag
Thank you for the tag, @cljordan-imperium.
My assigned words are: excuse, tactic, bubble, vertical, & ribbon.
Passing the tag to @fearofahumanplanet, @dontjudgemeimawriter, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, and @writingpotato07. As well as the usual open tag for anyone else who may wish to join in.
Your words shall be: sweet, grow, enough, curiosity, & form
Excuse: Empty Names, in-progress side story
The Rogue had one particular item in the castle they were looking for. They had always heard of cake, and had often even gotten as close as smelling its sweet aroma from a bakery’s window, but they had never had it themself. But by all accounts it was a treat, this “cake,” and surely the Princess’s nameday cake must be the finest of them all. And besides, they’d been looking for an excuse to break into the castle for some time. They would have done so eventually, just to see if they could, but if there was cake to be had, all the sweeter.
Tactic: Empty Names, Chapter 2
The necromancer wastes no words as he charges the wizard. As he runs, his other arm shreds its sleeve as it bulks up and grows talons over its fingers. A morbid parody of dance ensues back and forth across the stage. The necromancer rains down crushing blows and Ashan casually deflects them with shields that flicker in and out of existence. More spikes erupt from below and Ashan gracefully sidesteps. The necromancer’s face twists in rage and Ashan’s remains placid.
Eventually, the necromancer grows frustrated with this game and changes tactics. He extends the tendril of his right arm once more, sending it plunging toward the one audience member still seated. Ashan makes a slashing motion with the wand followed by an upward flick and a wall of what looks like glass rises to cut the stage off from the rest of the room. The tendril crumples on itself as it slams into the newmade wall.
Bubble: Empty Names, Chapter 4
The labyrinthian halls of Bridgewood Manor are dimly lit at night by flickering blue-white flames bereft of both smoke and heat; tamed into regularly-spaced sconces and trained to ignite when approached and extinguish when left behind. The result is a system delightful in its needless complexity, like so many of Carnette’s creations. The lighting used to be brighter and more even but, like so many of Carnette’s creations, Sullivan still hasn’t figured out how to maintain it properly without her.
This is how he spends his nights, in lieu of sleep, in a bubble of light drifting through dark corridors. Or at least, how he spends his nights when he’s at home and not out diving headfirst into whatever hedonistic pit he can find. Some nights these walks have a purpose. Mapping architecture that no longer shifts at its mistress’s command. Identifying the hidden passages she never got around to showing him. Finding ways into rooms she left locked. Other nights the walking is an act of meditation. Step after step, focusing on the void outside the bubble of light, and clearing his mind. It’s not sleep, but it’s close enough.
Vertical: The Archivist's Journal, Day 60
Initially, I stuck to the shallows, some primal fear keeping me from swimming out over spaces where I couldn’t see the bottom. Eventually I worked up the proper mix of curiosity and courage though. Mostly by not looking down until I was out over the center. Once I did, it was equal parts unsettling and awe-inspiring. Spiraling down below me, swimming in great layered circles were schools of fish in greater quantity and variety of species than I would have imagined in an isolated body of water like this. Long plants lined the not quite vertical walls the slope had turned into, waving like streamers in the flow of the prevailing upward current. And yet still, situated near directly over the center with the sun not long past its noontime zenith I could not make out a bottom. Surely it must stretch down below sea level at a bare minimum.
Ribbon: The Archivist's Journal, Day 55
After that exchange we continued to sit on the porch and watch the mists until the sun began to go down. We actually saw another distant giant, although this one was different from the last one I’d seen in everything but scale and sluggish pace. This one was serpentine in form and drifted through the air. Dozens of long, thin appendages trailed down behind it, writhing as the giant twisted its way through the sky. Or at least, I interpreted them as trailing ribbons. To Maiko’s eyes they were spindly legs connecting the creature to the ground. Hard to truly say one way or the other, obscured as it was.
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you ask I provide (eventually) @chloe123love607
~~
"Mum!" Tyler and Scarlett call at the same time, running into the waiting room followed by their friends. Their purposeful strides are only stopped when Corae pulls them both into her arms and they sag against her. Corae is still dressed like she does for work, all power suit girlboss, but her face betrayed her to everyone else there. Utter heartbreak, rage and lots of worry.
"Is dad okay?" Scarlett asks, softly like she doesn't want the answer really but she still needs to ask. Corae runs a hand over her daughter's red hair and kisses her forehead.
"He's still in surgery, they said it's good sign that he's still hanging in," she says and then sees the devastation on her children's faces. "Hey, we're Jones', surviving is what we do, okay?" both of them nod. "All we can do is wait now and you both look exhausted. Sit," she gestures to the seats in the unusually quiet waiting room. Both slump down on either side of their mother, who holds their hands, her back razor sharp and refusing to crumble.
Fin sits on Scar's other side, his gloved hand coming to rest between her shoulder blades to give her some strength. Zila sits across from them, immediately becoming engrossed in her computer, probably trying to find some statistics to make her friends feel better. Auri sits beside her and becomes equally focussed. But Saedii and Kal step outside, both shaken by the pure shutdown both had watched Tyler go through when the call came through.
