#AT LEAST MAKE HIM OOZING BILE OR LOOK UNDEAD

[maranull]

how can you make something so good, add so much lore and flesh out so many characters so well

and at the same time have the most underwhelming, boring ass conclusion to a story line THAT YOU COULD HAD MADE INTERESTING, AND WAS, UP UNTIL THE "SOMEHOW, RADAHN RETURNED" SCENE

fucking. s8 of game of thrones looking ending

[lokislytherin]

euphoria // vampire!jungkook

pairing: vampire!jeon jeongguk x human!reader summary: you’re scared of vampires - until one saves your life one night. word count: 1988 +  a/n: here’s to @jungkooksbish​ ! happy birthday ily 💜💜💜

chapters: prologue / chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / epilogue

It’s a dark and gloomy night, but you walk alone down the silent streets.

There’s not a soul in sight, save the crescent moon hanging in the sky, your only companion.  Night has fallen and it’s getting late, and your friends are all gone, having just realized you’ve all lost track of time.  In your haste to return to the little apartment you call home, you’ve (quite unwisely, now that you think of it) decided to take a shortcut down one the spookier alleys.  You know for certain it’ll take you home – you’ve walked it countless times during the day.  But this time is different, and as you walk along, you’re starting to seriously regret your decision.  You never know about the creatures that thrive in the dark, after all.

You’ve been warned about them before, by the lucky few who have survived their encounters to tell the tale.  Everybody knows to be wary of the supernatural nightlife, knows to lower their voices when they speak around the metaphorical campfire.  You know about most of them: the witches, who escaped a fiery death at the stake long ago and now live among mankind, running amok with their magic; the werewolves, who live at the mercy of the wax and wane of the moon, at best a little worse than a man and at worst a little better than a beast; the shifters, who are experts at hiding in society, the apparent lesser of the evils.  

Of course, you can’t forget about the most dangerous ones of them all: the vampires, soulless undead who lured their victims to their doom with their unnatural beauty, who fed not on ordinary food and water, but preyed on other creatures, preferring to drink the blood of humans who live and breathe as you do.  You don’t think you’ve ever encountered any of them before, and you hope that you’re lucky enough never to.

But of course, as fate will have it, luck is not your friend. stomp. Your eyes widen, and you can’t help but suck in a breath.  Peeking over your shoulder, you see nothing but the shadows beside you.  It’s deathly silent out there.  Calm down, Y/N, you tell yourself firmly, it was probably just a monster rat.  If it attacks you, just whack it with all you’ve got.  You’re still spooked, and you walk a little faster, hold your phone a little tighter.  The battery is low, but you know that 1% you’ve got will last you long enough to get to safety.  Having a mere semblance of comfort is better than nothing at all. STOMP. You whip around, suspicious.  You’re certain you just heard footsteps.  But once again, there’s nothing to be seen but the lonely lunar light.  The peacefulness of the night should put you at ease, but today it just seems eerie.  You rub your eyes with a scowl, careful not to move your contacts.  You’re probably just hallucinating due to sleep deprivation.

It’s too quiet – A sweaty hand grips onto your bare arm, and you yell at the top of your arms.  You know you’re loud enough to be heard by any source of help – the singer’s lungs you’ve trained so hard to achieve aren’t for nothing.  You try to shake off the disgusting hand, but your efforts prove fruitless: attached to the hand is a leering middle-aged man, whose breath reeks of alcohol and cigarette smoke.  "Hey, pretty girl," he sneers as he paws drunkenly at your body.  "I'll show you a good time." Disgusting.

He’s not one of them, as you’d originally feared, but he’s dangerous all the same, especially when he’s drunk (but sober enough to be a pervert) and you have your, uh, assets.  In the daylight, men would only dare catcall, whistling (c)rudely at your body. You crack your knuckles.  Ideally, you’d avoid a fight, or any kind of violence, but at times like this you don’t really have much of a choice, do you? It’s probably time you practice your kickboxing skills anyway.  Your kicking might be rusty, but you can still throw a mean right hook.

