#I remember handing his description over to my DM

[hragon]

One of my favorite developments in the Waterdeep game is Axel (Dahlia's assassin brother) becoming the party's adopted puppy

[dilfartist]

A foolish endeavor

Pairing; Yandere Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You manage to snag Miguel’s gizmo and escape to another universe. How long will it take before he, or the spider society, find you?

Word count; 2.8k

Reader description; Female/GN

TW; kidnapping, probably terrible spanish (i did use sources Spanish-speaking users suggested), non-con touching, yandere themes, dark writing.

Notes; {if i mistranslated any of the spanish please do contact me in my DMs. I wanted this fic to be better but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Did not proofread.}

Midnight coated New York in a dark blue hue. Most nights the city lights illuminate the darkness, providing the ability to see. However, the motel you find yourself ambling to is the more isolated part of the city.

Rain poured down heavily, producing cacophonous echoes of raindrops slamming against the concrete. Clad in a drenched hoodie and damp black yoga pants, you scurry to the other side of the street just in time to avoid being hit by the passing truck.

Cigarette smoke and frigid rain overwhelm your senses, mainly due to the cigarette buds scattered on the motel parking lot.

The motel is okay looking. By no means does it look nice, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Guess this is where I’ll sleep tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You take a brief glance at your surroundings. Night overcame the sky, giving the atmosphere a dark hue but the lights gave you a clear standpoint.

Numerous lights hummed irritatingly, not even a minute passed and you found yourself obtaining a headache. You navigate the main office, which is on the left side of the horseshoe-shaped building, and a blue neon sign points in the direction of the office. You started sauntering over, putting pep in your step when the cold rain declined heavier than it did the last five minutes.

Six months ago, you wouldn’t be having this problem. At least that’s what you believed. You could’ve been at your apartment, catching up on a show you’ve failed to complete thanks to your busy work schedule.

Unfortunately for you, doing a task as simple as watching your television, in your home, was truly impossible. Why? Because the earth you roam isn’t yours, to begin with. Your apartment isn’t yours. The job you work isn’t yours. You aren’t certain you even exist in this universe.

You can’t find the strength to complain. Honestly, you’re delighted to be away from the man who stole you away from society.

Miguel O’Hara.

Otherwise known as Spiderman 2099. You know, the superhero.

It must be confusing to hear that a superhero kidnaped a poor civilian. Superheros don’t normally commit unforgivable acts. Regardless, Miguel didn't care. Miguel is aware he is different from other heroes given his beliefs. Abducting you was just one of the many wrongs Miguel fulfilled.

You just wished you knew his motives at the beginning. If you did, you wouldn't have to search for sanctuary. You wouldn't have to lie low in a different universe.

Before Miguel, you lived a decent life that included a decent job. It was a Tuesday afternoon with sunny weather and clear skies. Your friends invited you to a picnic at the park and, for once having a clear schedule you agreed. You recall the sun beaming down on you, overheating your body to the point shade was a necessity. You moved from the picnic blanket to a nearby bent tree. One moment you're enjoying the shade, the next you're falling. Then something transpired. You jerked in the air, something white clinging to the front of your shirt. You felt your body floating in the air, legs thrashing in fear when your body conceded it was in mid-air.

You must have fainted because you have no recollection of what transpired next. What you do remember was watching through bleary eyes as four strangers hovered over you clearly disputing. Currently, you know them by Jessica Drew, Peter B. Parker, the iron spider, And Miguel O’Hara.

The accountability for your well-being somehow landed in the hands of Miguel. In the beginning, Miguel had such a short patience for you, not that he didn't possess an attitude with anyone else, he just happened to have a really short fuse with you.

His explosive temper with you was undeserving. You hardly gave him any reason to blow up. Your presence alone just pissed him off, at least it appeared so.

You avoided him as much as possible; Departing a room when he entered. Ensuring any errands were accomplished before he arrived home, so you didn't have to leave your room to aggravate him.

Then he began to seek you out; popping up wherever you were in his apartment. Alone watching television on the couch? Not anymore. Miguel joined you on the other side silently watching as well. Sitting silently in the dining room eating lunch? Miguel enters with a bowl of cereal, starting a conversation about the day’s news. Enjoy video games and decide to play by yourself? Miguel grabs a controller and questions the rules and certain controls.

For someone who was as snappy at you as a feral dog, he sure did like to invade your solitude.

By the second month of staying at Miguel’s, he found solace in your presence. He became relaxed. Nice even. And then by the fourth month, you became friends. You never visualized being anything other than friends, but unbeknownst to you, Miguel did.

When you first caught the news of Peter figuring out what universe you belonged to, you were ecstatic. After all, the mystery of your universe's number had been the sole reason for crashing with Miguel and not immediately returning home.

You turned to Miguel, asking when was the appropriate time to drop you off. To your astonishment, Miguel’s brows furrowed, and his lips morphed into a grimace, “you will not be returning.” he affirmed.

Miguel shocked not only you, but everyone witnessing the scene. A gauche silence conquered the atmosphere.

You and Miguel stared at each other for a beat, then you voiced your perplexity. “What do you mean “I will not be returning?” Miguel, I need to go home.” you took a step closer to Miguel.

Miguel gazed at you with an uninterested stare. “What I say goes, (Name). And I say you're staying here.” he spun around, returning to whatever he had been working on before. “We all have a busy schedule and dropping you off will only alter it.”

“It’s not worth it,” he said like he was ending the conversation.

“Okay, then Peter can take me home when he needs to drop off Mayday.” you insisted, looking over at Peter to see if he’d be alright with your plan.

No expression was needed for you to catch on to the attitude Miguel began to gain. “(Name), I won’t tell you twice. The answer is no. Now, Peter take her back to my apartment. We’ll speak about the matter later, at the moment there are more important issues happening.”

You found it laughable. To think the minute you stepped into the man's sight he wanted you gone, but now Miguel was fighting you to stay with him. Ironic, isn’t it?

That night you and Miguel, the very moment he came inside his apartment, quarreled for an hour in a half. Your argument being you did not belong to him and could do whatever you pleased. Miguel’s argument was the insignificance of the matter to him.

You detected Miguel’s temper was starting to get out of hand. The way his fists began to clench, the way his brows creased, and the frown deepened after every sentence he uttered. You’ve seen his strength. His fierceness. And you’d rather leave than have any of his tantrums directed at you. Doing what any rational person would do, you attempted to leave the room. You advised him to de-stress before speaking to you again.

Miguel was having none of it. Not even a second passed before you were yanked back by the forearm.

You’re face-to-face with Miguel. Miguel towered over you, looking down at you with his signature red piercing stare. He bends down, momentarily staring at you until he finally speaks. “I can't allow you to leave.” The way he talks is low and if the room weren't already quiet, you wouldn’t have heard him. “I love you,” he confessed, voice cracking, closing his eyes as if it pained him to say it. He opened his eyes again. “And I won't allow myself to lose any other person I care for.”

Pulling twenty dollars out of the torn-up wallet you found on the side of the road, you slide it forward on the mahogany brown table. The fatigued receptionist glances at the money, then gazes at you with an irked expression.

“This isn’t enough.” She states matter-of-factly. She slides the twenty back to you.

You purse your lips, staring down at the cash. Twenty dollars is all you had. What were you to do now? The next nearest motel could be miles away; it was a miracle you made it to this.

Your eyes flicker back to her. You take two fingers pushing it back to her, giving her your best puppy eyes. “Please! I don't have anywhere else to go tonight. If I can’t stay here I’ll have to sleep on the streets.”

You were lying. You would’ve taken off by dawn, needing to be on the move after getting rested.

Her hardened expression softens. She takes a deep breath, eyes studying the money. Shaking her head, she takes the cash. “One night only, alright?”

You propose to her a smile, nodding with gratitude. She allotted you a key. A small golden-greenish key, with the number five engraved on the head. Tonight you’d sleep on the grounded floor of the motel.

The inside was decently prepared, having a dingy tone that gave off a haunted vibe. You hum in displeasure. Two queen-sized mattresses are positioned on the right side of the wall. They appeared stiff, and the blankets laying upon them looked thinner than a sheet of paper.

Sighing, you softly booted the door shut. Flopping down on the nearest bed, you groan at the sensation of the rough mattress.

When tomorrow comes you’d have to find a fresh location. Miguel could continually find your locale, thanks to not only Lyla but the whole Spider society. Perhaps you postponed his search this time. His watch or gizmo- whatever the hell it was- rests on your wrist.

Shifting your head to the side, pulling your hand out of your pocket, you glance at the gizmo.

Tightly clutched in Miguel’s hold, you stare quietly at the ceiling. You debate acting on your next actions. There were times Miguel slept lightly, aroused by creaks in the floorboard. Other times when the sound of glass shattering did not bother him even a little.

Glancing down at the arm wrapped securely around your midriff, you endeavor to gradually lift his arm up. He unconsciously retaliates, arms consolidating, resulting in a small gasp slipping from your lips. You’re quick to rub his arm, to offer him comfort, and to calm him.

It works. Miguel grumbles, his grasp faulting. You carefully move his arm aside, then unhurriedly get up from the bed.

Before leaving the room you observe Miguel. Miguel sleeps soundly, an angry expression inscribed on his face. But he is asleep, so you take your chance while you are able.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, you immediately spot the gizmo on the marble counter. Compared to the technology you have at home, it was top-notched, a huge improvement. Of course, he lived in the year 2099. Obviously, there would be a difference in technology.

You grabbed the gizmo, examining the complexity. From monitoring the spider people using them, you know it’ll take you wherever universe you request. Great. However, you weren’t a spider person. If you teleported in the middle of the air, you couldn't grapple on the closest object with a web. Or claw your way down a building

Fuck it.

If dying meant escaping him, then so be it.

You didn’t really mean that. Every time you went to teleport to a different universe, you cringed retreating your hand.

“Jesus! Alright, I'm doing this!” you softly berated yourself. Bracing for the impact of the possible fall you might face, you shut your eyes tight and twisted the gizmo. “Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground!” you cried.

How long would it take them to find you? How far could you get?

God, being on the run was stressful.

Your eyes flutter closed, plush pillows luling your tired mind. ‘I should get some sleep’ you thought. Warmth spread throughout your numbing body, as you finally permitted yourself to sleep.

When you awake gasping for air, almost as if you’d been suffocating. Instantly you arise, a hand rushing to your chest confirming it still thumped with a beating heart. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat, making your clothes uncomfortably cling to your body. “What the fuck?” you barely uttered, mouth arid.

Suddenly you had a gut feeling to check the window. You stand, groggily walking toward the large window adjacent to the front door. Pinching the hem of the curtain, you haul it aside.

The night is still pristine, the stars glowing in the dark sky. Nothing seems out of place. And yet you continue to have that gut feeling. Look outside, there’s something outside. Your eyes move to the parking lot.

You see it.

Blue and red. Something blue and red is making its way toward the motel. Squinting, you can make out what it is. Miguel. It's Miguel!

“Oh, shit!” you expressed, dropping the curtain. Wasting no time you locked the bottom and top locks. You veered around, frantically searching for a place to hide. You are no fool. Locking the door was simply a distraction; Miguel would tear the door off its hinges in a second.

Hiding underneath the bed is a childish strategy. That and hiding underneath the covers. Still, you drop to your knees, squeezing underneath the bed, using the blankets to cover any spaces revealing you. Pressing the palm of your hand against both your mouth and nose, you listen closely to everything around you.

At first, all you hear is the air conditioning blowing cool air, and the people next door’s baby weeping. Then you hear it. The doorknob oscillation. Your eyes widen, fear causing your breath to hitch. When the door refuses to open, the person behind the door commences kicking in the door. One kick achieves them access to the room. The door slams against the wall, shaking the ground, sending a vibration under you.

“¿Qué carajo?” you know that voice anywhere. It’s Miguel speaking in his native language. A habit Miguel has when he’s angered or stressed. “¿Dónde está ella?” Miguel snaps, striding into the room with anger-powered steps.

You can see through the tiny slit in the blankets, Miguel turning to the table where you placed the gizmo. Miguel picks up the gizmo, putting it back on his wrist.

He shifts his concentration to finding you. He calls out your name, malice dripping from the way he shouts it. He disappears from sight, presumingly moving on to the bathroom. Many things are heard being tossed around. Miguel probably was looking for evidence of you staying here, apart from the gizmo.