"We have to do something, this was obviously our fathers doing," Saedii said and Kal nods, starting to pace around the edge of the ambulance bay. He does four laps before he notices the look on Saedii's face
"You have something in mind?"
"Father said very publicly that I would be his heir apparent. He never rescinded, even when I started dating Tyler. He's not dead but I think I can swing it," she goes to walk towards the street and Kal is reminded how ruthless she is. He catches her around the waist. "What?"
"Tyler's dad just got shot, he needs you," Saedii growls.
"He needs our father gone."
"He needs you more," Kal says quietly and sincerely. Saedii pauses, considers, nods and turns back into the waiting room. Kal follows a step behind, pauses in the doorway and watches Saedii sit beside Tyler and pull his head to sit against her shoulder, her fingers feeding into his hair gently. Corae, sensing both her children feeling okay finally stood and brushed Kal to get out the door.
He watched her cross to the opposite side of the ambulance bay, slightly hidden, crouch and put her head in her knees. He followed her and crouched next to her.
“Mrs Jones, are you okay?” he asks, softly. Eventually she lifts her head and turns it to look at him.
“You know, my family expected me to become an Unbroken,” Kal’s eybrows raise and Corae just nods before continuing. “That’s why they paid for law school, because who better to represent them than one of them. And then, my last year of law school, I walk into this shitty dive bar and this cop starts putting the moves on me and it was cheesy but he was so cute. If someone told me that that night would lead me to here...” she trailed off and Kal gives her a second. “I’m sorry Kal but if my Jericho dies, your father will be dying too. Before law school, I was trained as a marksmen,” Corae says, her voice lacking any of the usual lightness he knows. He nods.
“Saedii’s gonna stage a coup,” Kal says and Corae considers for a beat and then snorts, a weird smile lifting one side of her mouth.
“Well if anyone could depose your father, it would be her. I have a feeling you want a different strategy?” she says and he shrugs.
“I have a list of every inside man my father has. I know you normally defend, but since you’re the only lawyer I trust, do you feel like going back to persecution for this?”
Corae watches him and then her eyes turn towards the entry of the ER as if she could see her hurting children.
“Yeah, Kal, for this I will.”
~~
idk I wanted to write some Corae centric content.
#aurora cycle#Tyler Jones#scarlett jones#saedii gilwraeth#kal gilwraeth#jericho jones#original female character
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Ignition Chapter 1: Party Time
The rush of every corner, the thrill of every race.. Is it more of a miracle that these racers can keep up with a city like Los Angeles? Or that Los Angeles can keep up with them?
So, this was originally a RWBY fanfiction I had worked on, but as my interest in RWBY has faded, I decided to reboot it with a fully original cast. Story takes place in a fictional and slightly fantasy Los Angeles. Huge thank you to the ones who support me and push me to get off my ass and actually write ( @wetsliceofbread and @gruntnuker-rwby especially for sharing this brainchild with me). Anyways, enjoy!
He gazed up at the sky through the car window. Orange and red skies were clinging onto their last moments before giving way to the black of night. Business owners just outside were closing up shop. Some were retreating home after a long day of getting pummeled by the southern California sun. But, nightfall wasn’t an end for Los Angeles. All it was instead was an opportunity for a new cast of characters to shine in the City of Angels. And at the heart of it all tonight sat the Clearview District, a place where people from all walks of life converged. Restaurants, fashion boutiques, nightclubs, and bars all mixed together. However, it also played as backdrop for something new to take shape in the city. A new scene, one that served as the perfect stage for these people of the night. It was also a scene that LAPD officials keen on gaining public favor promised to “put a stop to for the good of the city.”
Or at least, that’s what they kept saying. But currently, there wasn’t a single cop roaming the streets of the Clearview District.
The radio in the car softly crackled to life. Behind it, a male voice spoke softly yet calmly.
“I just notified R. Patrols have been rerouted. We are a go.” Another voice followed up, a female carrying a perky and excited tone.
“That’s our 21st century digital boy hard at work!”
“Let’s bust some ass!” A third voice, another female, chimed in, this one a tad deeper than the first. Finally, he reached for the radio. He had waited long enough to make his presence felt.
“Time to remind this city who’s number 1. Let’s move All-Stars!” Every word he said oozed with arrogance, a swagger that was as resolute as it was painfully obvious to anyone who could hear him. Without another moment wasted, he turned the key and fired up the ignition.
The average driver on the freeway didn’t realize just how much they wanted a change in scenery from the sea of monochromatic sedans and pickup trucks. But they got exactly that in the form of a colorful convoy of four cars. On point was a sleek and graceful Ferrari 458 Italia clad in one of the prancing horse’s signature shades of red. Next in line was an orange Dodge Challenger Hellcat, adorned with black racing stripes and the word “HELLFOX” above the rear wheels. Then, a purple 1992 NSX marked with a Honda badge on the front and Japanese characters across the back windshield. And finally, bringing up the rear, a blue Ford Focus tricked out with a custom livery, blue underglow, and - as everyone else who was sharing the highway were quickly learning - a speaker system. As the quartet neared the Dawkins Drive exit, they took their opportunity to leave the freeway behind, forcing everyone else to return to the never-ending parade of the same old cars.
