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nervestatic · 3 years

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SMPSTUCK AU / human session lands

you get a planet! you get a planet! all my bitches be getting planets. back at it again with my homestuck au, finally posting some mcfucking uhhhhhhh more information!!

check out the smpstuck au tag to find out more!

TECHNOBLADE / the land of frost and ruins rabbit consorts, derse dreamer

so! techno! breaking his land down into parts, i’ve given techno frost as a callback to SMP earth, and the kingdom of antarctica! he’s got a very cold world, with most of the structures covered in spires of ice. ruins was built to play off of the idea that minecraft is a post-apocalypse game, so techno’s land ended up being a world that used to be populated on the surface, but froze over. his consorts are rabbits who build warrens under the ice and populate the ruins! his land is very isolated and lonely, and requires a lot of solo grinding in order to get anywhere under the ice, which i thought would be fitting for his playstyle.

PHILZA / the land of ash and frogs frog consorts, prospit dreamer phil had half of his land decided for me- as the space player, it was always going to be the land of [x] and frogs. i chose ash for him as a middle ground between how i think of phil’s current hardcore world, which i mostly associate with the nether, and his hardcore series 2 world, which i mostly associated with the desert. i’m imagining a lot of big and empty space, with a near-constant downfall of ash reminiscent of the basalt deltas in the 1.16 nether, just. filled to the fucking brim with frogs. there are frogs everywhere. please god help this man

WILBUR SOOT / the land of rivers and pulse salmon consorts, derse dreamer i had a lot of fun designing wilbur’s land! i’ve always thought it was interesting when the lands interact more with the players, which is what pulse refers to. his land is covered in a network of rivers that glow from within, the water levels and light shifting and changing in time with wilbur’s pulse. when he gets emotional, his pulse changes, and his land changes to reflect that, which i thought would be really interesting with a rage player!

(also haha wilbur fucked a salmon)

NIKI / the land of flowers and slumber bird consorts, prospit dreamer niki’s land is actually based off of the wizard of oz! she’s associated fairly heavily with flowers, especially now that she and puffy have a flower shop, so her land is just covered in these great vast fields filled with flowers. but, like in the wizard of oz, it’s easy to fall asleep there- and stay asleep. niki, as a breath player, has an easier time navigating it than most, but for how pretty and charming it is, it’s probably one of the most dangerous lands on this list. her quest is about waking up the consorts to free them!

ERET / the land of glass and depth dolphin consorts, dual dreamer eret’s land is, for the most part, underwater! his house is on a little spire surrounded by ocean, similar to dirk’s house in the original comic. there are odd glass structures under the water, and there’s a lot of vibrant colors and life that he can just barely see from the surface. the only problem is that he’s got no way to get down there! his quest is about figuring out how to contact his consorts and how to navigate the world without, like, drowning.

TUBBO / the land of tunnels and hives bee consorts, prospit dreamer tubbo :D tubbo’s land is actually mostly hollow! it’s build like a giant beehive filled with smaller beehives. it’s fairly labyrinthine in nature, with lots of interconnected loops and twisting tunnels similar to how caves generate in minecraft, and he has to be careful not to accidentally wander into a hive and bother the consorts lest they get angry and try to sting them! he has the hardest time getting to his gates, because his house doesn’t spawn on the surface- it spawns inside the tunnels, meaning he has to find his way out before anything else.

TOMMY / the land of discs and shade crocodile consorts, derse dreamers tommy’s land was, of course, inspired by what started smp wars in the first place- the discs! also drawing from lohac and lowas in canon, it’s a relatively open world with lots of large flat surfaces- the discs! they form plains and cliffs that need to be climbed between, and can be quite precarious to walk on. it’s also relatively dark- there’s no natural light sources aside from tommy’s house, which stands out like a beacon compared to the rest of the land. his land is also where the scratch device is!

FUNDY / the land of chaos and circuits ??? consorts, dual dreamer SO. locac. fundy’s land takes on the appearance of a large circuitboard, stretching in rainbow colors as far as the eye can see. he has yet to find any actual consorts, but he’s also been a little busy dealing with RNG. similarly to his RNG difficulty in minecraft, fundy’s land has the inherent aspect of chaos built into it, randomizing the effects of every action he takes. his quest is... actually kind of vague and confusing, much like most of the things about locac. it does help him learn how the fabric of SBURB works, though, because locac is the only land that’s malleable in this way!

DREAM / the land of caves and fog spider consorts, derse dreamer the land of caves and fog was inspired by the manhunts! the entire surface of the planet is littered with cave openings- some of them are tiny, barely big enough to hide in, and others are huge and sprawl beneath the planet’s surce! the further into the caves you go, the less foggy it gets, but the spider consorts aren’t exactly friendly and you’re gaining visibility as you lose safety. i wanted dream’s land to call back to the way he just sort of... vanishes, bringing the literal aspect of fog to it.

GEORGE / the land of mirrors and bridges salamander consorts, prospit dreamer so i’ve already talked about george’s land a bit in my fic, which you can read here! lomab was intended to be a little bit ironic in nature- the witch of void, georgenotfound, surrounded by things that make him see himself. his quest, and ultimately his Choice, are all about balance- about acknowledging the lines between isolation and being perceived, and finding a good middle ground between those two things. the land itself is lots of chasms with bridges going over them- stone bridges, rope bridges, wooden bridges, you name it, and there’s thousands of mirrors in various sizes scattered across the surface.

SAPNAP / the land of flame and bone bat consorts, prospit dreamer sapnap’s land is, effectively, the nether! lots of fire, lots of giant fuckoff fossils that are big enough to use as the basis for consort cities! it’s fairly dangerous at first, until they manage to alchemize a fire extinguishing system to put sapnap out whenever he inevitably catches on fire again. i haven’t thought his quest out too much- i wanted his land to tie into his aspect (doom), so i thought it would be quite poetic to imply that once there were creatures who lived there, before the game, and now it’s just ruination.

BADBOYHALO / the land of blades and string mouse consorts, derse dreamer badboyhalo’s land is, effectively, a giant quilt. hundreds of thousands of strings woven together create a net overtop of what is, essentially, the void, strung up using massive blades that were inspired by his knife-throwing! the land is all about risk and reward- step wrong and the strings might cut, but cut the strings on purpose and you’ll change the landscape in a way that benefits you. it appeals to bad’s sense of caution, but forces him to take risks to complete his quest and get the rewards!

and that’s it! some human lands. i hope you enjoy this. if you have questions please god send me asks

#smpstuck au #mcyt #homestuck #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #badboyhalo #sapnap #tommyinnit #wilbursoot #nihachu #fundy #tubbo #eret #philza #technoblade #dream smp

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fernsplaysthings · 3 years

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Is this going to be ongoing?

Looks like it. Whoops.

Fireteam Mayhem discuss ‘important’ things.

Somehow Artemis, the most grounded, sensible and responsible of the trio was the only one to raise a metallic brow in amusement, impressed with the new snippets of information being provided by the fireteam’s Hunter and leader. Salome was either in deep consideration or possibly comatose when Kestral glanced up at her.

Even the Ghosts had decided to get in on the gossip.

Well, of course Roost had. He’d been the little shit that’d ‘accidentally’ let slip why his Guardian had been unusually light and cheery. Conveniently just after Zavala’s peaceful meeting with Caiatl had taken a sharp swerve into assassination territory and and blown a certain Hunter’s cover.

“Handsome, dark haired Awoken Guardian with a hint of ‘shifty’? Who could have possibly seen that coming?”

Artemis’ hand flew to cover her Ghost’s face in a futile attempt at hushing her before she finished that thought, a hissed ‘Diana, no’ behind her own barely tamed smug smirk. Her hand passed by her little light who’d already turned to look at the non-responsive Warlock, look back at Kestral and flicker her shell in a close approximation of a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Although the Hunter really wanted to object they simply relaxed their features and gave a reluctant nod of acceptance.

The details of Crow’s former life had stopped being a point of concern for Kestral since...what felt a lot like forever ago. Of course it’d only been since the Dawning. They’d come to terms with a lot of stuff and had optimistically thought that it’d be just as easy for everyone else. What they hadn’t expected was for Artemis to be the one to quickly accept that the circumstances of his rebirth should’ve really been foreseen and that all Guardians deserved a second chance if that was what the Traveler had planned.

That was meant to be Salome’s job. She was supposed to have had a tiny existential crisis, a sharp quip and then go back to ribbing the Hunter about their stupid feelings.

She hadn’t actually said anything yet and her Ghost was buzzing around her head in the uncomfortable silence.

“Is...she alright, Lazarus?” asked the Exo softly.

The little light in the dark shell abruptly stopped the figure-eight loops above his Guardian and turned, clearly ruffled, “I think so? I think the uh...the ‘Reefborn’ in her is having a moment.”

Kestral had forgotten that their resident Awoken might have something to say about the complications of getting romantically involved with the resurrected, amnesiac brother of the Awoken Queen.

After what felt like an eternity of silence Salome let out a sharp breath and, hands in a prayer-like position, palm to palm, pointed her fingers out towards where Kestral was sitting.

“I get it. I do,” she said with an uncomfortable amount of certainty that almost had the Hunter believing they were in for an enormous telling off, “He’s hot. And I assume he remains as such despite having been dead a while.”

Kestral unconsciously nodded and immediately stopped themself at Artemis’ and Diana’s combined chuckle.

“And like, I don’t doubt that you spent a good while convincing yourself that catching feelings for the former Prince of the fucking Reef who, I should add, you hunted across the system to put a bullet in, was a horrible fucking idea…”

“Oh boy did they,” Roost quickly added with a sly side eye to his Hunter.

“...But what in the fuck are you going to do when the Queen inevitably pulls back up in the Dreaming City and realises you’re canoodling with her now not-brother?”

There was a pause that lasted a little too long for Salome and, in Lola fashion, she broke the tension with an incorrect assumption of what was causing the inability to answer.

“I mean, I assume you two have…” she raised one hand, pointer finger and thumb touching in a loop, her other hand raising to complete the gesture with her pointer finger extended.

Artemis swatted her hands down hurriedly, noting the rising colour in Kestral’s face, “Don’t be crude.”

“Hey, am I not allowed to take a healthy interest in one of my best friend’s lovelife? It’s been a while since they’ve gifted me some of that juicy gossip about who’s been banging the Young Wolf recently.”

Roost’s shell shivered in frustration, “They sure haven’t, and if they could get it over with so Glint and I can get some peace and…”

“Roost, have you considered not?”

The Ghost turned to his Guardian who had by now turned a remarkable shade of red that coated not just their face but both ears and a good potion of their exposed collars and chest.

“Anyway…” Artemis desperately pulled the conversation back to where she needed it to be which was making sure her leader and friend was alright, “...You actually like him? It’s not some kind of weird way of grieving or expressing guilt or…”

“No! No I do. And I think he likes me too,” they stuttered only a breath away from hiding their face behind their hands, “He was the one that kissed me so...yeah. I’m not just the Young Wolf to him I think, he had no idea that I’ve killed Gods and saved humanity more times than anyone cares to remember. We just worked together and bonded over stuff and by the time Osiris spilled the beans on the ‘Hero of the Red War, etcetera, etcetera’ stuff I think it was kinda too late.”

“Is it not a bit fucking weird making out with Uldren Sov’s face?”

Kestral visibly wanted to curl up into a ball tight enough that they’d eventually just vanish from existence and Salome knew asking that question would do it, “It was a weird thought to start off with but then...it’s Crow. And I couldn’t help it. Sure, in the beginning it’d remind me of the times Sov would stare at me in a way that was definitely him fantasising about how he’d like to watch me die which...now that I think about it was also kinda hot and I really don’t want to unpack that but…”

“I’d like to unpack that.”

“Lola, shush.”

“...But, it doesn’t matter. They’re not the same person. Besides, it’s not like I can control who I, you know, like.”

“‘Like’, huh?” Rooster floated a few inches from his Hunter’s face, “I think you’re probably in it a bit deeper than that.”

Kestral, with an expression a mix of surprise and some kind of hurt, reached up and gently grasped their Ghost in both hands, drawing him in a little suddenly and pressing him to their forehead, then cheek. Somewhere off to the side Diana uttered a long, sympathetic ‘ooh’ and nestled against Artemis’ arm, sharing a knowing look with her Titan.

“I...Maybe? But I shouldn’t. I don’t want to hurt him. There’s so much happening at the moment with the aftermath of Caiatl’s visit and these new Vex reports. Zavala’s still got to come to terms with seeing Crow around the tower and...and he’ll definitely ask me to do something dangerous again soon, and…”

Salome let out a dramatic sigh, startling her Ghost, “Surely if things are going to shit and everything is uncertain and stupid, this is the ideal time to confess all your feelings or see if you both want in each others pants or whatever.

“When did you become a romantic,” teased Artemis, turning away from the once again reddening Hunter, “Something happen with you and-”

“Don’t…”

“No no, I’m just taking a healthy interest in my favourite Warlock’s lovelife.”

“I know exactly what you’re doing, Arti, you judgmental tin of beans.”

Tuned out from the bickering, Kestral stealthily snuck out of the gathering with Roost quickly realising they’d left and transmatting after them.

“What’s the matter?”

The Hunter pulled their hood up to cover enough of their blush covered face as they left the apartment, “I’m gunna go see Crow.”

“After that emotionally charged conversation?!”

“I’m full of terrible ideas.”

#destiny 2 #d2 #young wolf x crow #kestral //#salome //#artemis-11 //#does ferns have it in them to write and post something suggestive/smutty mAYBE?#but for now i'm just enjoying some sap with these birds

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 4 years

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PART FIVE

LOVE OR HATE?

WARNINGS: smut, swearing

WORD COUNT: 1782

When Katie's younger sister comes on the field trip with her, they meet Officer Jake Riley. Instantly there's some kind of hatred forming between her and Jake, but, when both of their worlds go spiralling, they both have to question if it was really hate or a disguised love?

(First person - y/n)

The warm water ran over my skin, my hands running through my hair as my thoughts ran wild. I'll see you later, he'd said. It had been 3 hours. 3 hours, and I haven't seen him. I just wanted to feel his lips on mine again, his arm round my waist. I heard the curtain rip back, turning my head slightly to the side. Jake walked up behind me, brushing some hair from My neck and placing a soft kiss to it. "Did you miss me?" He breathed. I shivered, his closeness was intoxicating. He pressed him self into my back, kissing my neck up and down, trailing his hands up and down my bare body. I tilted my head back in pleasure, resting it on his shoulder and giving him better access to my neck. He kissed up and down my jugular, grabbing my boob in one hand and flicking my nipple with his thumb, his other hand tracing shapes on my inner thighs. I sighed, Jake smirking into my skin. He brought his thumb up to my clit, rubbing slow circles. I moaned, the feeling euphoric after so long without human contact. Jake moves his hand to my other boob, starting to suck and nibble my neck, leaving red marks in his wake. Without warming he slipped a finger into me, his thumb continuing to rub my clit. "Fuck." I moaned, biting my lip and closing my eyes. Jake brought his lips to my ear. "So wet and tight baby, all for me." He whispered. I moaned again, Jake adding another finger, pushing them in to the knuckle and slowly pulling out again. He sped up his pace, making me moan loudly. "You like that trouble? Just wait till you feel my cock, thrusting in and out of you." Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, you were left a whimpering and moaning mess. "Fuck Jake I'm gonna come soon." He smirked into my neck, his pace increasing any more. "Fuck! Jake, oh my god, fuCK!" I screamed as I came, shaking as he help me up. "Turn around." His breath tickled my ear, shaking, I spun around.

He smiled and kissed me, backing me up into the wall. His hands moved down to cup my ass. "Jump." He mumbled against my lips. He wrapped my legs around his waist, using his hips to hold be into the wall. He grabbed his dick and gave it a few strokes before rubbing his tip up and down my slit. I shivered and moaned. He pushed the tip in and pulled back out, repeating the action over and over. "Fuck Jake, just fuck me already." I breathed. He bent his head and started kissing my shoulder, rubbing his tip over my clit. I leant my head back against the wall. "Please." I whispered. He smirked, "as you wish." And pushed the whole thing in at once. "Fuck." We both moaned. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, my hands tugging on his hair and drawing a groan from him. He pulled out slowly to the tip, slamming back in roughly - making me feel every inch of him. His dick was bigger than I imagined, stretching me out and filling me up to the brim. He continued thrusting into me, switch between going slow and deep and fast and rough. I was a moaning mess, loosing all self control. He leant down and took my right nipple into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth and biting lightly. "Oh fuck Jake, you feel so good." I clawed his broad shoulders, drawing blood. He brought his moth back to my ear, "you like that? My dick pounding into you slick, tight cunt?" I nodded and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. "Jake!" I screamed he smirked and leaned in again, "fuck your so tight around me trouble. Are you close?" I moaned in response. He connected our lips in a lustful kiss, reaching down and rubbing my clit to push me closer to the edge. I started to shake. "FUck Jake!" I screamed, my orgasm ripping through me. He kept thrusting, not slowing down and letting me ride out my high. He cursed as he reached his orgasm, shooting his cum into me in hot spurts. "Oh fuck y/n.. that was amazing." He breathed. He pulled back and looked at me. We shared a smile. "Yes, yes it was." I reached down and pecked him on the lips. He pulled out and set me down, keeping hold of me realising I'd struggle to stand. "We don't have to go far to clean up." He said, looking up at the shower head and back down to me. We smiled at each other and kissed again.

————————————————————————

I sat in bed, in mine and Jake's room. I flipped through the drawings I'd done of Jake over time, picking up a pencil and starting to sketch. I let the pencil glue over the page, smooth lines appearing in-front of me. Half an hour later, Jake walked in, leaning against the door frame and smirking. I looked up at him, he winked. I giggled and he dived into his bed next to mine. He laid on his side, propping himself up on his elbow and leaning over to see what i was drawing. "I see you were very observant." He said with a grin as I looked back up at him and then back to the drawing. Only then had I noticed that it was a drawing of Jake, dripping with water and completely nude. It was very detailed. I blushed. "That's amazing- and accurate." He smirked. I rolled my eyes. "I love you." He took my hand. "I love you too, trouble."