You gather the courage to, oh, so carefully stretch your leg out, then proceed to quietly shuffle from under the bed. You waste no time, rushing out the door, feet bare without socks or shoes. The gravel burns the soles of your feet, scraping and imprinting on the skin.

You practically succeeded in leaving the lot until you caught a glimpse of what stalked behind you. On all fours, Miguel sprinted at you, claws scuffing the concrete, like a predator running after its prey.

“Holy shit! What the actual fuck!” you panic aloud, taking your eye off what was in front of you, your mind solely focusing on the man hunting you. Big mistake on your part. A concrete parking block is in your way, but you don’t see it. You jolt forward, tripping over the block, your other foot catching you before you hit the road.

Just when you thought you still had the chance of running away, you’re sorely mistaken. Miguel pounces on you, and the clash of your bodies colliding results in Miguel tumbling down the road, you secure in his arms.

The tumble ends; you’re struggling not to vomit, head resting on Miguel’s firm chest. The world spins. It’s easy to forget your position when the urge to throw up is fresh.

Miguel holds your head, pressing a myriad of kisses on every part of the skin visible, muttering with his eyes closed. “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.” He sounds so frantic, reciting those same words, his tongue stumbling over the utterances.

His eyelids raise, uncovering his red orbs. He presses his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s a domestic stunt that makes your stomach churn. “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.” he huffs, then continues, “I’m happy you’re alright. I don’t know what I'd do if I lost you, mi alma.”

Taking your hand, he places a soft kiss on the back. “Had an anomaly harmed you, I would have ripped their fucking throat out!”

————————

Translations

- “¿Qué carajo?”/ what the fuck?

- “¿Dónde está ella?”/ where is she?

- “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.”/ I should be furious with you, but I'm not.

- “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.”/ thank god you’re okay.

- mi alma/ my soul

[hayatoseyepatch]

𝕴𝖙’𝖘 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖜𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊! Welcome to hayatoseyepatch's very first Kinktober. As this is my first time attempting to tackle kinktober I decided to spice it up a bit and bring you Sam's 13 Nights of Halloween. I will be doing thirteen prompts leading up to October 31st these will be a mixture of drabbles and full-length fics. It will be mostly Wind Breaker-centric with some other fandoms sprinkled in. Please Note: any of the prompts below may be subject to change (very unlikely but just a heads up).

𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖙: As this is kinktober a very heavy minors do not interact is in play, the writing below can and will feature dark content. Any and all posts containing dark content will be marked with a '⚠︎' symbol. Reader's discretion is advised. All fics as always will contain content warnings in their description and so please be mindful of the tags. Should you like to be tagged in any and all fics please either comment or shoot me a dm/ask! Thank you, I hope you enjoy what I have in store, and remember 𝕹𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌.

𓉸༻ Zayne x Reader (L&DS) October 7th ⚠︎

⤜☠︎→ Pussy Inspection. Description: Zayne could not contain the possessive need to keep you all to himself, to not let anyone see the most private parts of your being. So if he had to convince you to let him perform your routine gynecological exam, then so be it.

𓉸༻ Suo X Reader. (WBK) October 9th ⚠︎

⤜☠︎→ Shibari. Description: Hayato believed himself to be a patient man, a patient lover, one that satisfied any and all of your needs. But upon returning home it seems he might just have to bind those pretty wrists for you to teach you how to keep your hands to yourself in his absence.

𓉸༻ Hoshina x Reader (KN8) October 11th

⤜☠︎→ Thigh Riding/Impact Play. Description: Soshiro Hoshina was hard to rile up, but after seeing a certain captain flirting with his girl, it seemed he needed to take matters into his own hands. Maybe he needed to remind you that he was the only one to bring you pleasure, in any shape or form.

𓉸༻ Luke x Reader x Kieran (L&DS) October 13th

⤜☠︎→ Sensory Deprivation. Description: It started off simple enough, a little wager that you'd be able to tell the twins apart no matter the situation. You were blindly confident in your abilities, however, you never imagined you'd have to be able to tell which brother was pleasuring which part of your body.

𓉸༻ Kaiju!Kafka x Reader (KN8) October 15th ⚠︎

⤜☠︎→ Monster Fucking. Description: There was always something about seeing Kafka transformed, something that piqued your interest. Maybe it was the glow in his eyes or the sharpness of his claws, all you knew is you wanted to take his Kaiju form for a ride.

𓉸༻ Wolf Hybrid!Sakura x Bunny Hybrid!Reader (WBK) October 17th ⚠︎

⤜☠︎→ Hybrid/Breeding. Description: Endo loved how easy it was to fluster you. But if he loved anything more it was how easy to rile Sakura up. And now he'll do anything he can to show Endo just who you belong to.

𓉸༻ Incubus!Endo x Reader (WBK) October 19th ⚠︎

⤜☠︎→ Corruption. (Collab) Description: You werent sure how your friends had managed to talk you into this. Never did you think you'd spend your evening doing some dumb ritual they saw online, and you cetainly never thiught it would work. Yet here you were eyes locked with the cold blue eyes that stared at you from the foot of your bed.

𓉸༻ Narumi x Reader Ft. Hoshina (KN8) October 21st ⚠︎

⤜☠︎→ Exhibitionism/Filming. Description: Narumi was a very possessive man, so when he sees you and Hoshina getting along a bit too well, he decides to show you both just who it is you go home to every night.

𓉸༻ Soshiro x Reader x Soichiro Hoshina (KN8) October 23rd

⤜☠︎→ Spit Roasting. Description: The Hoshina brothers have always been in competition with one another. But when Soichiro finally pushes his brother too far what'll happen when they have something entirely new to compete over.

𓉸༻ Ghostface!Karasu x Reader (BLLK) October 25th

⤜☠︎→ Hunter/Prey. Description: Karasu thought you needed to stop spending so much time online, especially after you let your doom-scrolling lead you to ask him to fuck you in a Ghostface mask. But hey, what was he if not an accommodating partner, he did so love it when you screamed.

𓉸༻ Vampire!Umemiya x Reader (WBK) October 27th ⚠︎

⤜☠︎→ Somnophilia/Blood. Description: Hajime couldn't help it, not with how cute you looked so fast asleep next to him. Not with the way your smell overwhelmed his senses. After all, one taste couldn't hurt, could it?

𓉸༻ Sakura x Reader Ft. Yamato Endo (WBK) October 29th

⤜☠︎→ Vouyerism. Description: One of Endo's favorite pastimes is flustering Sakura and his cute little girlfriend, but what he hears when going to find you both winds up with him being flustered instead.

𓉸༻ Ghostface!Bachira x Reader (BLLK) October 31st ⚠︎

⤜☠︎→ Mask Kink/Knife Play. (Collab) Description: You swore grief followed you like a cloud. Losing those who you loved at every turn, but there was one positive at least you had Bachira to turn to for comfort. But you were soon to find out the mysterious deaths surrounding you werent such a mystery afterall.

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight & @/cafekitsune. Banners & writing by me.

[the-kr8tor]

250 Years of Longing

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x Fem! Vampire! Reader

Word count: 5.8k

Synopsis: A brief misunderstanding leads to years of heartache. You mourn 250 years of love while his heart remains to you and only you.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, vampire AU, divorced! Vampire! AU, established relationship, CW blood, talks of marriage, hurt/comfort, some fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @pleaktale !!! This au was born in our dms lol

Navigation

Vampire Hobie Masterlist

Hobie's words are muffled in your ears as you try to hide your trembling, lovelorn body. Your head is in your hands, wide eyes downturned towards the same scruffed floors you've lived in for thirty years with him. You still remember the day you moved in, the walls were in bright yellow back then, wooden floors hidden by some gaudy shag carpet from the 70s. You still remember that decade like it was yesterday, maybe it was just yesterday, being a vampire means that time has moved differently for you. Time is merely something you gloss over, years flying by in a wink. Barely a flutter in your immortal eyes.

Even technology is moving faster and innovating quicker than you could manage to keep up. The next thing you know, you've been alive for more than 250 years.

250 years of being with him, 250 years of wearing the same identical ring, 250 years of loving him. All those 250 years are going through your mind a thousand miles per hour, your first kiss with him, your confession. Or was it him who confessed to you? Were you the one who got sick and he had to find a vampire to turn you and in turn to change him? Or was it the other way around? Memory is a fickle thing when you're older than any living human on earth. You've forgotten a lot of things, memory hazy and foggy like a dream you don't quite remember the second you wake. You wish this was just a dream, a nightmare that you'll wake up from.

“I need to try— I need to go, love.” His words wake you up from the lucid nightmare. He stands in the middle of your shared room, eyes forlorn, brows pinched together like he's in agony. “I can't stay ‘ere like this.”

If his words could kill, you'd be staked through the heart by now. 250 years of being together, practically joined at the hip. A love beyond a simple marriage on paper. And he's just standing there, breaking your long dead heart.

You look up at him through bloody tears, nails digging into your scalp as you try to hide your wails. An impossible feat. “Was it me? Did I do something?” You've faced vampire hunters together, faced horrors beyond belief to survive and continue to live with him. But you were never terrified, until now.

He immediately shakes his head, moving closer to you to take your trembling hands. The identical rings on his and your finger clinks together as he clasps your hand. “No, it's not you, love.” Kneeling down, he gazes at you through wine red eyes, bloody tears threatening to spill over his cheeks that you would always caress in your shared coffin that's hidden beneath the canopy bed you're currently languishing in.

“That's what they all say.” You utter in a small voice that he hasn't heard in decades.

Grasping your hands, he rubs his thumbs over your pulse where your heart would beat. Something he still does even though your hearts haven't beat together in sync ever since that fateful day.

“You didn't do anythin' wrong. I jus’ need to find myself, go out and see the world in my own eyes.”

You nod bitterly. “Without the burden of me.”

“That's not true, you're not a burden.” His hands reach towards your cheeks, wiping the bloody tears cascading down them like rain drops on a cold autumn day. “There are people I could help out there—”

“And I can't? Why can't you just bring me with you?” You wrench yourself away from him, walking away from the bed to give him space lest you let him see you like this. “Just say you're tired of me.” Hugging yourself, you feel his arms wrap around your middle, face tucked in the crook of your neck right where your scar sits.

“‘m not tired of you.” He says against your skin.

Your twist in his arms to face him fully, palms resting on his chest, eyes dim and scared. “Then why leave? Why do you want to leave me?” His shirt is bunched around your fists, desperate to cling to him despite his wishes. “250 years, Hobie. I've known you for more than that, been with you through all of it. I deserve to know why.” You try to reign in your anger and frustration but your fangs suddenly appearing betrays you.

“I don't want to leave you— Time, love. I jus’ need time. That's all we've got.”

You're tired, tired of asking why, tired of clinging to him like a life raft. Tired of your chest aching and feeling heavy as he looks at you with pity— was it pity? Or something else? So you let him go. Fists unfurling, palms leaving his chest as you step away from him.

“Alright.” You sniff, expression falling stiff as you straighten up. “I won't stop you.” If your love for him keeps him from doing what he loves, then you'll let him go. You can still love him from afar, even if he doesn't want you anymore.

“Love.” Hobie reaches your hand, palm sliding up to your elbows as he pulls you closer to embrace you fully. “250 years, not once did I feel I didn't love you.”

You close your eyes as you find yourself hidden atop his throat, memorizing his scent and how he holds you. Feeling how his own tears drip down on you, how his skin feels against your own. Memory is a fickle thing, you'll soon forget, but you don't want to. So you'll cling to him, even if it's just a memory of him.

“I love you, y’know that right?” He whispers to you, and only to you.

“I—” you falter. If you say it back, it feels like goodbye. And you don't want to say goodbye to the one person you have loved for centuries. “—I know, Hobie.” You could only say, saying it back means that you're never going to see him again. Saying it back means it's the end.

He could only hold onto you tighter, lips pecking the crown of your head so gently that you barely felt it in your lovelorn state.

You've got time, but it won't be spent with him. Eternity would feel empty for you now.

—

It's been six months of being alone, six months since he moved out to find his purpose. He wanted to leave partly so you could also find yourself and be yourself without his presence. 250 years of being together would do that. He doesn't know where he ends and begins when your soul and his own are tangled together for eternity. And he wants that for you too— to be your own self and not just another vampire in the cursed flock.

