[The Reading] Ace of Cups.

[Kaspar]

This set of stories is inspired by the Ace of Cups and its reversed side, as the overarching theme. Exploring the concepts of depth of emotion and repression of the same to survive, told through the Major and Minor Arcana. A man who was once the charming Knight of Cups that has found himself morphing over time into the King and back again on his voyage of self-discovery and mission to find balance.

Thus we begin, and we begin at the end...

Temperance + Reversed

And as the plane began to fall from the sky, dipping into an emergency landing that had his stomach reeling and his heart in his throat he began to think of the family he'd been born into and the one that he had made for himself. He thought of his empire, his legacy that was growing each day and what he would leave for his son, for his partners and the unborn children that had been made out of love by them, growing steadily in his wife's stomach. He didn't think once of being a vampire, though he did see Luca's face before his eyes, the last time he'd seen him before his first death. Anger turning to shock, stricken, before everything went to black

That wasn’t where it began, why could it never just start at the beginning? Memories always came as fragments, some kinder than others, but many bitter reminders of why he was so self-motivated, self-reliant and emotionally distant from those who didn’t manage to get under his skin. Why did he feel like it always began at the end? A strange sense of stillness fell over him, his eyes shutting to the world around him, to the soaring sounds and the steadily plummeting. Their chances were good, the pilot had declared, his voice shrill with unvoiced panic, panic that had been some empty in the co-pilot’s agreement and assurances from the cockpit. She had a coolness to her voice, a kind of acceptance that was more concerning than distress. Some small part of his brain tried to nag, tried to remind him that he’d had a warning and ignored it, that he’d felt an uneasiness about flying that had never plagued him before. There been mix-ups of dates, confusion and efforts to reshuffle that he fought against to ensure he was sat where he was right now, on the private plane heading to Norway. It was to support his partner, to celebrate his efforts as a surprise last minute arrival to one of his gallery showings. It should have all gone so smoothly, but hurdles kept popping up and Kaspar seemed jumped them, flipping them off smugly on his way over. Clearly whatever was putting them up was flipping him off back.

He’d didn’t believe in an interventionist God, though he’d been exposed to faith as a child, it had never seemed to stick. His mother had instead taught him the importance of good morals and embracing beauty, his father had mostly taught him how to bend around them for your own purpose. Mostly he’d chosen to take to heart his mother’s lessons, even if it was done so selfishly. Kaspar knew that he could have it both ways, have it all if he wanted and that he had the means to do so. He could be kind and giving with his time, with his money and status because it came with reward. Reputation was reward, it meant as much as monetary gain, even more so in many cases. Right or wrong, good or bad… It all came with a grey area. He could be doing right, saving the world but if his reasons were wrong then did it taint the goodness in his acts? Being a child who liked to read he’d once poured over the bible, only to do so again and highlight it in two colours. One colour for the parts he liked, ones the parts he didn’t. He found himself feeling a strange kinship and appreciation for the fallen ones, for the angel struck down from glory and raised up to become the symbol of true evil. He didn’t buy it. Kaspar always felt that if there were gods then he hoped it wasn’t the clearly corrupt and singular God but the many. He favoured the gods of Norse mythology over most, though had a strangeness for the debauchery and dabbling gods of Greek and Roman tales. As his plane went down he didn’t pray to any of them, he didn’t believe they could of or would have done anything to prevent this, he didn’t believe that the signs were from them.

Kaspar believed, he believed in something but it wasn’t gods.

After all the supernatural stuff he’d experienced he couldn’t exactly ignore the idea of there being more, and yet still he couldn’t believe that gods were it. The concept was an uncomfortable one, a man who only truly believed in one thing. Himself. His own ability to do, to deal and to live his life. He was the start and end of all he did, the responsibility was on him. Of course life got in the way, things changed the course of his actions, other people and out of the blue incidents but for the most part he liked to believe he had control over outcomes. Was not that close to godly? Could every man not control his own world to some degree? Sometimes he envied those who lived with blind faith in invisible gods. Other times he thought them mad fools, unable to fathom that everything that had happened, every evil and injustice that walked alongside the good, was the result of man’s actions and that alone. No outside influence, this world wasn’t just some big play thing for a pantheon, you weren’t doomed and decided by your actions for the afterlife but every damn day. For him it meant he refused to live a life of inertia. Kaspar didn’t do things because it would land him a spot in heaven, he did them for his own damn purpose, he knew that he left behind only the legacy of who he’d been and what he’d achieved so he strove to make it as impressive as he could.

He hoped it was enough, just in case things went up in smoke for him. Literally.

Every inch closer to the ground had him sinking deeper into his thoughts, unable to fight the images that fluttered behind his eyelids, focusing on the one truly unresolved matter in his life. Handsome as hell, with a devilish charm and a temper that flared often, sparked to life with slightest flame. He was passion and drive, he was the highest of highs and the most vicious of lows. He was a mistake. This was the person who had caught him and brought him down, who had try to clip his wings and tie him to him, spurred on by jealousy and an inability to process the strength of emotions. He was danger, and he’d given Kaspar all the warnings he could ever want. In fact, eventually he’d heeded them. It still wasn’t enough to save Kaspar. After all, he’d been the one to kill him.

Luca.

Not exactly the last face he wanted to see before the lights went out a second, and potentially final, time. Here over other parts of the world he wasn’t convinced that the strange magic that held vampires captive in HR applied, not sure that if he fell to his death then it would his true doom. Yet, here he was, replaying in his heads the first smile, the last horror and everything in between. Each smile and touch had been like the drag of a knife, the flat of the blade cool and tempting, but edged so that with the slightest turn it could cut you and leave you bleeding. It had taken a while to figure this out, that his passion didn’t just lend itself to sullen sulking when he didn’t get his way, when he couldn’t fulfill his need or desire to see Kaspar, to have his time and attention. He’d been busy, things were going well with the band, they’d started recording, plans were being made. He’d had a son, and had pulled back from their affair because of it. Luca hadn’t liked but had acted supportive… For a time. Eventually he’d become rougher, angrier. His affection had turned forceful, touched by a quietly possessive fury. Always wanting more. It was hard to truly combat at first, it had all been played out in hurt quips and subtlety. Luca had directed his anger outwards, at others, at objects, at circumstance and never at Kaspar or his family. It had made him uneasy but he thought he had a handle on it.

Luca seemed to improve, something in him shifted and it had Kaspar coming back to him, it had them forming a new bond over lazy sundays playing ball and roughhousing in the afternoon, making love and music in the evening. The fighting didn’t start again right away, Kaspar lulled into a routine that worked around his schedule. The demands came slowly this time, less frequent and easier to meet, but it wasn’t long before they began to grow and along with it his ire. When Luca snapped, when his rage took hold he was like a different person, someone that Kaspar didn’t recognise. The night his hand had wrapped around the blonde musician’s throat after the two had gotten into an all out fist fight, the night he’d got the upper hand and thrown him against the wall, in what was after the fact an eerie foreshadowing, was the night he realised that he had to get out. Luca would never be satisfied, and neither would he, it would just end in blood and brutality. That night he saw the shift in Luca, saw the anger drop away into desperate apology and assurances, in attempts to soothe that fell upon deaf arrows. Kaspar refused him, refused to let him try to make it better, to kiss away the bruises. His ribs had been broken, his eye black and swollen, rough grip marks and grazes bloomed across his skin. He hadn’t left Luca unmarked, but the true damage was internal. It was broken between them, and for the better he figured. Kaspar left the man to his pain and went to deal with his own.

He’d promised himself never again, never would another human being get the better of him and yet… Luca had gotten him in the end.

A breath whooshed from his lungs, Kaspar realising he’d been holding it for too long as the plane tried to level out, coming in too hard, too fast towards the ground. They weren’t too far out from the airport after all, but they wouldn’t make it. An expanse of greenery was beneath them, but it wasn’t perfect and they might miss the open area the pilot aimed for entirely, plummeting into tall trees that would tear and catch at the metal mass. All the could do was brace, just him and the small crew all in their seats, each of them thinking of loved ones or unfulfilled dreams, what they’d do if they walked away from this and he was thinking about how his desire to tear Luca apart had abated. While a firm and frank discussion would probably help finalise his healing process, he no longer felt the overwhelming desire to see the other man suffer for his mistakes, no longer felt a lesson would prevent another’s fate from becoming the same as his. Something should be done, something but… It wasn’t where his mind lingered. There were more important things to consider beside his death.

When he found himself at the end he returned to the present, and this time before the world went black he saw the faces of his family, of his loved ones, he saw the windows of his studio backlit by the moon and his piano bathed in it’s light, Sig sitting atop it smiling at him. He saw his twin brother sitting in the reading nook of their family home, calling him an arschloch with so much love in his voice that it made his throat tight to recall it. Grey with paint streaked across his skin and Stoker at his heels, looking at Kaspar with so much love, he could almost feel the man’s hand against his cheek. Finally he could see Will, his son, could almost smell that gentle baby smell atop his head, feel the warmth of him in his arms as he’d laid against his father’s chest and fallen asleep listening to the lullaby written just for his ears. He hummed it as his world broke apart, as they came crashing down and no amount of bracing could entirely save him from harm. When the world faded to black he was soothed by the sweetness of a life had made for himself, a family born into and chosen, love that he never thought he could feel in his selfish soul. As the plane went down, he knew he probably should felt regret for ignoring signs that tried to stop him, but instead he sang his song and felt his heart soar that in a way he had controlled his own fate, for better or worse.