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A few months later.

"Y/N! Y/N!" Jake screamed, running down the corridor towards my isolation cell. I was sick. I had been here for a few hours and the symptoms were rapidly increasing. He pressed his hands against the glass, staring at me, eyes full of concern. I was on the bed, coughing up obscene amounts of blood.

30 hours. It had been 30 hours and Jake hasn't left once. He's sat with his back against the wall, me a mirror image on the other side. He hasn't stopped talking to me, trying to smooth me and telling me about everything we're gonna do when I recover. I knew it was more for him than me. So far he had been strong, not crying once. I knew he was only just holding back tears.

48 hours. It had been 48 hours and what happened kept playing on a loop in my mind. I kept changing the scenario, trying to change the outcome. I had been on patrol with Jake. I was helping an old man who had broken his leg. Someone sick grabbed my ankle and pulled me over, coughing all over me and ripping my mask off. Jake was distraught, hoping I wouldn't get sick and I'd be fine but I knew otherwise. I heard Jakes sobs and they triggered mine. We both new the inevitable would come soon. "I love you Jake." There was a pause. "I love you y/n" I smiled and kept coughing. "Jake?" Another pause. "Yeah trouble?" I smiled. "I need to tell you something." He gulped. "What is it." I took a deep breath, not sure how to say this. "Jake, I, Jake- I'm pregnant." I blurted out, my nerves overtaking me. "How long?" He asked. "Almost 2 months." He nodded and took a shaking breath. "You're going to be fine. The baby will be fine. I promise." Jake said, his overprotectiveness was showing. "I think it too late for that." You said, coughing up blood again.

59 hours. I was still alive. I was showing symptoms, but I was alive. No one new how. I sat on my hospital bed, Jake staring at me intently. I saw Doctor Cannarts approaching. I sat up straight, ready for an explanation. "Y/n. I still haven't got to the bottom of this. Nothing makes sense. I don't get how this is happening. I need to do some blood tests. I know they will weaken you but otherwise there'll never be an explanation." Jake stood up, standing protectively in front of my cell window. "No. No blood tests." Cannarts tried to reason with him, "Jake I need-" "NO! You don't! It will harm her, it will harm-" he stopped talking, tears welling in his eyes. "Jake, is there something you're not telling me?" Cannarts said urgently.

Jake took a breath. "Jake?" He pressed. Jake turned to face Cannarts. "She's pregnant! She's pregnant!" He shouted. Cannarts was shocked into silence. I coughed again.

"It's yours?" Cannarts asked. Jake nodded his head. "You're immune." He said to Jake. "What?" I asked. "Jake, you're immune. Think about it. You've been in constant contact with infected patients from the beginning and haven't shown a single system. I don't know how but I think you're entirely immune, not a carrier or anything." Jake pauses for a second, taking in this information. "H-how?" Cannarts shook his head. "I don't know, but your DNA is in the baby. While it's in y/n the baby is sharing DNA with her, meaning she will only get the symptoms but won't die." We both stood there, stunned into silence. Finally, Jake asked what we were both thinking.

"So does that mean when she gives birth the virus will continue or will her body fight it off by then?" Cannarts looked at Jake and then me, his expression unreadable. "If I'm being honest, I'm not sure. I'll have to run some tests and see how your body continues to react to the virus. This could be a complete breakthrough." He nodded to Jake and walked off, ready to prepare some stuff for his tests.

The next month went by slowly. Jake spent most of his time sat outside my room, which had been furnished more comfortably since we new I'd be there for a long time. He set up all kinds of dates, picnics, movies 'under the stars', board games, dinners etc. Jake was so sweet and loving and helped me get through the days.

#containment #jake riley smut #jake riley x reader #jake riley #chris wood #chris wood smut #katie frank #images #series

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clumsyclifford · 3 years

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a sunrise on the east side

hi, sam @tirednotflirting had a frustrating time at work and i was being unproductive with my other fic so i wrote this for her. for you (if you’re sam reading this). it’s fluffy jalex and not super coherent and i hope it makes you smile my love

i did loop coffee shop soundtrack while writing it and it is based on the lyric that i used as the title i’m just such an inspired, unique, one-of-a-kind fic writer you know what i mean, i’m just so smart and nobody has ever done this before

anyway title from coffee shop soundtrack lol sam i love you and i hope this makes you smile

read it here on ao3

“It’s pretty, huh?”

Alex blinks and turns. He’s not sure why he’s surprised at the company. Early-late hours have never separated them before. “Yeah,” he says. A shiver steals over his skin, and he fails to suppress it. “Cold, but yeah. Pretty.”

Jack smiles softly and holds out a hoodie. Grateful, Alex takes it and pulls it on. It’s one of Jack’s, and he already knows the sleeves of this one fall too far over his hands, but it’s his favorite one to wear, and Alex knows that’s not a coincidence.

“Can I join you?” Jack inquires, shifting on his feet closer to Alex.

Alex feels a smile pulling at his lips. “Always.”

Jack pulls the sliding door to the balcony shut behind him. As he settles against the railing, flush against Alex’s side, his hand finds Alex’s and their fingers intertwine. It’s comforting to have something as reliable as Jack on tour life, Alex thinks. Every day brings a new city, and if Alex weren’t anchored he’d float away or get swallowed up in the madness of it all. Jack is like a reset button; just as Alex changes the time zone of his phone’s clock to keep it accurate, so Jack does for Alex, realigning him every night to make sure he’s always the right Alex.

“You know,” Jack says lightly, “I’m no weather boy, but I bet you wouldn’t be cold if you weren’t standing outside at six in the morning in New York in the middle of December.”

“I know,” Alex sighs. “I just, I know that.”

“Hey, but like I said, I wouldn’t know,” Jack says, leaning into Alex. I’m not judging, is what he means. Alex recognizes this for the out that he knows it is, but he doesn’t need or want an out.

“Nothing’s wrong, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says.

Jack hums. “Did you sleep?”

Alex sighs again and doesn’t answer.

“Alex,” Jack says wearily. “You not sleeping means something’s wrong.”

“No, honestly,” Alex says. A thought occurs to him, and he glances at Jack out of the corner of his eye. “Wait, did you sleep?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Some. I just woke up to get water and you still weren’t in bed.”

“I got distracted.” Alex frowns. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Jack says. “Distracted by what? Aren’t you tired?”

He’s not tired, that’s the thing. Alex has a theory about New York City, about the rattling of the underground Subway system working its way into the bones of unsuspecting travelers. It’s a city of paradoxes, an unlikely place: the uneasiness that comes from walking over a grate that you know for absolute certain won’t fall through, the gleaming beauty of artificial lights that drown out any and all stars, the impossible warmth in the middle of December. Sure, Alex has been shivering, but he’s not cold. He couldn’t be, not here.

It’s not a city he can love without hating or hate without loving, and maybe that’s what Alex loves about it.

Maybe it reminds him of someone else he loves.

“I just wanted to look,” he says, sidestepping the question. “The view is nice.”

Jack is quiet for a moment. The tap-tap-tapping of his fingers drumming against the balcony railing is all but swallowed up by the racing noise of cars below. They’re high, high above the city and its streets and grates and people. This hotel had boasted nice views, and Alex has to admit they hadn’t been bullshitting; it’s stunning watching the city that never sleeps, trying to catch it drifting off only to realize it had been his own eyes fluttering shut, not the city’s — that the city really doesn’t ever sleep.

There’s something poetic in there. Alex has been jotting down phrases into his phone, but his addled brain can’t come up with anything nice enough to rhyme.

“Aren’t you still tired?” Alex says quietly. The city has been singing, its crescendos and diminuendos not unlike a symphony. Every once in awhile a sforzando will catch him off-guard — someone below will honk angrily or a shouting match will suddenly arise — but it inevitably evens out to the steady New York City soundtrack. Yet another paradox: the most dynamic city in the world is somehow the most rock-solid. Despite being wholly unpredictable, Alex can count on it to do as it has always done.

Jack is silent for another minute. “I don’t know,” he says. “I mean, yeah. I’m tired, but I’m not…I don’t want to go back to sleep.” He pauses. “Without you.”

Alex closes his eyes and lets the sound of the city wash over him. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not what — I wasn’t trying to guilt you.”

Alex chuckles. “Well then you did a pretty bad job.”

“I really wasn’t,” Jack says through an easy laugh. “I guess I meant that I’d rather stay out here with you. If that’s okay.”

“It’s always okay,” Alex mumbles, tilting his head onto Jack’s shoulder and squeezing his hand. “Spent an hour standing out here wishing you were with me. I’m always wishing for that.”

Jack kisses his hair. “You could just ask,” he suggests. “You know I’d always rather be with you than alone.” The low timbre of his voice blends seamlessly into the sounds of New York, and Alex falls victim to another paradox: he’s falling for a man he’s already in love with, somehow newly smitten with someone he’s known for more than half his life.

Alex chews the inside of his cheek and takes a deep, cleansing breath. A cleansing breath of some of the filthiest air in America — the paradoxes are relentless. “You were sleeping. You looked so cute and comfy. And warm. I couldn’t wake you.”

Jack rubs the pad of his thumb over the back of Alex’s hand. “I’m just saying I wouldn’t have complained. This is nice.”

“Sleep is nice.”

“Hey, we can go to sleep if you wanna sleep,” Jack says, a teasing lilt to his voice. “I’m not gonna be the one to argue with you.”

Alex shakes his head as best he can. “I’m not gonna sleep.” You should, he doesn’t say. Not because he doesn’t want to be hypocritical — he does — but because he knows it’ll have no effect. Jack wants to be with Alex, and Alex wants Jack here. Neither of them could compel Jack to leave, so Alex doesn’t waste breath trying.

“Okay. I’ll stay, then.”

Alex swallows and picks his head up. He can see Jack illuminated by city lights, a harsh glare softening as it soaks into his skin. “I love you so much,” he murmurs. Even if he’d never said the words before, Jack would be able to read them off his expression. And though he has said them before, they still feel a little strange in his mouth. Not bad strange. Just…new. Like they’ve evolved, gained new meaning. Like Alex’s I-love-you count has been wound down to zero again, and he gets to start afresh, meeting new quotas with this new I-love-you that means everything it always did and something extra.

Alex isn’t sure what the something is, but he’s sure it has to do with this moment, right now, the lights on Jack’s face and their fingers interlaced on an Upper East Side balcony in December.

“Alex,” Jack exhales, smiling so warmly, speaking so softly. “I would freeze to keep you warm.”

“Oh,” Alex says, a little breathless. “Maybe you should be the songwriter, Jack.”

But Jack just shakes his head. “No way,” he says. “It wouldn’t be the same if everyone got to know it.”

A final paradox, a gift from the city, Alex thinks, leaning into Jack until their lips meet. Him and Jack, unlikely lovers. The chill only makes Jack’s presence warmer; Alex’s loud and messy love makes Jack’s seem that much quieter, more deliberate. They draw the best out of each other, fix each other’s flaws, and though they’re both whole people, Alex also knows he’d be incomplete without Jack.

They linger until the sun starts peeking over the horizon, and in the golden morning light, Jack is the most beautiful part of the view.

#jack barakat #alex gaskarth #jalex #jalex fic #all time low #atl fic #fic #my fic #i love you sam i'm sorry your shift was frustrating #i hope you're proud. you managed to distract me from Not Working on the other fic #totally joking i just wanted to do a nice thing #love you love you

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ancientwastedlores · 4 years

Text

The Support System (Ch:2)

SUMMARY: The Avengers have managed to collect all the infinity stones across the universe, and are currently keeping them in far corners of the world, only for research and to see if they can improve the planet and its people. Reader is a researcher with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, as well as a field agent. Loki is currently serving time for his actions in New York City in 2012.

A/N: Thank you for the love on the first chapter! You can find the same on AO3, if you prefer that. Let me know if you like this and I’ll keep posting more :) Also, should I start a tag list for this? I’m still navigating this platform, and I see many fic writers having a tag list for their fics. Anyway, enjoy!

Chapter: 2/?

Warnings: N/A

Audience: general.

_______________________________________________________________________

Tony likes to hand out the agendas of the day to the Avengers personally. He jogs around the tower with a stack of papers, wearing his tracksuit and headphones, a habit Pepper encouraged, since he never actually leaves his lab to do anything physical.

He gently opens the door and places the sheet on a table placed right next to the door. That table is specifically for the agendas. You once threw your keys on it and Tony passive aggressively made a point of picking up your keys and placing them on the floor to place his sheet.

You’re still in bed with Loki, who is facing away from you and snoring lightly. Tony opens the door to place the sheet and notices two heads instead of one in your bed. He moves closer to see Loki, widens his eyes, and promptly runs out.

‘What?’ Nat asks, running past Tony, then stopping. ‘Loki!’ ‘In her room!?’ ‘Yes!’ ‘I…’ Nat is trying to peer in through the crack Tony left open. ‘Are you sure!?’ ‘Do YOU want to look?’ ‘No!’ Nat nearly shouts.

Tony shuts the door. ‘I’ll talk to her about it later’.

‘Good, I’m not going to’ Nat says, then places her headphones back and continues running.

Around 8 AM, after Loki has left your room, you change into your field uniform and walk to the kitchen. The rest of the Avengers, including Loki, are in there, and the cook is making bacon and eggs.

‘Hi Samantha’ you greet the cook. She smiles back at you. You pour yourself a cup of coffee and Tony grabs your arm, making you nearly spill the coffee.

‘Hey man!’ you yell. ‘Please tell me you aren’t sleeping with Loki’ Tony hisses. ‘What… no! I’m not, let go of my arm!’ Tony lets go. ‘I saw him in your bed’. ‘Yeah, we just had a heart to heart about our past and fell asleep, it’s no big deal’. He narrows his eyes at you. ‘You confided in Loki about your past?’ ‘Well, him more than me’. ‘Uhuh’.

You raise an eyebrow at Tony. ‘It’s fine’ you assure him. He doesn’t believe you, which is clear in his face, but walks back to the dining table.

You grab a plate for yourself and get some fruit, eggs and bread. You take your seat at the table and join in on the conversation everyone’s having.

‘Right’ you announce, walking into the lab with Bruce and Tony. ‘TODAY is the day we speak to Harry’. ‘Harry?’ Tony asks. ‘Yeah. The Reality Gem’. ‘You named the Reality Gem “Harry”?’ Bruce asks. ‘Yes. You know, the redheaded prince of England. And the Reality gem is Red’ you grin, proud of your name. They roll their eyes but laugh, and go to their respective workstations.

Doctor Strange had found a way to speak to the Time Stone, and provided everything he could for you to be able to do the same with the Reality stone. He had done everything save for actually coming down the lab, which he couldn’t because he had to be at the Sanctum Sanctorum. But you had gone through every single paper he sent, every theory you talked over, and every idea you shared. After a while, it was clear that the code to cracking all the stones wasn’t the same, and so you’d have to start from scratch for every stone.

Frustrating as it was, you did love a challenge.

‘Maybe we should just build a body around it like we did for Vision and let it literally speak to us’ you say, frustrated, a few hours later.

‘We did consider that. We even have the technology for it, but we can’t have six people walking around with stones in their heads’ Tony says.

‘Oh, is THAT the problem?’ you chuckle. ‘Not the insane amount of power and resources it would take, not to mention how the costs outweigh the benefits’.

‘She’s right, it took Thor to open the cradle last time’. Bruce says. ‘And if we give the stones a body, it could do anything’.

‘At least the stones restrict movement’ you say.

‘I don’t think the lack of a body would stop the stones’ Tony says. ‘Besides. Strange got his to talk while it still sits in that necklace, so I’m sure we can work it out. Did you read through the papers he sent?’

‘I did’ you say. ‘Twice over, made some notes if you’d like to see’ you project the contents of your laptop onto a hologram before Tony. ‘We’ve tried it the few ways Strange suggested, but what he actually did is very particular to the Time Stone’.

‘Series of time loops and manipulations in the mirror dimension’ Tony reads. ‘We can’t do that, of course, we don’t even know how to use it’.

‘Can’t we take the reality stone into the mirror dimension?’ Bruce asks.

‘What then?’ you ask. ‘It was purely an accident that Stephen even managed to speak to the stone. He managed to reverse and study his actions somehow to write a paper’.

‘So we’re stuck in the lab, then’ Tony sighs, and turns to walk to his table.

‘Unless you just want to take it to the mirror dimension and just mess around with it’ you say, half-joking.

Tony stops in his tracks. He promptly turns back to face you. You see the look on his face and push the hologram aside. ‘Tony, you know I love a mystery, but I wouldn’t advice getting stuck in the mirror dimension with an Infinity Stone unless you REALLY know what you’re doing’.

‘Strange did it’ he scoffs. ‘Strange knows what he’s doing’ you say. ‘Are you saying Strange is smarter than I am!?’ Tony demands.

Oh dear.

‘I’m saying he knows more about this’ you walk back to your computer and pull up another paper he sent you and project it to a hologram. ‘Read that’ you highlight a line using your fingers. ‘The mirror dimension is linked to the dark dimension, playing around with an Infinity Stone without understanding how to use it could not only trap you in the mirror dimension, it could draw you into the dark dimension’ you swipe the hologram away. ‘And I hate to bring this up, but after New York, this should be the last thing you throw yourself into’.

Tony sighs. ‘You’re right, kid’.

You close the holograms and walk back to your desk. Tony’s still standing in the same spot though. You sit down and pull yourself close to the desk.

‘You’re smart’ Tony declares.

You smile at him.

‘So I can’t understand why the hell you’d spend the night with Loki’. ‘You did what?’ Bruce shouted. You glare at Tony. ‘THANKS’. ‘YOU SLEPT WITH LOKI!?’ Bruce’s voice is unnaturally high pitched. ‘I did no such thing, we were talking and fell asleep!’ you defend yourself. ‘Can we get back to the stones’. ‘Just…’ Tony leans over your table. ‘Promise me you won’t let this be a thing, he’s dangerous’. ‘Hey, I can take care of myself. And he’s more like you than you think’. ‘I take offense to that’ Tony says, without actually sounding or looking offended. ‘You don’t like being compared to a God?’ you ask teasingly.