To be a better eternal partner for you is one of his goals, he needed to leave so he could be better, so he could be good to you for another 250 years more.

And he's willing— wishing that he gets to spend eternity with you after he's satisfied with what he has done to help people. He just hopes that you'd be home to welcome him back once he does. He's sure that you're already making good progress in finding yourself. He already misses you. A lot.

He's already aching for home and your embrace.

So much has happened in those six months, he's excited to tell you everything he has encountered. And even more excited to hear your voice again, to hold you again and sleep in the same coffin with you again and not the shoddy temporary coffin he made out of planks to rest in. He can already see your ecstatic face when he enters the abode again.

Ned has told him that he won't last a year without you. He'd know, Hobie has been friends with him for almost a hundred years now. But he refuses to let him win, even though he really wants to see you right now, or even call you on one of those phones that people seem to be addicted to. But you haven't picked up his calls, or even answered his letters. He has sent one everyday since he left, he's starting to worry now. Even the crew who urged him to go on a worldwide mission with him has placed bets on when he'll run back to you. With the earliest being tomorrow, and the longest being a year. He intends to make them lose, but by god, he misses you so damn much that he's starting to see you in his dreams. And see glimpses of you in the corner of his eyes.

He doesn't regret his decision, but a part of him thinks that you were right— that he should've brought you with him on his journey. Without you his frozen heart feels like it's out of his own body. Walking around without him, living without him. But he knows that it's for the best. It's only temporary, he keeps repeating to himself every night. He'll be with you soon.

As he writes today's letter, he smiles, hands scribbling his day away on the fragrant paper that he knows you'd love especially when it's sprayed with his own perfume.

He can't wait to see you back home.

—

You were absolutely losing it in that house. You keep seeing him everywhere. With every clatter in the halls, you run towards it in hopes that it's him making a ruckus in the kitchen. With every shadow cast on the walls, you see him walking towards you, arms outstretched to hold you. And then for a moment, he's gone, like a whiff of smoke billowing from a lit cigar.

The house that has love built within its walls seems to tilt in your vision. Weighed down by your grief. You don't know where to place your feeling of abandonment, do you place it in the kitchen where you two used to feed together? Or do you put it right next to your withdrawal, your need to be with him once again?

You choke on your own need.

So you take a page from Hobie's book and left. After just two days of him being gone, you packed your bags and headed out to nowhere. You can't stay anywhere that you have stayed with him before, you're afraid that you'll burst into bloodied tears if you even get a whiff of the same place where you two met all those centuries ago.

You haven't felt this alone since you were nineteen, well, you haven't been nineteen in a long time. You could barely remember your days before you were turned— died. It's like looking into a window of a well lit house whose occupants you once knew well but couldn't talk to anymore. In that well lit house is you and him. Just you and him, him and you.

The lamp posts are hazy in your eyes, buildings whizzing by in a blur of crimson tears. You took the midnight bus, hand never leaving the ring on your finger, and just sat there until the route ended. Then you rode a train, then a boat. And again and again until you reached a little coastal town with a name you could barely remember on good days. And with bad days, the crying comes and goes. Chest still aching, claw marks left all over the tiny cottage you brought.

A dark cloud has settled on you, but with each day passes, with each interaction from the town’s people with their good nature and good intentions, the dark cloud slowly ebbs away. The sun shines on you once again after a year and a half without him, it doesn't burn you nor scorch your skin anymore, it lights your way. The people and the soft sea breeze helped you cope through the uncertainty of being alone.

250 years of togetherness, and not one day you've felt alone, or felt like you've wasted your time with him. 250 years of memories, not one you felt like it went all down the drain. It was worth it, all the calm days to the rough one, it was all worth it.

You still wish to see him, to talk to him, to taste his saccharin ichor on your tongue; to kiss him until you're both laughing against each other's kiss bitten lips. It's a normal feeling, a neighbour once told you after you told her your story (excluding the vampirism). It's alright to miss someone who might not miss you back.

There's a hole that he left in your chest, and you find that you can't fill it in no matter how much you try to fill it with friends and good moments. But it shrinks, it gets smaller with time. It gets better with each day that passes. It has gotten better.

No longer do you feel that time has passed in a blur of colours. It has slowed for you, time. You go outdoors and breathe in the salty air, you talk to people, people you would've ignored back then. You do things you haven't done in decades. And you find that time has barely passed. You live each day, savour it, conquer it with warmth akin to his palm atop your own.

You wish him nothing but the best, and as you promised yourself on that day, you'll continue to love him from afar. The moon gazing down on you reminds you of him, everything reminds you of him. And that's alright, love does that. And it will continue to do so for the rest of eternity.

You've got nothing but time to heal and fill the void with as much light as you can.

—

Hobie's gnawed with exhaustion, but happy, incredibly happy. After two years of being away, he has helped so many lives with his ‘abilities’. He has plucked away corrupt officials with his own clawed hands, fangs coated in a sheen of rubies, eyes bright and almost glowing in its pools of crimson. He's proud of what he has accomplished, he hopes that you would be too.

Two years went by without you, he may have won the bet by a long shot but he can't stay for another day more. He needs to go home to you or he feels like he'll combust into searing flames if he doesn't get to see you and hold you within the day. He longs for your warm ichor on his tongue, and how you always laugh at his antics after all these years. He smiles at his ring, excited to see its partner in your finger once again.

So he forgoes to write you a letter in an attempt to surprise you with his return. He packs his bags, waves goodbye to his old and new found friends, going home without wasting another second. You're his bright spot amidst the dark eternity, his sun that lights the way, and he finally feels that he's worthy of you. Worthy of your time.

He knows himself better than he did when he was just nineteen and lost in the threads of life. He feels as if he traveled back in time, back when he was a human who craved to leave his mark in the world. Only this time, he accomplished the latter. Now, as he promised himself that day, he's coming back home.

He's going back home to you.

—

A letter mysteriously arrives at your doorstep. Its pitch black envelope and red wax seal with the unmistakable seal of the vampiric council sends anxiety coursing through your frozen veins.

Is it Hobie? Has something happened to him? Did he fight a council member again? Did you unintentionally and unknowingly break a rule? Or perhaps it's just a newsletter? You could only hope that it's a newsletter.

You open it immediately to calm yourself. Sharp nails ripping the black envelope open. Reading the contents, you sigh in relief at the invitation. An invitation to a soiree, the kind you and Hobie were never invited to because it's well known that you two have been together for centuries. Hell, it's in their records to begin with.

Tamping down your yearning thoughts, you skim the invitation some more. You find that it's a masquerade, ‘to make it interesting in finding your eternal partner,’ it read in its fancy gold lettering. They need to find a better writer to write their invitations, you thought.

You feel like scoffing at the idea of you dressing up and looking pretty just to find a person who may or may not leave you after they feel the urge to change. As you flip the matte paper around, your mind changes with the words ‘goody bags will be given to those who don't find a partner by the end of the day.’ You can't resist a good party favour, especially when it's from the rich vampire council who once gave away mustangs and harleys to the vampires who made it to a hundred. You might hate their guts, but you can't deny how well they can plan a good soiree.

Leaving your cottage, you don your thick coat and take out your trustee umbrella to wade through the sun illuminated town in hopes of buying a somewhat presentable gown to wear. You might've skipped the part in the invitation that says, ‘satisfaction guaranteed!’

—

Hobie stands on the porch of your shared home with a big giddy smile on his face. He notices all the plants you loved so much have wilted, grass turned into a shade of murky brown, and the porch is littered with dust and grime. He ignores the state of his home in favour of the thought of you being too busy traveling and meeting friends or trying out different hobbies. He could only hope that you're well. That you feed whenever you're hungry, he knows how much you hate hunting, especially without him. He remembers that you always make it a night, basically a date night with him that ends with a dead asshole in an alleyway with four unmistakable pin pricks on the side of their neck.

He should've planned more before he left, made sure that you'd be prepared for anything while he's gone. He'd hate to be gone when a would be vampire hunter attacks your home. His fists clenches around his suitcase, now his fear of you being staked through the heart in his own house takes hold of his entire body. You can handle yourself in a fight, but he's afraid of losing you in such a violent way when he could've been there to save you.

With fear clawing at his chest up to his throat, he unlocks the front door with a creak. Then the door stops, as if something is blocking the way.

“Love?” He calls for you in the dark foyer. The vase you always kept filled with flowers that sits on a desk near the door has completely covered in dust, roses wilted. Flowers no longer blooming in its porcelain form. His iced heart shudders in his chest. “Love, it's me, don't attack, yeah?” Chuckling nervously, he pushes the door fully despite the resistance.

The sound of papers crinkling under the pressure of the door sends him into a tizzy. His eyes narrow downwards at the piles upon piles of envelopes next to his feet. Squeezing inside, he tosses his suitcase haphazardly further into the foyer. It thumps loudly on the wooden floorboards, contents tumbling out and spilling over the floors.

His frantic eyes scan the letters, kneeling down, he finds that the letterbox flaps on the door is practically bursting with the amount of envelopes that were shoved in.

Frowning, he takes one in his trembling fingers, thumbs running along your name that he wrote himself.

“What the fuck?” He asks breathlessly into the void. He finds that every single one of them remains unopened.

Standing upright as quick as lightning, he runs around the house like a headless chicken looking for its head. He checks the living room, none, except for spiderwebs clinging on his guitar perched on the wall. His anxiety eats him from the inside out with every door he flings open. The sounds of his thundering footsteps echo inside the shared home, oil paintings of you and him are threatening to fall from its fixtures as he sprints through every door, looks through every crevice for you. And opens every cabinet and even climbs up to the attic to no avail.

There's no blood nor sign of a fight or forced entry. At least he knows that you haven't been attacked. But his mind lingers on one question, ‘where are you?’

He heaves in the middle of the bedroom where he saw you last. The shared coffin was left revealed and out in the open, he can still smell your perfume lingering in the velvet walls of the coffin, fingers running along the sides as he desperately tries to feel you through the fabric.

You're not here. You haven't been here for a long time.

“Fuck,” he balls up the fabric in his fist. There's no sign of you anywhere, not even a letter for him to read. It's unlike you to not leave a note. You always leave one, even if you're just going to the garden. “Where the fuck are you, love?”

The sound of the deep sounding doorbell startles him in place. With his quick movements, he makes it to the door within a half second. That could be you outside.

Hobie practically rips the door open with both hands as he wretches it away in hopes that it could be you. With a grin, he only sees a bat flapping away, and a dark envelope left at his doorstep.

“Fuckin' council.” Quickly grabbing the letter, he closes the door behind him. He could only hope that the letter is for him, that they're chastising him for what he has done. It can't be a letter of condolence pertaining to you, it can't be.

—

Your champagne flute filled with blood is starting to coagulate. Crimson staining the sides of the fancy glass as you slosh it absentmindedly. You stand in the corner right next to the fountain of warm blood gushing out of a mermaid's vase. At least you get to drink your fill.

The party is in full swing, the grand hall is filled with single vampires mingling with each other. Their mindless chatter falls on deaf ears as you look up at the crystal chandeliers illuminating the event. Cigar smoke rises up from the bloodied lips of vampires, turning the air more acrid than the scent of sweat and drying blood from the feeding area just below the event hall.

You're starting to think that the goody bag isn't worth it anymore, even if it has the meaning of life tucked inside it.

The sound of tinkling glass and footsteps takes your attention from the foggy ceiling. The stranger smiles at you through his domino mask. Lips smirking as he makes his way towards you with two bloody cups.

“May I join you?” He asks in a low soothing voice. His suit is in velvet blue, golden charms hanging off him like fine gold threads weaved over him. You raise a brow at him, hopefully he can see it rise above your flowery mask. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn't be spending the night alone like this.”

You scoff quietly, refraining from rolling your eyes. “How would you know that I'm pretty under this mask?” He grins wider at your comment. “For all you know, I'm hideous under this.”

Chuckling, the platinum haired man shrugs. “I just know. You give off the aura of someone gorgeous.”

You scoff light-heartedly against the rim of your glass. “I bet you've said those exact words a dozen times tonight.”

He smirks, fang poking out from his lips. “No, just this once.” Plucking your coagulated drink from your hand, he swiftly and gracefully replaces it with a new one. The drink is still warm, fresh from the veins. “I only use my skills wisely lest it be wasted.”