------

News report aired 10 a.m. in Canada on the 1st of June, 2017. Similar reports were made in many countries. “In the early hours of the morning in a stretch of field not far from an airfield in Oslo, Norway a private plane came down, killing two passengers. The co-pilot survived but the pilot was lost, along with another member of the four person crew. While the plane had been chartered from Canada we have yet to have confirmation of who the fifth passenger was. There were five people on board and only four recovered by emergency services at the scene and taken to the nearest hospital. We are seeking confirmation from his representation but at this stage it is believed that the fifth passenger was in fact Kaspar Grube, also known as Hel, lead singer of the band by the same name, owner of the ever growing Morningstar Incorporated and son of the living legend Nik Cherry. Nik’s camp has refused comment, as has representatives for Kaspar’s sister Kit Kirsch, lead singer of popular pop punk band Kitty and the Kicks. While we hope the rock darling has escaped the crash unharmed it isn’t looking positive. Kaspar was due to appear in Europe next month for a mini tour and festival dates, we are unclear on why the singer was travelling to Norway but sources report he may have been attending gallery showings of his friend and rumoured partner, Grey Weston. Mr. Weston was unable to be reached for comment. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the friends and family of those impacted by this incident, and if you have any information on the whereabouts of Kaspar Grube there are a list of numbers on the screen you can contact. Stay tuned for updates. We go to the scene of the crash now with on-site reporter Rebecca Finch.” At 11a.m. an update confirms the singer was at the crash, one of the more lucid and less harmed survivors says his name. At 12p.m. an interview of the survivor states that he was injured but medical staff treated him at the scene, and he was transported to a private facility for treatment. They played songs on the radio and talked about the other passengers, they tried to get interviews from family, friends, anyone who might know anything and would give them a second of their time. Media swarmed around the story for days, and Kaspar wasn’t seen or heard from, his staff, his band and his family remained tight lipped about his condition and his whereabouts. Media outlets weren’t sure if the singer was dead or alive, many of his friends weren’t sure if he had survived and many waited with anxiety to hear.

There had been signs, and as the plane had begun to fall from the sky, dipping into an emergency landing that had his stomach reeling and his heart in his throat he had remembered how he’d ignored every single one. As the blackness swarmed in around his senses, as there was blood and broken bones, the stench of fear in the air he remember that there had been signs… But from who?

[Kaspar]

((All dialogue in the following scene is spoken in German, this scene is set in Kaspar's childhood home in Germany. Written in English for ease of reading.))

Strength

The wind and rain brushed against the window by which he sat, a constant and comforting noise that helped the young teenager lose himself in other worlds. Curled up in the reading nook he found himself halfway through a book he’d started earlier that day, a quiet weekend of reading and music while the weather made outdoors adventures unlikely. It was rare to have such complete silence and comfort in his household, though the family home had moments of normality it was frequently interrupted by the coming and going of his father. This time he’d been home for weeks already, a presence that stalked the house with an air of vague agitation, frequently locking himself up in his in-home studio or stalking the edge of their property chain smoking and making phone calls. There had been a quiet tension he’d tried to avoid since they’d all arrived home, the facade of peace sure to crack eventually with three teenagers cooped up in the house. The weather only seemed to echo it, slow drizzle and gloomy days that never broke into the true storm they’d all been expecting. Tonight it had finally come, lightning cracking across the sky, thunder clapping and his brother throwing himself into Kaspar’s bedroom with a broken sound.

The world seemed to explode into life around him, breaking him from his drowsy day in that momentary eruption of anger and hurt. “I hate him.” Klaus spat the words like they’d burned him, venomous and volatile, his hands flying up to push back his blonde hair that was so very similar to his twin’s. He paced further into the room, turning to slam door so hard Kas swore it might break, shaking in the frame. Both boys were fourteen, tall for their age already though Kaspar had overtaken his brother by an inch or two over the last year, and slowly but surely filling out as manhood crept over their frames. The roundness of youth was leaving behind strong jaws and taking with it that innocent sense of belief in the man who was their father. “Nik can go to hell.” The words were snarled but they cracked at the end, a hitch of breath that leant them a sound closer to a sob as he threw himself at his brother. Kaspar stumbled from his seat, standing in time to catch his arms around the other boy, sinking to the ground in a pile of limbs and frustrated tears. He struggled to form words to question, instead settling for wrapping his arms tightly around his brother, letting him shake with emotion, letting him shed tears and make angry sounds until his pain seemed to sink back into himself. “Klaus. What did he do?” The question was spoken tightly, quietly against his brother’s hair. He felt Klaus shake his head, fine blonde hair catching at the growing stubble at his jaw, a new addition he hadn’t quite decided if he liked or not. Nik's judgemental and dismissive behaviour wasn't exactly uncommon with them, nor was Klaus’ upset over it. While he had moments of genuine affection it was like the older they got the more he resented them and Kaspar realised it wasn't that he disliked them but that he feared them, feared them overtaking him. Like the old lion of the pride, watching the young ones circling, looking for his weaknesses and waiting for him to bare his throat. It meant he could be cruel, cutting, almost against his own intentions if he saw them rising up.

Kaspar was almost convinced Klaus wasn’t going to tell him what it had been this time, that they would sit there in silence until they fell asleep, curled on the floor like they had as children, too exhausted to bother moving. When the words came he startled, leaning back to stare at his brother’s face while the explanation poured from him. Nik had gotten whiskey mean, tired and frustrated over some project he was working on he’d heard Klaus practicing his guitar and had come to give comment. It had started out well enough, though Nik hadn’t been entirely complimentary or charming, it wasn’t until they started talking that things took a turn for the worst. Klaus gave him the highlights in fits and starts, hiccuping and grumbling his way through it. The kicker came when things had gotten heated, a laughing, snarling Nik informing Klaus that giving him his name had been a mistake. There was spite and cruel jabs thrown in along the way, but Kaspar found them growing into white noise. It wasn’t the first or last time Nik would take out some frustration or other on his sons, would call one of them weak or foolish. He could be a loving father when he was in the mood, but most of the time when they weren’t helping his image they got treated like inconvenience. Nik was selfish, and blind to the hurt he caused. He’d often try to make up for it with a token gesture, but the older the got the more they fought and talked back, and the less time he had for their attitudes. “Then he pushed me, and I fell over the chair.” This had Kaspar back in the moment, blinking down at his brother who’d slumped against him, back to his chest, head on his shoulder, staring out into the dark night. “He kicked my guitar. Broke the fretboard.” His voice had lost all passion, fading into a sad monotone explanation of events, of how he’d gotten to his feet and gotten out of the room to a scoff of derision.

When Kaspar stood up the other boy fell back on his elbow, staring up at him in surprise. There was a stoic set to his face, a muscle in his jaw ticking in a way that had Klaus scrambling to stand, trying to grab his bicep as Kaspar strode towards the door. “No, no, no, don’t. It isn’t worth it! Who cares what he thinks? It doesn’t matter. Let it go.” But he was done letting it go, he was done watching his brother trying to act tough when his father broke his heart over and over again. It was in that moment that something seemed to break, to snap in him. No longer was he determined to try and see the brighter side, to try and find the redeeming qualities that made the outbursts worth enduring. He was tired of the gentle knocks, accompanied by words that cut deeper than any physicality could. Kaspar flew down the hallway, taking the stairs with forceful steps that echoed on the heavy wood and reverberated in his ears. Each one pounding more irritation into him, until he found himself slamming through the doorway to the studio. The broken guitar had been pushed aside, his father sitting on a stool towards one side of the large room, glaring into his whiskey glass. His blue eyes, the colour of his son’s, glanced up through dark blonde lashes to stare at the new arrival. He took in Kaspar’s furious, strong stance with a sweep of his gaze and a sideways smile. It was the facial expression equivalent of batting away a harmless fly, annoying but unlikely to sting. Unfortunately for Nik his son had intention to sting that night.