Halted by a red light at the bottom of the off ramp, the Ferrari driver leading the brigade watched as a blue Mitsubishi 3000GT stroll past. A lifted Dodge Ram went past a moment later in the opposite direction. Its tailgate was filled with a few people along with some traffic cones and “ROAD CLOSED” signs. He casually nudged the blinker switch to signal right turn and upon the light turning green, he led the way in pursuit of the Mitsubishi. A brief few blocks later, the group came across a parking garage that usually lay quiet and unsuspecting during the daytime hours. But, as evident by the groups of people excitedly chatting by the front gate and the tuned up cars entering it, it was the hottest spot LA’s nightlife had to offer tonight.
The commotion at the front gate turned its focus to the incoming squad as the Italian supercar led the way inside. The Focus brought the volume of their EDM playlist they were previously blasting down. The Hellcat’s engine rumbled lowly, as if it was itching to unleash its barely hidden power. Each side of the aisle they cruised down was decorated with a wide variety of vehicles. Japanese tuners, muscle cars, European coupes, sport bikes, trucks. Some were plastered with intricate vinyl paint jobs. Others kept a more modest look in hopes of being slept on. Some were equipped with personalized body kits. Many of them had their hoods up to put their engines on display. Everyone was there to show their trophy vehicles to the world.
After a moment of searching, the eye-catching 458 found a place for the team to park. Once stopped, the door swung open and a pair of pricey sneakers stepped out and met the concrete ground below. Red hair that nearly matched his car swooped above electric yellow eyes. His lean but athletic 5’10 build was hidden under a custom white and red baseball jersey. On the front were the words “Ospreay Industries” and on the back was a bold #1 underneath the last name that matched the company. He took one glance at the gold watch around his wrist before looking out at the crowd that viewed him pull in. His ego swelled in his chest.
“That entrance never gets old. The West Coast All-Stars have arrived.” Dash Ospreay spoke with the same cocky demeanor he displayed over the radio. This was only exacerbated by the by the trio of girls he caught scanning him from the corner of his eye. The smug look on his face could probably be seen from space. His train of thought, however, came crashing down thanks to a deafening roar from the Hellcat’s V8 engine that it had been begging to let loose.
“Ugh, Auburn! Auburn!” Dash tried to yell over the motor but to little avail. The muscle car’s driver ceased the barrage of horsepower and stepped out amidst mischievous cackling. She stood a few inches shorter than Dash at 5’7 with long, wavy reddish-brown hair and crimson eyes. She took a moment to adjust her MMA-style fingerless gloves as she got out. A leather jacket sat over a black tube top that left her toned midriff exposed. A chain belt was wrapped around her waist over torn up jeans that went down to black boots. However, perhaps her most notable physical trait was the pair of fox ears on her head and matching tail that swayed behind her.
“What’s that? Can’t hear ya, Bubblegum,” the fox hybrid Auburn Vulpes said with a snickering grin. She held up a hand to her ear playfully and shook her head like she couldn’t hear him. Dash could only groan and roll his eyes in response. By this point, the NSX had taken its place on the other side of her. The door was open and its pilot was still inside, a silhouette illuminated by the several screens that had taken over the dashboard. The boy had black hair that stopped just short of a purple pair of headphones around his neck. His eyes were hidden due to the glare off of his glasses. As he halfway turned to address the fox hybrid, his hands remained stuffed in his hoodie pockets. He also revealed a heavily modified tablet strapped to his arm.
“Auburn, I go through a lot of effort trying to keep the police off of us. Pretty sure every cop from here to Australia heard that,” Solomon Roxos said. He did much better to hide any signs of annoyance compared to Dash.
“That’s the best compliment you could ever give me,” Auburn replied, her grin only growing. Solomon could only shake his head and stifle a tiny chuckle as he brought his attention back to his tech. But, it was quickly yanked away again as the last member of the All-Stars had snuck up from behind him.
“Oh c’mon Technomancer! You’ve got this all under control, so why not have a little fun now that we’re here?” The initial surprise caused Solomon to jump slightly, enough to knock his headphones off his neck, although he did catch them before they hit the ground. He’d never allow them to fall. Once recollected, he faced the girl, who was sporting a genuine gleaming smile back at him. Her long, straight hair was streaked with blue and black. Her skin tone was a beautiful caramel tone. Long legs brought her even an inch taller than Dash. She had on a short blue skirt, gray blouse, blue tie, and black knee high boots.
“Sapphire,” Solomon started but almost immediately trailed off, unable to his finish his thought. No one could really stay mad at Sapphire Hyacinth for long.
“Whaaaat? It’s a party, isn’t it? Or at least it is now that we’re here,” she giggled. While Auburn folded her arms across her ample chest and nodded in agreement, Solomon seemed to be in no rush leaving his crew’s designated spot to mingle with the “partiers”.
“Someone should let Royce know we’re here,” he said shyly in an attempt to dodge the subject.
“Right. I’ll go find her,” Dash volunteered.