Tony smirks. ‘You got me. I’m going back to work’ he finally turns away to sit at his desk. The three of you continue working.

At last. The training room. You walk into the roomy glass cage that has an arsenal of knives, swords, spears, guns, and other alien weaponry lining the wall. You feel at home.

‘What we feeling like today?’ Natasha’s voice comes up behind you. ‘I’m feeling the katanas’ you say, your hands running over the colourful handles of the katanas.

Nat takes a pair for herself, and you take yours. ‘Hand to hand first’ Nat says. As is usual. You place the katanas in the harness strapped to your back and take your fighting stance.

Nat goes to punch you and you block it. Her other hand comes to chop at your neck, which you also manage to block by holding her wrist, then flipping her over so she lands on her back.

‘At least give me a challenge’ you tease. ‘Just getting your ego up so I can bring it crashing down’ she smiles, as she gets up. You know she’s not lying. ‘You’re terribly mean’ you say. You take your fighting stance once again.

Two hours later, after your session with Natasha ends, you place the Katanas back on the wall. ‘Can I take these on the extraction mission?’

‘You can take anything you want. Just don’t take too much, we don’t want to be weighed down’. ‘Right’ you look at the katanas. They really are gorgeous. ‘Where did we get these?’ ‘They used to be Lady Sif’s. She left them with S. H. I. E. L. D, and S. H. I. E. L. D gave it to Tony’.

You touch the handles again, which has some Norse story etched on it in gold and red tones. ‘They’re beautiful’.

‘They are’ Natasha agrees, unhooking her harness and placing it on the wall as well. ‘Do you know the story?’

You nod. You’ve grown up reading stories of Greek and Norse myths. ‘This scene is Odin stealing poetry from the Giants and flying back to Asgard with it’ you point at something in the handle. ‘That’s earth. As Odin was flying over Earth, some of the poetry spilled here, which is how we have the art form’.

You stare at the handle a while longer.

‘Do you have a thing going on with Loki?’ Natasha asks. ‘What! No! How many people has Tony told?’ ‘Just me. I happened to pass by when he left your agenda’. ‘Bruce knows too’. ‘Bruce!? Why?’ ‘Cuz Tony can’t shut up’ you say. ‘Does it bother you?’ ‘Him not shutting up or people knowing about it?’ ‘The second one’. ‘I don’t really care’ you shrug, knowing that it was inevitable, ‘But I know how silly rumours can affect people, so I wish people would stop spinning it like that for Loki’s sake’. ‘Right’ she nods, understanding. ‘I’ll make sure no one else knows’. ‘Thanks Nat’ you smile at her. ‘I have to shower and go back to the lab. Bye!’

‘Bye!’

‘We’ve made progress!’ Tony yells at you as you walk back in.

‘That’s excellent!’ you know Tony is absolutely dying to tell you what he uncovered, but you aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of telling you immediately for outing your little sleepover to Bruce. ‘But you should eat first’.

‘Yeah yeah, listen to this, so Bruce said…’ ‘No, I literally meant eat first, talk later’.

Tony looks like you’ve just slapped him. ‘It’ll take a second’.

‘I won’t hear it until you’ve had something to eat’ you unwrap the falafels and shawarmas you got from the food truck downstairs.

He glares at you, grabs a falafel, takes the smallest bite and sets it back down again. ‘Now…’

‘Actually, I could eat too’ Bruce walks over to grab himself a shawarma, and proceeds to open the wrapper very, very slowly.

You grin at Tony. Understanding that there really is no way you will listen, he sits down to eat a proper meal.

After throwing away the wrappers, he comes and sits down next to you. ‘Bruce said it would be so funny if we got Vision to talk to it like it’s his cousin, and I got an idea’.

‘Okay?’ ‘They’re family!’ ‘Ohana’ you say, still chewing and looking at him with dead seriousness.

Tony glares at you again, the occasional eating noises from Bruce making you internally lose it.

‘As I was saying, we don’t have to use the same Time Stone method, but we don’t have to completely abandon it either’. ‘But they do vastly different things from each other, we even tried all the…’ ‘Yes, but you haven’t tried combinations’ he runs to your laptop. ‘I was going through your notes; look at what you’ve written here’.

You read it: "So basically it’s like those old rotary phones. Strange ran the dial to 6, then 4, then 9, then 1, until it dialled a number and made a call."

‘I was really sleepy when I wrote that’ you say. ‘We can’t crack the stone, we have to learn to first use it, then connect with it’. ‘We’ve been over this, Tony, none of us know how…’ ‘No, I won’t do it’.

You were fully ready to shoot Tony down, but damn, he decides to be reasonable!?

‘I was thinking we can just put Vision in the mirror dimension and ask him to use it in a combination of ways. See what clicks. I mean if anyone would know, it would be Vision, right? Maybe if there’s a way to speak to him while he is IN the mirror dimension, we can remotely control it’

‘I’ll have to ask Strange first’. ‘DO THAT’ Tony screams and Bruce jumps. ‘LET ME EAT MAN!’ he yells back.

You chuckle. ‘So… I'll email Strange then, shall I?’ ‘Yes. And kid?’

You roll your eyes but smile at the endearment. ‘Yes?’

‘You did good. I couldn’t have done it without you’.

You take the laptop from Tony’s hands and sit down to write the email to Strange.

_______________________________________________________________________

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #marvel fan fiction #avengers fandom #loki fanfic #loki fandom #tom hiddleston #marvel avengers #loki fluff

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marlinspirkhall · 3 years

Text

Tomorrow Never Comes, Chapter 07: “Not A Single Friend”

Content Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Chapter Word Count: 3,799

[Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

Further CW: Major Character Death

Light streams through the window, and Jim rolls onto his side with a sleepy smile. “Morning,” he hums.

Spock watches him intensely, and it’s only when his eyebrows raise slightly that Jim realises he’s trying to communicate.

“The bond?” He croaks, pushing himself up on his elbow.

Spock shakes his head. “It didn’t survive…” His brow furrows. “The planet’s restorative abilities did their job too well.”

Over the next few days, Spock becomes more withdrawn. It doesn’t worry Jim, exactly; Spock always does this whenever they reach a new obstacle. Perhaps he blames himself. Hell, Jim’s been inside his mind; he knows he blames himself.

Jim throws himself back into research. He scours every archive he can find, reading the names of wanted smugglers in this sector, anyone who could have disappeared here, anyone who could have a clue. If getting out of here is the only way for them to retain their bond- and their bond is the only thing which will make Spock happy- then he needs to find a solution.

Jim sits near the guardrail, his legs dangling over the edge of the Veranda, and hears soft footsteps behind him. He turns, with a sad, slight smile.

“I was thinking about Earth,” Jim murmurs. “Being trapped here almost makes it easier to cope with. Do you find that?”

Spock gives a hesitant nod. “Earth was similar to this planet in many ways-”

A huff of laughter. “No, I mean- I can almost pretend that being trapped here is the only reason I won’t see it again,” Jim whispers.

Spock nods, and joins him beside the guard rail.

They sit in silence for a moment. The dark leaves of the forest rustle all around them; the first warning of the oncoming weather, and Spock wraps his arms tighter around Jim. When the first drops fall, they barely feel them; too lost in one another’s mind.

With storms like these, eternity is hard to weather. Jim tries to keep track of time, but, if it was hard before, it’s impossible now. He would have thought Spock’s own, immaculate sense of time would keep him in check, but, instead, he wonders if he’s rubbed off on him.

‘Or perhaps I was never as good at keeping time as you thought.’

‘Well, spending time trapped in a time-loop will do that to a person,’ Jim comments.

Spock massages his temples, as if dispelling a headache. ‘Perhaps we should practise your ability to block certain thoughts. It’s not necessary for me to know your every thought.’

‘Ah, but you love it.’ Jim kisses him.

Once it’s repaired, they take the shuttle for a short test flight over the forest. They don’t dare take it further until they have a more concrete escape plan, but Jim stays in the front seat a little longer once they’ve landed, double checking every part of the controls. There’s a lot about this shuttle he doesn’t understand- it’s got features he’s never seen before: some are experimental, some are prototypes. There’s an abundance of suspicious and dangerous-sounding subroutines. A large file size piques his interest, particularly because it’s nestled within a list of comparatively smaller files.

File Name | size

11292254qDefp.mp4 | 28.5TB

11302254RsTwy.mp4 | 22.23TB

11312254Ghtf2.mp4 | 58.334601151 PiB

12302253lCmdp.mp4 | 21.56TB

He stares. 58 pebibytes of information. It must be using all the shuttle’s available memory space. He searches through its parent folders.

‘Overseer Protocol: Active.’

Curious, he selects it.

‘Admin override required.’

He inputs Leland’s password, but the system refuses to accept it. Whatever the overseer protocol is, it was clearly intended to keep Leland in line. It takes Jim a couple of tries to override the system without the password.

There’s a bleep.

The video files load in their raw form: dates, followed by a series of timestamps.

28 Oct: 24:23:09

29 Oct: 25:00:00

30 Oct: 19:30:03

The screen flickers, and freezes for a moment as the numbers load.

25:56:03

An error sound.

625:56:04

5625:56:05

31 Oct: 45625:56:07

He exhales. The seconds keep ticking up. His heart pounds in his ears.

He chooses the file from October 30th, and picks a timestamp towards the end. The screen pulls up two videos, side-by-side. Two cameras. One of them displays the exterior of the shuttle, the other, the interior. The int. screen is pitch black, and the ext. is extremely dim. The only sound is the faint rustle of the trees, battered by the wind. He rolls the video back, and lands on footage of the three of them on that first day, unloading the shuttle. He clenches his fist as he watches the early relationship between Leland and Spock, and he considers just how far he’s come. In some ways, it’s a miracle he ever got away from Leland at all; and a cynical part of him wonders if, perhaps, he never did. Jim glances to the entrance to the basement with an uneasy feeling.

Spock has moments like the other night- flashes of affection- and then seems to draw back in on himself. Granted, Jim never expected it to happen all at once, but he almost believed that would be it- one final mind meld, and he would be able to save Spock. He’d forgotten, of course, just how many times Spock had melded with him before. It could be that first times- all the times which were erased from Jim’s memory- are easier than the second.

He assured Spock that he’s not trying to get him to behave more human, not holding him to Vulcan stereotypes or standards, or a strict section-31 regimen, as Leland would have. But, still, there are days where he cannot reach him.

He watches as he and Spock enter the forest, and Leland begins to move the crates of power packs towards the entrance of the basement.

Jim clicks the video off, and chooses an entry from the 29th. More of the same. Leland, crashing the shuttle through the Martian dome with barely a scratch.

As for that final entry…

The shuttle must have continued recording the whole time they were in the time-loop. The internal clock is programmed for the Martian 25-hour standard, perhaps because Mars Colony was the last chartered place the shuttle landed on, though the days aren’t nearly as long on Heirin- they’re perhaps nineteen, twenty hours maximum.

There are perhaps six Earth-years’ worth of footage crammed into this one device. He wonders how many recordings there are of himself or Leland dying, and his stomach turns. He doesn’t really want to know, but the monitor could have other uses. He ends the recording manually, and switches to a new recording. He waves his hand in front of the screen experimentally. The interior camera appears to be built right into the screen.

He disconnects the monitor carefully, and weighs it in his hands for a moment. It’s small, and relatively weighty. He considers showing it to Spock, but, after a moment’s hesitation, he drags it into the server room. He’s not sure if Spock would want to be reminded of how long he’s spent here. Not yet.

He plugs the monitor into the console, though it appears to have some internal, backup power-source. The video files have disappeared- no doubt stored in the shuttle, as the monitor’s internal storage is comparatively smaller. Jim leaves it by the consoles for now.

Jim is attempting to balance on one leg.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to see if I can build up-” Jim falls over with a cry. “- Muscle,” he hisses, rubbing his hamstring with a grimace. He stands back up, and resumes the position. “We still don’t know if our bodies are entirely replaced each morning, or if it only happens when one of us is injured.” He poses. “How does my butt look?”

“The same as usual,” Spock says, dryly.

“Well, it’s early days,” Jim shrugs.

Spock hesitates, then steps a little closer. “I doubt it’s possible for you to gain much more… ‘muscle’ in this particular area,” he says, tactfully.

Jim shoots him a glare over his shoulder, and promptly overbalances. “There’s that Vulcan tact, I see.”

“This could help prove it, once and for all.”

“It is futile to attempt to prove something which runs so contrary to the laws of physics-”

Jim grabs his hand, and, with one sharp tug, Spock lands in the mud beside him, and they bump heads.

“Law of gravity,” Jim says, sheepishly, as he rubs his nose.

As far as he can tell, their bodies seem incapable of going through any kind of change. Gaining/losing weight, scarring, telepathic bonds- none of them seem to stick. They really do seem to regenerate each morning, without exception, though the rest of their surroundings wither. And we’ll never age. It’s practically immortality, Jim thinks.

If only we weren’t stuck here.

The next time Spock melds with him, a bond forms almost immediately, as it did before.

‘I guess that means we’re exceptionally compatible.’

Spock tilts his head. ‘We know each other well. A bond is an inevitable side effect.’

‘That’s what I said!’

Despite its futility, Jim convinces Spock to bond with him again. And again. It becomes a strange sort of game, a dance; to go to sleep each evening aware of the other, with the ability to broadcast their every thought into the others’ head, and renew it each morning.

‘Are you familiar with Greek mythology?’ Jim asks. Spock appears in front of him, stern and disapproving.

‘If I were not, I could get the information from your mind.’

‘Right,’ Jim laughs. ‘At first, I thought we might be living the life of Sisyphus, cursed to roll the same boulder up the hill every day. But, every time I look at you, the story of Tantalus comes to mind.’

Spock’s eyebrows twitch. The landscape shifts, until Jim is standing neck-deep in water, watching ripples on the surface of a great lake. Spock stands on the shore.

A large willow tree looms over Jim, its leaves a delicate, olive-leaf green. Something flutters across his face, pale pink and soft. A single petal. Jim smiles serenely, and glances at the underside of the tree. Improbably- and, perhaps, illogically- it is covered with cherry blossoms, the like he hasn’t seen since Earth.

“Which am I, Jim?” Spock says, in a booming whisper. His voice echoes all around him, syllables melting into great, crashing waves. “The water you can never stoop to drink, or the fruit which is just out of reach?”

Jim focuses on the falling petals, their delicate red hue looking less familiar by the moment, and contemplates their similarity to the rocks on Heirin. Everything about this planet is overpowering: drenching, seeping into them, even in these stolen moments of serenity. Jim knows better than most how easily alliances can be shattered by violence, and, reaching out, he touches one of the petals.

“Neither,” he answers. He takes a deep breath. “I know what you’re scared of- that I, like Leland, view you as a prize to be won- but I don’t.” He considers for a moment. “But, I do need you. You are only like the water because I need you to sustain me. Only like the fruit because I’m willing to wait for you to fall. This… Time loop, this trap we’re caught in- I wouldn’t be able to survive it without you. You’ve demonstrated that, time and time again.”

As he’s talking, the water level shrinks to his waist.

“I don’t want to be trapped here, but there is one benefit- it gives me time to wait.”

Spock blinks. “For what?”

“You.”

Spock reaches out, and catches a falling petal. “You could be waiting for a long time.”

The echo of laughter. “As far as we know, we have eternity.” He holds his hand out, and Spock appears next to him. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and kisses him slowly.

They’re so deep in the meld that it takes daybreak to pull them out of it. Jim wakes up in bed blinking in the light. Spock is curled on his side next to him, his hand outstretched towards Jim’s forehead. It’s almost easy to believe that he fell asleep this way.

He reaches out, and cards a hand through Spock’s hair. For a moment, he allows himself to pretend that they’re just two lovers, lying together on a lazy Sunday morning with no responsibilities, and nothing else to do. But, it isn’t Sunday, and, somewhere below them, Leland is waking, too.

He kisses Spock’s wrist. He twitches in his sleep, his brows pulling together, perhaps sensing Jim’s troubled thoughts. Jim rises, and hurries downstairs as quietly as he can without sacrificing speed.

Leland’s “rise and shine” doesn’t have time to fall from his lips.

Jim spends a pleasant morning with Spock before returning to the server room for his usual dig through The Klingon archives. His Klingon has gotten really good recently, and he’s sure there must be something he’s overlooked in the top-secret war files. As he goes to input the now-familiar sequence, something catches his eye in front of him.

‘Mars-Colony gang members reported missing […] with the exception of T’Gar Taag, who was apprehended last Tuesday-”

His eyes widen, and he leans back in his chair, eyes darting around the printings and clippings laid out on the walls.

‘Crash-landing results in bloodbath […] sole survivor, Lewis McAllister-’

Sole survivor. Jim reaches forwards, bringing up the scribbled translations of the Klingon tomes he was able to piece together. It’s only legend.

A time loop, sparked by the spilling of innocent blood.

A hazy memory from that first night. Perhaps it’s so hazy because it’s the last thing he remembers before he was murdered: Leland, sitting opposite him in an unknown cave, firelight painting his face, and the walls, a deep, intense red. “When the battle ended, there wasn’t a single enemy left.”

“And not a single friend, either,” Jim had joked.

He’s not laughing now. He sits in the server room for a moment, hands trembling as he contemplates his next move. Then, he rises, tears the clippings from the wall, and heads for the door. On his way out, he doubles back, and grabs the monitor which he tore from the shuttle, hugging it to his chest as he runs through the beginnings of rain.

He enters the stronghold through the main entrance, and enters the central hall. Spock is upstairs, meditating. After a moment’s deliberation, Jim stashes the print-outs under the cushions of the sofa. As for the monitor…

He grabs an axe from the wall, and steps into the downstairs bathroom.

The shower runs. It provides an interesting background to Jim’s conversation with himself. The green light paints his face a sickly sheen, and he looks almost… Undead. It’s not entirely inappropriate, he thinks grimly, as he sets the axe and the monitor in the tub, and hits record.