Kaspar barely hesitated in his step, Nik moving to rise in a surprised fashion just as the boy charged into him, throwing his weight through his shoulder to jam it against the older man’s sternum. Nik went over backwards, the stool clattering beneath his legs and the glass going flying, smashing to pieces against the polished floor. Kaspar was on him, bearing down on his father as a hand reached back, preparing to strike out. Nik barked out a harsh laugh, trying to wrestle the boy off him, catching the blow awkwardly against the side of his face. The laughter died in his throat, his face turning red with anger as he pushed back at Kaspar, using his weight to roll the taller but slighter teen onto his back. “Stop it!” He barked, keeping his hands open to stop the blows towards his face, Kaspar in his fury barely registering the need to change tact until he was on his back, going instead for the body with fists and blind knees. Nik yelped in anger and pain, struggling to regain the upper hand but regain it he did. He grabbed the boy by the biceps, forcing his arms backwards as knee shifted to pin, Nik leaning his weight into the movements to cover as much as he could of his son’s flailing limbs. “Have you lost your mind, idiot? Stop!” He released one arm, drawing his arm back only to release a vicious blow, a backhanded slap so hard it had Kaspar’s head turning and knocking violently against the wood floor where he let it stay, rolling slightly to press his cheek against the cool floor. Stunned, Kaspar paused, stilling beneath the man’s grip, each of them panting haggardly. Nik slowly let him go, leaning back, head turning to the right so he could spit. When his hand swiped across his mouth Kaspar looked up to see crimson smeared there. A strange sort of pride swelled in him, followed shortly by a roiling sickness in the pit of his stomach.

The boy started up again, kicking and shoving, screaming at the man to get off him. Nik rolled away, backing up, bracing himself for the next attack but trying to ward it off by holding up his hands palm out. “Kaspar!” He growled his name as his son crawled to his feet, hauling himself upright with daggers in his eyes. His cheek stung, hot and raw, a violent red mark that would no doubt bruise blossoming on his cheek. There were other aches and pains ignored by adrenaline, blows and pressure received in Nik’s effort to settle him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Nik snapped looking around him at the disarray, shock making his voice raise in pitch. “You.” Kaspar spat back, pointing at his father. “YOU are what is wrong with me, what is wrong here. You and your bitter ********, you telling Klaus he is not worth it. You come here and you demand we fall at your feet, you treat us like we don’t matter if we aren’t bowing and scraping at your feet or achieving things that you can brag about. He is intelligent and kind, he is sensitive and wants to please you and you know what? I wish he could see what I see, that you can never be pleased. You never will be. I don’t believe in you anymore, Niklaus, the only man I believe in is myself and I will do everything I can to prove to you that one day you will pale in comparison to your sons, you will be no more than a shadow compared to their glory. Why? Because I can.” Nik just watched him, watched him like he’d gone mad. “You think you are better than me? You come to try and trade blows for honour? You’re a child. You know nothing.” His eyes rolled, a hand lifting to sweep against his lip, he’d cut it on his tooth courtesy of Kaspar’s fist.

His jaw ached where the man’s fist hand cracked against it, his own marked by the brief flurry he’d managed to unleash before he had been wrangled and wrestled to the ground, before it had turned into a bitter match of strength and resilience. He’d lost, but not his pride, not his fury. It turned to a quiet, seething thing in his chest and as he looked up to see the rest of the family frozen in horror, paused in the act of coming to interrupt them he laughed. He hadn’t heard them come in, hadn’t seen the door swing open during Nik’s bitter retort at his admittedly childish outburst. It was a broken sound, a hiccuping that could easily have turned into a sob at any moment. Klaus was the first to reach his side, his twin skidding on the polished wood of the floors as he rushed to his brother, tugging Kaspar against his chest defensively. His older sister Kit fluttered by the doorway, anxiety apparent in every gesture as she looked to her parents to answer any questions that went unspoken. Mama was radiant in anger, a valkyrie entering the field of battle. Her feet were soundless as she padded quickly across the room, her hair long hair worn loose, free to whip around her angrily. The sound of her palm finding their father’s cheek resounded through the house, reverberating through each of their frames, it was a sound and sight none of them would forget all too quickly. Nik took it, his blonde head falling to the side, gaze downcast. The only one who seemed capable of making their father see fault in his ways, feel any sense of remorse or shame in his actions was their mother and her presence made everything feel all too real.

No one asked what had happened, no one explained what was going to happen. They all just stood there, suspended in the moment, the sounds of the storm outside and their breathing the only thing in the room for what felt like an eternity. It was Kit who spoke first, her voice pitched high and shaking, no need for volume in the quiet room. “Kaspar is bleeding.” Was all she said, the words launching a flurry of action. Nik stepping out of the way with a growing look of alarm, of horror and regret dawning on his sobering face, backing himself up against the wall with a shaking hand across his mouth. Karolina, their mother, swooping in on her son to check the damage, the shallow cut where blood had welled from the crack of his father’s ring where it had brushed his skin as he’d backhanded him. Klaus couldn’t be separated from his brother, a stoic presence who seemed riddled with unexpressed guilt. They were all sent to their rooms, Kaspar patched up and Klaus told to keep an eye on him, Kit told they’d all talk in the morning and Nik with his cigarettes pulled from his pocket disappearing outside with Karolina on his heels. When it came time to talk Kaspar had sat in silence, letting Klaus try to explain his understanding of the situation, bumbling through answers to his Mother’s questions until Kaspar said the one thing he would on the matter. “I will never be him. No matter what I do, no matter what we share… I will never be that man. I won’t. I can’t. He does not deserve my faith and he has lost it, he has broken it. I am done.” Always a thoughtful child, always one full of thoughts and theories, it wasn’t unusual for him to speak passionately on any given topic, using his intelligence and understanding of the world as he saw it to form his views and rarely could they be changed.

He’d stood up for his brother that night, sure, but really he was standing up for himself. Kaspar had reached a breaking point with the man he was supposed to look up to, the man he was supposed to respect and abide by the rules of but he no longer had any inclination to. Many young men had that moment of clarity when they realised their fathers weren’t golden gods, that they were flawed human beings just doing their best to get by but for Kaspar it wasn’t so much that his Father finally stepped up off the pedestal as he burned it down while he stood there watching. It had been a slow burn and as the final pieces crumbled to ash he looked at the man through the eyes of the disappointed, the disillusioned. Things over time went back to some semblance of normality but it was never quite the same for Kaspar. His goals reshaped and reformed, at the heart of them his promise and intention to believe only the worth of himself and those he held nearest and dearest. Something in him had changed, altered, the development of a dark coping mechanism that closed him off to certain feelings. He found his views of relationships to be very different after that, his views on giving and goodness. It wasn’t something that had happened overnight, it had begun years before but whenever he was forced to talk on it, to come to the core of his issues, his mind went back to that night.

It wasn’t the birth of weakness, though it bred in him a kind of strength, a resilience and drive that he used to spur himself on in moments of uncertainty. Never did he doubt his own abilities or talents, developing a near impenetrable wall of self-confidence between him and the world that made him the man he would become. It was a bitter sort of strength of being but it meant little could stop him once he got started, his laser sharp focus only fueled by the barbs he’d spat at his father as an angry teenage boy. Nik never laid a hand on him again, never rose to the challenge the boy presented, never gave in to the urge to bite back in any obvious manner. The two formed an uneasy truce, holding between them a quiet resentment behind brittle smiles and platitudes. In adulthood Nik only acknowledged his son’s successes for the media, behind closed doors the pair often regarded each other with polite interest, playing their parts for the sake of the family. Time would heal some wounds but others remained, silvered scars and old aches that kept the men apart. Still, Kaspar was happy, he had formed for himself a family he loved and who loved him in return, he had his own son to raise and mistakes to make. Each year found that bitterness turning to a sort of pity, a sadness for the aging Nik as he tried to reach out to the children he’d alienated, as he warmed up and tried to be a grandfather, a father. Kaspar even begun to consider allowing him the chance, one day. As it turned out the greatest gift Nik had given Kaspar was bitterness towards him, was the need to make himself strong enough to succeed without his father, to spite his father. He was the first bully Kaspar stood up to, and thanks to that he would not be the last.

Strength, while it helps us survive can also build walls around us. As much as it can protect us from negative it can stop us from fully receiving the good, from feeling the depth of the emotions that come our way or projecting it back. Strength can mean perseverance and the ability to overcome obstacles, but for many it comes with a heavy cost. For Kaspar it was so not so clear cut, not until many years later when he needed to call on his resilience again.

[Kaspar]

The Fool

“You can’t run from it, Kaspar, or hide from it in the flesh of others. It does not work that way, and you know it. When are you going to stop? When are you going to acknowledge it has gone too far? Bare bones. The truth now… Are you happy living like this?”

He watched her beautiful face, the way her delicate hand pushed stray pieces of her dark hair behind her ear, a cascade of coffee coloured strands that shone beautifully when the sun kissed them with tones of gold. He missed her hair in the sunlight, silken soft and warm, running through his fingertips as they lounged around reading or talking away on days off. Now it was moonlight that turned it to a shadowy silver, bleaching the warmer tones from it, a stark contrast to her skin. He loved her, a love that ran deeply, that was embedded into his soul alongside the love he felt for their son. She’d been the first person to pierce his heart thus in such a permanent way, to make his breath catch not just for his want of her but his love of her. Sigrid, his beloved Sigrid, who scolded him gently as she sat atop his piano, bare feet on his thighs. “Are you listening to me?” She asked, poking at him with a toe, playful in its annoyance, giving him cause to laugh, hand running up the back of her calf. “Always, my Wife, I am listening to you… I just do not know how to answer this time.”