“Wait, I’m coming too! I gotta see around this meet!” Sapphire said.
“Gonna hold me up while you get pics for your instagram?”
“Nooooooo.” Her smile grew after a moment like she couldn’t hide it any longer. “Ok maybe.” The redheaded leader wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they started their walk through the heart of the meet. Both of their eyes wandered around at the vibrant array of cars surrounding them. A sly smirk crept across Sapphire’s countenance the more she looked around. In a moment’s notice, she whipped out her phone and bolted away from Dash.
“Sapph!” he called out. But it was too late. She already had made her way toward a Honda Civic EK9. The owner obliged the black and blue haired influencer’s request, leaning against the front of their treasured car and allowing Sapphire to get a couple of quick shots. An exchange of compliments and pleasant small talk was cut short though as she looked over her shoulder to see Dash walking away to continue his mission.
“All-Star wait up!” she said. Dash tilted his head a little to hide the tiny smile he gave himself. It was Sapphire’s nickname for Dash that ended up lending to their team name in the first place. Sapphire jogged to catch up with him, her long legs making the stride easy.
“I’m trying to find Royce first. Get business done, then you’ll have plenty of time to play around,” Dash told her. And almost as if on cue, they sighted a black Nissan Silvia S13 with a masterfully painted livery. Every inch of the car, every little detail, seemed treated with precise care and passionate love. Purple stripes flanked a white one down the middle of the hood. A floral design overlaid with purple tribal markings shot down the side of the car toward a pinstripe ending on the trunk. Once they circled around, they could see that trunk was currently popped open with a girl leaning against it. She possessed green eyes and two-tone hair that split right down the middle, one half black and the other a silvery white. She wore a black sleeveless top with multicolored paint splatter decals on the chest under a bomber jacket, and leggings that hugged her legs all the way down to a pair of Converse on her feet.
“Heyyy Royce!” Sapphire greeted her before aiming her camera at her. Royce Fiala barely had time to smile back. She reached one hand down to rummage through the trunk. The sound of spray cans rattling as they’re being strewn around can be heard before she pulled out and put on a gas mask with purple LEDs around the filters. As she stood up and struck a more serious pose for the photographer, she revealed a skunk tail behind her. Sapphire took the picture, allowing the skunk hybrid to relax once again.
“Make sure you tag White Stripe,” she said.
“Always do. Gotta show my favorite paint booth some love,” Sapphire answered. Not only was Royce the organizer for LA’s racing scene, she was also an artist of many different mediums. Although usually her artwork came back down to her two favorites: cars and graffiti. After a nod of gratitude to Sapphire, she shifted to the uncharacteristically quiet Ospreay.
“What, the illustrious and acclaimed heir to Ospreay Industries has nothing to say?”
“I’m just here as always to remind you and everyone else why I wear this number 1 on my back. I’m here to lead the best team on your circuit and look damn good doing it. I’m not here for the likes and followers.” Royce wanted to argue him, but she couldn’t. The West Coast All-Stars had sat atop the scene’s leaderboards for months now. Sapphire stuck her tongue out at him, internally praying he wouldn’t press any further before a slight nudge from Royce interrupted her thought.
“Probably just deleted all his socials cause he got tired of seeing all the bad press of his family’s company on his feed,” Royce whispered to her just loud enough for Dash to hear. Sapphire kept her lips pursed shut, trying not to react in any way, even clasping a hand over her mouth to aid her. Dash stood there with arms crossed, attempting and failing to hide the fact that he was fuming.
“Sounds like someone’s just jealous I can afford gorgeous supercars with ease while you struggle to get your little paint booth off-”
“Dash, behave!” Sapphire snapped to quiet him. Both the other parties involved stirred a little. Especially Dash, whose startlement was easily read across his face.
“Just shut up and pay me,” Royce said. “Not like you can’t afford it.” Quietly, Dash pulled out a stack of bills and handed it to the artist with a bit more force than what was necessary. After a quick flip through to mentally count what she deemed was enough money, she barely glanced above the wad of cash, Royce once again glanced up confront Dash once more. “This better be race winnings and not daddy’s blood money.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, that ‘blood money’ does a lot to help you out. Keeps the cops off our trail and lets them buy something nice for their wives,” Dash reassured.
“Right. Had to remind me of the reason we keep you around,” Royce retorted. By this point, Sapphire had ceased sitting around awkwardly, mentally pleading for this to stop, and decided to take action by standing between the two of them. Royce took this as her cue to resume having a normal conversation as opposed to verbal jabs. “So, which one of you is racing tonight?”
“You already know, girl!” Sapphire giggled. “Dash promised this race to me tonight. I’ve been wanting something different besides the drift events. So I got the race setup in today, along with a new set of tires from Harley. Speaking of which, where are your girls?”
“Setting up the track. Should be done any minute now.”
“Who’s racing tonight?” Dash reentered the chat once again. “Who needs to know that if you’re coming for the kings-”. A swift yet subtle elbow to the side cut Dash off. Sapphire rolled her eyes and Dash took a second to correct himself. “And queens. You better not miss.”