Spock wakes up alone, which isn’t entirely unusual, but he feels strangely uneasy.

Downstairs, Jim sits at the dining table, papers laid out all around him, as is customary for one of their escape-planning sessions; although it’s been a while since they’ve had one. The change in their surroundings is immediately apparent.

“You’ve redecorated,” Spock observes, lightly.

The remaining knives, weapons and tools have vanished from the walls, and Jim gives him a strange smile. “I thought we could use some… Variety.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow, and settles in the chair opposite him. He only needs to study his face for a moment.

“You’ve found a way for us to leave,” he realises.

“No,” Jim closes his eyes. “Not us, exactly…”

Jim points to one of the headlines, then the others, and begins to explain. As he listens, Spock’s heart begins to pound in his chest, and he struggles to remain outwardly calm. He feels every bit as trapped as he did that first night, when Leland had pointed a phaser at him.

He remembers the clatter as the power pack had fallen into the gap in the ceiling, and his eyes dart, momentarily, upwards.

“- But,” Jim catches his breath, “There’s another option.” He swallows. “We could stay here, together. I know I’ve said it before, but- we don’t need to eat. We don’t even, technically, need to sleep. That’s paradise, to some people. Maybe as close to it as we’re ever going to get. We’d never get old, and we could live our lives in relative comfort, until one or both of us was ready to…” He swallows. “Leave.”

Spock’s face twitches. The idea is almost tempting. Except...

“Rise and shine, campers!”

He turns to the door. “There will always be Leland.”

“A small price to pay for paradise,” Jim says.

Spock purses his lips, and begins to rise from his seat.

“No.” Jim pushes his chair back, and places a hand over Spock’s. “Allow me.”

Spock slumps, and watches as Jim exits onto the Veranda.

Footsteps, quickly, down the stairs.

Voices. A scuffle.

A body hits the ground.

Outside, Jim drags Leland’s body towards the forest, and Spock watches them until they’re out of sight.

He sits. He sits and contemplates, for how long, he does not know.

He considers everything that Jim had told him. With his strength, it would be easy to kill Leland with his bare hands. But, Jim? If the man turned on him, he would certainly have the physical strength to defend himself, but there are other factors to consider.

“Theoretically, if we’re here long enough… Axes will blunt. Knives will wear down.”

They would have to kill Leland with their bare hands, day after day after day. And- if ever Jim got bored of him, as humans are wont to do- he would have to rid himself of Spock in the same, clumsy way. Vulcans are patient, Leland had said. But, he was raised by humans, and he has murdered his fathers too many times to cling onto any concept of remorse. For surely- surely- somewhere, after years of two-person solitude in this desert of companionship, Jim will tire of a world where the only person to quench his thirst is a Vulcan. Spock can foresee it with almost-perfect clarity: a day where Jim will bore, and he will only be able to repay him in blood.

As if moved by some external force, Spock hurries upstairs, and retrieves one of the empty phasers which Leland had left in the third drawer of the nightstand. Then, he returns downstairs, and pushes one of the dining chairs to the center of the room.

He climbs onto it. Blindly, he reaches into the gap in the ceiling, searching for the power pack which Leland had lost, yesterday and so many years ago. After all this time, there’s no guarantee that it will still work, and a part of him hopes that it won’t.

So much has changed since that first night. In many ways, they have become complacent of the danger Leland poses to them, a danger which is very likely to return.

And, there are so many ways that it could go wrong. If, one day, either one of them forgets to kill Leland, he could kill one or both of them instead. They have already been clumsy too many times. If it happens again, and Leland succeeds in killing one of them by mistake, they would lose their memories. Even if a mind meld could partially restore them, it would put them at a dangerous disadvantage.

And Leland need only be lucky once.

There are other things, too. Spock appreciates an adherence to routine; he does not know if the same is true for Jim. And, when one takes into account the enormity of eternity, it may not even be true for himself.

A part of him longs to put it to the test. To see how many eons they could go on thriving in this remote place. Never growing older, even as the stronghold around them was eroded by the winds of time. They could repair it, to a point, but, eventually, they would have to rebuild it from the woods that surround them. Fashioning their own tools as the old fell to ruin. That would certainly speed up the daily ritual of what must be done.

A small price to pay for paradise.

But, truly, how many times could they bear the stain of Leland’s blood? The man isn’t innocent by any stretch of the imagination, but, if there’s any truth in the terran concept of “purgatory”, has enough time elapsed to pay off his debt? At any rate, they’re not dealing with a world of terran invention, but it can’t be a Klingon one, either: in this instance, The Last Man Standing would be without honour.

How long before the ravine to the East becomes full of identical corpses, as the clearing in the woods was once overcrowded with Jim’s? And, in truth, is still overcrowded. There’s no room to start a life together on a planet littered with one another’s bones.

Mining the planet by hand if they had to. Perhaps they would even uncover the buried Time Crystal which keeps them trapped here, and a way to destroy it. But, even as he allows himself to dream, he knows it’s impossible. If there is any pattern to his life so far, any truth in the instruction given to him by Leland, it is this:

Vulcans are patient. Humans are not.

Most importantly, any exceptions aside: James Kirk is not. Jim, the man who bet the late Christopher Pike that he could graduate in four years, and have command of his own ship in five. Jim, the man who cheated on The Kobayashi Maru.

Still, the test was designed to be unbeatable. And, perhaps- perhaps- if Jim Kirk was willing to sit an unbeatable test three times- he may not be so impatient after all. Perhaps, somehow, through the combined stubbornness that’s sustained them so far, they will find another solution-

The door opens behind him. Spock swings round, still balanced precariously on the chair, and Jim stops dead in his tracks.

Without breaking eye contact, Spock slots the power pack into place, and levels the phaser at Jim.

Jim stares at him, open-mouthed. Spock steps down from the chair, and Jim settles into a grim smile. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t run.

They stare at each other like exhausted children, waiting for a drawn-out game of make-believe to finally end.

Humans are impatient, Spock assures himself. He waits for Jim to make the first move, but he doesn’t even twitch. Conceivably, they could both stand here forever.

His fingers find the trigger.

He is impatient.

He fires.

[Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

#tomorrow never comes #star trek fic #star trek aos fic #star trek discovery fic #spirk fic

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agentunwin · 5 years

Text

STILL HERE [Guardian Angel!Shawn]

In which guardian angel!Shawn fights the inevitable to protect the one he loves. [platonic].

— A/N: this is kinda short and sweet ig. veryyy heavily inspired by beyond two souls and death note. also if you know who made the gif lmk so i can credit!

— WORDS: 3.3k

— WARNINGS: cursing, fluff, angst.

He was in love with her the very first time he laid eyes on her.

Her body was curled up adorably in a ball when the doctors removed her, the paleness in her cheeks gaining more color by the second. She was making tiny noises that would soon erupt into fits of cries and coughs as the doctors handled her, cleaning her and making sure that there were no outward complications.

She was beautiful. Her tiny smushed face brought the biggest smile to Shawn's lips as well as the parents' as she was handed off to them and they were allowed to see her for the first time. Her wet hair was a mess atop her head and her eyes were squeezed shut, her hands flailing around aimlessly. Her mouth was parted only to release more cries and her mother tried desperately to calm her, holding the little girl close to her chest and rocking her happily.

When that didn't work, Shawn decided to try something. He reached out, placing his finger in her palm and watching as her nimble fingers wrapped themselves around it- Or around the air, rather, considering Shawn's invisibility to everyone. This made him smile to himself. Had she really felt his touch?

This was all so surreal to the angel, having never looked after a child before. Every person he was formerly assigned to before her was elderly— on the verge of death— so he never really got the chance to get to know them. While some would consider this sad, constantly being surrounded by death, it was quite the opposite.

The job was easy. Once assigned to someone who needs him, he stays with them for the rest of their life, looking over them and giving them guidance. Once they die on the date seen above their head, they go beyond.

Y/N Y/L/N had a long life ahead of her, it would seem, and Shawn was more than excited to help guide her through her life's struggles.

It was during the sixth month of her life that he began noticing something peculiar. She was laid on her back in her play pen, arms reaching up to play with the dangling toys above her head. Her mouth was parted neutrally and she seemed relatively bored, her parents busy with making dinner in the other room. Shawn rested his head on the top of the pen and merely watching over her as he always did.

But then, she looked back.

She was staring up at him, her eyes wide and sparkling in awe. At first, Shawn brushed it off- Chalked it up to her staring at the ceiling. However, when the corner of her lips twitched upwards into a wide smile and she reached out for him, he knew that he wasn't going crazy.

He reached down, holding a breath in his lungs as he waited in anticipation for her to grab it. And when she did, giving it the gentlest of tugs, he laughed out nervously, relieved and scared all at once.

Something had gone horribly wrong. Y/N could really see him.

This was only confirmed more as she grew up, and by the time she was two years old, she knew enough to hold small conversations with him. He still remembers the days they would spend in her room together as he told her different stories and entertained her, doing stupid dances and letting her play with his mop of curls. She was energetic, funny, and Shawn couldn't have asked to be assigned to anyone better.

He once considered reporting this situation to the Beyond. It had to have been a mistake and it could be detrimental to their system if anyone found out. But, he never found it in himself to report it, even though he knew that it was selfish and unprofessional to keep this secret. He loved her more than he could ever imagine, and even at such a young age, she loved him back.

However, love wouldn't be love without complication.

The problems started arriving since the day she said her first word- "Shawn."

Not mama, or dada. Shawn. He never needed to teach Y/N his name as it seemed they were connected and she was born knowing everything about him. And while this made him happy and furthered their bond, her parents grew worried, and rightfully so.

They thought Shawn was only an imaginary friend and that she'd grow out of talking to him. And for a while, things seemed to be going okay. She'd stopped talking about Shawn to her parents and they thought it had ended, but on her sixth birthday when she insisted on getting a piece of cake for him, they knew something had to be done.

She was sitting in a blue chair against the wall with her mother, her legs swinging out of boredom as she looked around. The room was extremely quiet what with them being the only ones in there. Shawn could sense how nervous she was and he felt the same way when his eyes met hers from across the room, her lips turned into a frown.

Y/N was a smart girl; she knew what this was. It was a clinic and they were going to try to take Shawn away from her- To tell her that it was all fake.

The door on the right wall creaked open, a man in a suit and tie walking out with a smile. He clapped his hands together, nodding back towards his office. "Y/N, yes? Come on, follow me, dear."

Y/N kept her feet planted firmly on the ground, refusing to move. She looked to Shawn with a twitch of her eyebrow and he understood what she was suggesting. He walked into the man's office and looked around, quickly identifying the man as a therapist by the plaque on his desk. Although he hated the idea of her having to go through this, he sensed no immediate danger from the situation.

He poked his head from the doorway, giving her a thumbs up and a goofy smile in hopes of calming her down. It didn't work, but her feet finally began to move towards the man's office, flinching a bit when it was closed shut.

"Take a seat." The man insisted, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. "My name is Dr.Herring."

"Hi." Y/N muttered, voice extremely timid as she moved to sit in the way-too-large seat. Her eyes followed the man's movements as he pulled out some files and clicked around on his computer for a few seconds before turning to her with a lazy grin.

"So, Y/N. Your mother tells me you've been talking to someone that only you can see." Dr.Herring began slowly, rubbing his chin. "Is that true?"

Y/N nodded.

"What is this person's name?" He pressed.

Y/N folded her hands in her lap and looked down, clearing her throat. "Shawn."

Dr.Herring hummed and nodded, pursing his lips. "Why do think Shawn is here?"

She shrugged and he sighed, knowing that getting through to her would be difficult, if possible at all.

"Does he follow you?" He asked, and when she nodded, he continued, "Is he here right now?"

Once again, she nodded, still refusing to make eye contact. Shawn bit his lip and couldn't hide his frown, hating that this was happening to her. Dr.Herring pulled out a piece of paper and a blue crayon, pushing it towards her.

"Can you draw him for me?"

She hesitated before picking up the crayon, slowly drawing the outline of a man's body the best she could. For Shawn's hair she drew a lot of squiggly lines and loops, placing two dots on the face for eyes. And to top it off, she drew a large smile and a few hearts around him, then placed the crayon down and pushed the paper back to the man.

Not too long after, she was put on medication.

Of course, it never truly worked. Her parents made a valiant effort throughout the rest of her childhood to get her to take the medication, and for a while, it seemed as if even Y/N tried to convince herself that Shawn wasn't real. She stopped talking to him for a solid two years, ignored him when he tried to speak to her or give her advice, and refused to look at him wherever she went.

Some days were worse than others. Sometimes, she couldn't bear to leave her covers, crying her eyes out as she prayed to whatever God there was that she could just be normal. The medications and treatments got to be too overwhelming, and Shawn knew deep down that this was his fault. He should have reported it the first time he noticed, but he was selfish, and now she was paying the price.

No words could describe the heartbreak he faced during this time. The little girl he'd watched grow up and had loved for years was no longer his. He was forced to watch her from the shadows just like he always did, and pray that someday, she would come back to him.

One afternoon when Shawn didn't believe things could get worse, Y/N decided to attend a party. It was the beginning of her junior year of high school and Shawn could tell that she didn't really want to go. Shawn stood by the front door when she grabbed her keys, folding his arms over his chest.

"You don't have to go out if you don't want to." He tried, giving her a look of concern. "You shouldn't feel pressured."

Y/N ignored him as usual, thanking her parents for giving her the keys and running out of the house. Of course.

The party seemed to be going fine at first. There were only five other teenagers there celebrating her best friend Stacy's birthday, the house's lights dimmed with music pumping through it. Beers were pulled out and some was offered to her, and to his liking, she refused. There was dancing, eating, and games. Then, the music was cut off.

"So, Y/N." One of the dudes, Todd, spoke up, looking at her from across the circle they'd all formed. "Stacy told us about your little issue."

Y/N's mouth instantly dropped and her stomach churned as she turned to hit her best friend. "You told them about that?!"

"Dude, what the fuck?" Stacy grimaced at the boy angrily, "Why can't you keep your fucking mouth shut?"

Todd laughed and shook his head, turning his attention back to Y/N. "So, who even is this dude? An imaginary friend? A ghost?"

She looked like a deer in the headlights, not being able to process that her best friend who'd been through this all with her had betrayed her trust. She shook her head and stumbled around the question, murmuring, "N-No, he's not- I don't know-"

"So you really do still believe he's real?" Todd smirked in an antagonizing manner, leaning back and taking another swig of his beer. "You're obviously still psycho, then."

Tears welled in her eyes at the word she'd tried so hard to avoid. She'd heard it from past friends and family members and all it ever did was push her further over the edge, bringing back horrible memories of breakdowns and arguments as she tried to distinguish between what was real and what was fake.

She whipped her head towards her friend in hopes of some kind of defense, but all Stacy gave her was a weak shrug.

"I mean.." Stacy look to Y/N, slanting her lips. "When was the last time you took your meds, Y/N?"

"Are you serious right now?" Y/N seethed, face getting hotter by the second. "You know how much this fucking hurts me and you're just going to let him talk to me like that?"

Y/N stood up as fast as she could, running to grab her jacket and shrug it on. Stacy tried her best to convince her to stay, insisted that she was sorry, but Y/N was having none of it. She marched out of the door, tears streaming down her face as she ran to the car and slammed the doors shut.

It was then that Shawn noticed something peculiar.

In all of his lifetimes of guarding, he'd never witnessed this before. The death date above her head had changed from what was originally 60 more years, to 5 more minutes. This confused and panicked him all at once. He never thought it was possible for someone's date to be changed or influenced, yet as she started the car, his heart raced as he tried to figure out what to do.

"Y/N," He said cautiously, looking at her from the passenger seat with wide eyes. "What are you doing?"

"SHUT UP!" She immediately screamed back at him, eyes blurred with tears when the car began to take off down the road. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! EVERYTHING IS YOUR FAULT!"

The first words she'd said to him in years cut him like a knife but he pushed through his own tears, shaking his head. "Please, Y/N, you don't know what you're talking about. Please slow down, let's talk about this!"

"There's nothing to talk about," She cried, her chest heaving. "You've ruined my fucking life, made everyone think I'm a fucking psycho! You're not even real! I can't do shit without you following me around, and I'm losing my fucking mind because of it!"

Shawn cut his eyes to glance at the time above her head. 3 minutes.

"You know I'm real, Y/N." He insisted sadly, "I'm your guardian, and you know this. I know this is hard for you, but I've been here with you through everything. We can figure this out, okay?"

Y/N didn't respond at first, only kept crying, her knuckles paling from her tight grip on the steering wheel. "I'm so tired of this, Shawn. I'm tired of feeling crazy all the time. I just wanna be normal for once in my life."

"I know." Shawn muttered, reaching over to grab one of Y/N's hands. His touch was warm and comforting just as it always used to be, her heartbeat slowing the smallest bit. "Please, slow down and park the car. You don't have to do whatever you thinking of doing."

She gulped harshly and let out a shaky breath before finally nodding, letting her foot off the gas pedal. "Okay. Okay. I trust you, I'm sorry."

He let out a breath of relief, believing that all was solved; however, when he looked above her head again, his world began to collapse in on itself. Her timer was still counting down, signaling that she only had 30 seconds left to live. His lungs lost all of their air and his body began to tremble, not knowing what to do.

Does he tell her? No, telling her wouldn't prevent anything- He was sure this time was set in stone. Does he sit back and watch it happen? No, he would do anything else before he resorted to watching the girl he loved die.

There were only a few rules in the Beyond; one being that a guardian wasn't allowed to directly interfere with a person's death date. Doing so would cause the guardian to cease to exist, in both the material world and in Y/N's mind and memory.

That was just something Shawn would have to sacrifice.

"Y/N." Shawn said quickly, tears spilling when he began quickly spewing everything he needed her to know. "I want you to know that I've loved you since the very first day I saw you. I still love you so much, I always will, and I'm so proud of you. I know you're going to do great things in the future and I wish I could be there to see you do them. It's been a blessing watching over you, and I hope you don't forget me and everything I've tried to teach you."

She gave him a strange look, eyes flickering between him and the road. "I-I love you too, Shawn, but what do you mean?"