You stare at him with a raised brow, the corner of your lips curl into an unsure smile. “Wasted on who?” Taking a step away from the man who clearly wants his fangs in your neck, you dawdle on drinking from the glass he gave you.

Chuckling, he glances at the vampires milling about the ballroom, their fancy clothes swishing from side to side as they try their best in recreating a moment in the past.

“The…unremarkable vampires.”

“And you think I'm remarkable enough for you…?”

The stranger takes your hand without another word, leaning down to press a cold kiss against your skin. “Just call me Count Tepes.”

You blink at his name, then you feel it, a recognizable warmth flooding your frozen veins akin to a gentle summer's breeze upon your cheek. A comfortable heat pressing against your throat, a familiar presence making its way towards you in haste.

“Who's this, love? You chattin’ up my wife?” Hobie's arm is suddenly around your waist, calloused hand pressing gently atop your bodice, fingers slithering under the ribbons on your hips in a comfortable and welcomed possessive nature. “Didn't know we were lookin' for a third. If we were, I wouldn't choose this bloke.”

As you crane your neck to stare at him, your expression morphs into a combination of pain and relief. “Hobie?”

“Yeah, lovie?” He pulls you closer against him, a pearlescent mask hiding half of his face but you could recognize him by mere touch alone, by his tone, by his warmth. You could lose him in the crowd and you'd know him from the sound of his footsteps. His smirk turns into a frown at your expression, hand squeezing your side once for comfort. “You alright?”

“Is he bothering you?” The count asks with an annoyed tone. Golden eyes narrowed to slits at the punk holding you close.

“I think you're the one bein' a bother ‘ere, mate.” Hobie sneers, tugging away at your glass to chug it in one gulp without leaving his glare at the fellow vampire. He licks at his bloodied lips, fangs bared, blood dripping down from the corner of his smirk.

Tepes raises a sharp brow at you, you, whose mind is running a thousand miles per hour. With a heavy inhale, you give him your best smile. “No need to worry, I'm with him.” Hobie puffs out his chest smugly.

The Count chuckles with a shake of his head in reply. “Not again, just my luck, hm?” Taking a swig, he swallows down the thick blood. “It's either couples looking for a third, a fourth, or even a fifth. Or someone who just went to the party to inspire jealousy in their husband.” Glancing at you, he sighs and nods curtly at you before leaving without another word.

“Really, love, him?” Hobie scoffs with a grin, ringed finger tapping on his— your glass. “You could do better—”

You whirl away from him, not having the heart to fully push him away. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doin' ‘ere?” Hobie furrows his pierced brows, his identical ring still on his ring finger. The ruby glows under the chandeliers, the same shade as his immortal eyes.

You stare at him with bemused shock, “you left!”

“On a bloody soul searchin’ not leavin' you!”

“What?” You blink rapidly at his words. “You said you couldn't stay anymore—” a cough stops you in your tracks. An older vampire with the biggest beard you've ever seen taps his foot impatiently, thick brow raised in annoyance. “Sorry.” You murmur before leaving towards the closed balcony doors.

“Sorry, Santa.” Hobie waves him away, following right behind you as you struggle to open the double doors. “You have to—” he places the glass down to help you by putting his hands above your own. “— love, you have to push the bloody knob.”

His hands felt like how they used to, as if two years hadn't passed. With a click, the doors swing open. “Damnit, I had it.” You step into the cold air, trembling hands resting on the cool marble balcony.

The doors shut close as Hobie tentatively steps closer to you. “You look fit.” You scoff at him as his shoulders heave in an inhale. “I wouldn't leave you.”

“But you did.” You utter under your breath, you know he heard it above the breeze.

“Can I explain myself? I don't want to fight, love.” 250 years together and you've only fought a handful of times, and the serious ones are lesser than the nonsensical ones. With your apprehensive nod, he crosses the small distance, settling himself right next to you and at the same time giving you enough space. “I didn't break it off.” He takes off his mask, sighing heavily as he twirls his ring around his finger. “I should've explained it better.”

You finally meet with his eyes. The ring in your pocket seems to grow heavier. “You were gone for two years, Hobie.”

“For a good cause, I didn't feel like myself and I wanted to be better, not just for you but for myself.” He leans closer to you, the full moon bathing him in silver, the light caught by his piercings. “250 years together, do you think I'd leave you just like that?”

“You didn't have to be better for me. You're already great to me.” Your affectionate words echo in the breeze as his chest clenches, guilt stomping down on him. “I thought you didn't find me fascinating anymore. That you didn't need or want me anymore.” Your voice is small, almost broken. “250 years together could do that, Hobie.”

“I could never not find you fascinatin’, and I get to wake up next to everythin' I could ever need or want. You're anythin’ but.” With a brave hand, he reaches for your cheek, wiping a bloodied tear you didn't notice you've let out. “I thought you got hurt, or worse.”

He feels a tear run down his cheek. Gently taking your mask off of your face, he could finally see you in all your glory. He gazes into your shining eyes— he may not be able to see himself in the mirror, but he doesn't need to when your eyes are enough to reflect his own blissful face.

You lean further into his hold, palms reaching towards his chest like you used to. “D–did you do it? Did you get to do what you wanted to? Are you happy?”

Hobie nods before placing his forehead against yours to savour your close presence. “I did, all that and more. And I've always been happy with you.”

Smiling, you pat his cheek affectionatly. “Then I'm proud of you.” Leaning away, you wipe away a stray tear from his chiseled cheek. “So it was a misunderstanding? You didn't actually break off our…marriage?”

He smiles softly, knuckles gently running along your jaw. “Why’d you hesitate, hm? And yeah, I should've explained myself better. ‘m sorry.”

You thump your fists on his leather clad chest as he chuckles. “You could've saved me from a lot of fucking tears, Hobie.” You can now admire him fully, his outfit is a contrast to the other party goers with their silks and chiffon, but he makes it look good— he always looks this good.

Taking your wrists, placing it atop his still heart, he tilts his head with an affectionate smile. “You didn't answer my question. And you took off your ring.” He raises a questioning brow, fingers bracelets around your wrist as he moves your empty ring finger around. “Were you honestly tryin' to get with that wanker?”

“No,” you say immediately, “And if I remember correctly, we never technically married. I'm only here because they had nice things in the party favors. And I thought, ‘why not? The worst that could happen is that I get a bloody ipad instead of a mustang like I hoped.’” Your lips wobble as you tamp down a sob, eyes getting blurry. “I couldn't replace you just like that. It would take me a thousand years to get over you, you idiot.”

Hobie laughs wholeheartedly, a sound you dearly missed. He pauses then inhales, eyes warmly staring at you through the haze of affection. “Fuck, I missed you so goddamn much.” With a quick pull, he embraces you firmly with his face hidden on the crook of your neck, lips brushing along your throat. “You're right, ‘m an idiot for not explainin’ better, and for not takin’ you with me. ‘m sorry.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter, nose nuzzling his temple. “Could've just told me you were having a mid-life crisis.”

He laughs against your skin. “I sent you letters everyday, you didn't reply.” Subtly, he dances with you from side to side under the moonlight and the music of crickets chirping. “I went home and you weren't there. If I wasn't already dead, you would've given me a heart attack.”

“I couldn't stay there alone.” You hold him impossibly closer. “You weren't there.”

Hobie imagines you in that big house all alone waiting for him. “Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

“I know, I forgive you. Just bring me next time, okay?” He nods with a grin. You lean away, cradling his face in your careful hold, thumbs rubbing along his cheeks. “I'll read your letters, all of them once we get back home.”

“Why read ‘em when I can tell you?” He grins, temptation pushing him to meet with your waiting lips. “‘sides, ‘m a better storyteller than a writer.”

You chuckle softly as he pecks you once, twice then leaning away only to move back with another gentle kiss. “I've got stories to tell too.” You utter against his soft lips.

“Yeah?” He smiles proudly at you. “Can you tell me all about them while your lips are on mine?”

You beam at him. “I can, I have telepathy for a reason, Hobs.”

“Thank fuck for telepathy.” He says as he kisses you fervently just like he always had in 250 years of being together. “I should've married you, lovie.” His words are uttered in between kisses.

“We have time.” You whisper against his smiling lips whilst he picks your pockets and slips your ring in your finger once again.

As you kiss him, you can see that he's already planning the event in his giddy mind. You tell him the three words you've been aching to say back in his head. And in turn, he takes you further into his arms as dark wispy smoke envelopes you both in an embrace. In a blink, you're back home with him. The house feels warm again.

[oatmilkriver]

the chief's kid- eddie munson

pairing: eddie munson x gn!hopper!reader

summary: eddie munson has never been the tyoe to meet the parents. so when you ask him to meet your dad, he's nervous... especially cause you're the chief of police's kid.

warnings: food mentioned, slight upside down mention, Y/N used, no physical descriptions

word count: 1,197

author's note: this is the first fic i've uploaded!! so notes are greatly appreciated, and if you have any advice please dm me!

Eddie has never been this nervous in his entire life. And he’s fought off demobats. But here he is, still sitting in his van that’s parked in front of your house. He adjusts his hair through the rearview mirror in an attempt to tame his curls and takes a deep breath before getting out. He walks up to your front door, looking at the two flimsy bouquets in his hands. Just as he raises his fist to knock, the door swings open, revealing a very intimidating man. An intimidating man Eddie has met a couple of times: Chief Jim Hopper.

Eddie looks up at your dad, his face set in a scowl, looking Eddie up and down before he is pushed gently away. Now he is met with your smiling face and Eddie remembers to breathe again, a small smile showing on his face.

“Come in, I’m excited for you to meet my sister!”

You say, grabbing Eddie by the arm and pulling him in. You run off down the hall, leaving Eddie to look around your house. It’s cute... cozy. Eddie walks into the living room, staring at the family pictures on the wall, laughing softly to himself seeing a picture of a little you with ice cream all over your face, smiling brightly at the camera.

He then hears someone clear their throat behind him, reminding Eddie that he’s not alone.

“So,” your dad says from the kitchen. “You and my kid, huh?”

Eddie doesn’t have the courage to speak up, his throat suddenly very dry, so he just nods. Before anyone can say anything else, you walk into the living room, arm in arm with a younger girl.

“Eddie, this is my sister, El,” You smile at your sister briefly before looking back at him, “She’s the one with the superpowers everyone keeps talking about.”

Eddie walks up to the two of you, a smile on his face.

“Hi El, I’ve been wondering when I’ll meet this super cool sister Y/N keeps talking about” Eddie smiles and hands El one of the homemade bouquets in his hand. “I picked these for you.”

Eddie then turns to look at you, handing you the other bouquet, “And... these are for you.”

You smile at the bundle of flowers. A colorful bunch of wildflowers that you recognize grew on the side of the road next to the trailer park. You grab his hand and kiss his cheek, muttering a ‘thank you’ and leaving Eddie blushing.

Hop clears his throat, bringing everyone's attention back to him.

“Dinner’s ready” Hop huffs out, holding a tray of food and placing it on the dinner table. You quickly walk to help him out, after placing El’s and your flowers in watered vases. El walks to the table with Eddie, tapping his shoulder.

“Can I sit with you during dinner?” El asks, almost nervously. Eddie smiles and nods.

“Of course! It’ll be exciting to sit with a real-life superhero.”

El giggles and sits down as you and your dad bring out the last of the dinner. Once everyone is seated, plates start getting moved around and dinner officially starts. And it’s scarily quiet. Eddie keeps glancing at you from across the table, his nerves setting in whenever he feels your dad staring at hm from the head of the table.

The truth is, Hop doesn’t actually hate Eddie, despite his behavior. Sure, he’s arrested him a couple of times, but he still thought Eddie was a good kid. He knew that his childhood was rough, and he wasn’t the most popular in school, so yeah, Hop didn’t hate the kid. He remembers the first time he arrested Eddie. Little 13-year-old Eddie who got caught vandalizing the side of a building. Hop just wanted to scare him, so he drove him home after an hour of holding. Hopper wasn’t expecting Eddie to pipe up from the backseat, asking if he could keep the handcuffs. But he let him none-the-less.

But the idea of Eddie dating his kid, the idea of anyone dating his kid didn’t sit right with the old chief. He was scared that his eldest would want to spend less time with their old man, before slowly stop visiting altogether. Especially all that’s happened in the last couple of years, Hopper wanted to keep his family as close to him as possible. Even if that means scaring the poor metalhead away.