“Jynx signed up in his Monte Carlo. Got a couple others I’m not too familiar with. One chick, I think her name was Victoria? And some new guy Kato. I don’t know, we’ll see how they do.” Sapphire nodded, taking her words in but clearly not showing much concern about them. “You don’t seem too worried about it though,” Royce went on.
“Nope!” Sapphire said before Dash could have any chance to come back with another obnoxious comment. “Auburn and Sol are doing the final tuning right now. So that means-” She pivoted to once again inspect the legion of machines that lined the parking garage walls with a glimmer in her eye. “I can play.” She strut her way toward a different kind of inspiration for her socials, this one only coming with two wheels. A crimson Yamaha R6, with its driver leaned next to it, their face concealed under a matching helmet.
“May I?” Sapphire asked them with phone out. The biker quietly nodded and stood by the handlebars, allowing the custom painted fairings to be front and center. Then, they threw one leg up onto the bike and pointed a peace sign at the camera. “Oooooh a bit of sexy, a bit of feisty, I like it!” Sapphire said while nabbing a few photos. Meanwhile, Dash had returned back to his other two team members. Auburn was under the hood of the Focus doing some slight adjusting, while Solomon was in its driver seat tapping on his tablet screen.
“Any update?” Dash asked, snatching Solomon away from his task. Over his shoulder was his laptop opened in the passenger seat. The monitor exhibited a series of data points graphed neatly onto tuning sheets.
“Just making sure the route’s finalized in her GPS and putting the last touches on- ,”
“We’re set. She’s ready to go,” Auburn said definitively, both cutting Solomon off and finally acknowledging Dash before shutting the hood. After a moment to register, Solomon hastily unplugged his laptop and gathered his stuff to exit the car. There was never any shaking Auburn. If she said ready, then it was ready. By this point, Sapphire had finally rejoined the crew, scrolling through the large jackpot of pictures she had spent the night thus far scoring as she walked.
“So if I lose, I just blame the tune right?” she said.
“You even remotely think you’re gonna lose?” Auburn asked back. She got Sapphire’s trademark smile back. They both already knew the answer to that question. The duo shared a snicker and a fist bump before Sapphire climbed into her glossy blue chariot. The 4-cylinder engine fired to life and slowly started rolling its way out the garage. As she drove out, on each side of her, the majority of the crowd was filing out with her. Two cars were already lined up on the street: a red and black Mazda RX-8 and a yellow Volkswagen Mk4 Golf. In her mirrors, she can see the headlights of a black 1980s Chevrolet Monte Carlo. Grinning to herself, Sapphire stopped at the curb, allowing the muscle car to pull alongside her. The window of the Chevy rolled down to reveal a dark-skinned man with magenta eyes and dreads bundled into a ponytail looking back at her.
“Champion’s privilege, Jynx. I make my entrance last.” she told him.
“You know, I bet that girl Victoria if I can beat her Mazda, that I’m getting some from her tonight? I can make it a 2-for-1 special when I win if you want in,” Jynx said back with such confidence it would make the guys who hit on Sapphire at the club think that was a bit much. “Get you to stop playing with Richie RIch’s toys and show you a real smooth ride.”
“That’s your best shot at flirting?” Sapphire scoffed playfully and rolled her eyes. “By the way, some girls prefer it rough.” The sneer now knocked off of us his face, she let the Monte Carlo take its place on the grid before she did the same. Two onlookers equipped with spray cans provided by Royce painted a makeshift start/finish line just before the four lined up front bumpers.
“You got this, Sapph!” Sapphire’s attention darted to her left to see Auburn cheering her on loud enough to be heard through the window. The rest of her squad was on the sidewalk with a front row seat for the start of the action.
“Make the All-Stars proud,” Dash continued. She nodded and took a deep breath. All of her energy refocused to what was in front of the windshield. Royce, decorated with her gas mask once more, took her place in between the two middle cars. She momentarily crouched down and motioned for Kato’s Golf to creep forward a few inches. Once she deemed it satisfactory, she held up her hand and stood back up. One by one, she pointed to each of the combatants, and when each of them responded affirmatively, it was decided.
“Ready.”
Sapphire gripped her steering wheel just a little bit tighter. A couple of steps on the gas pedal to rev the engine. The other engines also grew louder, especially Jynx’s.
“Set.”
Each second that ticked by felt ten times longer. Each car inched forward, begging to be free from their neutral gear bondage. Two steps forward from Royce. Then, both hands raised up. They seemed to be there for what felt like eternity. So long the drivers were amazed she could hold them up for so long, despite it only being a few seconds in real world time. Then, the explosion. Her hands dropped.
“Go!”
A symphonious cacophony of hundreds of horsepower filled the air to the brim. Tires squealing for grip. Engines hitting high revs before their drivers start shifting through the low gears. The eruption of applause from the now deafened crowd. It all came together in a uniquely beautiful noise, one Royce reveled in as the four race warriors roared past her, leaving her in a slight layer of tire smoke.