He reached to grab her hand, giving it a squeeze before he disappeared.

Everything that happened in those next few moments was a blur. She was the car coming from her left and tried to swerve out of the way, but something forced the car backwards before it could even hit her. She continued to roll forwards until the car hit a pole, and then, all was dead silent.

Y/N couldn't move. Her body shook as she looked around, taking in what happened. It all went so fast- Shawn, then the car, then the crash. And that's when she realized that her guardian was nowhere to be seen.

"S-Shawn?" She whispered, nose stinging with the promise of tears. When she got no response she looked around frantically, her voice raising. "SHAWN?"

With still no response, she opened her door, ignoring the damage to her car and dropping to her knees. "SHAWN, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

She didn't want to believe it, but she knew it was true. He was gone, and her screams and cries of his name were eventually drowned out by the sirens of ambulances and the pattering of rain that fell from above.

Her hands moved swiftly on the lined paper, pen working quickly to write down everything she was thinking.

Ever since the crash happened just a month before, she had been working day and night trying to put her life with him down on paper. Her memories of the man were weening off more and more each day and she could no longer tell what happened before or after, where it happened, or why.

She told herself that if she forgot everything, these pages would be her memory.

A tear slipped from her eye and onto the paper, distorting the ink and blurring her words. One tear turned into two, two turned into three, and soon, she was bawling her eyes out, just as she normally did nowadays.

For years, she'd dreamt of living without Shawn- Untied, without his constant presence by her side.

She finally got what she wanted, and she'd never felt so unhappy in her life.

Y/N sniffed, wiping her eyes and looking up to the ceiling. "Shit, this is so stupid."

She pushed away from her desk, leaving the wet papers there to dry as she walked to go to her bathroom. Y/n started the bath and sighed heavily, walking back to her room for a second to get pajamas to change into. While rummaging through her drawer, the sound of something hitting the ground caught her attention, her nerves at an all-time-high. She whipped around, immediately spotting what had fallen.

Her throat went dry upon noticing the drawing of Shawn she'd done at her first therapy session. It was one of those memories that was almost completely faded and the thought broke her heart, knowing that soon, everything would be gone. However, she allowed herself to smile at the paper, blinking away the tears still in her eyes and tacking it back to her wall.

The relaxing bath water soaked into her skin and calmed her as she tried her best to clear her mind. She'd been sitting in it for over an hour now, the steam fogging the room making it harder to breath. Moments of clarity like this were much needed, but at some point, it was time to get out and face reality once again.

Every step she took felt heavy when she exited the bath, draining it and turning back to the sink. On the marble countertops was the orange prescription bottle she'd been forced to look at every single day, remembering the nagging feeling she always felt as she downed the pills, hoping that one day, Shawn would go away.

She reached out to grab the bottle, wasting no time in emptying it into the toilet and flushing. The bottle was thrown somewhere in the room out of anger. Anger at the world, anger with Shawn, but mostly, anger with herself.

It took a few seconds for her to bring herself down, rubbing at her temples to ease her frustration. When she was alright again, she moved to her sink, grabbing her toothbrush and looking up at the mirror for the first time that night.

Her breath hitched in her throat and her eyes stung with tears as she noticed what had been written on the fogged mirror.

Still here.

He was in love with her the very first time he laid eyes on her, and he'd be there until the very end, no matter what.

#my writing #shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #sm #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs #masterlist #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes request #shawn fic #shawn mendes smut

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vesuvianvienna · 5 years

Text

Scarlet Thread

This was a request from @astridthemagician and I swear I meant for this to be a short little fic but 6,500 words later it’s clear that it got away from me a little. Still, it was fun to write! Her apprentice is an absolute doll and I’ve had a blast getting to know her.

@bazzpop @anjatheapprentice @fernleavesillustrator @goatman-entrapment @arcana-dumpsterfire

For the fifth-or perhaps the sixth-time that evening, Astrid cursed her luck, heavy brows knitted together as she muttered under her breath. Any other time, literally any other day, she would have welcomed the sight of heavy rain clouds, been elated at the sound of rumbling thunder in the distance. But tonight, when she needed the light to see, when she couldn’t rely on her magic to light her way lest she make herself into a target? Of course they would gather to shroud the stars. She grumbled, pausing as she reached the mouth of the woods. The trees loomed above her, swaying gently in the gathering breeze, cool with the promise of an oncoming storm. A shiver ran down her spine, cold dread prickling at the back of her neck. If it wasn’t for the Countess appointing Astrid herself, calling her by name to the palace and asking for her help…

Her hands clenched into fists, pressing to the knife sheathed at her side. It was blessed, meant to be used against her specific quarry, and it helped calm her uneasy heart. While as yet there had been no attacks, there had been sightings all over the city of a creature that walked by night, with bone-white skin and hungry, crimson eyes. A vampire.

Astrid's background was well-known at the palace; her skills in magic paired with her warrior mother's training made her an asset to the Countess. As such, she was perfect for a job like this, to silence the threat before innocent lives were lost. She shouldered this burden with pride, knew it was hers alone to bear, and yet...why couldn't it have been something she could hunt in the daylight?

Despite her nerves, she took a steadying breath and plunged into the foreboding darkness of the restless forest, relying on the pull of her magic to guide her. Blood was a powerfully magical substance, and the use-or misuse-of it left traces, like tiny crimson threads. Bind a thread to her aura, and it would lead her straight to its source. Astrid, picking carefully through the brush and trying to make as little noise as possible, only hoped the thread wouldn't lead her straight off a cliff.

It seemed to take hours, though with the stars hidden she had no real way to mark the passage of time. The pull never wavered, never waxed or waned, just seemed to stretch on endlessly into the black, and Astrid sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. Just then, a crack of lightning split the sky, flooding the trees with white-lavender light, and for a split second, six pairs of yellow eyes were illuminated. Wolves. Who knew how long they had been silently stalking her through their territory, waiting for the right moment to pounce? Astrid froze, every nerve in her body screaming at her to run, but they had closed in around her, cutting off her escape. There was no choice but to defend. Swearing under her breath, she summoned energy to her hands, glowing with the force of her magic, before she sent searing light out in all directions, stunning and blinding her lupine adversaries. With the seconds she had, she bolted, darting past their ranks, her heart in her mouth as she heard the snap of angry jaws, biting at the air in a half blind rage. She cursed her luck once more; of course when she needed to be unseen she would be forced to use light magic to defend herself.

The sound of multiple pursuers loping through the undergrowth sent cold dread shooting through her veins, and she ran as fast as her legs could carry her, frantically trying to recall a spell that could help her. A short yell of fear and frustration left her as she suddenly found herself face to face with a sheer rock cliff, no handholds to be seen and no way to go around. Snarls and howls erupted from behind her as the pack caught up, circling her. Astrid gripped her knife, sending up a prayer to whatever entity was listening for a way out of this, to make it back alive somehow. The leader, a large male with slate grey fur and cunning yellow eyes, began stalking toward her, ears laid back against its skull and teeth bared.

Time seemed to slow as the wolf lunged toward her; she could see the muscles in its legs coil and bunch as it pounced. She countered, holding up an arm to shield herself and thrusting forward with the knife. Claws raked down her arm, not as bad as the bite she was anticipating, and she was rewarded with a yelp as her blade met the shoulder of the beast, drawing a deep wound. Her victory was short lived, as fangs sank into her vulnerable calf, pain shooting glassy and sharp through her body as she was tugged to the ground. Astrid braced herself as best she could for the inevitable killing stroke, hoping that it would at least be over quickly. Instead, she heard a low, otherworldly hiss and looked up to see a dark shape leap into the circle, crouching over her to shield her. The wolves shrank back, yipping nervously as her unknown savior rose to his full height, looming tall and imposing. He said something she couldn't decipher, something low and guttural, and the leader gave a snarl before sulkily withdrawing, the pack following.

Despite the pain in her leg, Astrid tried to stand, her veins still full of adrenaline. Whoever had saved her could command animals, took the shape of a man, and walked through the darkness as if it were bright as day. If the twist in her gut was anything to go by, it seemed as if she had found her vampire. The dagger lay off to the side, thrown from her hand when she had fallen, and she tried to grab it only to fall once more, her injured leg giving out beneath her. Instead of the cold ground, however, she was met with a pair of strong, sturdy arms. "Best you don't try walking just yet," a jarringly soothing voice murmured. "I can fix up your leg, but I'll have to take you back to my home and examine you properly. May I carry you?"

Astrid, stunned by the gentle way he spoke and the care with which he handled her, stared up at him. It was impossible to make out his features in the darkness, but she could see the sharp line of a defined jaw, the straight ridge of an aquiline nose, and the barest hint of curved lips. "Who are you," she asked softly. Her rescuer only laughed.

"We'll have time for introductions later, little one. You've lost quite a bit of blood."

Those strong arms looped around her again, lifting her into the air and against a seemingly broad chest. “Hold on tight,” he advised before they began flying through the forest at breakneck speed, as if she weighed nothing. Astrid’s fingers curled in the lapels of his coat, left feeling drained and shivery from the spent adrenaline finally leaving her system. Though the immediate threat was gone, her night was far from over, and she couldn’t help but wonder what exactly this mysterious stranger had in mind for her.

Soon, they reached a tiny house nestled in the trees, well hidden from view, and he shouldered the door open and carried her inside, setting her down gently on some sort of table. After a moment or two of complete darkness and the sounds of someone moving about, a match was struck, momentarily illuminating what appeared to be a deceptively handsome face. Her rescuer lit a candle, then another, then another, until the room was well lit and Astrid could take better stock of her surroundings. The space was small, just enough room for a potbellied stove, a hearth, a single chair, and the rather overlarge table on which she found herself currently lying. There were no weapons to be seen, no loose objects lying around to defend herself with, and she bit back a curse as she realized she'd left the blessed knife in the forest. Damn it all.

Finally, she looked upon her would-be savior, and her heart picked up a beat or two in pace. He was more handsome than the weak flash of a lit match could illuminate, tall as a tree and slender as a willow. He wore black from his throat to his toes, his hands sheathed in black gloves that covered him to the elbow. Auburn hair fell in waves over his forehead, messy and windswept but still managing to look so soft. And his eyes… Astrid cocked her head to the side as she saw that his right eye was covered with a black patch, while his left was a cool and very human grey. Not red at all. She sat up as best she could, feeling a little dizzy and weak, the pain in her leg and her arm at a throbbing fever-pitch. His gaze darted to her as he saw her moving, and he shook his head, easing her back down onto the table's surface. "Stay still, now. I'll have you patched up in no time."

Astrid could barely hold back a scoff. "You make it sound as if I skinned my knee. I was nearly mauled by wolves."

"Well, you were in their territory." The corner of his mouth had a light, teasing slant to it, and she sighed, dropping her stare. The stranger bent to open a cabinet she hadn't noticed before, sunk into the wall, and over the sound of clinking bottles she could hear him muttering to himself. "First we disinfect, then we can start the healing. You'll be right as rain in a few minutes, dear."

She propped herself up on her good arm to watch him work, her gaze still mistrustful as he soaked a rag with a strong-smelling liquid. Deft fingers tore the leg of her pants up to the knee, an apology in his eye as he carefully brushed away the bits of grass that had stuck to her skin. "This is going to sting, brace yourself." His motions gentle, he began to clean her wound, his concentration not broken even when she hissed and flinched, her hands curling into fists. He cleaned up the blood, which had stopped oozing, and her stomach turned a little at the deep bite to her leg. Still, it was mendable, nothing fatal. His hand slid beneath the crease of her knee, turning her leg this way and that to make sure he had thoroughly disinfected the area, and incredibly, she felt a blush rise on her cheeks, her stomach fluttering in a way that was both odd and strangely pleasant. As if he had heard the blood rush to her cheeks, her rescuer glanced up and gave her a soft smile. "That should do it, I think." A pause as he set the now bloodied rag down, his hand still on her calf, then sensation of leather against her skin strangely tantalizing. "I'm Julian, by the way."

She blinked, then for the first time that evening, the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. "Astrid."

"What a lovely name," he purred, his grin widening. "Now, stay still. This will only take a moment." Julian began to methodically peel off his gloves, leaving his long-fingered hands bare, and slowly drew them down her wounded leg. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as an intricate mark glowed at his throat, the air charged with magic. There was the sensation of warmth, of something trickling down her skin, and miraculously, her leg was whole and uninjured again. Her brow furrowed, and she lifted her leg into the air, examining the unbroken skin. There was no blood, no scar, not even a twinge of pain. He had completely healed her.

"How on earth did you…?"

He laughed, but the sound was clipped, almost pained. "You'd think a magician would recognize a curse when she sees one." He stood, and nearly collapsed, gripping the table with white-knuckled hands. "Now let's take care of your arm, shall we?"

"Hold on," she said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the table. Even in the dim light, she could see the right leg of his trousers were dark and glistening, soaked with blood. "What did you do?"

Again came that short, pained chuckle. "I took away your pain, dear. All that damage has to go somewhere." He gave her a strangely soft smile and let one curled finger caress her cheek, his skin cold and smooth. "Don't fret, it'll heal up in a moment or two." It seemed true enough; already he was more steady on his feet, able to stand without buckling. "Now, let's tend to your arm, hm?"

He soaked another clean rag with medicinal liquid and began dabbing at the claw strokes, his good eye fixed on his work. "So tell me, what brought you all the way out here in the dead of night?"

Instinctively, she searched for a lie, still suspicious of his intentions. "I was hunting."

His brow raised. "With only a dagger? Tell me the truth, now."

Astrid was silent for a moment, then sighed. "I was tasked by the Countess to get rid of a vampire that's been sighted within the city walls. The trace led me out here." She paused, then continued, spilling the entire truth. "That dagger was blessed, it's meant to destroy the undead."

Julian was quiet for a moment, a thoughtful look in his eye. "Has this vampire killed anyone?"

"Not that we know of. But the people live in fear, they want the threat eliminated before any innocent lives are lost."

"Hm. Seems to me if this creature is as bloodthirsty and savage as you seem to think he is, then he could have killed a dozen of your townspeople by now. Have you ever considered that maybe he doesn't mean anyone harm?"

His eye stared up at her, piercing into her with an intensity that scorched her down to her soul, and she saw deep within the grey threads of scarlet, twisted and ragged, identical to the thread that had beckoned her into the forest. She knew then who he was, what he was, and yet, she felt no fear. Only curiosity.

"Why come to the village if not for blood?"

He sighed, at last lowering his gaze. "I...I'm trying to help."

"Help?"

"Your people are falling ill, yes? A mysterious sickness that turns their eyes red?" Astrid nodded. "That plague has been around for decades. I've seen what it can do, and believe me, it's only getting started." His hand lifted, and then deftly removed the patch to reveal a whole, working eye. The iris was the same cool grey, but where there should be white, there was vivid, alarming crimson. "Years ago, I was dying of the same disease, working furiously to find a cure before my time was up. I...I was so desperate to stop the plague that I made a deal with a dark traveler. I gave up my mortality in exchange for the ability to heal. But, as the old saying goes, be careful what you wish for." His upper lip curled back in a grimace, and Astrid could now see the pointed tips of his fangs, white and lethal. "I was turned into this, cursed with a need for blood, and my longing to heal came with a heavy price." His hands fell away from her arm, and for a moment, Astrid could almost feel the crushing weight of his despair, his loneliness, his pain and anger. She couldn't stop herself from reaching for him, running the tips of her fingers across his hand. Julian nearly pulled back at the touch, but smiled instead, turning his hand over to let her trace the lines of his palm.

"What an incredibly human monster you turned out to be," Astrid said softly. Julian chuckled, closing his fingers around hers. "I never did thank you for saving me, did I?"

"No, I suppose not." He flashed her a grin, drawing a veil over the vulnerable sadness in his eyes. "How about you refrain from staking me, and we'll call it even?"

"Deal," Astrid said with a laugh. Julian nodded and tipped her a wink before laying his hands on her arm. "Don't," she murmured, wrapping her hand around his wrist. "It'll heal just fine on its own, and I don't want to hurt you any more tonight."

Julian opened his mouth as if he were about to argue, then closed it and gave her a lopsided smile. "Then let's get you bandaged up, little one." Julian bent once more to retrieve a roll of white gauze from the cabinet, then began carefully winding it around her arm, mindful not to touch her wounds. While he was occupied with his work, Astrid found herself captivated by him, unable to look away from his face, from the studious slant to his brow and the way his lips pursed slightly in concentration. He was...beautiful. Dangerously so.

“So,” she began softly, “how long have you been...like this?”

“A vampire, you mean?” He shrugged, his shoulder rolling in one smooth motion. “I haven’t kept track. Five, maybe six decades.”

“Did it hurt?”

He paused for a moment, then finished tying off the gauze. “Not as much as dying of the plague would have. Why the sudden curiosity?”

“If I’m going to return to the Countess without your heart in a box, I’d better have a damn good reason. I’d like to make the case that you’re no threat to our society, that you’re a good man.”

He let out a soft, derisive huff of laughter. “You’d best prepare another case, then. I am many things, but good isn’t one of them.” Julian straightened, turning away from her and starting to move away, but she caught his arm.

“You could have let the wolves finish me off. You could have left me to bleed out on the forest floor, or die of infected wounds. You could have harmed me so many times tonight, and you didn’t. You’re not human, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be good, Julian.” Her hands found his, tugging him closer, the smooth coolness of his palms pressing against her warmth. “And as much as I want to give the Countess a good report, I want to get to know you for...more selfish reasons.”

For a split second, his eyes narrowed in confusion, then his expression melted into dawning comprehension, and Astrid could have sworn she heard a catlike purr rumble in his throat. “Selfish, hm? Has the huntress fallen prey to her quarry?” Her legs parted on instinct as he moved closer, standing between them nearly pressed against her. Even now, a small part of her insisted that she should be afraid, that she should run on her newly healed legs and never look back. But the ache left in her chest by the tender slide of his fingertips down her throat would not have let her move from that table even if she had wanted to escape his embrace. “I confess,” he breathed, “that ever since I saw you try to fight off an entire pack of wolves with only a knife, when I saw you injured and bleeding and still determined to defend yourself, I wanted to kiss you.” His finger curled beneath her chin, lifting it slightly to tilt her head back. “May I?”