It was true, the last few months had been a blur of interesting choices and Kaspar had barely had time to catch his breath and consider them. It had all started with the night he’d died. Kaspar didn’t exactly cope with his death in a conventional way, for one he wasn’t exactly dead. Not buried in a grave, never to walk the earth kind of dead at least. No, he’d found himself in the arms of a beautiful, exotic creature who saved him from that fate and handed him a new chance at a different kind of life. While he seemed to grasp the concept of it fairly well, taking it in his stride, there was one thing that he could never quite face. Himself. Literally, because looking in a mirror was a ******* horror show that he just couldn’t handle. It was hard to reflect when you couldn’t actually look at your reflection. The blood drinking had been slightly unpleasant, not the taste or act of it but the craving and brutality of the act itself. It was rarely in Kaspar’s nature to be so base, so animalistic and he’d found himself approaching it differently. It took a while to find the best method, and choose the best victims. He slipped up a few times, but he got better at it which each attempt, using his natural charm and the abilities he’d gained because of it to woo willing donors. The lack of sun bothered him but his lifestyle was forcibly nocturnal for the most part due to his profession, not quite to the extent it had to be after his turning but even that adjustment he handled with a certain finesse that had made his sire proud.

It was the ******* mirror, it was what he saw when he got a glimpse of himself in one that left him feeling hollow and haunted, trying to fill that space with flesh and friendships, with things that would make him feel more fulfilled. It meant he was rash, that he acted as if he were somehow making up for lost time, just in case his life was ripped from him again, like the threat stalked him in silence behind the panes of every ******* mirror he passed. He found himself contemplating the likelihood of being able to carry on his life as it had been, he’d blurted this fear out to Sigrid when he’d told her the story, told her what had happened to him and what it meant. She’d held him after, she’d soothed him and let him hold his son, let him breathe in that sweet baby smell, the one that made him feel loved and proud. It had been what he needed, and every time he came home to them he felt settled, able to finally unload all the baggage of his thoughts, to leave them at the door and crawl into bed against a warm body. It hadn’t always worked that way, sometimes he brought them home, buried them deep down so that his wife had to smooth the creases from his forehead with kisses until he’d give in to sleep.

As he’d learned from Eva how to hunt, how to fight the other creatures that stalked the night, learned about the world he’d been totally oblivious to beneath the streets and in the abandoned places of this strange town he called home, Kaspar had become more alarmed by what his life had become. He felt a distance from the world he’d built, from his contacts and his career, like they were just out of reach. He’d told his twin brother Klaus the news, surprised at how well he’d taken it, not with anger but a bone-deep sadness that they were no longer the same age, that this strange distance had been put between them and that there was nothing either of them could do to fix it. Gratitude, he also admitted to, that his brother had not been torn from his life entirely. Kaspar had felt the sorrow of his twin, felt it in a way that ached and twisted, sharpening in him to become a reminder that he was still here no matter what changes had occurred. He was still himself, he still had love and adoration, he still had a chance.

Burying himself in work, in building his businesses in case he had to step back from the spotlight gave him purpose, it gave him a new focus and took him to new places. His performances dialed back, not totally abandoned but he began to perform more intimate venues and sets where he wasn’t expected to sweat and tire in a human fashion. He looked human, he felt human, just slightly cooler to the touch. It was so convincing that even some of those who knew him best didn’t see it right away, didn’t see the changes in him and when they did they thought it was stress or success, diet or lifestyle that had him… They couldn’t put their finger on it, but different was the word that they covered their uncertainty with, consoling themselves that it was nothing to think on. Kaspar found out more about himself and more about his new condition over those months, and while finding himself he found others along the way. He found Jameson, and Indigo, he found Adley. Vi came hurtling at him, all snappy remarks and easily wounded pride, closely followed by the shadow that was Grey, a brooding beauty, a wounded wonder that he felt a desperate desire to procure and protect. Grey was a man he couldn’t get out of his head and as they had bickered, had tried to wound the other to drive him away something had blossomed between them, fragile and foreign, a new love he couldn’t ignore. He’d surrounded himself in beauty and affection, in sex and a sort of wild exploration rather than fully face what he had become.

Over time it took its toll, each new connection weighing on him, each fighting in their own way for his attention until it became too much. When he found himself struggling to summon the emotions required to manage all the love that surrounded him he forced himself to makes choices, but not before his beautiful wife had sat before him in that slip of a white dress and pleaded with him to look at himself, to look at his life and figure out what it was he was doing with it. He poured his heart out to her, he spoke to her in the darkness of that studio, beneath the moonlight that bathed them through the large windows and they made love as they hadn’t done in so long. Love that was without secrets, without doubts, or questions distracting them. He gave every inch of himself to that moment, let her see all there was to see and finally in her eyes found his reflection. There was clarity that came the next day, an understanding of conversations he needed to have, of options he needed to explore. A renewed passion for his family, for his career and for stability helped him to cope with what being turned had meant for him.

He chose to try, not to give up on the things he’d been building in his life before death, he chose to find his reflection in the reactions of those people he trusted most in the world, those who knew him inside and out. It meant there were things he had to give up, and people he had to let down along the way, people he had to let burn out of his life. Some stuck around, letting relationships change, shifting into friendships that he wanted to make last. Each day he got a better grasp on his abilities, the ones that had scared him in a way, foreign and largely fueled by his emotions, finding ways to control them with intention and use them productively in his daily life. In the year after his turning Kaspar found himself shifting and growing, going through necessary changes so that he could keep a handful of things the same because at the end of the day he was never really going to change. Age would come to him in wisdom, or so he hoped, in years rather than appearance, lines would never etch his face or carve a map of his past that could be seen by the world. While he remained wistfully disappointed that he’d never be teased by his children when white or grey began to pepper his blonde hair, he also developed a renewed appreciation for what he did have and had been taking for granted.

To cope with his turning he’d played a fool for months, blind and blundering through new experiences, feeling it necessary to act out and act up just to feel alive when at the end of the day the thing that made him feel most human was the love he felt when he went home at the end of the day. It was looking into his partner’s eyes, it was the pure joy of playing music and the sweet sound of his son’s laughter that saved Kaspar Grube from himself, from his foolish folly over something as silly as a reflection. He’d wanted to burn himself up, to blaze out in some beautiful glory of fun and *******, but when reality hit him hard with two simple words he realised what he really wanted was a life of normality. “Bare Bones”, spoken from Sigrid’s lips swept away the nonsense and set him on the path he walked to being not a better monster, but a better man.

[Kaspar]

Two of Chalices

His arms came around him, pinning Kaspar’s own against his side. In the darkness it was hard to make out his expression initially, eyes adjusting as he stared down at the man who’d captured him. At some point he’d overtaken him in height by a few inches, at some point he’d stopped being a boy, stopped being a teenager and started being a man that was hard to dismiss, impossible to ignore and Matthias had known him at almost every stage. They stumbled back until Kaspar’s back caught up against a wall, the other man sliding one arm against his waist, the other shifting to press against the wall to steady them. “What are you doing here!?” Matthias blurted out, looking back down the hallway he’d dragged and pushed Kas into as if checking no one had followed. “What are you doing here with my SON?” That made Kaspar still, he’d been ready to argue, to get snarky with the man as he had done in the past ever since that fateful tour he’d joined the man on when he was seventeen. It was snappy remarks and intentionally aggressive flirting, or quiet respect and hardly anything else inbetween. “Grey?” Kaspar murmured, confused and flustered by being suddenly accosted and dragged off. A band was on stage now, one of the starting acts for the event. Kaspar and Matthias both had sets that night, it had been a surprise to hear that the man would be making an appearance for the show with his own band but it had made him privately all the more eager to attend. Grey hadn’t been overly impressed about the fact that he’d be interrupting their holiday with a show, but he’d come around, let Kaspar’s enthusiasm catch on. That was until he found out the identity of his Father, and Kaspar informed him that the man would be there. It had been a vicious shock for Kaspar, and answered a million questions for Grey, only leading to a million more. Even with the drama leading up to the event they’d managed to have some fun, the two had been dancing and laughing together, enjoying the gig vibe among the other patrons before he’d departed to round up the boys and prepare for their set. That’s when he’d found himself caught up in a familiar embrace. Now he stared in shock, feeling Tias’ hand fist in the back of his jacket, the older man’s head falling to his shoulder. “Fick, Kaspar… How is it possible that of all the people you could be with in this world, you are with my son?” His voice was rough, a cocktail of conflicting emotions leaving him oddly numb. “I’d seen photos of you together, I follow his career, but… I didn’t realise you were dating him.” Kaspar found his hand lifting, absently curving around the back of Tias’ neck, chin resting atop his head. “Ja, we are together. ****. I had no idea, he didn’t really know… And I didn’t even think.” How could he have? It seemed like an impossibility, the most unlikely thing in the world. Father and son, two men who’d had a heavy impact on Kaspar’s life.