“Here they come!” she yelled into a radio as she spun around to watch them go. From the crowd’s point of view, it appeared the Monte Carlo used the most of its power and got the best jump, giving Jynx a slight edge off the line. Sapphire was trying to hold serve on driver side left as she had the inside line for the first corner, a 90 degree left hander onto Rosegold Street. Victoria’s RX-8 on the other side of the lineup was not too far off of Sapphire’s Focus, and the Golf slotted into 4th after a little laggy start.
“Damn that never gets old!” Auburn laughed. Dash nodded in agreement, a childlike smile plastered across his face as well. He had already taken his place of watching Sapphire via the onboard feed transmitting to Solomon’s tablet. As Royce walked off the street and Auburn began watching over the tech expert’s other shoulder, however, everyone’s attention was violently brought back to the road at an unfamiliar sound. An approaching 5 liter V8 Coyote engine. A blue Ford Mustang barreled toward the mass of spectators then blurred past them, hurdling in pursuit of the race.
“Who’s that??” Dash barked with arms outstretched in a mixture of confusion and frustration. Everyone mirrored his uncertainty. Only one thing could be certain though. Whoever this new challenger was, the other racers better be prepared.
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Blog Tour + #Excerpt: VAMPIRE WEEKEND by Mike Chen! #HTPbooks
Welcome to Book-Keeping and my stop on the HTP Books in-house blog tour for Vampire Weekend by Mike Chen! I’ve got all the book and author details for you below, along with an excerpt from the book.
About the Book
title: Vampire Weekend
author: Mike Chen
publisher: MIRA
release date: 31 January 2023
About a Boy meets What We Do In The Shadows in the next fun genre-mashup from Mike Chen, featuring a punk-rock vampire learning to connect to the world again when her surly teenaged grand-nephew needs her, and her music, to get him through a tough time.
Louise knows first-hand that vampire mythos is all a lie. After all, she IS a vampire, and it doesn’t involve glamour, speed, flying, or anything Anne Rice wrote about. Instead, it’s actually pretty boring and quite lonely -- the best part about it is the longevity, which Louise uses to go to see as many cool bands as she can. But all that changes when Louise’s estranged brother Stephen arrives at her door with his 12-year-old grandson Ian.
Ian’s father has recently been killed in a car accident and his mom is battling late-stage cancer. Stephen and Ian have taken a road trip while Ian’s mom receives treatment, and while they thought they’d find a long-lost relative, they get Louise -- who explains her youthful appearance with a story about her relation to theme. Louise empathizes with the young boy and invites him to stay for a weekend. Together, they bond over their love of music, playing guitar late into the morning. But when Ian learns her secret, he asks for something more than guitar lessons: He asks her to make his mom a vampire to cure her of cancer.
Problem is, Louise doesn’t wish this loneliness on anyone. And a bigger problem -- she can’t turn anyone. Only rumored elder vampires can do so, and she doesn’t even know where to find them. In an act of defiance, Ian runs away. As Louise pursues him, she comes across a path to these elder vampires -- and a secret that could change how vampires view life and death forever.
With Ian missing, vampires on his tail, and a possible family squabble to finally reconcile, Louise hits the road to set things right -- and discovers that caring about someone else is the most punk rock thing in the world. Especially for a vampire.
Add to Goodreads: Vampire Weekend
Purchase the Book: Bookshop | B&N | Amazon | Indiebound
Excerpt
CHAPTER 2
VAMPIRE POWER MYTH #2: We can bite into anything.
In movies, veins pop like a balloon hitting a nail. But in reality? Kids constantly bonk into sharp objects and get light scrapes. Construction workers work around nails and metal, but somehow buildings go up without anyone bleeding out. I worked in a hospital, so I saw this firsthand.
In practical terms, biting someone for blood was not easy. Newly turned vampires don’t exactly have functional teeth. A gradual sharpening takes place over the course of a week, but we’re not the instant kill machine from movies.
The so-called “vampire attacks” in the news? Sounded like algorithm-driven clickbait to me. And that was exactly how I thought about it—or didn’t think about it—when I got to work.
Because today was a blood day. And blood days were literally life and death for me.
Not that I gave off that vibe. Instead, I went about my business, pushing my janitorial cart into the blood bank of San Francisco General Hospital. The automatic door shut behind me, my cart’s squeaking wheels announcing my arrival to Sam, the department’s night manager, and some staffer who looked more on break than actually working. They leaned over a monitor, attention pulled away by whatever was on the screen. Which worked to my benefit.
Some vampires worked with blood volunteers—usually fetishists who gladly let someone feed off them, likely thinking it was a kink or a new obscure fad diet rather than real vampire sustenance. That still involved the wholly unhygienic and socially awkward process of drinking from a live human. Underground dealers also existed, pumping blood from their arms into a bottle for an in-person transaction.
Me? I went with blood bag theft.
Which, to be fair, I held zero guilt over. Did you know that hospitals waste about 25 percent of blood bags every year? Thus, my weekly pickup during my janitorial rounds hardly made a dent. It all fell within the normal range of lost, misplaced, or expired. In fact, the managers viewed me as helpful for bringing the soon-to-expire bags to disposal. If some happened to make it into my backpack along the way, no one was the wiser.
This, of course, assumed that there were actually blood bags to take.