A single nod was all the permission he needed before he bent to capture her lips, his mouth shockingly cold against hers. At first, she was unsure what to do with her hands, how to touch him and where, but the gentle press of his palm at the small of her back, finally bringing her against his chest, had her sliding her arms around his neck. She needed to be closer, needed to feel him against her and know that this wasn’t some delicious dream. Her lips parted as he tugged at the band in her hair, letting the dark strands spill free over her shoulders, his fingers curling through her hair to cup the back of her head. Astrid couldn't be sure if the first moan she heard was hers or his, but as his tongue slipped along hers, the second was hers alone. Her fingers clutched at his coat, her legs lifting to curl around his hips, that ache to be closer sinking deep into her bones, into the very core of her. Had she ever wanted anything so desperately before?

Julian matched her enthusiasm with feverish kisses and breathless noises of pleasure against her lips, dragging her against him as if he would die without her warmth. For a few precious moments, the world was reduced to this, to passion and thrill and touch and taste. When at last they broke apart, chests heaving as if they had run some great distance, the air felt charged, heavy with promise, with anticipation, lust and longing. Made bold by the obvious desire in his eyes, Astrid rolled her hips against Julian’s, her teeth tugging at her lip as she felt the evidence of his arousal and heard a soft, shaky moan of her name. His hand slipped to her thigh, warmed by her skin so that she could barely feel the chill of him, and his mouth lowered to press a single open-mouthed kiss to her pulse. “Not here,” he murmured against her skin, chasing the flutter of life in her veins with a drag of his tongue. “Not on a table like a common whore. You deserve better.” He spoke softly, reverently, his hair tickling her cheek as he rested his forehead against her shoulder. “If...if you want this-”

“Of course I want this,” she interrupted, growing impatient. She lifted his head with her fingertips, forcing him to look into her eyes and see the conviction burning there. “How could I not?”

His brow furrowed, a line appearing at the bridge of his nose, as if he couldn’t comprehend the notion of someone wanting him. “You don’t owe me anything for saving you-”

Again, she cut him off. “I don’t want you because I feel like I’m in your debt. I want you because I want you. There’s no deeper meaning, no ulterior motive. You’re kind, and gentle, and a hell of a kisser.” Remarkably, he blushed at that, averting his gaze but looking pleased nonetheless.

"Then," he said softly, barely above a whisper, his hands sliding up her thighs to grasp her hips, "may I take you to bed?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Julian's grin could rival the sun as he lifted her from the table, his arms secure around her waist as she wrapped herself around him. Her lips left spots of heat on his throat, like tiny flames, twin coals, warm and alive. For at least tonight, this warmth was his to keep, to cherish. There was a door she hadn't noticed on the other side of the room that led to a slightly bigger chamber, a bed made with dark sheets in luxurious fabrics commanding most of the space. Astrid sighed as Julian laid her down on the bed, one knee depressing the mattress as he knelt above her. Her hands slid to his cheeks, cool and smooth as casket satin, and her heart lurched in her chest at the way his eyes closed, leaning into her palm as if there were salvation in her touch.

"Kiss me again," she commanded softly, drawing him down to her, rivulets of desperate heat running deep through her veins. He surrendered with a groan deep in his throat, throwing one long leg over her, his larger frame completely covering her small one as he drank from her lips, a sweet oasis in the desert of his self-imposed isolation. Something in these kisses had changed besides the scenery; some deep promise lurked behind each press of parted lips, something thrumming and wild. Astrid let out a soft mewl, her body beginning to writhe beneath him, unable to keep still. "Julian," she breathed, and he shivered with delight at the sound of his name. "Touch me."

His lips brushed down the column of her neck, tongue pressed to her pulse, and yet his hands didn't move from where they sunk into the bed by her shoulders. His teeth were cautious and gentle as he nipped at her collarbone, her back arching up towards his mouth as he laid slow kisses along the line of her decolletage. "Julian," she repeated, the word nearly a whine. "Please, touch me."

At last his hand slid up her arm, but the caress was light, barely there. She nearly growled in frustration; she didn't was tender sensuality, feather light touches and whispers in the dark. She wanted to be smothered by him, to wear the marks of his passion for days after their parting, to feel the weight of him bearing down on her. She wanted her body to remember him. Astrid cupped his chin in her hand, lifting his gaze to hers. "Harder. I'm not going to break, Julian." Her thumb traced his lower lip, a thrill of warm delight making her stomach clench as his tongue swept against it. "Love me like you're never going to see me again."

He was still for a moment, his eyes searching hers as if looking for traces of doubt, before he let out a feral noise of desperation and clenched fistfuls of her shirt in his hands, parting the fabric with one swift yank. The satisfaction of his hands on her breasts, sinking deep into yielding flesh, made her squeal and wrap her legs around his hips, moaning as his lips closed around her nipple. Pleasure as sharp as a bee sting made her hips buck against his as his teeth raked over sensitized flesh, sucking and nipping at each nipple in turn until they were dark and aching. The harsh purr of tearing fabric and frantic, heavy breathing were the only sounds as he divested her of her clothes, tossing them carelessly to the floor until she lay naked and panting before him. Julian swore under his breath as he sat back and pulled her legs apart, his stare pinned to the meeting of her thighs. "Oh, Astrid…” The words were breathless, as if the sight of her bare had knocked the air out of him. “You’ll be the death of me yet, sweet girl.”

A soft laugh left her; as if she could even think of ending his life now, when his hands were sliding up her legs, lingering briefly over the flesh he had made whole. Her thighs trembled at his touch, her breath quickening as he neared her center, and oh, the first brush of those cold, clever fingers over her heat sent electricity racing through her body, all the breath rushing from her lungs in a moan. Julian seemed captivated by her, by the sight of his fingers spreading her folds, caressing their petal softness, exploring every inch of her warm, wanting flesh until her hips rocked and she begged for more. “Please, Julian, I can’t stand it.”

The sound of her begging, breathless, and desperate sent a red flush across his cheeks, and he let out a soft sound of pleasure, unbuttoning his coat and shrugging out of it, the open neck of his shirt exposing his chest, which Astrid was pleased to see was red as well. “Far be it from me to deny you anything, little one.” Gently, with her thighs draped over his, he began pushing one long finger inside of her, just to the first knuckle, then the second, then as the fingers of his other hand began to stroke her clit, he slid it inside all the way. The way she keened and rolled her hips made him shiver, and soon he added a second finger, curling them inside to tap gently against that hidden sweet spot. Astrid’s head flew back, pitch-dark hair spread like seeking shadows on the pillow, moaning his name, shouting curses and praises in the same breath, flushed and shaking. The sight of her unlacing, splitting at the seams just from his hands alone was nearly his unmaking, and Julian quickened his pace, hungry to please her, to shatter her.

“Surrender to it, sweetheart.”

Mere moments later, she was breaking, flying apart, legs shaking as she grabbed desperate fistfuls of his bedcovers, his name dripping from her lips. The entire night could have passed her by in that instant, and she would have been oblivious to every moment of it, her body and soul consumed by the wicked pleasure of his hands. At last, she fell back against the bed, feeling disjointed and weak. How could she feel so heavy and yet at the same time feel like she was floating? Julian’s touch grounded her, reminded her where she was and the dangerously sensual creature that had her in his grasp, and she lifted her head to give him a dreamy, starry-eyed smile. “That’s more like it,” she rasped, and both laughed.

“Vixen.”

Julian grasped her hips and with a strength that surpassed most, he flipped her over onto her stomach, his fingers wrapping around her ankles and pulling her legs open once more, each foot dangling off an opposite side of the bed. His lips seemed warmer now as he kissed up the curvature of her spine, keeping her spread with his knees and rutting his hardness against her backside. When he reached her neck, he let his lips brush over the shell of her ear before lifting his fingers to his mouth, sucking the taste of her off of them, able to feel her shiver, feel the vibration of her moan against his chest. “Delicious,” he purred.

“Julian, please.”

“There you go, begging again.” He chuckled, brushing a tender kiss behind her ear before sitting up and removing the rest of his clothes. A thrill shot through her like an arrow as she felt him lying over her, naked skin to naked skin, cool and sinuous and aching. “You don’t need to beg me, darling, I’m all too happy to give you what you want.” Astrid groaned as she felt his hardness slip through her folds, Julian’s low hiss at the searing pleasure of her fiery slick sending a shudder down her spine. He wanted to draw this out a little, put his patience to the test, but the way she pushed back against him, arching her back and mewling his name utterly broke him. All the oxygen left the room as he pushed inside of her; neither took a breath for a moment or two, adjusting to the alarming surge of pleasure as yearning bodies were joined at last. Slowly, as if afraid to move too fast, his hips began to rock, muffling his moans in her shoulder, resisting the urge to bite. “So soft…”

As he set the pace, rolling and crashing like waves upon shores of damask and satin, Astrid was grateful for his weight over her, holding her to the bed, fearful that without his gravity she would be lost to the vast, warm waters of sinful ecstasy. His legs wound around hers, her back curved and her hips pushing back, craving him, needing that delicious fullness. His hand covered hers, fingers weaving between her own to press it into the bed, leaving slow kisses across her neck and shoulders. They didn’t speak much; there was no need, all that needed to be said was conveyed in the motion of their bodies, the pitch and vibration of their moans, nearly two perfect octaves apart, in the way she laid her head back against his shoulder and in the way he squeezed her hand when he bottomed out inside of her.

But it wasn’t enough. If this was his only night with her, then he needed more, needed to feel her in his arms, needed to hold her tight enough to feel the thundering of her heart so that when she left him, he would feel the echoes of it in the empty nights to come. His arms banded around her as he sat back, pulling her upright and leaning her back against his chest, her legs draped over his thighs as he continued to roll up into her. One arm curled around her middle, holding her in place, while the other hand grasped at her breast, groaning against the back of her neck at the warm softness. “Comfortable?” She nodded, gasping and writhing, overwhelmed with sensation as the change of position made her head spin. How exquisitely intimate, to feel him inside of her, to feel his lips on her skin, and to feel his arms around her all at the same time. Astrid felt surrounded by him, safe and secure in his embrace, her heart aching even as it raced. Even if whatever this was lasted no longer than tonight, she knew that from this moment on, she was changed, his mark already etched upon her soul. She wanted to leave some small piece of her with him, some small token, something precious. So she raised a shaking hand, palm up, and bent back her hand to expose the delicate blue veins at her wrist.

“Drink.”

He slowed, but didn’t stop, grasping her chin and tilting her face up to gauge her expression. Before he could ask if she was sure, convince her that there was no need, Astrid shook her head. “Drink from me. Just a little, please. I want...I want something of mine to stay with you. To remember me by.”

Julian was silent for a moment, then the corners of his mouth upturned in a gentle smile, and he pressed his forehead to hers. “Just a taste,” he promised before lifting his head and bringing her offered wrist to his mouth. His lips drew back, baring dagger-sharp teeth that easily pierced the thin veil of skin. The pain was brief, but God, the pleasure that flooded her veins as he sipped at her was indescribable, incomprehensible. Music transcribed into physical touch, every moment of joy translated into the phantom brush of silk against her very soul. She had grown limp against him, her body as pliant as warm wax, and soon he withdrew with a short gasp, a single scarlet thread unraveling down from the corner of his mouth. Astrid didn’t see the flash of the mark at his throat or the way his fingers closed around her wrist, healing her bite wounds in an instant, the translated marks on his wrist sealing just as quickly.

Julian could feel the dawn approaching like static electricity in the air, prickling at the back of his neck, and he doubled his pace, frantic for her, heartsick that their time together was drawing to a close. Oh, he was close, balanced on the edge of a knife, half-crazy with pleasure and blood-induced euphoria; a single breath could send him falling into sweet, beckoning oblivion. His hand slipped between her hips to rub at her clit, her hair spilling against his skin as she threw her head back and keened, sensitive to every stroke. “That’s it,” he crooned, holding her close, closing his eyes and pretending in secret that, for these few precious moments, that she was his. “Come for me, little one. Take me over the edge with you.”

Oh. Oh. The way she broke, spiderweb cracks widening and bursting under pressure, held no equal in beauty or rarity. Her second orgasm snatched her voice away, the air locked in her lungs as every muscle in her body drew taut, her nails digging into his skin as she clung to him with every ounce of her mortal strength. That tiny hint of pain, the final dash of salt on the perfect meal, was the last push he needed, and as she clenched so tight around him it nearly hurt to move, he spilled himself inside of her with a desperate cry.

Astrid didn’t recall if Julian had lowered her to the bed, or if she had collapsed out of exhaustion, but the sheets felt delicious against sensitized skin, cool and inviting. She was pleased to feel him settle down beside her trembling form, overjoyed as he pulled her close and covered her with sweet little raindrop kisses. “Are you alright? Any dizziness or lightheadedness? I didn’t take too much, did I?”

She couldn’t help a soft, breathless laugh. “You fret like a mother hen. I’m fine, Julian. More than fine.” With a body that still didn’t seem quite connected to her mind, she turned and wrapped herself around him, snuggling against his chest, not even a little disturbed at the lack of heartbeat. “There’s an hour or so until the sun rises...we don’t have to go anywhere just yet.”

An inexplicable lump rose to his throat, and he nodded, stroking her hair as she laid against him. “Mmm...go ahead and rest as long as you need to, little one.”

Astrid hadn’t planned on falling asleep, but mercifully, she didn’t doze for more than a couple of hours; the sun hadn’t risen over the treetops by the time she roused herself. The soft golden light of sunrise flooded the room, and her heart sank as she realized Julian was nowhere to be seen. Where he had laid, however, was something long and metallic. Her knife. She smiled as she slid out of the bed, stretching aching muscles; he must have gone and retrieved it while she slept. Mending her torn clothes didn’t take very long, and she dressed and slipped out of the cottage, back out into the woods. In the light of day, finding her way back to Vesuvia would be easy enough, and soon she was at the edge of the forest, the city walls rising against the sun. She paused, turned back, and on a whim she cast her magic out in the direction she had come from. That scarlet thread, the one that had led her to him, the same she had seen deep in his eyes was still present, but now there was another identical thread wound around it. While the first had wrapped around her wrist, pulling her into the woods, this newly forged thread sank into her chest, tied tightly around her heart. Astrid smiled. Blood magic was strong magic indeed, and she knew that whatever happened, she would be seeing her mysterious savior, her benevolent healer, her sweet Julian again.

#the arcana #julian devorak #vampire julian #alright so i lied #fangy boi is here to stay i guess #i ain't mad about it #hope you enjoy wifey!

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lilyswritings · 6 years

Text

Kiss Me

anonymous requested: could you please do 20, 27, and 40 for eggsy unwin?

20. “You look amazing tonight.” 27. “Kiss me.” 40. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.”

author’s note: okay so this got a little out of hand, I’ve been working on this for a few months now - I just really wanted it to be good. And I think it is! Anywho, warnings for fight scenes, blood, and injury mentions. Oh, and all the angst (I mean, what did you expect from me??) Enjoy!

word count: 2,191 (told you it got out of hand)

Eggsy Unwin x Reader

The woman staring back at you in the mirror looks harmless. Breathtaking, but harmless. Elegant, decked out in the finest jewels, no one would ever guess that you’re packed to the brim with weapons - guns and knives tucked in your garters, rings that become electrified at a simple push of a button, a hairpin with a poison dart loaded into it - basically, you’re lethal.

You apply a final coat of red lipstick, adjusting your certified Kingsman glasses, and you’re all set. When you step out of the bathroom and into the entrance hall of the venue, Eggsy is standing with his back to you, looking dapper in his finely cut suit and his hair combed back. When you clear your throat unsubtly, he turns around, a smirk stretching his lips when he sees you.

“Guinevere… You look amazing tonight.” He compliments, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Right back at you, Galahad.”

He offers his arm out to you, and you take it, gracefully looping your arm through and holding him closely. The large ballroom looks stunning, with diamond chandeliers and finely dressed couples milling about, waiters weaving through the crowds holding silver platters of food high above their heads.

When you spot the face that had been on the assignment file given to you, you lean into Eggsy, faking a delicate chuckle, and whisper in his ear. “10 o’clock, red suit jacket.”

He turns subtly, catching sight of the target as well, and you squeeze his arm gently. The plan is for you to approach the target, slip him a sedative, help him leave when he inevitably feels unwell, and steal the USB drive in his suit pocket. Agent Galahad is to be on the lookout, making sure no one grows suspicious, and to cause a distraction if need be.

You and Eggsy are posing as a soon-to-be married couple. The target, the illustrious ‘Monsieur Alphonse Renard’, is an international arms dealer with plans to sell British government weapon plans to terrorists. Oh, and he has an extensive history of relationships with married or engaged women.

“What a tosser.” Eggsy had said during the briefing, and you can’t help but agree as you look at his overly-slicked hair and outrageous red suit jacket.

An unsettling feeling settles over you, and you realize that Renard is staring right at you. You turn to your fake fiancé. “Kiss me.” You say, and Eggsy does, leaning in and briefly sealing his lips to yours. You push away the warmth that spreads through your body at the brief intimacy - this is a mission, you remind yourself, and you can’t let feelings distract you.

“Love you.” He offers, and you smile, turning and heading towards the bar. You are hyper aware of the feeling of the tiny pill in a metal case sewn into a fold of your dress, touching your thigh as you walk towards him.

When you slide into your barstool, Renard smiles slyly at you, and you feign a flirty smile in response as he sidles up to you. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing alone at the bar?”

“Getting away from my fiancé.” You smile, and he raises an eyebrow. “I’m Eloise. And you are?” You ask him, and when he smiles and replies with his first name, your fingers fumble into the fold of your dress and extract the pill container, deftly dumping the pill into your hand. As Renard remains focused on your face, you can’t help but think this is going to be easy.

Unfortunately, things never quite turn out the way you want them to.