Eddie continues to eat in silence, looking at you, silently asking what to do. After a shrug in response from you, Eddie decides to try small talk, hoping to get your dad to approve of him.

“This is really good, Ho- sir, um, Mr.-” Eddie stumbles, suddenly not sure what’s appropriate to call your dad.

Hop takes a drink, raising his glass to his lips in an effort to hide his smile. He’s glad that he’s able to make the boy nervous.

“Hop is fine, kid.”

Eddie lets out a relieved sigh, seemingly not embarrassing himself completely.

From that point on dinner went by smoothly. Small conversations were made, laughs were shared, until all the food was gone, and everyone’s bellies were full. El was talking to Eddie about what he should do for his next DND campaign, telling him to mess with Mike more.

When it was time for Eddie to leave, you walked him to the door, kissing his cheek as he blushed like he always does. He says goodbye to everyone, El even giving him a hug, before he walks back to his van.

Halfway there, however, he hears the front door open again. He turns around, expecting you to be there but is surprised at the site of your dad walking towards him.

“Wait up kid, wanna talk to you real quick”

Eddie gulps, fidgeting with his rings as he anticipates what your dad will say. Eddie’s expecting ‘stay away from my kid’, ‘like I’ll ever let a freak date my child’, or anything else that’ll break Eddie’s heart.

“Are you serious about this? About dating Y/N?”

Eddie was not expecting that. Especially not expecting Hop to say it with so much care.

“Absolutely, I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” Eddie responds, cheeks turning red at the truthful declaration.

Hop just nods, looking at Eddie for a moment before holding his hand out to shake. Eddie stares at it for a second before moving quickly to shake it.

Hop stares at Eddie before speaking again, “Take care of them. Because if you don’t, I’ll find you”

He says this seriously, but with the ghost of a smirk on his face.

Eddie nods quickly. But he’s not that scared of the threat, knowing he could never hurt you.

Hop gives Eddie a small smile, nodding his head before moving back to the house. Eddie smiles as he gets into the van. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he could win over the chief of police, much less get his approval to date his kid.

Eddie is still grinning the rest of his drive home, planning on keeping his promise to take care of you, hopefully for the rest of his life.

thank you so much for reading!! notes are greatly appreciated, especially reblogs and comments! ♡

[drivestraight]

I was trying to think of which scene I had the most visceral reaction to in ETA for the directors cut… and there’s one scene I literally had to hide behind my hands and breath for a solid two minutes before I could continue. It’s at Zandvoort 2025 when Lando thinks Oscar was going to say “I love you” and Oscar doesn’t realize whats happening until he’s already left the room. I would love to hear about writing that scene, when it came together, how early in the fic writing process you knew it was going to play out that way, anything you want to say about that scene

YEAHH!!! LETS GO!!!!

so basically. zandvoort in general was one of the very first scenes i figured out. i think literally like. on day 2-3 of working on the fic. so very very early in the fic writing process i knew how it was going to play out.

so just as like, a framework for timeline: i started the fic on august 30, and finished it on september 30. so it was like, september 1 or 2 (looking at my dms with lia to figure this out haha) that zandvoort's first moments came to light.

however, i tend to write in order. not chronologically, but in order of how it's presented in the fic (though it's not, like, set in stone - esp with nonlinear narratives i occasionally move scenes around) so i don't think i started WRITING zandvoort until like, mid-september, maybe around september 20.

so like. how i had envisioned zandvoort initially was: oscar's recently signed the red bull contract, landoscar are still together, oscar is keeping it from lando. the morning of qualifying, landoscar have this sweet moment in the morning, and then max fucks up in media and ends up telling the world. those were the bones of it, and i kinda just kept it in mind until i had gotten there in the narrative.

i hadn't actually planned for the I Love You until i was writing it. that was something that came like, during the actual drafting process. i remember writing it and being like wouldn't it be sick if lando thought oscar was going to say i love you. lmao. and then i wrote it. and really liked how it came out :)

basically the whole thought process behind the scene was: how do i communicate that lando loves oscar, and for the first time oscar sees it, and realizes it. how do i communicate that lando thinks that oscar loves him too (he does but, not in the same way, probably). and how do i communicate that oscar cares, and loves lando too, but in a selfish way. so i tried to focus mostly on physical descriptions and indirect descriptions of emotions to get it through to the reader. it was a sort of balancing act - i didn't want to be too obvious, but i didn't want it to go over people's heads.

here's a sort of line by line thought process:

Saturday morning, Oscar woke up with a numb arm, a crike in his back, and Lando’s hair in his mouth. They’d spent the night spooning, and they’d gotten twisted up in a weird position sometime during the night. Oscar’s phone alarm kept blaring. He groaned and tried to extricate his limbs from Lando’s hold, but Lando was, like, hugging his arm. “Turn it off,” Lando started slurring, squirming. “Y’hafta let me go then,” Oscar mumbled, but he found himself unconsciously pressing closer, sleepily nuzzling his cheek against Lando’s curls. Lando huffed, but he eventually let go of Oscar’s arm, and lifted himself just enough for Oscar to slide his arm free. Oscar rolled onto his other side, and he located his phone and turned off the alarm. Groggily, he rubbed at his eyes, then went to sit up, only for Lando to roll on top of him, and snuggle into his chest. He was so warm. He smelt nice. “Lando,” Oscar murmured, trying desperately to stay awake, even though he knew how nice it would be to sleep a few more minutes.

this whole part is like. Driving home the idea that oscar hadn't actually wanted to leave. he wanted to stay. but he already signed the contract, and he was selfishly trying to have the best of both worlds. like, the whole not wanting to leave the bed/leaving anyway is a sort of parallel to how oscar leaves mclaren. re: lando was keeping him to the bed, and even though oscar knew he had to leave, he lingered.

“What?” Lando asked, eyes closed and mouth only half-open. “I have to—” Oscar said. “Need to get dressed.” “No,” Lando said. “Mmh. Stay. Just for a few more minutes.” Really, Oscar couldn’t. He set his alarm for the latest possible time he could, but he still had to get ready two hours before Lando. He had a meeting with Christian and Mark and had to get to Red Bull’s hotel before anyone noticed. He told Lando that he was having breakfast with a friend from school who’d flown out. “Lando,” Oscar said, and he knew what he needed to do.

one of the theses of the fic is that. oscar does what he needs to do... even if it means lying/hurting other people.

“What—mmph!” Lando squeaked, when Oscar grabbed Lando’s hips and flipped them over. He pressed Lando into the mattress, licked into his mouth, and Lando breathed out a content sigh. He kissed him until he stopped writhing, was distracted and boneless enough that Oscar could sit up, find last night’s clothes strewn on the floor, and quickly put them on. Lando was pouting behind him, but he’d gathered up the sheets around his body in the meantime, the white fabric sitting on his shoulders by the time Oscar was dressed. He was watching Oscar, and there was a look on his face. Moony-eyed. He shuddered and hesitated. He really had to go now. Had to stop by his own room and brush his teeth, put on his kit, and speed to NH Zandvoort. But Lando was— He looked like he was—

in love. this is probably the first moment that oscar realizes that lando was in love with him, and it was - kind of a painful thing. for the first time he's realizing what they've done, and how badly it's all going to turn out. and it's that sort of - oscar really, really likes lando, loves him in the way that he knows how, and he feels guilty about it, but he's too selfish to stop things, holds on even though he knows they'll both be worse for it.

Slowly, Oscar walked toward him. Lando’s puffy-eyed gaze followed him, a pillow line on his cheek like he’d just pulled his balaclava off. Oscar’s thumb traced it, and it was only then that he realized he had been cupping Lando’s face. Time felt external to him, unstuck and unmoored in this moment. Lando closed his eyes, tipped his head back, like he was waiting. This kiss felt different than the last. Lando’s mouth was soft and slack. Oscar lingered. When he pulled back, he kept his hands on Lando’s cheeks. He laid his forehead on Lando’s. Their noses brushed. Oscar could feel Lando’s eyelashes on his face. He felt so close but so far away. “Lando, I—”

my goal here was to show just how much oscar was, like, into lando. how it wasn't just about the sex, how it was also about the intimacy.

Oscar, for the first time, wanted to tell him. Oscar thought, for a moment, selfishly, that maybe they could still make this work. He wanted to make it work. It would be better if they were on different teams, if they weren’t directly fighting each other in the same machinery, without the team politics. Maybe they could still fight for a title and still have this. Maybe Oscar didn’t have to let go. “Later,” he started. “I need to tell you that I—” Lando started giggling. “Yeah, yeah, I know you do,” he said, and he gently pried Oscar’s hands from his face, and pushed on his chest. “Just go. I’ll see you on track. I don’t want you to be late.”

originally, lando's dialogue was just supposed to be "Yeah, yeah, I know," but again, i wanted to make it as clear as possible to the reader what he thought he knew.

Oscar swallowed. “But—” “It’s fine,” Lando said, grinning so wide it must have hurt. It hurt Oscar too. “You can tell me later. I already know you do. I do too.” Suddenly, Oscar couldn’t get any words out. He nodded stiffly, and headed to the door. It wasn’t until Oscar was in the hall, alone, and reeling, that he realized what Lando thought he was going to say.

that last line, again, was just to make sure that this scene stood out, that there was a severe miscommunication here, in case people hadn't noticed it. like i really really wanted to cover my bases and make sure that this scene was the beginning of the end. like. a nosedive into what would happen after qualifying :)

thank you for the ask !!! zandvoort was one of my favorite scenes to write. it was one of the scenes that i had pretty much fully planned out from the very start (along with qatar), that took more shape the more i wrote/approached the scene, so when the time came to actually fill out the scene, it was actually a really easy/smooth process (i think all of monza + zandvoort took maybe 1-2 days to write?). so yeah, loved writing this scene, and thank you again for asking about it <3

[therapycat21]

Hi, I love your writing! I’d love a Travis one shot where he’s a guest on our podcast or we’re one of the sports interviewer after a game and we engage in a lot of flirty banter which ends up with him sliding in our dm’s!

Call Her Daddy?

Request? Yes/No! Description: Having the most famous podcasts on the internet, You have a guest who loves to flirt. Note: Thank you so much! It means the world. Here is your request! Much Love, TherapyCat21

"Hello, I'm Y/n and welcome to call her daddy, on today's episode we have three three-time Super Bowl champion and tight end for the Kansas City Chiefs, please welcome, Travis Kelce!" I smiled and looked over at the 6'5 bearded man in the lavender fluffy chair with headphones and a mic.

He smirks before bringing the mic to his mouth "Hello, hello thank you for having me" He smiles at the camera and turns back to face me. He never fails to have a smile on his face.

"So congratulations on your current win, I was grateful to be one of the fans in the stadium watching live this year and it was amazing to witness, how have you felt recently after all the chaos with winning a third Super Bowl?" I ask.

"Uhm it definitely has been chaotic since but things are kind of slowing down now, right now I'm kinda just relaxing and taking a good time off, eating a bunch of junk food before the next season" he chuckles.

I laugh "Hey, I would do the same if I did what you do, what's your favorite junk food?" I questioned "Definitely gotta be spicy nacho Doritos or the chunky chips ahoy cookies. " he smirked

"ooh, those sound good! but the real question is, what drink?" I smirk back. "how bout this, I'll give you the brand and we both try to name the same?" he suggests. I nod in agreement "Okay, I'm down." I tell him.

"Okay so the brand is Fanta" he looks at me with a lazy smirk. I squint my eyes at him before they widen. He claps his hands together in excitement "You know damn well which flavor I'm talkin about! On the count of three, we say it at the same time!" He tells me. I nod

I laugh before sighing "Okay ready?" I questioned, He nods

"1!"

"2!"

"3!"

"GRAPE!"

I jump from my seat laughing, as I settle back in my seat, he leans over and we high five "That's my girl, I knew you'd get it, great minds think alike" he says with a lovesick smile.

I smiled back "This has been awesome, thank you so much for coming on today, I definitely needed this!" I say with the most genuine smile I've had in months. He nods, clasping his hands together "No thank you, It feels good to be interviewed like this, We really have to do this again." he suggests.