Deciding to take a page out of your trigger-happy friend’s book, you twist and punch the sleazebag in the face.  He shrieks as your fist smacks squarely into his nose, which makes a sickening crack.  He stumbles back, clutching his face, looking almost insulted at how you even dare to punch him.  Blood drips from between his fingers.  He deserves a good punch, the misogynistic jerk.  You walk off: he’s not worth any more of your time. "Hey! Come back here!" He howls as he gives chase, enraged.  His boots clomp heavily behind you, a dead giveaway.  He’s not sober in the least, and you can hear him grunt as he stumbles and falls.  His drunkenness should slow him down enough for you to make a quick getaway, but you’re wearing your favorite pumps, and cute as they are, they won’t let you run as fast as you’d like either.  "You sick little bi-"

His shouts are cut off abruptly. Did somebody happen to hear your cry for help and decide to lend a hand? Did the old pervert finally collapse in a drunken stupor? You’re not sure if you want to know what happened to the crazy stalker, but terrified curiosity gets the better of you.  Turning around, you regret yelling that Libras die first every time you watch a horror film with your friends – if this was a scene from a horror movie, you’d die first, and you’re Gemini. Good going, Y/N.  You’re going to die.

The sight that greets you makes you stumble and gag.  The man’s eyes are wide with terror, mouth open in a soundless scream.  Even worse, blood oozes out from two clean puncture wounds on his neck.  Behind him is a young man, looking not much older than you are.  He winks at you flirtatiously, grinning and flashing pearly white fangs that look far too real to be a product of your imagination.

Vampire. "Help me!" The old pervert wheezes.  You stumble back, bile rising in your throat. Your heartbeat accelerates, and your frantic attempts to slow it down only makes your heart beat faster.  The vampire can probably hear your heartbeat, smell your fear.  You can almost taste the metallic tang of blood on your tongue, a trail of dark red illuminated by the flickering streetlights.  You smell it before it happens – the rancid odor of death wafts in the air, and the vampire cheerfully snaps the old man’s neck.

His head lolls backwards. The young man grins at you, eyeing you in a way that looks less hungry and more curious.  He may be a vampire and a killer, but at least he’s not a pervert and a creep like that other guy, the more optimistic side of your mind suggests.  A pink tongue darts out of his mouth, licking his lips clean of blood.  His fangs gleam in the dark.  One of them is a little chipped.  "You’re welcome, by the way." Not gonna lie, that was kind of hot, says the voice in your head.

"Thanks." You slowly back away, sounding calmer than you really are.  You don’t let your gaze off him even for a second, but avoid making direct eye contact.  You never know – the second you look away from him, he might decide to have you as a midnight snack… His blue eyes glimmer red, and a small voice in your head reminds you helpfully that red eyes in vampires means ‘hunger’.  Uh oh, says the voice in your head.  

Uh oh indeed.  The vampire opens his mouth. "Run."

You do just that, tearing out of that place like your life depends on it because it quite literally does.Thankfully, fate finally decides to be kind to you, as your beloved shoes don’t fall off and leave you with a twisted ankle, and the vampire boy doesn’t hunt you down just for kicks and giggles either. You unlock the door of your apartment, ready to flop onto your bed and fall into a long-awaited slumber, hoping that you’d wake up the next morning and realize that everything that had happened was just a dream, you didn’t really encounter a vampire. Unfortunately for you, it’s all real, and painfully so.

Life decides to give you a slap in the face in the name of your roommate and good friend Kim Seokjin, who is still awake and waiting for you on the couch with a cup of tea in one hand and a scowl on his handsome face.  He looks annoyed, but you know there’s a softie hiding under that cold, tough exterior he likes to put on. "So, Y/N," he drawls with a sip of his tea and a raise of an eyebrow, "where have you been?" He places his tea down on the saucer on his lap, not breaking eye contact.  He’s suspicious, but a suspicious Seokjin is still better than an angry one. You shrug with a loud sigh.  "Places." He cocks his head, not sure whether you’re lying or not. "It’s been a long day." You’re not wrong.  You flop onto the couch next to him, careful not to make him spill his tea.  "Almost got jumped by a creepy old perv," you mutter, leaving out the part where said ‘creepy old pervert’ got killed and drained by a bloodsucker.  Your lateness has caused Seokjin enough worry as it is, you don’t need to give him another reason to have a heart attack over you.