Renard glances over your shoulder, a smirk on his lips, and you seize your chance, dropping the pill into his drink. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice, and you let yourself breathe out in relief. Until he speaks again.

“You know, it’s not polite to roofie a gentleman’s drink, Guinevere.” Your heart stops, hand flying down to wrap around the pistol hidden in your thigh garter, but before you even get the chance to pull it out of the holster the distinct feeling of the barrel of a gun presses into your back, right into your spine.

“Let’s go join your partner, shall we?” He says into your neck, You grit your teeth, fury alighting in your veins as Renard’s henchman pushes the gun harder into your back, making you slip off the stool and start walking. Your eyes dart around the ballroom, but no one seems to have noticed the woman being held at gunpoint. Well, at least Merlin won’t scold you for disrupting the peace again.

You’re shoved, indelicately, into a darkened office room, and when your eyes adjust you find Eggsy stood by the wall, in between two guards with pistols aimed at him.

You face a similar treatment as more men enter the room, holding your arms firmly and aiming their guns at you. Eggsy catches your eye and you nod subtly, to tell him you’re alright, but when one of the goons tugs roughly on your bare arm you can see the anger brewing in his expression.

“Isn’t this just a pleasant surprise? Here I was thinking I’d have to spend weeks, or even months infiltrating the infamous Kingsman service, but no! You two practically throw yourselves at my feet.” Renard speaks, and gestures to the men behind you, who roughly push you into the chairs facing the desk and begin to tie your hands behind your back.

Just as they loop the knot you jolt upwards, tugging the ropes off your hands, pressing your rings into the man’s neck and electrocuting him, before whirling around and aiming your fist at the other henchmen. But before the rings can make contact, a searing pain alights in your side, and you faintly register Eggsy shouting as you crumple back into the seat and Renard removes the electric cattle prod from your side.

“I’m gonna rip your fucking face off-” Eggsy spits, but is cut off as Renard connects the baton to your side again and you yelp, spasming.

“No more of that foulness, please.” Renard says calmly, a single eyebrow raised, and you register the men finally tying your hands behind your back.

You can feel Eggsy’s eyes on you and you sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of your face as you straighten, panting from the physical exertion. “‘M fine, Galahad.”

You know he doesn’t believe you, but seems to relax (only slightly) into the chair upon seeing that you’re still somewhat okay.

“As much as I hate to break up this… Adorable moment, I do have some questions for the two of you.” Renard drawls, calmly setting the cattle prod on the desk with a dull tap. “First of all, how much do you know about my trades?”

You meet his gaze bemusedly, managing a small smirk as he watches you. “You’re kidding, right?” You say, glancing between him and his henchmen.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what’s so funny.” Renard grits out, settling his gaze on Eggsy instead.

“Mate, you’re not gonna get anything from us.” Eggsy retorts, leaning forwards in his suit. “We’re Kingsmen, not common thugs.”

“Speaking of...” You draw the arms dealer’s attention away from Eggsy, and smirk as you twist your bracelet on your wrist. “Kingsmen always come prepared.”

Suddenly, the lights go out, plunging the room into darkness and eliciting shouts from the many henchmen stationed around the room. Your glasses kick in, turning on the night vision mode, and you smirk, locking eyes with Eggsy. You shove yourself backwards, colliding with the wall and splintering your wooden chair into pieces.

Once out of the chair, you tug a knife out of your garter and slice through the rope around your wrists, before lunging for the closest man and shoving your knife in his neck.

You can hear the common across the room as Eggsy wards off the other guards, and when the three men who were around you are down, you turn your attention back to the arms dealer.

The lights go back on as Merlin’s Scottish accent floods your ear. “Sorry, Guinevere- they’ve pushed me back out of the system. I’m out of control, now. You two are on your own.”

Renard meets your eyes as you slip your gun out of its holster, a smirk plastered on his lips. “Well well well...” He drawls, glancing between you and Eggsy who also has his pistol aimed at Renard’s head. “I guess your orders aren’t to kill me, are they?”

The cockiness in his voice makes you clench your jaw as you glance over at your partner. You’re not sure how to play this; you need the hard drive, but you also need Renard alive. He has information that Kingsman desperately needs. If you kill him, his secrets and invaluable information follow him to the grave.

Eggsy meets your gaze and shrugs, raising an eyebrow as he mouths the words, “Hair pin.”

Your moment of hesitation gives him a head start, though, as he dives behind his desk before shooting a spray of bullets into the wall behind you. “A fucking machine gun?” You curse, ducking down and pulling your hairpin out, letting the hair fall over your face.

You spot his leg under the desk, and aim the pin, blowing on one end and sending the dart into the exposed skin below the pant leg and above the shoe. You hear him cry out, and watch Eggsy go behind the desk and drag an unconscious Alphonse Renard into the open.

He pulls out the hard drive from his pocket, throwing it to you, before tying his hands and feet together. Then, he takes a small red vial from his jacket and tips it into the unconscious man’s mouth - the antidote.

You hold the hard drive out in front of you, eyes narrowing as you take in the blurry object. Suddenly, you feel a dull ache settle over you, and you glance down at your dark red dress to notice a small hole in the torso.

When you brush your fingers over it, it sends a jolt of pain through your body, and your fingers come away red. “Eggsy?” You mutter, slumping into the wall.

“Hey, what’s-” You look up to see his pale face, his green eyes fixated on your fingertips and the crimson liquid dripping off of them. “No, no, no.” He says, crouching next to you and pressing a hand over your stomach.

The pain burns through you, and you feebly try to push his arm off of you as he pushes down on the wound. “Ow, stop it.” You murmur, and he reaches up with one hand and taps your face.

“Hey, I’m saving your life.” He tries, a barely-there smile on his lips that disappears as you try to close your eyelids again. “Stay with me, Y/N.” He says, pressing down more insistently.

“Merlin, Guinevere’s down - I repeat, she’s been shot.” His voice sounds kind of muffled, but you can still recognize the badly masked panic that laces his words.

“I don’t want to die.” You realize suddenly, and your eyes roll up and meet Eggsy’s. You realize with a start that there are tears rolling down his cheeks.

“You’re not going to die. I won’t let you.” He reaffirms, shrugging off his suit jacket and putting it over the wound before pressing down again.

“Merlin, we need medical now!” Eggsy shouts, and you reach up and grab his forearm gently.

“It’s okay.” You say, and he shakes his head, setting loose a few hairs from his slicked back hairstyle.

“No, it’s not,” He chokes out. “Y/N- I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.” He admits, and you let out a watery laugh.

“I love you too.” You admit, your vision darkening at the edges. Eggsy begins to cry, now, pulling your head onto his lap as he leans down and presses a shaky kiss to your forehead.

“Hold on, for me. Please.” His pleas are the last things you hear as your vision goes dark and the world fades around you.

This isn’t the first time you’ve woken up in the Kingsman infirmary, nor will it be your last, you think. As your eyes open slowly, blinded by the white ceiling of the sterile room, you suck in a deep breath as pain tears through your stomach.

Your intake of breath must have woken him up, because as soon as you try to sit up Eggsy is there, pushing you back down. “Hey, love, you need to lie back.”

You laugh slightly, elated by the sound of his voice as you seek out his face with the palm your hand, sliding your hand to the back of his head and pulling him in for a kiss.

When he pulls back, he grins. “Guess that means you meant what you said?” He asks, and you nod.

“I love you.” You reaffirm.

“I love you,” He echoes. “But if you ever scare me like that again I’ll kill you myself.” He jokes, and you laugh.

“Deal.”

#eggsy unwin imagine #eggsy unwin x reader #eggsy x reader #eggsy imagine #eggsy unwin #kingsman x reader #kingsman imagine #kingsman the golden circle imagine

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lettersofsky · 5 years

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Duelek - Consider Existence

When one reaches the crossroads of their life, between what will turn out to be the most important decision they'll ever have to make, taking the time out to breath is a necessity.

More for Duelek, my OC

Ko-FI

It starts, honestly before this point but for the sake of those involved, it starts on a night of little uniqueness, the far-off sounds of music, laughter and screams mixed with the way the deep colours of the night sky blend with bright, artificial lights are a familiar sight to one that has been grown with it. Usually the one in question, a young weaver that tends to go by the name Duelek, stayed amongst the thick of the sounds and lights, enjoying the high of a well-performed show, perhaps he’d have been invited into the dark rooms of stuttered breaths, skipping heartbeats and the lingering scent of heavy fear, but tonight, tonight he was separate. Some distance from the open area currently occupied by the circus he leans heavily, almost slumped over, a plainly decorated railing, gaze focused downwards at the gentle movements of the water below, the benefit of building around nature he supposed, a town filled with bridges and winding paths.

The scent of pine and flowers flavour the breeze, brisk and cold with oncoming winter, tinted with the faded scents he’s always associated with the circus; sweetness to the point of rotting, sweat-grease and adrenaline-fueled fear. A combination to grow on, to die on, all of it overpowered with a single long exhale from the depth of his chest, expelling burning scented smoke from deep within his body to curl about him, billowing like steam from a drake. With his previous lungful swirling and dispersing in the air around him he raises his hand, and the lit joint held loosely in it, to his mouth, taking another lungful of smoke into his lungs, feeling it settle deep, hot and destructive in his chest.

Wild, curling hair and tufted whiskers, fur thick for withstanding high mountain frost, shift in the wind, long ears flicker at the sensation before falling still, neutral and listening to the world around them. There’s little in the way of natural sound to be heard over the sounds of the circus, perhaps the sound of running water or buzzing night insects or even that of soft conversation from those leaving to return home from their night out, unaware that perhaps someone won’t be allowed the same gift.

Purple eyes glow slightly within the dark of the night, casting a subtle light to the planes of the weaver’s face, highlighting sharp cheekbones and deepening the shadows of the rest of his face. The neutral line of his mouth, including the jut of mismatched fangs, is unseen but for the brief moments in which the joint is brought to it once more, lighting the area with the soft glow of flame as a new breath is inhaled.

His tail ebbs and flows behind him in misty tails, keeping close to his back and not straying too far from him, his large carved gem hidden safely tucked away within the furls of coloured mist. The smaller surrounding gems shift and turn, spinning lazily, just barely brushing against his calf to send shivers of creeping energy up his spine to collect at the carved skull at his forehead, a feedback loop of magic through his system.

There’s a buzzing under his skin, a combination of his magic and the high from the joint, melding and weaving together to leave him with a more than pleasant buzz, a cool floating detachment from everything around him. It both added and took away from the quiet of the night, allowing him to both feel everything and nothing of his own self and his surroundings.

Hence, why it was completely unexpected to him at the least, for the quiet to be broken by the call of a rough voice, words quick and trembling on the line between feminine and masculine. “Yo bro!”

He turns in the direction slightly, just enough to turn a single eye towards the individual approaching him, a shooter, recognized as Temivo one of his kin within the circus. He doesn’t bother to straighten himself from his slumped position, remaining in place and watching their approach with a steady calm, releasing the smoke trapped in his lungs in a slow breath, white curling around him once more, shrouding his face until it inevitably thinned and dispersed into the cool night air.

He didn’t bring the burning joint in his hand back to his mouth, choosing to let the shooter take his attention for a time, content to linger in the buzz simultaneously dulling and sharpening his senses. He did raise it in a slow, lazy wave though, once the other was close enough to see the movement of the dark-furred limb and the bit of fire held within it. A greeting, a simple, silent acknowledgment.

“What’s got you out here bro?” Temivo’s question is an innocent one, wild worry, and concern on their face and colouring their voice, ears perked up towards him and fur bristling up in the chill of the night. “Ain’t like ya to be missing the after show, we gots some pretty motherfuckers looking to get met with the stars~” The teasing invitation was accompanied by a jab of a muscular but point limb into Duelek’s side, accepted and not shied away from by the weaver.

“Ain’t feelin much up to joinin tonight,” the answer was flat and unfeeling as the rest of the weaver’s visage, gaze turned out to the world and away from Temivo again, taking in what faint starlight could be seen from this distance. “Just tired lately.”

“Tired?!” Loud, alarmed and piercing the quiet of the night, Temivo surges into Duelek’s space, pressing against his side with fretting claws and wide, unmatched eyes. “Bro, you gonna be ok up there if ya tired?”

Duelek scoffed, pride flickering briefly in his chest to colour the words accompanying his rolled eyes. “I know the routine well enough to be doin it in my slumber, sibling,” which was true, years of practice and performance had left him more than capable with his routines, he wasn’t likely to fall anytime soon, no matter what his state was, it simply wasn’t allowed. “’Sides,” his fire died down, voice returning to a more neutral, blank state. “It’s not, that kind of tired. Not really.”

Temivo’s ears flick back, their head tilts and they draw their claws back to their own chest until they’re still in front of them, clasping each other tightly. “What, what kind of tired then?” Brows draw down over avoiding eyes, their voice taking on a more hushed, secretive volume so that the words would only be heard between the two of them. “Like, like Ashtoreth’s kind of tired?”

They both tensed at the name, remembering the one who’d held it and what had become of him, his own fault really, choosing the coward’s option over the proper way of dealing with the result he had wanted to achieve. It wasn’t like leaving the circus was impossible, just highly frowned upon and difficult to earn, but with enough determination and planning anyone could do it, it just took… freeing yourself of the link that bound you to the chain. Everyone knew that. Once the link had been broken you were free to go as you pleased, never to return to the circus, there was no need to run.

“Kinda yeah,” Duelek’s voice is quiet, low, directed out towards the rest of the world instead of the shooter beside him, taking another drag of his joint so that he could focus on the feeling of it in his lungs. He could feel Temivo shifting beside him, wanting to speak up but knowing that he wasn’t finished speaking quite yet and only needed a moment to think through his words before he continued. “I be knowin better than to go his way about it though.”

Temivo’s tail lashes the air behind them, their head lifts to join Duelek’s eyes in gazing out at the world before them, the natural surroundings of the village tinged with the bright vibrancy of artificial lights and sounds from the circus set up behind them. “But…” they trailed off, claws digging into their own arms just shy of breaking skin. They swallow heavily. “But would you do it? Could you…”

They’re unable to give voice to the thought in their mind, though it is largely unneeded as they’re both more than aware of what they were trying to say. They remain in tense stillness and silence for a few moments more, heartbeats loud in individual ears though it is only Temivo that shows any outward sign of their emotional state.

“I think,” words spoken with fading smoke. “That I’ve had enough of the spotlight, of perfomin and…” he trails off himself, not needing to give voice to the true other face of the circus they’re both so familiar with. “I think, something new might be nice.”

Ko-FI

#Duelek #OC #Original Writing #original character #Skyee Writes

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90dayableton · 4 years

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90 Days of Ableton: Day 0 & 1

I downloaded Ableton in the late evening on May 10th, so I’m going to call May 11th, my first full day with the software, Day 1.

May 10th was Day 0.

I did spend a couple hours on Day 0 trying to get comfortable with the program. I’ve never used a full DAW before - I’ve only noodled around with free web apps like Soundation.

So I had a basic sense of how to add instruments or channels, how to create and edit clips, and how to create notes with the draw mode/pen tool.

I decided to start by making something slow & chill.

I had a basic structure already in mind:

Start with one nice chord pattern with a little texture, a few passing notes, to make it interesting: 2, 4, or 8 measures long, as an introduction. Play it by itself.

Then, after 2-4 measures, layer it with beats.

Then layer it with more filled-out chords.

Then layer it with melodic lines. Make the melody another repeating loop, 2-4 measures long.

After the melody plays a couple times, start to tweak things. Change some of the moving notes, make sequences go up instead of down, or down instead of up.

Then add a few more percussive elements, transitions, and little instrumental call-outs to give it some life.

Every 2-4 measures, add a new instrument or effect without breaking the underlying pattern. Familiar foundation + novelty = brain takes interest.

Once the pattern repeats enough that you get tired of it, it’s time for a B section!

Now start removing instruments. Allow the more recent elements to play, or play with variations, and switch up the basic loops you started with. (i.e. change the bassline, change the chords, change the beats - you want complementary, but different.)

Preserve some elements, change others. Keep it on a 2, 4, or 8 measure cycle. You want new things to happen every 2 measures.

Re-introduce elements you haven’t heard in a while on top of new ones for a satisfying climax.

As for an outro? I basically just let the B section play out, and then I went back to the chords from the intro but I gave them to a different instrument, and I silenced everything else...dropped out the bass, the percussion, everything except a little ambiance. It worked, even though it was abrupt.

By the end of Day 1, I felt I had something cohesive and more-or-less “finished,” though it was very unrefined.

I lowered some of the track volumes (bass, shamisen, soft horn, bottle blower) but not all of them (I’m writing this from the perspective of Day 3 so now I know that the mixer in the red is something to correct), I didn’t do any panning, I didn’t double any instruments. I didn’t do anything with gates or envelopes or pitch shifting.

It’s basically a compilation of sounds and a nice tune but it’s not edited, mastered, or mixed in any significant way.

What I Started With:

Ableton Live 10 Trial (free)

a pretty chord riff: mine was inspired by an old j-rock song ain’t afraid to die by dir en grey

(I figured out the exact notes of the chords (I have a good ear but I do not have perfect pitch, people) with this synthesia video breakdown of the song.)

a few general ideas for how to structure it (listed above)

a few general ideas for organizing my workstation

basic background in music performance/theory (I know that not all aspiring music producers may have this, and I am lucky to; but it’s also likely that many musicians are drawn to this work)

What I Learned:

ONE. I’m not sure why the basic template, when you open a new live set, is two Midi tracks and two Audio tracks. The first habit I started was deleting one Midi and one Audio track, silencing the two remaining, and using them as temporary storage tracks to hold midi & audio samples/clips that I wanted to use but hadn’t assigned to an instrument. Nobody told me to do that. It just made sense to me and maybe in the future I’ll find out that it’s actually a bad idea, but it works right now.

TWO. The basic trial version of Ableton supposedly doesn’t have as much extra content (sounds, samples, instruments) as the full one, but it’s still pretty loaded. [Disclaimer: Nobody is paying me to say this.] A really huge amount of time was just taken up with me sorting through all the stuff that came pre-installed, listening to samples, and selecting what might sound good in the context of my own song. (HOWEVER - I did want more orchestral instrument options. Not enough brass and winds, and the strings could definitely be improved...)