There was silence between them for a handful of drawn out moments, the two breathing in each other’s space, crowded as they were against each other down a dark hallway. The noise of the crowd feeling distant, like it couldn’t touch them in the darkness. “Are you going to talk to him?” Kaspar asked, breaking the silence. Matthias gave a sad scoff, lifting his face to level a look on Kaspar, brows raised in a way that made some of the finer lines he’d gained deepen. He’d aged, but he was still beautiful and as Kas looked at him he felt a strange awareness of why Grey had caught his attention. To say that he was Kaspar’s type was a bitter understatement, and suddenly he was finding it hard to not see him in Matthias. They were far from identical, but if you put them side by side you could see many similarities in their dark hair, Tias’ touched with grey at the temples, the elegant curve of their necks, the shape of their jaw and mouth. “Am I going to talk to him?” The tone was almost sarcastic but it shook slightly, as did his hand at Kaspar’s back, fingers flexing from their clenched position to flatten against the younger man’s lower back. Kas was furious at himself for the way he shivered under the touch, trying to ignore it and failing. “You mean about...” He gestured between them. The blonde nodded meekly, not quite able to meet the man’s eye. “Nein, ****, no. Don’t worry, I would never. I don’t even know if he is going to want to talk to me at all.” Kaspar relaxed back against the wall, his head rolling back to rest against it, eyes closing as he drew in a deep, steadying breath. “This is…” Matthias watched him, eyes shifting over his face, down the line of his throat. “Fucked?” He offered. Kas laughed quietly, nodding his head just slightly, “Mm. ****…” He sighed, tipping his head forward, knocking a rough kiss against Tias’ cheek. “I have to go on soon… And I don't think standing here like this with you will ever help anything.” Matthias seemed to remember himself, releasing Kas and stepping back like he’d been burned, drawing his hands back to himself and shoving them into the pockets of his jeans. “Right, go. I’ll see you after, if you stick around.”

Kaspar gave him a lopsided smile, not fully formed as he turned to walk back the way they’d come, seeing one of his band members looking around for the singer. He paused, turning back to glance over his shoulder, witnessing the fall of Matthias’ face, the way he seemed to curl in on himself as he processed what was happening. “Maybe,” Kas spoke, just loud enough for him to hear, “While we are here, I could talk him, ask if he'll see you? No promises, Tias, he really doesn't want this but I can try. It's up to Grey.” He offered, a sliver of hope that was likely to be shattered but he couldn’t just let it go, not when he knew how much it meant to him and how much he wanted for Grey to have the peace of mind of knowing where he came from. It wasn’t the first time they’d talked about his son, though Kaspar had never heard him use his name before. It had always been ‘my son’ or ‘my baby boy’, no matter that he would’ve been about as grown as Kaspar was at the time. For so long he was simply the child that Matthias had lost, unable to reach, no matter how many letters he wrote or times he begged Grey’s mother to let him come by. Kaspar had always tried to imagine him, but he realised he never really managed to give him a face. “Really?” Matthias seemed so uncertain, so young in his fear of rejection, the fear that his son wouldn’t want anything to do with him after so long. He wouldn’t be entirely wrong, but Kaspar thought it was worth a try, somehow he felt he owed them both something. He nodded, giving a slight wave before he turned, not wanting to watch the man’s reaction, afraid of the hope he might see in case he had to dash it. It was time to get on stage, time to forget and sink into the music.

It wasn’t the last time they’d see each other, far from it as it turned out.

They stayed after the gig, an awkward few drinks shared, Grey mostly glaring across the room at his father and Kaspar having to act as some sort of go-between. There were disagreements and discussions, they caught up again before heading home and again months later when Matthias came to visit them. All the while Kaspar held a secret, something he wasn’t sure how to share with his partner or if he even should, it seemed like a non-issue. They were all too distracted for it to become something worth discussing. At least, that’s what he thought, it was all a bit of a whirlwind that didn’t allow him time to think of how he felt about the man being back in his life in such a major way, in a way that was so different to what he had been. It all came to a head, as it always would, when the pair had a moment alone to talk and reflect. That night as they sprawled on the floor by the fire in Kaspar and Grey’s living room, the t.v. droning softly and neither of them really paying any attention. Kaspar told Matthias a story, his side of things in frustrated reaction to the man’s casual musings. The pair shared memories, finally having the frank discussion they should have had years earlier, no more whispers in the dark just raw honesty. Unfortunately it ended in a way it shouldn’t have, a blistering kiss between the pair, a sad exploration of feelings, a sparking of remembered tension that had never really abated. Grey came home, the pair having pulled away from each other sat apart, staring at the other across the room, disheveled and distressed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out something was up, but Grey wasn’t ready to hear it. Days passed before the three addressed it, before Grey finally came to sit by Kaspar and listened to what he had to say.

It had all started when Kaspar was seventeen, just two months from eighteen. He was already attending University, successfully completing his schooling ahead of schedule due to his unusual upbringing and surprising intelligence, and uni break allowed him weeks of freedom to do as he wished. Nik was going on tour with his band and invited the kids to come along. Kit was off living her own rockstar dreams, but Kas and Klaus decided why the hell not? It could be fun. It was for the most part, though Nik was up to his usual tricks and most days not exactly hitting fatherhood benchmarks. Things got close to heated a number of times and he found an unlikely ally in Matthias, a man he’d first met when he was thirteen and seen in passing a few times in the years since. They'd always gotten along and the pair ended up spending a lot of time together between shows, enjoying shared interests, finding quiet places to read and talk, to share a laugh or jam together. Kaspar had put his focus on bass, while he was a talented guitarist it was a point of difference he enjoyed, he liked the way it felt, the sounds he could strum from it. They’d spend hours together, sharing bottles of whiskey and secrets on the roofs of hotels they stayed in, or kicking each other and mucking around on the bus. Kaspar had well and truly grown into manhood in looks, he’d filled out and grown tall, his hair worn longer and the roundness of youth making way for muscle. His attitude too was taking shape to that of the man he would become, a self-assurance and sharp wit that belied his age. People had begun to take the teenager seriously when he spoke of his dreams, to acknowledge his talent and drive, with a solid ten year plan he seemed genuinely capable of making happen. Matthias treated him with respect, with genuine interest and Kaspar found feelings stirring for the man. It started as a crush, just a casual interest. He found him attractive and enjoyed his company, they had fun and it was all innocent. It was all innocent, or so they could tell themselves in the morning when trying to recall if the softness of lips on the side of a throat or a touch that made breath catch had been real, if it had been him he'd kissed in the back of a taxi or behind the bar before stumbling safely back to their own hotel rooms, but one night changed it all.

Nik’s poor behaviour was once again the catalyst, an irony that Kaspar would reflect on later when he realised how furious his father would be if he knew. Tias had come to find him, wanting someone to drink with, somewhere to go that wasn’t around Nik. Klaus was asleep, Kaspar bored and restless in the large hotel room they shared, staring in agitation at some show or other on the t.v. when he’d heard the knock at the door. A bottle was thrust at him the moment it opened, barely catching it as Matthias body followed, knocking him back, brushing against him as he slid through the doorway. Kas blinked after him in surprise, lifting the bottle to his lips to tip back some of the contents as he watched the older man sprawl on his couch expectantly. Kaspar closed the door, hesitating for a heartbeat before he joined him, dropping onto the floor in front of the couch, head tipping back to look up at the man. He offered the bottle in silence, waiting for the explanation he figured would come. It wasn’t entirely unusual for one of them to show up at the others room, but something seemed off and Kaspar’s frustration was growing. He found himself looking the man over, unable to ignore the way his shirt lifted when he stretched, revealing a flash of a toned, flat stomach. Tias let his arms drop, taking the bottle. “Your father is an asshole.” Kaspar couldn’t help but laugh, shrugging. “And?”

It was how the next hour or so went, Matthias eventually sliding down onto the floor beside Kaspar, the pair pleasantly buzzed and murmuring together quietly as they often did. They found themselves leaning against the other, Kaspar’s hand on Tias’ knee, idly picking at loose threads sticking out of the hole over his jeans. Their heads touched, resting back on the couch and thighs pressed together. At some point he’d found Matthias’ leg shifting towards him, stretching out so his ankle locked over the younger man’s. It wasn’t the first time they’d fallen silent, sitting just a little too close, letting a quiet tension build between them but each time it had broken eventually. Kaspar had tested the boundaries on occasion under the hazy influence of the night or liquid courage, getting response at first but eventually there was a rough laugh, or casual nudge and Matthias would haul himself off to bed or under pretense of having something he had to do. This time Kas’ touch became bolder, testing that invisible boundary, drawing his nails in lazy circles around Tias’ knee and lightly up his thigh. When he got no flinching away, no reprimand or casual shove away he kept it up, letting his palm stroke upwards, fingers dragging against his inner thigh, curling under as they went in a deliberate caress. The mood in the room had changed, Kaspar suddenly aware of both of their breathing, of each shift and movement, of the way Matthias had moved towards his touch and arched helplessly against it. The other man groaned softly, his face turned towards Kaspar, eyes closed and at some point they’d stopped drinking, stopped talking. The silence was almost oppressive, so much so that Kaspar’s gasp felt awfully loud in his ears when Tias’ hand lifted to touch the side of his neck, to touch fingers through the ends of his hair. His name was soft on the man’s lips, barely a whisper, before he felt them touch his. The kiss was tentative, it felt like a question, one that Kaspar answered with eager response, breathing the other man in with a shuddering breath as he reached for him. They fell against each other on the floor of the hotel room, mouths and hands, each of them shaking slightly as they explored.