Seokjin shakes his head sympathetically.  "Poor you." Both of you lapse into silence as Seokjin continues to sip his tea.  You know he’s still suspicious.  "It’s gonna be Saturday tomorrow, but it's still almost one in the morning.  Tae’s coming over tomorrow, and you know how energetic he gets."

You laugh.  Seokjin’s younger brother is one of the most eccentric people you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, with a peculiar fashion sense and even stranger conversation topics.  You think he may have even howled at the moon, once, but you can’t be too sure.  It’s all good in the long run – once you get to know him, Taehyung is a genuinely awesome guy. He rises, padding over to the kitchen to wash his teacup.  He’s a bit of a hypocrite – you’re an insomniac, and you've never seen Seokjin sleep.  The older man stretches, spine cracking obscenely as he makes his way to his room.  "Get some sleep, Y/N.  I don’t want to see you out here until morning." You fake a yawn to satisfy him, your mind still buzzing with activity after an encounter with an enigmatic bloodsucker who’d saved your life without asking for anything in return.  "Night, Jin." That night, you take extra precautions in making sure that the door to your apartment is locked, and that all your windows are closed for certain.  You proceed to crawl into your bed and hide under the safety of your covers, squeezing your eyes shut only to see a pair of mesmerizing blue eyes floating at the forefront of your mind, flickering red.

Your eyes fly open.

“So much for sleeping,” you mutter to yourself. Damn bloodsucker. You muffle a scream with your pillow as the vampire in your mind's eye shoots you a charming wink. “Y/N, go to sleep!” Seokjin yells from his room next door.

[studpuffin]

The World as We Know It

Chapter 1 

Read on AO3 

It was swelteringly hot.

Eddie lay sprawled in the back row of Mike’s van, wishing he were dead.

But since he wasn’t dead he was focusing on the drop of sweat making its way down his spine, the throbbing in his head, and the growling of his stomach.

The world was falling to shit and he was stuck in the back seat of a car driving somewhere with no plan, barely any food, a crowbar, and the clothes he had managed to cram into his backpack before Bill had hauled him out of the house and practically thrown him the back seat. He rolled onto his side on the back bench, taking in the exhausted looks on his friends’ faces.

It was impossible for him not to think about the face that wasn’t with them.

It was too quiet.

Eddied sighed softly and pulled his phone out of his pocket, only to see it was still blank.

Where the fuck is Richie… is Eddie’s only coherent thought, followed quickly by, Ma is gonna have a panic attack...if she’s even still alive.

“S-someone needs to go and l-look for him.” Bill’s voice reached Eddie through the hazy heat that was clouding his brain as they pulled up in front of the familiar green house.

“I’ll do it,” Mike volunteered.

“No,” Eddie cut him off quickly, “keep the car running,” he rolled off the seat, “Stan and I will go.” Stan nodded, following Eddie out of the car.

“What...what if he’s one of them,” Stan whispered.

Eddie shouldered his tire iron, “Then we do what we have to…” he closed his eyes, taking a shuttered breath, “But hopefully it isn’t going to come to that.”

Stan nodded, following Eddie into the house.

The front hall was a mess. As they picked their way through, Stan turned to Eddie, eyes wide with fear. A sudden sound from the living room caught their attention. Two bodies lay in the living room, bleeding and groaning, organs spilling out onto the carpet. Eddie poked his head around the corner and grimaced, bile rising in his throat.

“Wentworth and Maggie…” he managed to gag before vomiting on the front carpet.

“No Lydia?” Stan bit his lip, eyebrows drawing together with worry as Eddie continued to gag.

Eddie shook his head, “No Lydia…” he panted, “She left for camp.” he croaked, throat hoarse from the acidic burn in his throat.   

“Good for her. Maybe she’d get out of this shit show alive,” Stan mumbled under his breath.

A noise from upstairs caught his attention. Eddie turned to Stan gesturing for him to follow him.

This asshole better be alive because I don’t think I have it in me to kill him He thought to himself as he climbed the stairs. Stan followed close behind him, reaching Richie’s half closed bedroom.

“On three?” he whispered, looking over at Stan, who nodded.

“One...two...three.” They kicked the door open and were met with a scream and a boot being thrown at their heads.