I nod over at him "Absolutely, thanks to Travis for making room and coming onto Call Her Daddy today," I look at the camera "Please remember to like and subscribe and remember to check back soon to see who the next guest is next week! Bye everyone!" I wave at the camera before the signal is off.

I look at Travis "Seriously thank you so much for making time and coming on today, it means a lot " I tell him as I stand up from my seat. He stands "No thank you needed, It was refreshing, I needed this"

My social media manager comes over to us "Okay, can we get a picture of you two together to upload for this week's episode?" She questions.

We both nod and shuffle closer together and I finally see how tall he is compared to me, He places himself practically touching sides, throws his arm around my shoulder, and lays his head on the top of mine and we both smile as the picture is captured.

"thank you both so much," she says before walking to upload the picture.

We let go and hang out for a little longer before his manager tells us it's time for him to attend another event. We stand up from the seats we sat back on to talk more and hug each other goodbye.

I finally get back home and decide to take a shower and watch some TV with my cat when I get a notification, I open Instagram to see tons of notifications from the picture of me and Travis my manager posted for the new episode.

I look over to see a new message request, I click and see it's Travis, I smile before clicking the notification to see he tried sending me a message.

"I had an amazing time with you today, I was hoping we could do it again but this time at a nice restaurant at 8 this Friday? Let me know soon!"

I sit in shock before I respond

"Absolutely, here's my number so we can discuss this more (xxx-xxx-xxxx) ;)"

Twitter:

@user212121: Did y'all see how he was looking at her??!!!???

@furefchids: Their vibe is amazing, they go so well together!

@fhrhffds: Did not expect this pair but absolutely living for it!

[aliorsboxostuff]

So how about sub din who is just started to date Dom reader and hasn't taken his helmet off yet. So things are getting steamy with them both and is din sitting on readers lap grinding on him and reader asks if he wants to take a step further and din nods yes. And reader makes sure that din is comfortable and says to leave the helmet on for din and doesn't want to rush him. And leads to din first time with reader and is riding him in the control room in the razor crest. I hope you are doing good and really glad that you are taking mandalorian requests.-🐸

A/N Oh 🐸, you with your amazing ideas, and always so descriptive! Though I gotta change the 'Started dating reader' part because the Din in my heart is a socially awkward mf that needs at LEAST 6 months of relationship development before holding hands. I also hope you are doing well! Yall gotta bear with me here this is gonna be my FIRST take on a star wars fic, let alone a Mandalorian fic, so if I do make any mistakes while writing some Mando'a words here, feel free to DM me or reply so I can fix where I wrote it wrong! As always, apologies for some mistakes, english is my 2nd language, and enjoy dear Readers! <3

Ner Din'ika 

Tags: Din Djarin x m!Reader, Grogu, Luke Skywalker, he's there as Grogus's teacher tho lmao, Mando'a words (Translation at the end), Bottom!Din, soft!Din, Keldabe kiss, First Kiss, Riding, Pet names, touch-starved!Din, fluff, fluff and smut, aftercare.

Din's first time with you is—as expected—filled with yearning and want and scalding touches and a kiss? 

[Takes place around the time frame of Grogus training in Book of Boba Fett, but i refuse to let The Razor Crest explode so here we are]

You stand at the mouth of The Razor Crest, watching as Din supervised Grogu’s latest training with Luke. The kid has flown a total of five little pebbles and an even more impressive number of bigger boulders, seven now counting. Din, worry and protectiveness practically oozing from his armor, stands off to the side, just near the tree lines, eyes watchful of his foundling as Luke, yet again, lets the little boy fly over his head. You’d deem it dangerous, stars, maybe irresponsible. But what do you know about Jedi training?

Instead, your eyes follow the line of Din's stature. His arms are crossed, leaning against some of the bamboos. Clearly trying to resemble a sort of relaxed stance, but you can see the tension, feel it even. Comes with being a Mandalorian’s boyfriend, you chuckle. Those broad shoulders lean back, Beskar reflecting the shining light of the growing evening, slowly he turns his head to glance at you sitting on the Crest’s mouth. You meet his visor, grinning, before he curtly turns back to where he was watching his kid. Your smile widens.

You met him through Cara Dune. She’s a good friend of yours, the one who pulled you out of your boring everyday life on Sorgan, used to fish the little morsels from your villages ponds, to hanging around her and earned her respect. Until that Beskar donned man and his little green kid came. Thought he wanted to take in Cara and you were ready to step in his way, but after they dueled, they came to a truce and started their alliance. He helped the villagers fight off the raiders that once terrorized the place, and once that's done he opted to leave, not before you hitched a ride to Nevarro with Cara.

It had to be admitted, the kid did catch your heart and held on to it, so you offered to help him and Grogu find his kind. Cycles after your initial meeting, you’ve grown close with both Din and Grogu, curious at the man’s past and equally drawn to him. Then that imperial bastard, Moff Gideon, had to up and steal the kid. So you, Cara, Bo-Katan and Hell, Boba Fett himself, joined forces to save him. 

The universe truly is bountiful to its protector, because you didn't take into account that saving The Mandalorians kid would give you the honor of learning his name and, by stars, becoming his boyfriend. Remembering back to those months, you still think you're the luckiest warrior in the whole galaxy to be blessed with such an amazing and loving clan of three. 

Reeling back to reality, far into the field, you see Grogu has gone tired and Luke has halted their training for the day, the little green guy already slumping into the dirt below and curling in on himself. You sigh fondly, walking down the ramp and jogging to wear Grogus doe eyes are already half lidded, and he yawns. 

“Come here kiddo,” You coo as you pick up his little body, cradling him in your arms. You see Luke talking to Din, too far away for you to catch, but you could see him nodding to Lukes animated chatter. You smile, glancing back down to Grogus little head burying himself deeper into your warmth, he’s already pawing at the jacket you're wearing, which makes you giggle and pull it around his little body. 

Luke walks over to where you’re standing, smiling as he sees Grogu already bundled up by you. “We should have dinner first before we sleep, right Grogu?”

Now that made his floppy ears perk. Grogu immediately turns from where you were hugging him, making grabby hands and incoherent words at the idea of food, which you smile at before handing him to Lukes waiting arms. 

“We’ll join you in a bit,” You said, and Luke nodded, already turning back into the direction of his temple. 

On cue, Din approaches you and slides an arm around your middle, pulling you to him at which you welcome the tug. With a steady hand on the cool Beskar chest plate, the two of you watch as Grogu flails his arms around, undoubtedly talking about something that only Luke could understand, the serenity of the fields surrounding you lulls you into a sense of peace. You turn to meet Dins visor, directed at Luke and Grogu, before it slowly turns to you, making you smile softly. Slowly, you bring your hand to caress the side of his helmet, fingers edging slightly under it, taking in the feeling of that powerful metal that has saved your boyfriend countless times. His gloved hand holds your wrist, not tugging away, just an anchor, a testament to his trust in you to know you’ll never take off his helmet, to know you’re patient to let Din take his own pace. 

The hand holding his helmet pulls slightly, and Din comes with. Your eyes flutter close as you feel the cold Beskar touch your crown, sighing when a shaky hand cups your jaw, bringing you closer. Despite the gap the armor creates, you’re never tired of feeling Dins hand on your nape, heavy over your pulse, burning even through his gloves. You smile, pulling back slightly, before you press a kiss to where his cheeks would be. “Let’s eat, cyar’ika,” You whisper, and you feel him nod.

You smile when he pulls back, arm still securely on your hips while the other smoothes over your jaw. You chuckle, pulling him to the smell of dinner being prepared by Luke, tugging him by his hand.

— 

After dinner is done and cleaned, Din has given Grogu his nightly bath and the kid is ready to pass out at any moment. Luke has taken him to his quarters and settled the little one on his own bed, just on the other side of his room. The bots have yet to make more sleeping quarters, still focusing on more classes and storage area, so the only available bed room would be Lukes, where Grogu is also staying. 

You and Din have known this from your last visits, opting to sleep in the privacy of the Crest instead. So you and Din bid the two a good night, and trek up the clearing where the ship is docked. 

Din’s arm never left your side, holding and pressing slightly, making you arch a brow at him. He only stares at you, undoubtedly false innocent eyes inside that helmet. You scoff, nudging him aside before pressing the button to close the ramp, submerging the two of you in the darkness of the Crest, shards of the twin moons the only thing leading you and Din up into the hull of the ship. 

His hands now roam around your body, pushing you slightly until your back hits the wall, you return his desperate touch with the same fervor. Finding the sliver of body suit on his hip not covered by his armor, you snake insistent fingers into the fabric and squeeze, his helmet not able to hide his groan.

“Easy dearest,” You smooth your hand over the area, other hand holding the side of his neck, thumb drawing soothing circles. “Let's take these off, alright?” He nods shakily.

You lead him to the compartment next to the sleeping pod, the table there clean of clutter and made to store Dins armor. Piece by piece, starting with his shoulder pauldrons, each part eased off with care, pressing a kiss to the Mudhorn signet, you can hear Dins stuttered breath. Then down to his vambraces, littering kisses from his shoulder and leading a path down to his forearm, then hands as you carefully pry off those thick gloves. You push Din slightly so his waist hits the edge of the table, pressing another kiss to the bare skin of his hand, half lidded eyes meets his visor at which you hear him exhale a ragged breath. 

Carefully unbuckling the belts around his breastplate, setting it on the table before you pull off the breastplate, the bodystocking stretches over his broad chest deliciously. As you put the armor piece aside, your hand smoothes over the fabric, pressing slightly where you know Din is sensitive the most, watching him inhale sharply before you smirk, littering kisses on your way down. As you crouch, you move to take off each leg piece, first tigh guards, pressing light kisses on the exposed fabric, then shin guards and the belts on top of it, then finally the knee-pads and his heavy boots. Gentle hands stoke up slightly, pushing the end of his pants up until you feel the tickle of leg hair, Din visibly shaking on top of you, gripping the table behind him until his scarred knuckles turn white. 

You smile, languidly making your way up his body, unwrapping his cape and setting it aside. The final divide between you and your boyfriend. His last brick, and the wall crumbles down. 

Shaking hands clasps at your back as you press kisses on his still covered clavicle, making the fabric damp and warm as he squirms. You hear his breath grow ragged, then you bite down, just enough to hear him groan and drop his head to your shoulder, his hands holding onto you like a lifeline. 

“Sleeping pod or-” 

“T-the cockpit…” He falters as you press another kiss nearing his neck. “Please,” 

You hum, nodding against his neck before leading him by the hand, careful touches along his hips as you usher him up the stairs. You follow suit, not forgetting to grab the lube from the compartment on the wall. 

When your feet touch the cockpits floor, Din impatiently pulls you up, hands stroking over your chest, down to your hips at which he breathes raggedly under your chin. You chuckle, moving him back until he feels the control panel. He almost jumps to sit on it, but you sit back on the captain's chair, you pull him towards you, making him stumble into your lap. His whine reverberates through his helmet's modulator adding a static edge to it. You made sure he’s comfortable before sliding your hands to his back, reaching to tug the zipper down. 

The zippers opens his backside into the night's cold air, making him arch into your warm touch, pressing his clothed cock to your lap. He whines from the movement, holding on to your shoulders, almost crushing them. With each skin slowly being revealed into the night's air, you press your lips against it, reveling in each whine and ragged breath you got out of Din. With every part of the suit being peeled, Din’s tanned skin is shown, bathed under the light of the moons and stars. Scars on his body paint an infinite constellation, your eyes following each one, from the deep ones to those that have grown lighter than Dins expanse of skin. 

Finally, he pulls at the tight bodysuit, discarding it somewhere on the floor, and his hands paws at your jacket, labored breath impatiently prying it off of your figure. You grin, shrugging the article off, followed by your shirt, leaving the both of you shirtless and breathless. Dins shaking hand strokes down your shoulder, to your arms, before he arches into you when your languid fingers trace his sensitive back, sending jolts rippling through his body. 

“Please…” Despite his helmet still perfectly secured on his head, you could feel his warmth ghosting at your neck. It truly has been a while since you and Din shared some privacy, always jumping from planet to planet, looking for more Mandalorians to repair broken bonds and doing favors that benefit Din’s covert. Only now did you and your boyfriend get to breathe in the warm embrace of peace within this planet, so you're not surprised just how sensitive Din has gotten.