The air was cool on his skin as his shirt was pushed up over his head, but Matthias was warm, hot, his kisses burning a trail of pleasure across his skin that Kaspar never wanted to stop. There was no uncertainty, no sign of stopping until his hands moved to the front of the man’s jeans, flicking free the button and sliding fingers over the tab of the zipper, drawing it down. The world came crashing down around him, a sudden to stop to the sensations he’d been enjoying as Tias drew back, clasping Kaspar’s wrist to still him. “Wait… ****…” The man seemed like he was waking from a dream, grasping for meaning. His mouth worked, a frown creasing his features, but he didn’t manage words until he’d ripped himself away from Kaspar’s prone form. The younger man scrambled to sit up, to pull himself to his feet as Matthias stood up, tugging his clothes back into place, searching his pockets for the hotel key that had fallen on the floor. He reached to snatch it as Kaspar finally found his feet, hurt and confusion all over his face. Tias looked full of regret and a quiet want when he looked at Kaspar, but he didn’t stay. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, Kas, I’m so sorry. Just… Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning, but I need to go. I shouldn’t be here!” Kaspar couldn’t sleep, his body fueled on frustration and confusion, barely managing a few hours in the early morning before he was woken for breakfast and sightseeing. It took him until nightfall to be alone with Matthias, to find the man where he’d disappeared to hide atop the hotel roof, to confront him. It was the first of a few almost hook-ups and arguments after, of weeks of frustration and anger that had culminated in Kaspar cutting out early from the tour to stay in England with a man closer to his age who’d been working at one of their hotels and managed to catch his eye. He caught up with them back in Germany for the final show and the closing tour party, it had been time to go home anyway, his eighteenth birthday the following day. He’d reluctantly let his British boo follow, already growing bored of the man.

The party was pumping, but around midnight it had already become stifling and boisterous, everyone drunk and either deliriously happy or depressed it was over. Seeing Matthias again was like a slap to the face, bringing with it feelings he'd struggled to process. It wasn't some fleeting crush, even hurt and angry he found himself answering Matthias’ calls eagerly, even though he slept beside another man. It was always late when he called, the pair finding solace in the darkness and the others voice. They'd gone through the what ifs, whispered their desires and seeing him made it all feel like a foolish dream, a bittersweet reprieve from the inevitable reality of life off the tour bus. Kaspar needed air, he needed to get away from everyone for just a little while. The night was brisk but as Kaspar emerged on the roof of building he let the cool air fill his lungs. Down below was the bustling city of Berlin, abandoned buildings turned into art spaces, bars and hostels, bodies stumbling out of them into the next. Young lovers and new friends walked the streets, twinkling with the vibrancy of stars. It was a comfort to watch them, to see the world going on around him as he sat aside, as he took a moment above it all. He heard the door open behind him, the heavy creak of metal make him flinch but he didn’t turn to see who it was, some part of him already knew. Rooftops and private places with a view held a draw for the men, after nearly two months of using them for escape. Matthias moved to stand beside him in silence, just breathing in the night as Kaspar did. The first words between them were so soft Kaspar could have ignored them, pretended they were lost to the sound of the traffic below. “I missed you.” It made a sigh leave him, head tilting to look Matthias over. “Happy birthday, Kaspar.” The older man leaned in to brush a kiss against his cheek, a hand smoothing over blonde locks. Kas turned towards him, arms coming around him, dragging him into a fierce hug.

The two men stayed locked together for a piece of eternity, a number of moments too weighted to count, only loosening their grip to sink down and sit against the low wall that circled the rooftop. Shoulder to shoulder they sat, Kaspar taking a shuddering breath, voice unsteady when he finally muttered. “Thank you.” Matthias laughed, the sound almost bitter, sad. “You’re welcome… I got you a present, sent it ahead to the house. You and Klaus have big plans?” He knew their plans, it was anxious small talk that Kaspar didn’t really feel like indulging. The younger of the two scoffed, shooting him a look. “Really? That is what you’re going with? ****, Matthias.” He kicked the heel of his boot against the cool concrete, an agitated gesture. It wasn’t lost on Matthias, that frustrated action and the petulant wounded look he tried to keep from his face. A groan ripped from him, his own frustration coming to the surface, standing in one surprisingly swift movement. “What else can I do? What else can I say? Not what I want to. It is unfair to us both if I do, because it can’t… WE can’t. It doesn’t matter how much we want to try, it will all break eventually.” It was a circular argument, one they’d gone around and around on already. Kaspar felt tired of it, tired of pretending it wasn’t an issue. “So we break before the end, before we even get a beginning. Ja, I get it, but do me a favour and stop pretending it is fine. I’m not in the mood for fine. I’d rather anger, or hurt, or sadness or… Something. I would rather to feel it, because I…” He paused, a surprised laugh interrupting his words, the man shaking out his blonde hair. “I actually feel, I actually care enough to let it get it to me. About YOU of all people. Of everyone it could have been, it is you and that is a tragedy.” Matthias flinched, staring down at Kaspar, trying to form words. Kas rolled his eyes, moving to stand by him. “I did not mean it like that. I meant because it is, as you say, impossible.” The dark haired man reached for him, and Kaspar let him, let himself be tugged against a solid chest, to fold his arms behind his back and fist his hands in Matthias’ shirt. “I know.” He murmured pressing his lips against Kas’ cheek, his own hand gripping blonde hair gently, palm the cupping the back of the man’s head. “I… Kaspar, I care for you. I’m not going to lie, there is no point. I lo-... I look forward to time I get to share with you but you are so young and you deserve so much more. With me you get old wounds, you get your father’s wrath, you get a man who isn’t complete or able to love selflessly. I wish I was what you need, not just what you want, but I’m not. You know that.” He did, Kaspar had gone over it in his head a million times and he knew that at this stage in their lives it would never work, but the rational part of his brain that normally ruled his decisions was damaged by the strength of feeling, so new and heavy. It was the first time he’d felt that way, and the first time he couldn’t what he wanted.

That night taught him a weighted lesson, and when they finally went to said goodbye, through bittersweet kisses and the threat of tears for something that just couldn’t be, he didn’t appreciate quite how important that lesson was. Over the years they ran into each other at gigs and events, they talked often but rarely did they let themselves think back on a time that was. When they found themselves together they shared a spark, sometimes Kaspar becoming argumentative or difficult just to keep Matthias at arm’s length and the older man taking it, letting him lash out if he needed. Even with the subtle tension that existed between them, even with the flirtations that could turn to quiet hurt just as easily, they had a bond that was hard to break. If Kaspar needed advice about the music industry or a contact to help get a project over the line he knew that he could rely on Matthias. They worked together, even recording a song that ended up on Kas’s band’s album as a bonus track and quick fan favourite. The unresolved between them kept them tied together, but more than that it was a mutual respect and love, a love that neither would often voice but both knew it was there. Time ticked by and Kaspar found himself torn in the strangest way between a Father and Son, loved by both and loving them in return. His relationship with Matthias needed to find a solution, for any of them to move forward.

When all was said and done the love both men had shown him, the hurt he’d been through to keep them in his life and the moments of joy they’d given him all made it worth fighting for. Worth resolving. It took a long time to figure it out, the three of them, all with very different relationships, very different histories, or in the case of Grey and Matthias a lack thereof, and the potential for devastating loss at every turn. Time wasn’t all it took to heal the wounds they’d inflicted upon each other, Grey finding it hard to forgive the trespasses both men committed against him, but months passed and somewhere they all figured out how much it mattered to them, how much they mattered to each other. Uneasy moments became more relaxed, dinner catch-ups no longer filled with wounding barbs or hurt looks, with quiet pleading for forgiveness and understanding. They found things they all loved equally, the promise of new children in their lives, of marriage and happiness, of family. Relationships shift and change, they grow or they break apart and while most are rarely so complicated they all have a purpose. Kaspar found two men willing to support him, to lift him up when others let him down, to keep him fighting to meet his goals and though things were never quite the same they’d found pieces of happiness together. Respect and honesty became paramount above all else, for every mistake they made, every misstep, there was a chance to redeem.

While Matthias had been the first man Kaspar found himself falling in love with, he hoped Grey might just be the last. Either way, he was grateful for how they made him love, without force, without demand but with reckless abandon. It was a dangerous love, it could be all consuming if you gave yourself over to it and it was hard to say goodbye. He’d had his chance with Matthias, one last night to feel the world crash around them with nothing in the world but them. It was the final shift in a relationship, a friendship, a love, a mutual respect that spanned years. It was a promise made in flesh, a commitment to love even when that love had to change. They said goodbye to one type of love, only to welcome a new one entirely, a love that would carry them into the future and allow Kaspar to leave behind that piece of his heart he’d reserved for the first man he’d wanted to give it to. The rest was firmly entrusted to his wife, to his partner Grey and to the family they had built for themselves.