“Jesus FUCK.” Richie slumped back against his dresser and ran a hand over his face, “You scared the fuck out of me.”

Eddie grinned, dropping the tire iron and throwing himself into Richie’s arms, “Scared you? Asshole I thought you were fucking dead! I left you twenty messages...” he whispered hiding his face in Richie’s neck. He took a deep, settling breath, letting the calming smell if his best friend (boyfriend?) calm his nerves. He pulled back, taking Richie’s hand, “We gotta go.” he pulled Richie to his feet, shoving his backpack and St. Louis Slugger baseball bat into his hands, “Pack. Clothes, first aid, food. Anything.” he let his fingers linger against Richie’s for a moment before heading into the hallway.

Moments later, Richie emerged, backpack over his shoulder and baseball bat in hand. Slowly, the three boys crept down the stairs. As the reached the first floor, another low groan emitted from the living room.

“My mom and dad…” Richie whispered, turning to move into the room next to him.  

Eddie shook his head, grabbing his arm and attempting to pull him away from the door, “It’s better not to look. They aren’t...I couldn’t kill them. Not like this. They’re gonna die anyway…” he kept a tight grip on Richie’s arms, continuing to try to pull him back from the gruesome scene in the Tozier living room, “Richie please we need to go.”

An inhuman noise ripped it’s way suddenly out of Richie, “Fuck Eddie no! This isn’t fucking fair!” he tried to pull himself away from Eddie, only to have his other arm grabbed by Stan. Tears were falling down his freckled face as he threw his full weight away from the shorter boys.

“Richie no!” Eddie dragged him back, pushing him up against the wall, “You can’t see them like this you know they wouldn’t want you to see them like this. It’s a miracle that you’re alive. Don’t push your luck. They’re gonna change any minute now and unless you wanna be the one to kill them, we can’t be here when they do.” His voice was thick with tears.

He and Stan wrestled a still screaming, struggling Richie down the front stairs and into the car. Eddie and Richie crawled into to he back, barely getting settled as Mike hit the gas.

Eddie stared out the window, wordlessly stroking Richie’s hair. The tall, skinny boy has his head in Eddie’s lap, tears still rolling down his face. Eddie wished he could say something comforting. Something that would make whatever Richie was feeling ease.

But what do you say to someone whose parents were just ripped apart by a horde of zombies?

Eddie reached down and laced his fingers with Richie’s. This...thing...whatever it was between them, had started a few months ago. Simple things. Longer glances. Hand holding. Cuddling closer together during sleepovers or on the nights that Richie snuck into his room.

Can you call someone your boyfriend if you haven’t kissed them yet?

Can you call someone your boyfriend if you haven’t told them you liked them yet?

And how do you tell someone you love them when the entire world is falling apart?

All questions that were going to have to wait until they figured out what the fuck was going on. Richie had stopped crying but was laying spread over the seat, uncharacteristically silent. Ben and Bev were in the row in front of them, whispering quietly amongst themselves as they sorted out food and supplies. Mike was driving with Bill and Stan curled in each other’s arms in the passenger seat.

The tension was palpable like any movement could set of something catastrophic.

Then someone coughed.

Almost like the universe had been waiting for a sign to dump shit on them.

A body slammed into the side of the car, a bloody handprint smearing across the window.

“What the FUCK was the that?” Richie shrieked, as another body slammed into the side off the van. He scrambled backward, pressing closer to Eddie, who instinctively grabbed his hand.

“The dead…” Eddie squeezed his hand, grabbing the baseball bat from the floor between them and passing it to Richie, “Undead I guess.” he mumbled, pressing closer into the lanky teen’s side and lacing their fingers together. He leaned over to peer out the window and gasped, recoiling in horror.

“No…” he whispered, “Fuck mom no!!” he pressed himself back up against the window, not even noticing as Richie moved next to him. Sonia Kaspbrak was lumbering up the block towards the van, her large, fat-dimpled arms and neck covered in blood. A large chunk of her face was missing from a bite mark and blood was oozing down her chest and over her hands.

“Mike stop! Stop the car!” Eddie screeched, “Stop the fucking car!”, tears were rolling down his face, “Fucking stop!” he sobbed.  