THREE. It’s really easy to get distracted by other cool sounds. I ended up saving a bunch of specific samples to my user library (or creating a new live set to play around with it a little bit) because hearing certain unrelated sounds inevitably triggered new musical ideas that weren’t appropriate for the current composition.

FOUR. If I didn’t have a specific idea for a song in my head (which I did), it would have been so much harder and taken so much longer to create something cohesive. Going in with 1. a basic chord progression and 2. a couple basic melodic “cues” that I lifted from the lead vocals in the original song made it MUCH easier to fill in everything else around it. I deliberately took inspiration from another song because I wanted to focus on creating something pretty that would teach me how to use the software without getting too bogged down in composition.

FIVE. It was easy to get distracted and to flounder until I “landed” on exactly the sound I needed, or the sound I didn’t know I needed until I heard it. Example: I didn’t plan out a shamisen track, but once I saw the shamisen instrument in my library, I knew I was gonna have a good time with it. Or the chimes. As soon as I heard the chimes, I knew exactly where to put them and I didn’t swerve.

SIX. One of the most time-consuming things was just locking in the actual notes. I was used to the draw tool in another program that streamlined drawing notes, but I felt like it was clunkier and slower-going in Ableton because there were so many more refined options.

As a result, I learned/realized that I could use my computer keyboard in lieu of a Midi keyboard (which I don’t own), so I ended up composing that way. When there were tempo or rhythmic issues, I fixed them by ear, manually re-positioning notes...(I can only assume there’s a shortcut I don’t know about yet because if it’s not clear I’m a total noob) and zooming in closer for more refined adjustments.

SEVEN. Zooming! I learned a few basic keyboard shortcuts which helped SO much. On a PC:

ctrl+alt gives you a grabby hand and if you hold those down while you click with the mouse you can move all around the track without accidentally clicking or highlighting or deleting anything

ctrl + mouse scroll wheel (or + / - buttons) lets you zoom in and out, in the track itself and in the midi note editor.

EIGHT. One of those “learning by doing” things - day 0 & 1 were just immersing myself in the system and figuring out how to actually do the thing I needed. Some of my early questions:

why is my master track mixer red when everything else is green? (answer: you need to lower individual track volumes well below 0, like at least -8 to -12.)

how do I make the display go left-right with a timeline instead of up-down? (answer: tab button to switch between views)

how do I make this note sound less harsh? (answer: probably has something to do with the velocity? and/or the attack?)

how do I make this sound linger instead of clip off suddenly? (answer: hold the note until the end of the phrase, or lengthen the clip to draw it out - yeah I’m not touching reverb yet)

how do I lengthen or shorten clips? (answer: there’s a function with ctrl + E to slice something if you want to chop it up, but otherwise just grabbing it by the edge and dragging left or right will work. note this is for the clip...not the music/notes.)

how do I make the instrument panel come up and how do I hear it and how do I use my keyboard as a midi controller?

answer:

Select your instrument from the library sidebar and drag it to the place under the other tracks where it says “drop files and devices here”

Then, double click on that track

This should create a new “clip” which you can expand or move around to a different place in the timeline.

There’s a little keyboard along the left side of the “midi clip editor” which pops up at the bottom of the screen when you create a new clip. Click the headphone icon above the keyboard (which lets you hear yourself play it) AND press the M button on your keyboard to turn the Computer Midi Keyboard on and off. (You should see it light up in the top right corner, near the CPU load meter.)

Then, you should be able to use your keyboard to play notes - a s d f g h j k as the basic notes of the c major scale (i.e. white keys from C - C; easy to remember since f and g correspond to actual F and G) and W E T Y U as black keys.

To actually record what you’re playing, hit the record button. Personally I recommend setting the metronome (upper left corner) to count off one bar before the recording starts.

I will share my finished “song” from the end of Day One, but before I do, in the next post I’m going to break down what happened on Day Two to show you how I improved even further upon my work.

Then you can hear the two side by side, really proving how much progress one person can make in a single day!

#90daysofableton #abletonlive #learning ableton #sound production #music composition #dir en grey #chillwave #digital audio workstation #DAW #composing chillwave

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not-so-secret-nerd · 6 years

Text

So there’s a lot that’s been going on as of late, and I kind of just need to vent and purge whatever this is from my system. That’s the healthy thing to do, right? Talk and get it out before it has a chance to fester and morph into something potentially dangerous or harmful. But where to start? I guess at the beginning would be best.

I’ve been struggling with mental health issues recently. I know, this is really nothing shocking. We’re all fucked in the head, we all have bad days—myself included—we all struggle, but this is my struggle unique to me. A lot of it centers around my personal image. I’ve been fighting with body image issues for a while, unable to come to terms with what about myself bothers me. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see the person I want to be. I don’t see me. I see someone else like I’m wearing a mask, but I can’t see past the mask to determine what exactly is on the other side. It’s infuriatingly frustrating and extremely taxing. I do know there are parts of my body I don’t like that I would like to have removed. Namely my breasts. I’ve never liked them, and they’ve never felt right on my body. TMI I know, but I also possess little feeling in them as is, so it’s not like they help as a sexual stimulant. They’re just kind of…there. Taking up space. Getting in the way. Aching for no reason and being a bother. But the rest of me? I don’t know. I can’t place it, so I’m searching for a way to see past the mask.

I think my body struggle has also bled into my work, or maybe the anxiety I have about my work has bled into my personal life. Whatever the reason, my work is suffering, and I realize that. Let’s face facts folks, it’s massively hard being a writer. It’s massively hard being a fan fiction writer too because you’re always chasing that next hit, that next kudo, that next comment that will validate your entire existence. I’m not joking when I say comments and conversations centered around my work give me life. It’s validation. It tells me people are interested and spurs me on to create more and better pieces. When that dries up? When those conversations no longer happen and people move on? Yeah, that fucking throws us writers for a loop. But it’s not like this is permanent, right? That’s the trouble with fandoms: we writers and artists, the ones who create the media you readily consume on a daily basis, are working against the “fandom clock”. The inevitable countdown to when a fandom dies or goes dormant. That’s why half of us pump out as much as we can in the beginning. Yes, the inspiration is driving us like a team of horses in front of a whip but we also want people to actually see and consume our work. When that dries up…so do we. And lately, I feel like the well is running dry. People are moving on. Friends are moving on. And here I am playing in my sandbox with fewer and fewer friends. No, this isn’t a guilt trip, stop it. It’s the truth.

But more than just fandom bullshit, my inspiration has taken a nose dive for personal reasons. Look, I’m going to come clean with you all like I did a few months back when I started Magi. The way I write books—the novels I intend to publish—usually begin in fandom. That’s where I draw the largest part of my inspiration. It’s not something I can largely control, nor do I want to. I love the stories I’ve created, but the doubt still lingers just under my skin, that dreadful sucking feeling at my soul that because I start in fandom I will be ostracized from published fiction. What does that mean? Simple: I’m a fanfiction writer who writes fanfics, publishes them in fandom, gets feedback from readers, then goes back and rewrites the story into something original. So to a great many, I am a fraud. I liar. A cheat. An uninspired author who lacks the ability to build their own characters so they take from others and brand it their own. Maybe this is just self-deprecation. Maybe it’s the truth. I know a great many who would agree and turn their nose up at my work, or who would laugh and ridicule. I also know a great many who would disagree. But at the end of the day, this is who I am, and I’m still proud of the worlds I’ve created. I’m proud of Blood and Tines and the direction it’s taken since it’s fandom publication. I’m proud of Magi, which will follow in BaT’s footsteps and be rewritten. I’m proud, but I’m also scared because in the world of publications legitimizing yourself is key. How many of my peers will sneer at me because of where my roots lie? And that thought wakes so much anxiety in me it actually keeps me from sleep. My work is my life and it’s my goal to share it with the masses, but in the end, will I be taken seriously or written off as just another “fandom obsessed woman with no original idea in her head”?

So I spiral and sit in my own thoughts for too long. I’m not looking for advice. I already know the answers and all the retorts. Like Hillary Clinton said, you have to be ready to use your clap-backs at a moment’s notice, and I’ve done that. But still the doubt lingers, and it’s poisoning my inspiration and my work. Sometimes so much so I want to yank everything down and return to obscurity again. At least in the shadows I can create without worry, but I’ll never reach my goals in life if I don’t put myself out there and take my whipping like a woman.

In the end, I’m tired. Very tired. I’m tired of trying and feeling like I’m failing and working on pieces no one really cares about. I’m tired of refreshing pages waiting for comments. I’m tired of watching yet another fandom die a slow death, slipping into obscurity until only a tenacious few remain. I’m tired of the silence, and tired of trying to make friends. Or losing friends because that’s apparently become a thing too. I’m tired and scared and anxious, but I’m determined all the same, so I fight through the exhaustion and keep working. It’s all I know how to do. Writing is my life, and it will continue to feed my soul until I’m dead and buried. Or until I’m laughed out of the writing arena, in which case I will be dead and buried probably by my own hand (oh look that went dark). Just the same, I’m tired but I won’t quit, but I’m still tired.

#personal #very personal

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guyawks · 6 years

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A Guide for the Falling Game

Adrenaline is one hell of a chemical- or, neurotransmitter, to be technical. You could drag out any addictive substance in the world, from crack to booze to heroin, and you still couldn’t recreate the effect that a true, organic dose of adrenaline provides.

Of course, it’s not like people don’t already go looking for it.

They jump out of aeroplanes all the time, attach themselves to huge bungee cables and leap from towering cliff tops. All for a few minutes of high-altitude exposure and a hearty rush of good ‘ole adrenaline. But that’s fairly cumbersome, impractical even. What if I told you that you could get a hundred times that amount of adrenaline in one go- and live to tell the tale?

How would you like to, instead of spending inordinate amounts of money on a finite shot at excitement, fall through the very surface of the Earth?

Yes. I’m serious.

For those few incorrigible, thrill-seeking, chaotic daredevils out there, The Falling Game might just be for you.

Why is that? Well, because the act of falling through the Earth- and the arcane void which exists beneath it- will provide any mortal being with a rush of adrenaline so vast, so powerful, so unquantifiable that its impression will remain with them for the rest of their earthly days. Nothing you could experience here could compare. But then, that applies to the game’s risks too.

You see, playing The Falling Game is an incredibly dangerous thing to do.

It was never intended to be attempted, let alone carried out successfully. When the various heavenly deities (or cosmic serendipity, if you’re more secularly inclined) assembled the multiverse, they did so with a very clear design and order. Punching a whole through the fabric of our reality and taking a joyride through it was not a part of that.

Now to go and call this system sacrosanct would be overkill in my opinion as, believe me, there is nothing holy about what lies beneath the face of the Earth. But these boundaries exist for a reason, and fucking with them is akin to asking for trouble. When you start messing with reality, the lines between what is real and what is false begin to blur and you risk the lives of far more people than yourself.

When playing The Falling Game, there are a multitude of things which can go wrong. Should the correct measures not be taken by the player, you may find that you never touch ground again.

And then comes the question of what happens when you do- but I’ll get to that part later.

Now, I’m not going to outright go and tell you not to play the game. That would be pious and quite frankly, a little hypocritical of me. I’ll just remind you- caveat emptor. Buyer beware. Know exactly what you’re signing up for. Because, make no mistake, playing The Falling Game is an uphill battle. And once you’ve followed through with your fall, there is nogoing back.

Should you truly wish to proceed with the game- should you feel you’re courageous and adventurous enough, or that you have nothing much to live for, or that you simply don’t believe me and want to take the piss out of my story, read on.

And prepare yourself for the wildest- and potentially the last- ride of your existence.

In order to play, you will be required to obtain the following objects: an hourglass, a root pulled (not cut) from the soil, a pair of scissors, and a stick of plain, white chalk.

The ritual to fall through the Earth must be performed at a fairly specific time. That is at either dawn or sundown on any calendar day. Given the global variations in these two events I’ll leave it up to you to ascertain the exact timing. Just know that the sun must be touching the horizon when you begin and you must be finished by the time it had dipped beneath it.

You’ll need to find an elevated platform of some sort which is at least 10 metres (33 feet) above the ground. I’d recommend the rooftops of warehouses, them being buildings where you’re less likely to be noticed and labelled a suicide-case off the bat.

Arrive at the location during the aforementioned time period. Draw a semi-circle around yourself using the chalk, joining it to the ledge of the platform. The semi-circle must connect with the ledge- or the ritual will not work. Take the pulled root and sever it approximately in half using the scissors. By doing so you are symbolically cutting your ties to the Earth. Finally, turn the hourglass over and approach the ledge from which you plan to jump. Fixate your mind on exactly what you wish to accomplish as you do so.

It is at this point where you might stop and ask yourself how a set of such seemingly innocuous tasks could grant you the ability breach dimensional walls. Surely people must have strung together this miscellaneous list out of pure coincidence before? A child playing on a balcony, a street artist transposing their vision on concrete. Well- I didn’t make the rules. And to answer that question: not everyone who has played The Falling Game, has played willingly.

If you’re honestly ready, now is the time. Stand on the ledge, close your eyes and take the plunge.

Now, I’m sure I needn’t note that I assume no responsibility for any death or injury incurred by your failure to properly adhere to my instructions. I suspect a bunch of desperados such as yourselves should be familiar with the act of waiving your rights to safety for the greater good of entertainment.

And besides- if you’re going to fuck up at some point in this game, you’d much rather be dead on the pavement than alive beneath it.

If you’ve followed the rules correctly up to this point, you should find that after several seconds of free-falling- to your bewilderment- you have not shattered your spine on the concrete.

Open your eyes.

You will find yourself falling through an open, infinite, golden sky. One very much like the one above Earth, except beneath it instead. You’ll drift through layers and layers of clouds as if you were skydiving through the troposphere. But you won’t be. You’ll really be in the ether between dimensions- an endless void free of all boundaries. An adrenaline junkie’s paradise- and a fool’s nightmare.

Bearing consideration for you time, I should probably get to the rules- and how to avoid that pesky problem of not getting stuck here. The solution is both extraordinarily simple, and unimaginably difficult.

While you are in free fall, it is paramount that you maintain the belief that you will reach the ground. Given that this is a realm which encompasses the intangible, not the physical, the power of your mind here should come as no surprise. Should you allow your confidence in your safe return to waver, even momentarily, you will find that the surface you so greatly wish to land on never materializes. And as your doubts turn to reality, you will consequently spiral further and further into your newfound fate. A self-perpetuating cycle of limbo, doubt, and agony.

Hey- I told you it was no picnic.

It is also advisable that, during your fall, you do not close your eyes for any extended period of time. This isn’t really an official requirement or anything. It’s just… safer this way. This is not the kind of environment where you want to display complacency of any form.

Should everything go right, an indistinguishable period of this falling will pass. The time itself isn’t so important- it’s not like any time-keeping devices of yours would function here anyway. What matters is that once you’ve gotten your so desired “fix”- and only then- will you finally see a bird’s eye view of the ground that you jumped from emerge through the clouds. You’ll brace yourself for a gory, and seemingly inevitable impact…

And then you’ll wake up.

You’ll be in your bed. You’ll rise and wonder what a strange and life-like dream you just had. Give it a few minutes. Slowly, but surely, your recollections of the game will return to you. You’ll realize that it wasn’t a dream, that what you thought was impossible really did just happen, and that you made it through every second of it.

Congratulations. You’ve just successfully completed The Falling Game- traversed between realms.

You can now feel free to yawn and let out a sigh of relief, pore over the memories of the indescribable adrenaline shot you just received, go to school, tell your friends about it and, in general, live your life. You’ll even be able to log back into the sorry website you found this tutorial on and post a comment about how amazingly it worked.

Your life will resume as normal, you having fulfilled your quota for rebellious fun, and it will almost be as if you’re right back where you started.

…

Oh come on. You didn’t think playing would be that simple, did you?

On an existential plane with gravity, falling can only take you further away from the point where you began. Surely that was obvious to you. It’s only logical. You can’t fall in a loop.

So no, you won’t have landed on the exact same Earth you leapt off of.

But it will be the same for the most part, at least. Such is the nature of most parallel worlds.

You might notice that people act…differently here. Not in any significant way really, just small, subtle, nondescript things. The high school bully who has always tormented you might flash you the occasional, knowing wink. You might realize that your best friend spends an extra few seconds laughing at your jokes. And you might come home one day to find that your mother’s normally pensive expression while chopping meat more resembles that of hatred. But you’ll for sure tell yourself that you imagined these things, or that they are unrelated to what you did.

Like I said. Small, little, incidental moments like that. Nothing really worth worrying about, unless you’re the type that’s predisposed to that sort of paranoia to begin with.

Now, whether or not you choose to play the game again is what will decide whether these differences are going to become a problem for you or, eventually, a threat. Some people can live with just one fall- but others require more.

The worlds directly below this one are essentially mirror images of each other- harmless. With every fall however, those claims of safety become less certain. More things will change in each successive Earth you fall into. In what ways? I can’t necessarily predict.

But if you’re short on ideas- or just pretty dense- it might be helpful to note: down is the same direction as Hell.

If you keep playing The Falling Game, you might find that your repeated machinations do not go unnoticed. You may begin to see things moving, in the clouds, with each plummet through the sun-stained sky. And as you approach the ground, They may be standing there, waiting for you, watching while contemplating your presence in growing numbers.

As I told you, reality isn’t something you want to play with on an ongoing basis. That is, unless you want reality to play as well.

But- no need to get so serious. The game is a once in a lifetime experience. What’s the point of life if you don’t take any risks, right? I know that- despite the ridiculousness of it all, the danger, my warnings, the dire risk of physical and psychological harm- a good bunch of you will still blunder your way all the way down to the lowest level of existence. All in the name of- you guessed it- adrenaline.

Godspeed to you predictable few.

I could use some company.

#a guide for the falling game #horror #short story #creepypasta #ritualpasta #ritual #falling #adrenaline #jeremy c. north #guyawks #writer #author

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