Today, the usual inventory of expiring blood bags was empty.
As in, nothing on the shelves. Nothing to deliver. Nothing to steal.
Nothing to feed from.
In fact, even the main storage units for in-date blood bags appeared low.
Any stress from the Copper Beach audition evaporated, as things do when food sources suddenly disappear.
I paused the music on my phone and pulled the earbuds out. Some things required a little more professional behavior. I began scouring the other storage possibilities when I overheard the words the vampire community feared the most.
“I swear, it’s a vampire.”
Eric constantly preached that if humans did discover us, racists would find new reasons to fearmonger, while scientists would capture us for all sorts of poking and prodding. Given that we’d all managed to abide by this for centuries, it seemed like a pretty good suggestion to follow.
My hands squeezed the cart’s handle tighter as I listened.
“That’s ridiculous,” Sam said, shaking his head.
“No, think about it.” The man turned, the tag on his scrubs revealing the name Turner. “After everything we know about viruses these days, who would actually drink blood? Only vampires.”
“Okay, look,” Sam said, rubbing his cleft chin. “You’re assuming someone drank this guy’s blood—”
“Police said he’s missing about ten ounces of blood. Same as the other two attacks.”
“Alright. Let’s assume someone—or something—drank ten ounces from that poor guy. They said his neck looked chewed, dozens of stitches needed. If you’re gonna believe something ridiculous, go with a werewolf.”
Suddenly, that headline didn’t seem like simple clickbait. Ten ounces. Roughly the same amount my body needed daily, though half that offered cranky survival. So that was the typical amount a vampire needed to sustain until the next feeding. And the chewed neck like a werewolf bite? That was a real concern, not because werewolves were real (they’re not), but because biting into a human was not easy.
In theory, you first had to properly locate the carotid artery, then make sure it was easily accessible by positioning the head and neck the right way. Then you needed a well-placed bite—millimeters of accuracy here, from an angle where things are hard to see. I challenge any human to try and bite precisely into a piece of Red Vines stuck on a loaf of sourdough to gauge its difficulty. This was in addition to the fangs’ fairly mediocre ability to puncture.
Biting humans was messy. Factor in an especially scared nondonor human and tools to make the process smoother and, well, the result could easily be mistaken for werewolves.
With the hospital’s blood shortage, their conversation ratcheted my anxiety enough for me to mutter, “Oh shit.”
That little phrase pulled Sam and Turner away from the screen. Their desk chairs creaked as they turned my way, the headline—San Francisco’s Latest “Vampire Attack” Victim Stable In Hospital—now clearly visible on their monitor.
If there was a fixer working in the community, they weren’t doing a great job.
“Oh, hi, Louise,” Sam said. “Need anything?”
Blood bags. A safe community, one without rogue vampires possibly revealing ourselves to humans. While I was at it, someone to play in a band with—human or vampire—though right now neither seemed to be working out.
“No pickups today,” I managed as I pushed the cart through. “What pickups?” Sam asked, his thick eyebrows furrowing. “Expiring blood to pick up on second Fridays. You know,” I said, switching to a very bad generic European accent, “because I’m a vampire and I need to drink it instead of biting people on the neck.” That joke always worked, but doubly so today. Both men laughed, and I almost held up claw hands for emphasis. But no, that joke belonged only to me and Marshall. “I knew it,” Sam said, “you’re the vampire attacker.” “I thought you suspected a werewolf,” Turner said, an Irish lilt to his gravelly voice. “Sorry, boys. It’s a little more boring than that. Management tallies these and I don’t want to piss them off.” That was a lie; I knew they didn’t because otherwise I’d never get away with my theft.
“Right, right. Let me go check in on that.” Sam stood and went to the computer on the far desk, his leg catching his chair enough to kick it over a foot. “You’re right, our last delivery was low. Must not be as many donors. There’s a note saying this might be a thing for a few weeks but it doesn’t say why.”
Just like that, my food supply went from “comfortably fed” to “empty.”
“Cool, cool, no worries,” I said despite the onslaught of emerging worries. I built my whole life around a job that provided blood—and that dried up? Maybe in a parallel universe, I might have my own recording studio with session time paid in blood bags. But here?
I loaded my email as soon as I stepped into the hallway. My fingers mashed over the virtual keys, autocorrect pulling all the wrong words and constantly changing blood to brood, which I supposed was fitting for a vampire. The message went to the local Red Cross chapter’s volunteer manager, a request for shifts as a Volunteer Transportation Specialist.
Basically, someone who drove donated blood around.
I’d actually trained for the role when I was in between hospital gigs, but never took any actual shifts since most of them were during the day—which wasn’t impossible with proper precautions, but still uncomfortable, and required a lot of extra effort, in addition to messing up my sleep cycle. Circadian rhythm still applied to vampire life.
But this was different. If the supply saw shortages, I’d need alternatives just like the early days when I first started and had no clue what I was doing.
Which really wasn’t my fault. Because no guidebook existed for this life, and the woman who made me only came around a few times to check on me before disappearing forever. Despite the physical transformation to vampiredom creating several months of fuzzy memories, I still clearly pictured her during that last visit: a tall, pale woman with long brown hair in peak late-70s punk styling.