“Eddie we can’t.” Mike sounded pained, “I can’t let you go out there.”

“But-”

“No! There are too many of them out there for us to fight even if we could save her.”

The car slowed as Mike attempted to weave his way throw a new hoard of zombies that were surrounding the car and Eddie seized his chance. Jumping over the middle row, he lunged for the door of the van, knocking it open with his shoulder and tumbling out onto the street.

“Shit!” Mike slammed on the brakes, “Eddie get back in the car!” He ripped off his seatbelt as he put the car in park.

Richie was already moving. He grabbed his baseball bat and scrambled out the door, “Eddie! Eddie fucking slow down!” his long legs made it easy to catch up with the smaller brunette, “Eddie come on wait!” he grabbed his arm and pulled him around the corner into in an alleyway, away from the groaning monsters on the main street.

“Eds…” he held him by the shoulders, “You can’t go after her.”

Eddie looked up at him, tears streaming down his face, “I know she’s awful, but she’s my-”

“Your mom I know,” he soothed gently, “But Ed’s you can’t save her.”

“But I-”

“No Eddie. We need to go,” Richie gripped his shoulder, attempting to calm himself and the still crying Eddie, “I know she’s your mom and you feel loyalty to her, but this is your life on the line. Not just yours. Our lives on the line,” Richie looked pained as he attempted to reason with Eddie, “Don’t make that face. I know how you’re feeling,” he pleaded as Eddie narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, “Don’t forget, I lost my parents too.

“At least let me see how far along she is…” Eddie pleaded again.

Richie stood silently, considering him for a moment. Then he sighed “Fine. But I’m coming with you.” he shouldered his baseball bat and took Eddie’s hand.

Eddie squeezed “Thank you.” he whispered as they stepped back out onto the street. Sonia stood there, swaying in place. Blood was still pouring from the bite on her cheek, muscle and bone exposed. She turned at the sound of them moving, jaw swinging loosely as the muscles threatened to snap.

“Edward…” she whispered, voice coming out croaky and weak.

Eddie took two hesitant steps toward her, “Mom…” he whispered, “Mommy…” he covered his mouth, as tears welled in his eyes again, “How long...how long have you been…”

She shook her head “I was coming back from the store. About a day now.”

“But you haven’t gotten sick yet…” he whimpered, reaching out for her, only to have Richie yank him back.

“Don’t.” he hissed, “Don’t touch her.” he pinned Eddie’s arm’s to his side.

“I know…” Eddie whispered, voice suddenly weak, “I just…” he shook slightly, leaning into Richie’s touch. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a steadying breath, “I know.”

Suddenly, Sonia shrieked. An unearthly, horrible, soul-shaking sound that chilled Eddie to his center. Her eyes rolled back and she lunged forward, unsteady as the virus took over her brain.

It all happened so fast.

Eddie felt himself freeze in place, all the air leaving his body. He watched, rooted to the concrete as she reached out for him, her skin already starting to rot as the infection raced through her body. Her fingers twitched, reaching for his throat.

Suddenly, there were several shouts, Bill grabbing Eddie by the shoulders and pulling him out of the way of Sonia and turning him away, and a sickeningly wet crunch.

Everything seemed to freeze as Eddie turned to see the source of the sound.

Images flashed in front of Eddie’s eyes; Richie holding a now bloodied baseball bat, a puddle of blood slowly spreading over Rose Avenue, the cracked glasses laying in the gutter...

And his mother, Sonia Kaspbrak, dead in the street.

[dailywritings]

10/12 Retelling- Pathfinder Adventures

(Context: This is my re-imagining of the events of a Pathfinder session from a few weeks ago. Some of the details were a little hazy, and I could only find 3 of the 4 character sheets, so one of the characters is unnamed since I couldn’t remember his, and no new name I tried to come up with sounded right.  This was also written in about 45 minutes very close to bedtime as I was out with a different Pathfinder crew until 11, so it’s probably super rough. But, I promised myself I’d write daily, so here we are.)