“What do you need kar’ta?” Your hand holds Dins hip, no doubt leaving marks to be cherished in the morning, letting him grind himself on your thigh, broken moans and breath singing into your ears. You pride yourself for learning bits of Mando’a if only to hear his gasps each time you use it. “Hm? What do you want?” 

“I- ugh,” Din grunts as he feels one hand snakes into his trousers, stroking him steadily, his precum easing the movement. You smirk, other hand tweaking one of his perked nipples, bumping your head against his, making sure the amber in your eyes burns through his visor. The need melts into his skin. 

You’ve never gone past reverent touches and helping each other get off by hand, you haven't even gotten the pleasure of seeing Din fall apart by your mouth, but from the way he grinds into your touch, broken moans filling the room, his desperation leaks into your body. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Stars- Yes.” He moans when you tighten your hand just so. You nod, easing your hand away from his cock which makes him whine, until you begin to help him out of his pants.

“Okay, alright,” Your breath stutters when Din grinds over your cock, already tenting in the confines of your pants. Between you and Din’s relationship, the both of you haven't truly moved on from scalding touches and helping each other get off by hand. This is a new territory for Din, and you have to make sure he feels safe and comfortable in your embrace. 

You carefully slide him out of his trousers along with his briefs and discard it with the same pile as his top, feeling his strong thighs shake underneath your touch. Fumbling for the bottle of lube, you pour just enough on your hand and warm it up a bit, before following Din’s tailbone down to the top of his arse. He shivers, whining into your shoulder as he feels your digits ghosts over his hole, already squirming in your hold. 

“Come on, please,” He begs, nails scratching at your back. You slowly insert one finger, the tip first, letting the Din situate himself to the foreign feeling. He groans, burying himself deeper between the crook of your neck, his mandibles digging slightly at your jaw. The lube easies your finger to push more, deeper, until you hear his high pitch, broken moan, then slowly push in another. At that, he jerks his head to the side, chest still flushed with yours. 

When you begin scissoring, Din throws his head back, arches into your touch, which beckons you to chase him, biting at the now exposed column of his neck, making sure to leave marks no one but you know and Din could feel. Din feels delirious, deeply intoxicated from both your fingers and the feeling of your warm mouth pressing over sensitive skin and old scars, jolting each time you bite down or kiss longer to leave darker spots. He scarcely remembers moaning out broken syllables that should form your name, making your hold on his hips tighten, squeezing the scarred skin. 

After deeming it enough prep, you carefully pull your fingers out, pressing kisses on the planes of your boyfriend's chest, feeling him take ragged breaths, a steady hue of red throughout his body. You shuffle to discard your pants, hissing when you feel the cold air hit your heated skin. You could feel Din growing impatient, if the way he squirms could be interpreted as that, so you tug your pants off and align yourself under Din. 

“Slowly baby, slowly,” You remind him, his thigh shaking with anticipation. Hands holding under his thigh, making sure gravity doesn't take hold, you lower Din’s shivering body, inch by inch. The tight heat of his hole almost stutters your hold, making you groan, feeling the head of your cock inside him. You can feel Dins graps digs into your shoulders as he gasps.

Finally, your thighs are flushed with Dins, feeling the man shudder above you as you try to regain some sort of composure, breathing in shaking breaths. Din claws his way from your pellicals to your chest, making red rivers across your chest. You groan, pushing into his touch, which in turn shifts where you sat, enough to make your boyfriend shiver.

"M-move." He manages. "Move, please." 

"Anything for you mesh'la," You say as your teeth dangerously ghosts over his pulse. 

Planting your feet on the metal floor, you suppress the cold that shoots up your bones and instead focus on holding Din upright, thrusting into him with each movement. His arms shakes, moves back to grip the control panel, his scarred knuckles a hue lighter. A deep growl rumbles through you when you feel Din’s hole clenching around you, raking blunt teeth across his chest. You trail reverent kisses across a deep scar that runs from his left clavicle to just under his abdomen, Din shivers. In a more tender moment, slowed down after release with the two of you tangled together, you would've asked what those scars meant, wondering about the stories of your boyfriend's life. Maybe later, much later in the night.

When you hear a mewl, almost a hurt sound coming from the man currently flushed on top of you, your lips curls into a sharp grin, before hauling Din from gripping at the ships console to fall into your grasp, his arms immediately around your neck with a choked gasp from the sudden change. With the chair supporting both of your weight, you have the advantage to claw at Din’s hips, digging calloused fingers into his skin, using your strength to push Din up and down.   

You feel yourself nearing the edge, with Din clenching around you it’s hard to keep up the pace. The side of his helmet would leave an angry mark on your shoulder, making you grunt when Din lets out a broken whimper and buries his head to the crook of your neck. “C-close, baby,”

“Me too…” He lets out a breathy moan when your hand finds his dick, pumping it hastily, pushing him to his limit.

“Stars i-” You stutter when Din clenches around you. “Fuck- Wish i can kiss you,” 

Slip of a tongue. Shit. 

Your movement falters, a shiver shoots up when Din pulls his head back, dark visors looking straight to you, assessing you. 

"Din i-" But before you could sputter out a reason, an apology for forsaking the trust he gave you, darkness suddenly envelops your vision, rendering you blind. Dins hand covers your eyes, you could feel his calluses over your skin.

Then, as if a searing star itself break the atmosphere, you feel slightly chapped lips against yours, a tickle of stubble and- Is that a mustache? 

Din grunts into your mouth, realizing you still have one hand wrapped around him. He moans, moving with your thrusts, his kiss devouring your gasps as you push at him, deepening it. His tongue traces yours and confidently moves in, effectively rendering your brain into a short-circuit. Your mind briefly wonders how such a reserved man has this much skill in kissing, he’s no virgin but surely he hasn't kissed anyone beside you. Then he bites at your lower lip before bringing you deeper again with a hand on your nape, and all hell breaks loose.

You growl into the kiss, basking in the whimper he lets out as your hand moves faster and thrust grows sloppier, but definitely still hitting that spot that makes Din scream. He pulls back, inhaling sharply when you bite lightly on his jaw, feeling the hair that decorate it. Oh you’d worship him just to see his debauched face without being blind, and the thought is enough to make you cum. 

You feel yourself release inside Din’s warmth, making him shiver and let out a broken moan of your name. With your hand jerking him off, he follows suit, throwing his head back, painting his chest with strings of pearly cum. Once spent, he slumps into your embrace, helmet already in place and breathing raggedly next to your ear. You pry his hand off your eyes and press a kiss to the sliver of neck you could reach. 

Blinking away the little dots from your eyes being closed and pressed by his hand, you slowly steady your breath as you rub circles on Dins pelicals and lower back, feeling him sigh and melt at your touch. You can't help to let out a chuckle, which earns you a questioning sound from your boyfriend. 

“Nothing, just…” You smile, licking at your lips, trying to savor Din’s taste. “Best kiss I've ever had.”

That made him chuckle, nuzzling the cool helmet against the side of your neck. “Me too.”

Your smile widens, closing your eyes and simply letting the warmth of after-sex wafts through the cockpit. Speaking of which, you should probably clean up and sleep in the proper sleeping pod. The seat, plush as it is, won't do your back any good. So you reach for your scattered pants, looking for the fabric you always keep in your back pocket. When you finally find it, you shift Din a bit to clean up the mess that went up to both his and your chest, then carefully pull out of the man, making you groan as he shivers, wiping down what leaks out of him and the remaining lube around your length. 

Standing up and making your way down takes another effort, but nothing you can't do for Din, sleepy and content Din in your arms. Pushing the button to open the sleeping pod, you set him down on the edge of it before handing him a bottle of water.

“Drink, love,” You grin, before busying yourself on the table where another water bottle is kept and downing it. You hear the hushed shh of Dins helmet as it’s being taken off, then the cap of the water bottle turning. You swallow another gulp of water, before flashes of earliers heated kiss shocks you and makes you choke on the water slightly. You cough, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before closing the bottle and setting it back. 

“You uh… Done?” You clear your throat.

“Yeah,” You nod, turning back to see Dins helmet back on and him extending his arm, returning the bottle to you. You set it on the table and push him back to lie down in the pod. It’s always been a tight fit with both you and your boyfriend sleeping in it, but you make do.

When the doors are shut and the lights turned off, another hiss of Dins helmet makes your heart thump harder, but he shifts to place it on a small compartment off to the side and lays his head on your chest, one arm around you. You hook your arm around him, the other playfully raking through his curls. You could tell just from how it coils around your fingers, Din practically purring into your touch like a Loth Cat. You grin, pressing a kiss to his forehead before shifting to get comfortably on the pillow. 

“Good night, Din'ika,”

“Good night, Cyar’ika,” 

Cyar'ika: Darling, beloved, sweetheart 

Kar'ta: Heart

Mesh'la: beautiful

Requests are open! 

[joshsindigostreak]

I See Hell in Your Eyes

Chapter Nine

“Your pretty face and electric soul.”

Vampire!Josh x Vampire!Reader

Authors Note: Good morning, readers! Sorry for putting yall through the wringer in Chapter Eight. It will happen again, but not in this chapter! This one is a lot sweeter. If you haven’t read Chapter Eight yet I highly suggest you do so because this chapter won’t make a lot of sense without it. Also as always my inbox and DMs are always open so if you want to come scream at me after a chapter feel free to do so! Every single one of y'alls comments and thoughts means the world to me and I love hearing what you think. 😘😘😘

Word Count: 7310

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of blood, allusions to violence, SMUT, 18+, minors DNI, blood play, teasing, brat taming if you squint, fang play(?), I think that’s it. :)

Sixteen hours. That's how long Josh had been asleep. The first two hours, you didn’t even move. You just held him as he slept, gently cleaning up any blood with a towel and running your fingers through his hair. Eventually, you shifted from behind him and got him properly tucked in. But you kept your promise, your eyes never left him for a second. After redressing you laid down next to him on the bed over the duvet. 

You were so focused on him that you didn’t even hear the door open, or notice Dimitri standing next to the bed. 

“How is our dear Joshua?”

Without looking up, you say,, “he’s fine.”

“How long has it been?”

“Sixteen hours.”

Dimitri hummed in response, “how long did it take for you to wake up?”

“Two nights.”

“Typically it's around the same amount of time for a Maker and their new Vampire,” he paused and said, “have you slept at all, darling?”

Ignoring his question you replied, “some people don’t wake up at all…”

“Oh that's very rare, and you know that-”

“Rare, but not impossible.” 

“I knew someone who took six nights to come back, and do you remember that Mary girl who lived with us during the twenties? She took over a week. It all just depends, darling.” 

“How long did you take?”

He looked off in the distance for a moment, “roughly three nights. Woke up in the basement of a church of all places.”

“I was in a carriage,” you said softly, the memories floating back to you, “in the middle of the day, no less. He was inside, sleeping.” For a moment, you were back in that carriage, terrified and unsure of where you were. You had made the mistake of pulling one of the curtains to the side to look out the window, only to be immediately met with searing pain on your hand from the sun. It was hours before your Maker came back to check on you. 

Dimitri shook his head, “Isaac wasn’t the most…thoughtful of Maker’s.”

You sat up on the bed, laughing a little, “that's putting it mildly.” 

“Have you heard from him at all?”

“Not since ‘84, and even that was too much.” 

Dimitri chuckled slightly before turning towards the door, “you should come downstairs, Portia and Magnus are finally back from their holiday. They’d love to see you.”

You shook your head and looked back at Josh, “no, I’m good…I’m staying up here.”

He smiled warmly, “I meant what I said last night, that you must mean a lot to him. Some people beg to be turned for other reasons, power, immortality, staying young forever, but he simply didn’t want to see you hurt. He didn’t even hesitate once he heard the terms. Love like that is rare.” 

The l-word caught you off guard and you sputtered, “I don’t know…I mean…we’ve barely even…it's kind of soon for that.”

“We’re Vampires, darling, since when do we care about time?” You were silent, trying to will the blush away from your skin. Before he left the room, he said, “if you need anything, just call for Phillip. He’ll bring you anything you need.” 

You resisted the urge to make a smartass comment about Phillip, “thank you, Dimitri.”

“Any time, darling,” he said before disappearing down the hall. 

Josh remained still in the bed, having not moved very much at all in the last few hours. You reached over and brushed his curls back again, and you weren’t sure if you were soothing Josh or soothing yourself. 