[Kaspar]

Knight of Swords

The keys felt cool, sharp and full of potential as he curled them into his fist, his free hand extending to shake that of the real estate agent. “I can’t wait to see it finished, Mr. Grube, makes me wish i’d stuck to my guitar lessons back in the day… Or piano… I mean I even bailed on the recorder.” He laughed, Kas nodding politely. “Who didn’t quit the recorder?” Kas asked, joining in with polite laughter, patting the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, John, I’ll be sure to recommend you.” Kaspar left the man to be lead out of the building by his friend and assistant Louis, enjoying a chance to just look around and breathe in his success. The Church was his, a building with beautiful bones, stunning in it’s day. The large stained glass windows in the entryway and those that lead to a courtyard at the back, high beams and dark, rich wood beautifully cut and carved to last the decades. It would be a big project but he knew he could do it, knew it would be a success. He was one massive step closer to achieving his dream, to reaching out and grasping it. His studio, a place from he could build his business, where he could invite his peers to play and practice, to record and share their music with the world. It was the first piece of the puzzle in his life’s work, the legacy he wished to build.

He had spent so long planning, finding the perfect property, going through all the safety checks and planning permits. He’d had to work with designers, source the materials and resources, finalise building plans, dealt with plumbers and carpenters, gotten advice from the owners of some of his favourite spaces to play and record in his world. It all felt worth it when the keys were finally in his hand, the space gutted down to the skeleton, cleaned and ready to be made into something else entirely, to create a church that prayed to the gods of rock’n’roll. It would be his own place of worship, a place to call his own, and the perfect base from which to build his brand. It would be a part of him, of his soul, embedded into heart of this place he already adored. His dreams were reality, built into every grain of the wood and pane of glass in the place, it was the decision to live his best life personified in brick and mortar.

His very own studio, and the birth of Morningstar Inc, not a day too soon.

[Kaspar]

Seven of Pentacles

“Grey, you cannot tell them that story, please Liebchen. Perhaps one day...” Kaspar chided softly, "When we are trying to teach them a lesson about choices." He teased, glancing at Grey to see his partner looking altogether too pleased with himself as he opened his mouth to respond to the children’s question, drawing out a lengthy, “Wellll…” That had Kas cringing, playfully reaching to cover the ears of the two children curled up on his lap. “Don’t listen to him, meine kinder, he is trouble.” They laughed and squirmed, almost too big to curl up on their father’s lap. “Papa, you are silly!” Knox announced, his little face becoming serious for a moment as he stared up at Kaspar. It didn’t take much to break him, Kas raising his brows at the twins before he began to tickle at their sides, Knox and his sister squirming and laughing, sliding onto the couch either side of him. Grey rushed over to join them, slumping on the other end of the couch, their eldest Will not far behind. The group were a pile of laughter and tickles, hugs and playful roughhousing. Sigrid came into the room, staring her family over a cup of tea. Her smile was fond, exasperated, taking herself to sit on one of the armchairs. “I leave you for five minutes…” She teased, Kas winking at his wife across the room. “Grey was about to tell them how we met… The full story.” Sig choked on her sip of tea, giggling behind her hand. Grey tried to put on his best innocent face, but it was far from convincing.

Many nights were spent this way when they were all home, with two four year olds and the eldest child nearing six their hands were full. On top of that was the dogs, the businesses and Kaspar’s career. Travel was inevitable for them, with family overseas and tour dates to meet every so often, but they always tried to make sure the trips weren’t unnecessarily extensive or to take the family along. Kaspar had been grown up with a rock star father and model mother, he fully understood the pressures of fame and fortune, the sacrifices of time that you made for the lifestyle you lead and how important it was to keep some semblance of privacy. His children had many obstacles ahead of them, while others saw only the privilege of money, he was well aware of the fact that he’d raised them in an unconventional family. Normalcy for them included an understanding of their parents' unique relationships, that they were being raised in love, that Papa was a musician who was recognised, Mummy was a model who left that life behind for family and quieter pursuits, and their Daddy was a renowned artist. They knew people knew them, but it didn’t matter as long as they get them coming home at night, not having to share their parents with the world too often. They didn’t care about albums or artwork unless it was lullabies and fingerpainting.

Their house was a place of fun and laughter, of warmth and happiness. Of course, there were downs with the ups, but not one day went by that Kaspar wasn’t overjoyed to see each of their faces. Watching them grow had been more rewarding than he could ever describe, and it outweighed his concerns over his aging. He had time, time to enjoy his youthful face but something in him felt infinitely older, wiser like the last six years had been twenty. Perhaps one day his face might follow, he’d heard it could happen, that sometimes for allurists how you felt inside could slowly be reflected on the outside. Conversations with his children about what he was, about who he was had started at a young age so they could slowly understand what it all meant. The aim for the children was for them to be raised in an environment of understanding, to be people who could accept that differences weren’t negative, that feelings were valid and you should be able to express them. They encouraged open dialogue within reason and enjoyed sitting together, reading and telling stories, sharing things about their days.

At home Kaspar felt a sense of peace, as they all settled into the large couch, Grey leaning over to kiss his cheek and Sigrid lifting one of the twins into her lap he couldn’t help but grin. His life had come to a point that he was never sure he could get it, to a place where he felt complete even after all the trials and tribulations each of them had been through. They’d stayed together, they’d made it work and were surrounded every day by the laughter and play of children. What more could any man ask for?

[Kaspar]

Three of Wands

Pain shot through him, a hot flash that made him feel hauntingly human and acutely afraid. The plane was fairly intact but there was a fire somewhere and there was blood, there was the scent of it in the air, the feel of it wet and slick against his skin. His jacket kept his arm covered, the bone snapped from where it had flung out and cracked against the window sill as they rocked painfully into the ground. The crash was a screech of metal, the odd whirring of struggling engines dying. It was time to run, to get out quickly and quietly. His leg was trapped awkwardly between the seat across and the dented in side of the plane. Outside he could see the wing had broken, hanging on but looking precarious and creating a strange counterbalance that he wasn’t convinced would last. With a mighty tug he freed himself, swallowing a yelp of pain, trying not to look as metal tugged at him, tearing through his jeans and taking some skin along for the ride. More blood, thick and heavy, soaking the leg of his pants. He didn’t want to let the blood fall, to let it coagulate hideously in patches around the plane, nothing that could be studied and found as strange. Kaspar half believed the plane would go up in flames entirely, and he looked around to see it had already claimed one victim. The others were trying to drag the body, lifeless he could tell, from the plane, calling out to him to see if he was alright. He felt out of sorts, slightly separate from his body, his soul just off kilter so that when he stood he swayed, legs threatening to buckle. Perhaps it was the wound to one, unsure what other damage he’d done, perhaps torn muscle or ligament. Already his wounds were threatening to close enough for him to pull himself together, to get his *** out of harm’s way. The musician moved to the compartment where his small amount of luggage had been stowed for the flight, tugging with no small amount of force to open it, dragging at the singular guitar case and his soft leather leather travel bag. He’d not been planning to stay for long, he only had a handful of days at his disposal and chosen to use them to support his partner.

Hoisting his gear with his good arm he struggled from the plane trying to ignore the smell of blood on the air, doing a quick check to see the others had left. The male attendant had come back for him, reaching up to help Kaspar down, looking him for injury. There were signs of damage but nothing he didn’t smile off, distracting the man with his own voiced concerns for the safety of the small crew. He had a few abilities at his disposal and right now he found himself wrapped in a cloud of inspiration, gentle blowing wisps of it to catch around the survivors, watching them rush around, trying to help each other get clear of the plane. Someone had managed to haul the dead attendant free of the crash, laying her down beside the pilot who looked like he wasn’t far behind her. The co-pilot was on her knees, trying to keep the pilot alive, trying and failing. Kaspar had a sense that it wouldn’t be long, but he didn’t have much intention of sticking around to find out. As he made his vague attempts to help, to ensure and encourage, to remind people to care for their wounds he was trying to think through his options.

There was no way on earth he wanted to be found injured, to be tended to by well-meaning paramedics and medical officers who would no doubt notice he wasn’t entirely human. Healing too fast, or just strange for trying to refuse care. They might try to medicate him, and certainly wouldn’t let him get away until they were certain he was well enough. A hospital trip would do him no good. It was hard to focus through the haze of pain, with the knowledge that he could increase his healing if only he could take some of the blood from those around him. How suspicious would those tiny pin prick wounds be? Two of them had open wounds, perhaps he could just… No, he knew it was foolish, but his brain was struggling to remind his body of that fact. It was reacting, wanting him to move towards the source of the smell, towards the blood he needed to survive. It was the most human and most vampire he’d felt, that fear of death coupled with the unnatural need to feed. Almost instantly he realised how out of place that thought was, how judgemental of his own nature. For him it WAS natural to crave blood, to need it. Why did he declare it something else? Why did he recoil from it? When it wasn’t his choice, when he felt like he had to or someone would suffer then he grew displeased with the condition that kept him among the living. It reminded him that he was other, separate and apart from the humans who cried and prayed around him. Someone was begging for help, the voice thick and choked with tears, a futile kind of pleading that one took part in when they knew that no help would come, or at least not in time. His heart was in his throat, a wave of sickness and dizziness coming over him, one he identified as hunger a heartbeat too late.