She’d brought weekly bottles, introduced me to a few Southern California sources for no-questions-asked back-alley blood, gave a very uncomfortable primer on feeding off farm animals in emergencies and offered a very dramatic lecture on the importance of not revealing ourselves to humans in any way. Yet, all of those came during surprise drop-ins and sudden departures, and even her final visit was nothing more than a quick hello before “You’ll figure the rest out. You’ll be fine.”
In fact, she never bothered to tell me her name. Or maybe she did and I just forgot it in my fugue state. Whatever the case, I’d have to rely on those lessons now, to ride out any shortages. I spent the rest of my shift trying to recall how many bags remained in my fridge, and how best to ration them. Hours came and went, a low-level panic setting my night to fast-forward all the way until I stepped into an empty parking garage.
Then my phone buzzed. Multiple buzzes, actually. Though I hoped it was something about the Red Cross volunteer gig, that seemed impossible, given the late hour. No, a quick look showed another text from Eric. And this time, I bothered to read it.
I’ve received a few notes tonight about tomorrow evening’s agenda. I share your concerns, but there is a plan to address this. Nothing is more important than the health and safety of our community.
Something was definitely up. A blood shortage, someone attacking humans in the wild, texts about “health and safety.” A second message loaded up, words pushing the first message off the screen.
If you want to learn more, please come to the event. In the meantime, I encourage you all to download our new community app to stream the discussion. Do NOT discuss the media’s ‘vampire attack’ headlines with anyone, not even jokingly. Blood will be served. Reply to RSVP for in person attendance.
Did I want to learn more? Of course. Did I want an app that both invaded my privacy and knew I was a vampire? No. Did I want to get involved with the vampire community?
Not really. Especially given my history with Eric. But I needed blood, and this was a source, however fleeting.
Besides, maybe Eric had forgotten about our last encounter. Still, I refused to download his stupid app. On principle.
Count me in, I typed in a reply text, complete with a little white lie. By the way, I had trouble downloading the app. Maybe later.
On most work nights, I came home just before dawn, changed from scrubs to sweats, let my dog out, and drank blood. Today, that last part remained a sticking point. Lola greeted me as usual, a pitter-patter that told me she needed a potty break. I left the back door ajar for her to go into the small backyard, then checked my blood bag supply in the fridge.
If I’d been more responsible, thorough, careful, and whatever other descriptions my parents threw at me decades ago, I’d have a managed stockpile. Instead, three bags remained, a supply for about four or five days. I could stretch it to a week, though I’d be a grouchy, tired mess. After that? Movie vampires went on killing rampages when they needed blood, but in reality, it meant fatigue and delirium.
And if that went on long enough? Death by starvation.
No wonder someone got desperate enough to bite humans.
I grabbed a mug from the cabinet, white ceramic with a faded photo of a white schnauzer printed on it; Aunt Laura’s old teacup, now used for blood. Mostly empty shelves stared back at me from the fridge, daring me to make a choice.
Did I take one now? Did I really need to drink or could I wait?
Lola returned from the backyard, hopping over the threshold with her short corgi legs, and her nails clacked on the floor as she ignored my mood and waddled past. The jingling of her collar faded as she went down the hall, and I told myself to do the smart thing. I shut the fridge door and left Aunt Laura’s mug on the counter, then followed my dog.
Light flooded the space in my music room as I flipped the wall switch, illuminating everything from the guitars hanging on the walls to the drum kit and keyboard rig sitting in opposite corners. But no dog waited for me. Instead, her collar jingled from across the hall.
The bedroom.
The hour or so before bed normally saw me noodling on a guitar, playing with different pedal effects combinations or trying to work out a lingering melody while Lola stayed at my feet. But as I stood between the two rooms, a crushing fatigue washed over me, something that I knew had nothing to do with appetite.
I peeked in on Lola, the hallway light showing enough that I could see she’d skipped the circular dog bed on the floor to leap straight onto my spot. Usually she’d wait till I fell asleep to pull that off, and perhaps she took advantage of my vulnerable state today. She stretched her little legs into the air, then craned her neck to look at me with ears up, yawning before settling back down.
Maybe she just knew what I needed today.
Instead of going back into my music room, I stepped inside and shut the door, leaving the bedroom in a complete UV protected blackout state as I crawled under soft sheets. I stayed still, the quiet silence of a moment without vampires, without humans, without blood shortages, just a happy corgi resting against my stomach and worries in my head.
Excerpted from Vampire Weekend by Mike Chen, Copyright © 2023 by Mike Chen. Published by MIRA Books.
About the Author
Mike Chen is a lifelong writer, from crafting fan fiction as a child to somehow getting paid for words as an adult. He has contributed to major geek websites (The Mary Sue, The Portalist, Tor) and covered the NHL for mainstream media outlets. A member of SFWA and Codex Writers, Mike lives in the Bay Area, where he can be found playing video games and watching Doctor Who with his wife, daughter, and rescue animals.
Connect with Mike: Website | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads
Thanks to HTP Books for having me on the tour!
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