The first wave of stagnant air hit Nuria and nearly drove her to her knees. Like all the other doors in the abandoned prison, this one had been closed for decades. Still, even the filthy bathroom hadn't smelled this bad. Her stomach roiled and spots floated in front of her eyes, but she managed to hold back the bile.   As her vision cleared, the source of the stench was revealed to her. Plates of rotted food lay spread out across a stone dining table. Nuria swallowed hard as her breakfast made a second attempt to force its way back up into her mouth. She cast her gaze across the rest of the room, already knowing what she was likely to find.

Corpses lay haphazardly across the table among the revolting remains of what had likely been their last meal. More undead. The prison was packed with them. Whatever had caused this prison to close had spared neither prisoner nor guard, and all were now trapped here even in their undeath.

Her gaze fell upon two at the far end of the table, piled nearly on top of one another, and she reached for the massive greataxe on her back. It was nearly twice her height, and she had no doubt that it could drop both of them in one swing. The problem was getting there. At least four other zombies lay between the door and her targets, and stealth was not her strong point. But still, the thirst for the glory she could amass from retellings of such a story far outweighed her apprehension.  Drawing her weapon, she held it tight in front of her as she sidled along the wall. Luckily, being a prison mess hall, it was completely bare except for the table and chairs in the middle, which were all carved out of blocks of stone that seemed to meld perfectly into the floor. That, combined with her lack of armor, was enough to keep her movement silent enough to reach the end of the table without alerting them to her presence.  Positioning herself at the end of the table, she lifted the greataxe over her head and swung down with all her strength, the elemental fire in her blood igniting the blade as she swung. It cleaved straight through the first body like a hot knife through butter, but she felt it begin to slow as it met the resistance of a second body. With a primal scream, she poured the force of her rage into the attack. The resistance continued for a moment, then finally gave way as she cleaved through the second corpse and planted the axe firmly into the table.  Before she had even finished her swing, the noise had awoken the other undead, and they were now advancing on her. Nuria jumped up on the table, wrapped her hands around the handle, and pulled. Fueled by her rage, the axe slid free of the stone. Without a second thought, she turned and hurled it at the nearest zombie.  The axe cleaved into it and it dropped. Before she could jump down and retrieve it, another undead stepped between her and her weapon. Unarmed, she had no choice but to resort to her fists. Punching a zombie wouldn't do much good, certainly, but punching one with fire might at least make it a little crispy. Again, she called on her elemental blood to aid her, but this time the flames wrapped themselves around her fists and curled up her arms. She waited until it was just under her, and dropped her elbow solidly into the middle of its skull.  As she did, she felt the searing pain of torn flesh. The zombie fell, jaw still around her ankle. Cursing, she kicked the charred body aside and jumped down. The pain of landing only made her fury burn hotter, and she could think only of destroying the remaining enemies. She gripped the handle of her axe once again, and turned to face them.  Only after they had all fallen under her blows was she able to stop. The rage left her all at once and she staggered, clinging to her weapon for balance. It was over. She only hoped nothing was waiting for her in the next room, because she knew it would be impossible for her to even lift her weapon until the fatigue had subsided.  A pale face peered through the doorway. It was framed by wispy silver hair and adorned with swirling blue markings.  "All clear then, I take it?" The rogue leaned against the doorway, grinning like an idiot. She wanted to slap him, but couldn't muster the energy to lift her hand. She settled for a sour look. "Don't look at me like that. You were having so much fun, how could I possibly take that away from you? But-ooh," he paused, finally noticing the blood oozing from her ankle, "we should probably have Klaia take a look at that."  At her name, a short, stocky woman with crystalline hair and skin made of polished stone entered the room. She surveyed the carnage and shook her head fondly.  "One of these days, you're gonna get yourself into a situation that oversized axe won't be able to get you out of," she scolded, but the twinkle in her eyes belied her critical tone. Kneeling, she passed her hand over the wound and it closed up, leaving behind only the barest hint of a scar. "Now be careful, you know I can't do this every time you screw up," Klaia warned.  Nuria waved a tired hand. Some of her energy was returning, and they needed to move on. Before she could make a move to stand, a small, graceful hand reached down to her. She grasped it and nodded gratefully as Nerida, the ragtag band’s requisite source of arcane power, pulled her up. Slinging her axe across her shoulders, Nuria jerked her head in the direction of the unopened door at the far end.  "Shall we move on?"

The End