He felt them cut his lip and he knew he had to get away.

Fangs, those peaks of porcelain, stabbing sharply at his own mouth as he tried to cover them, to hide them and urge them to retract. It felt unlikely, and he couldn’t risk himself being exposed in a weekend state. Someone would have been told about the plane’s predicament, or someone would’ve seen it come down. He had a finite amount of time before someone else got here and the media wouldn’t be far behind. Blindly he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, gritting his teeth through the pain of fishing around with his damaged arm, the fingers reacting weakly, something vital clearly injured. It didn’t matter, everything would knit itself back into place in time, he just had to get blood. Had to get out of there. He needed a safe place to go, really he’d have preferred to call in help, to get a car to come get him but it didn’t seem likely at that time of night. Instead he prayed it worked, to the gods of technology not the ones of old with their empty promises he wasn’t buying. It turned on, undamaged and lighting up the scene. Someone nearby gasped, asking questions. Does it work? Can you call someone? Roger needs help! Roger was already dead. Kaspar nodded mechanically, his movements wooden as he searched for the address of Grey’s hotel. Louis had given him the room number, and he had a good idea of the layout, having looked it up previously. A key was set aside for him, so he could collect it and let himself in, surprise the man when he came back to rest and found Kaspar waiting. It would be a risk, this was an ability that wasn’t innately a part of himself, he hadn’t emerged from his turning with it in his arsenal, had learned it later and there was potential it would fail entirely in this new place. The strangeness that bound him to the physical world, that formed his abilities had let him inspire but was this too big of a risk? Would he even make it? Either way, he had to try.

Kaspar made the phone call, the one that said they needed assistance and gave the location that had shown up on his maps. Once his duty was done he spoke to those around him, telling them he was fine, convincing them with his silver tongue and lulling tone of his voice that he had help on the way. He asked them not to tell the media about him immediately, warned them they would come. Each nodded, too tired to argue, too weak to fight. They would be ok, he assured them, and he would contact them as soon as he could to ensure they were well. He thanked them, and when one queried where he was going he fed them a vague lie about someone on the way in a car, racing the emergency services to get there before them. It was for their safety, to give them some semblance of peace without the extra draw of attention. They weren’t perhaps entirely convinced, but the promise of help on the way and their various conditions and discomforts meant they let him go with only weak protest.

Kaspar made it through the trees to a clear area, giving himself a moment to gather what strength he had left, to focus on the location he wanted to go. It was a risk he had to take, his options limited and he was screwed if he stayed anyway. A blackness hovered at the edges of his vision, a haze of hunger and the need for rest, the need to fall into a deep sleep while his body healed. His body swayed, clutching his luggage to his chest, hoping it would come along for the ride as an extension of himself. The world seemed to dissolve around him, Kaspar shutting his eyes tight as if closing them to what was happening might give it a better chance of working. He felt it reform around him, or himself reform in it perhaps, the cool breeze and the scent of trees and earth replaced by mildness. Everything was mild about his new environment, controlled. One eye peeked open, finding himself standing in a long, carpeted hallway. A hotel, as much as they want for comfort and luxury it still had that very familiar feeling of a place designed for short term habitation. He’d fallen short of his mark, but not by much. His legs struggled when he tried to make them move, buckling on the first step so that he stumbled forwards, automatically flinging his arm out to brace himself against the wall. A mistake, one that sound a blinding pain shooting through his arm, gripping at his nerves. His arm was fucked, truly fucked and uselessly bent, slipping down so that his shoulder smacked against it. He swore under his breath, pulling himself together after a few steadying breaths, barely aware enough to be relieved that no one had come out of their rooms to check on the noise. Grey’s door was only a few away, but each step sent throbs of pain, brought the fog closer in on him. Each movement was an effort of sheer willpower, bringing him to the man’s door. He couldn’t be sure he was even there, but he hoped he would hear him. Kaspar tried to knock but the dizziness swarmed his sense, his fist brushing weakly on the door before his body followed, slumping into it, letting gravity drag him down.

“Grey.” The word was a faint whisper, his voice straining louder, later unable to remember if he actually made the words he’d thought. “Liebchen, I need you.” He felt the blood clinging to his clothes, heard it rushing in his ears as if his heart were beating it through his body, no doubt his imagination but he clung to it like a lifeline as consciousness fled his being.

So much for a nice, brief, European holiday.

------

As the plane’s wheels touched the ground he breathed a shuddering sigh of relief, feeling the familiar grip of Grey’s hand in his, a thumbing stroking in soothing circles. Canada could be seen through the window but he didn’t look at it, his eyes were closed, headphones on blasting music that kept his mind ticking over. It wasn’t that he was afraid of flying after his last experience, but he also wasn’t exactly thrilled to be back on one two weeks after the crash. Grey had forced him to stay longer, once he’d come out of his healing trance, the taste of familiar blood on his lips and the man’s exhausted, expectant face hovering before him. It was alarming, the dark circles under his eyes, the desperate love and fear in his expression. More travel wasn’t really on Grey’s “to-do list” anytime soon. For Kaspar it was an inevitability, he had plans, had shows he’d committed to. For the sake of appearances he’d been hidden away, had the first set of shows pushed back by his assistant, under Grey’s directive. He’d been angry, but too tired, too weak to protest much initially. His tour meant the world to him, but his family meant more. Sigrid and Louis had been handling things at home, Kaspar missing them terribly once he woke and found himself functioning enough to explore what had happened since he’d passed out the night of the crash. The media had gone mad for the story, a week of silence from Kaspar’s camp, only tidbits here and there of information to stop them stalking his wife had left them desperate for the first solid bit of news. They’d offered money and exclusives, tried hard to get access to the more likely members of Kaspar’s family to spill. None had given them much, even Nik had been tight lipped and faintly furious at the attempts. Now they were back, with it confirmed from an official release by Morningstar Inc that Kaspar was well, he’d been a bit bruised and needed to take it easy for a while, but he’d be back in action in time for the majority of the tour. He knew it wouldn’t be over until they got interviews, until they got him making some somber statement about his experience. It was a real shame he couldn’t just tell them to **** off, as he wished to.

Getting safely back to the house without gaining attention was an effort of misdirection and well-timed transfers from plane to car, and even then he knew it was only for a short time. As bad as he wanted to spend the next month in bed he knew he wouldn’t have that luxury. Grey would argue the point, but within two weeks he was expected to be back at the airport, with his band, ready to take on the world… Or at least appearing to. When he walked in the door he felt the weight of experience crushing him, barely making it to the couch, letting his body sink into it and a shattering, broken sob leave him. He didn’t know when he’d been joined by his family, when his Wife had lifted his head to rest on her lap as he let his emotions rock him, when he’d turned his face to hide against her. He wasn’t sure when Grey had curled around him on the couch, or when the dogs had sat on the floor staring, his fingers sunk into Bear’s fur. They’d stayed together, breaking apart, tears and whispers of support shared between them. It took him some time to process, to wrap his head around his trip, around the journey he’d planned and the one he’d ended up on. It was a journey to recovery, one that forced him to step back and look at his life. The fleeting thoughts of his legacy, fear of what he left behind for his children, that he’d never meet the twins that grew steadily in Sigrid’s stomach and shared DNA with his beloved Grey. When his head cleared, when the tears were dried and limbs had stopped shaking he sat down to amend his plans.

He had time, he had hundreds of years of it if he could keep himself alive, but even he wasn’t immune to the dangers of the human world and it had been a bitter reminder.

The tour was delayed further, shows rescheduled and Kaspar found himself overwhelmed by the support, few negative responses to the delays, mostly joy that he had survived to sing another day for them. His family got him for another month and a half, witnessed his focus shift from the future to the present once more, to let himself be in the moment with them rather than constantly working towards his next goal. His plans were solid, and while they’d taken a knock they weren’t going to fall through for it. He could take time, he could have his moments of peace with his loved ones, he could enjoy preparing for the arrival of more children in the house. He had a month of shows ahead of him and two weeks of festival dates before their arrival, a whole lot of trains, planes and automobiles to catch before he could hold them in his arms. As much as he loved performing as excited as he had been to get out there and share his music with the fans who’d asked for it he felt trepidation about departing until that important day, wanting to keep more of himself aside for his children, for his partners. Louis listened to his musings, a more impartial ear, involved but outside of it enough that he could give honest advice and opinions when they were asked for, helping Kaspar to sort out his priorities. His faith in his choices had been shaken, a brief and fleeting moment of indecision that dragged out as long as his injuries did, until he felt like his body was back to what he’d expect. As the drama died down he found himself reflecting on everything that had transpired, found himself having to seriously think about what it was he wanted going forward. What is was he was capable of, and how long he could keep his true nature secret. Did he even care to anymore?

The journey had been long but it was far from over. It had started with what he thought was the end, but found it was just the beginning, just another chapter of his life, filled with just as many choices and chances as the last.