As the hours passed, you could not fight off sleep any longer, eventually letting it wash over you as you laid beside your lover. It wasn’t a restful sleep, in fact you found yourself waking up every other hour or so. Each time you’d sit up and check the time, noting how long it had been. You were still so full from the draining that you couldn’t even fathom feeding for at least a couple more days. Dimitri had checked in a few more times, sitting beside the bed to keep you company, but you turned down any invitation to come downstairs. You couldn’t risk it. You couldn’t miss him waking up, you were not going to chance Josh waking up frightened and alone. You wouldn’t let history repeat itself. 

~!~

Miles away, a now solitary hunter paced around his brother’s apartment. He had not felt ‘right’ in hours. Specifically, sixteen hours and five minutes. His Witch had tried to calm him down several times, but this was something she couldn’t fix. Not with her words, not with her love, and not with her magic.

~!~

It was the second night now, and you were dozing next to him. Movement next to you had you snapping your eyes open, and you saw Josh had rolled over on his side, facing you. His eyes were still closed, but his brows were knitted tightly together, and a frown was fixed on his face. 

You reached out, wanting to smooth your hand over his face, but his hand shot out from under the covers and snatched your wrist midair. The reflex was too fast, and his grip was too hard to be…human. Your entire body froze. 

Suddenly his eyes snapped open, his brown eyes staring at you, but not seeing you. You were flipped onto your back as he hovered over you, hand still gripping your wrist next to your head. He was still looking at you as if he didn’t recognize you. That was common after a Vampire wakes up, as the adjustment period was far longer than the movies and books would lead you to believe. 

“Boy Scout…,” you whispered slightly, hoping to jog his memory.

A low rumble came from his chest in response. That was another thing, it often took Vampires a little while to regain the ability to speak. 

Breathing heavily over you, his eyes raked down your form and his other hand reached towards your face. Those soft fingertips of his grazed your cheek, tracing your bone structure, your nose, and down your neck. His hand curled around your neck, his thumb slid across your jaw and landed on your lips, a familiar move he had done many times. 

You remained stock still, letting him explore. His eyes hadn’t met yours again, instead he was staring down at your lips while his thumb rubbed your bottom lip a few times. Taking a chance, you slightly puckered your lips to kiss the pad of his thumb. He blinked several times before finally looking up and into your eyes. There he was. His eyes softened immediately and he opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. He tried again, but it wasn’t happening for now. 

“It’s ok…you don’t have to talk right now, Josh,” you whispered. 

Instead, he crashed his lips onto yours, and sank his body down to rest fully on top of you. The hand wrapped around your wrist let go and slid up to thread his fingers in yours, which you gladly squeezed back. Now it was your turn to reach up and cup his face, feeling his muscles move as he tilted his head to get a better angle. 

But the sweet moment was cut short by him wrenching away from your face in pain. He sat up and straddled your waist, hands covering his mouth as he groaned into his palms. His fangs. They were trying to come down but he didn’t know how to relax and let it happen. Contrary to how they’re depicted in various forms of media, fangs don’t just instantly ‘click’ down. It's a skill. A skill one has to learn and hone in order to be able to feed properly and efficiently. 

You carefully sat up and gently took his hands away from his face. His eyes looked scared again, and you quickly shushed him and softly spread your thumbs across his upper lip where his gums were. He winced a little at the sensitivity as his hands rested on your forearms. 

“It's your fangs trying to come out for the first time. You have to relax, Josh,” he looked at you skeptically, “they can’t come down until you relax. Breathe through your nose for me? Yeah?” 

He fully sat down on your thighs, and did what he was told and took deep breaths through his nose. His eyes were trained on you the entire time. He could feel his teeth begin to move, his canine teeth especially. It felt like an invisible force was prying them out of his mouth. 

“I know it hurts, it always does the first few times, but soon you won’t even feel it happening, I promise,” your thumbs moved to his cheeks, your right one resting where his dimple normally was. 

He nodded slightly and leaned into your hand, trying to stay relaxed. 

“Watch me, ok?” You opened your mouth, baring your teeth and took a few deep breaths and slowly let down your own fangs. After over 350 years, it was hard to slow down the process, as you could complete the action as fast as blinking at this point, but you tried your best so your hunter-turned-Vampire could see it for himself. He studied the movement as it happened, finally having a proper visual to mentally focus on. 

After a few more deep breaths, his teeth shifted again, this time down, but not all the way. A smile lit up your face as he parted his lips to show you, and you whispered praises to him as he continued breathing. With a slight groan, his teeth descended all the way, and you saw his fangs for the first time. 

You stared in awe. While you met him as a human, seeing fangs in his mouth looked so…natural on him, as if they had always been there. Unexpected tears formed in your eyes, as it really hit you that he was a Vampire now, he was like you, and the two of you were the same. 

“Beautiful…,” you mused while touching one with your thumb, “do you want to see them?”

He nodded, and you looked around to see if there was a mirror. The closest thing you had was your phone, and you quickly snatched it off the nightstand and turned the camera on, flipping it to selfie-mode and handing it to Josh. He turned the phone over in his hands and held it in front of his face. It was definitely strange to see protruding fangs in his mouth, but they didn’t feel out of place. He ran his tongue over them a few times, feeling how sharp they were, how much longer they were from his other teeth, and he turned his head back and forth to see them at different angles. Satisfied, he tossed your phone to the side on the bed before turning back to you and cupping your face once more to collide his lips to yours, this time smiling into the kiss. 

It had been so long since you’ve kissed a fellow Vampire, especially one you lov- had feelings for. Your tongue slid across his teeth, feeling the contours and length of his fangs, and it was your turn to smile against his lips. He laid you back down onto the bed, shifting his legs so that he was between yours. His lips were everywhere, kissing all over your face and playfully scraping the tips against your skin. 

But the urge to drive them into your neck, to fully taste you in a way he couldn’t when he was human, was reaching a boiling point in his system. He was putting more and more pressure against your neck, but not breaking the skin…yet.

You quickly recognized what he was doing, what he wanted, and you pushed him away so that he was back over your face instead. 

“As much…as much as I’d love for you to do that…your first feed has to be with human blood…,” you were almost sad in telling him no, but this was a process that wasn’t fully complete until he tasted human blood for himself. It was what fully sealed a Vampire in their new form of existence, the full stop at the end of a sentence. Sheepishly, he closed his lips over his teeth, feeling like he had done something wrong. You caught the look in his eyes and quickly reassured him, “no no, it's ok, we’ll have plenty of time to do that afterwards, I promise.” You figured Dimitri himself would have a human or two on hand for feeding, as he was never a fan of blood bags. 

As if on cue, the older Vampire in question rapped his knuckles on the door as he opened it.

“Is our dear-,” before he could finish his sentence Josh immediately shifted on the bed and practically shielded you from Dimitri, his instincts taking over briefly. Dimitri held up his hands in truce, “now now, Joshua I’m not going to do anything. It's wonderful to see you awake and back with us.” 

You sat up behind Josh, looking at Dimitri over his shoulder, “you wouldn’t happen to have a human on hand? Please?”

“About that…after we talked earlier I let the Council know about your decision and that you were handling it yourself. They insisted on sending a representative here to make sure it actually happened.” He sighed before continuing, “Judith…is downstairs in the conservatory waiting for you.”

“Right now? He still can’t talk! He needs to have his first feed.” 

“I know, darling, I didn't expect them to send her this quickly,” he rolled his eyes as he said ‘her’, letting you know that Judith was not one of his friends on the Council. “I’ll give you a few minutes, but it’ll be better for everyone if you don’t keep her waiting.” With a sympathetic look, he closed the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone. 

“I’m so sorry, Josh, I didn’t kn-,” he turned and pressed a finger to your lips and shook his head, shushing you and letting you know that he understood. He got off the bed and collected his clothes from earlier that you had folded and placed on the couch. He threw his shirt on as he walked towards the ensuite at the far end of the room. You had already dressed while you had waited for him to wake up, so you sat at the edge of the bed and let him get ready. As he walked to the ensuite, you couldn’t help but notice that his walk was slightly different. His shoulders were straighter, his strides were quieter but more deliberate. You wondered if he himself even noticed the changes yet. From the angle of where you were sitting, you could just barely see himself checking his teeth out in the mirror again. His fangs had retreated back into his gums, and now his top row of teeth looked completely normal. 

His eyes looked at you through the mirror, catching your gaze. He smirked at you, before turning to finish getting dressed. As he exited the ensuite he locked eyes with you again and in an attempt at his new speed, he tried to race over to you. However, stopping was a completely different story, and he ended up tackling you onto the bed. 

Giggling, you reached up and traced his nose with your finger, “don’t worry, you’ll get there, Boy Scout.” You lifted your head to kiss him, and whispered against his lips, “come on, let's get this over with.” 

It wasn’t hard to find the conservatory, all you had to do was follow the classical music being played. Just like the rest of the manor, Dimitri spared no expense in this room either. It was a massive space, with a complete wall of windows that went from the floor all the way into the ceiling, creating a dome-like appearance. It was a perfect view of the stars at night, and a perfectly lethal place for a Vampire to be in after sunrise. He also had so many plants in the room it almost looked like a small forest in the room. Most of the flowering plants had closed their blooms for the night, and the evergreens sat peacefully in their pots. The main source of light in the room were the various lanterns that were strategically placed among the greenery. It created such an intimate atmosphere, especially with the light of the Waning Moon filtering in from the windows above. 

The beauty of the room stopped when you spotted the Council member sitting rather stiffly on the couch towards the middle of the room. Judith, as Dimitri called her, was a Vampire who appeared to be in her late fifties, with blonde hair that was so faded it almost looked gray at certain angles. She had it in a tight ponytail, making her sharp cheekbones the main feature of her face. Her eyes were equally gray, and they narrowed at the sight of Josh. 

“Ah, finally, there they are,” she said in mock enthusiasm. 

“Judith please,” Dimitri said with a sigh while nursing a drink in his hand.

Josh’s hand slid into yours as you made your way to the center of the room. His expression was neutral, but you knew his mind was full of thoughts and words for the snotty Vampire in front of him. 

Judith uncrossed her ankles and stood up, clipboard firmly in the crook of her arm. She gave you a look that let you know to let her look at Josh alone, and you reluctantly let go of his hand and went over to stand next to Dimitri. Her back was to you now, but you were still able to maintain eye contact with Josh.  

“Open your mouth,” she commanded flatly. She wanted to see his fangs. 

Josh looked at you briefly over her shoulder, starting to panic because he had only made his fangs come down once at this point, and was still getting the hang of it. He put his hands behind his back and wrung his wrists, trying to remember what you had told him. 

You kept eye contact with him, and motioned for him to take some deep breaths and to relax. Dimitri nodded along next to you; he wanted Josh to succeed almost as much as you did. 

Josh’s Adams apple bobbed a little before he opened his mouth. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to replicate how he had done it upstairs less than an hour ago. Judith stood there, staring at his teeth with an unimpressed look on her face. But after a few tense minutes, his fangs descended and locked in place. 

Judith made a small “hmph” sound and reached into the pocket of her skirt to fish out a measuring tape. She held the tape next to one of his fangs, and wrote down the measurement on the clipboard. She switched to the other side to get the other’s measurement, before mumbling loud enough for everyone to hear, “it's ok they’ll get longer in time.” 

Josh clamped his mouth shut and gave her a look that was so pointed, you were glad he wasn’t able to actually speak. But the way his eyes glared at her spoke volumes on their own. 

Judith ignored him while she made notes on the clipboard, scribbling away her thoughts and observations. 

“Has he fed yet,” she said without looking up.

“Umm…no, not yet-”

“Excellent. Bring in one of your humans, Dimitris,” she commanded as she finished her notes and looked back up at Josh. 

Dimitri sighed and took a long sip of his drink before motioning to one of his staff to fetch one of his human companions. He always had a steady supply of willing humans who were into being fed on. He had a knack for finding them in the haystack that was humanity. 

Josh looked at you again over Judith’s shoulder, the same panicky look from before had returned on his face. 

You mouthed, it's going to be ok, at him as the door opened and a woman in her mid twenties entered the room. 

Her eyes lit up when she saw Dimitri, “hi Dimitri…,” she gave him a flirty wave with her fingers. 

“Pleasure as always, Rebeckah,” he said with a small smile. She already knew where to go and dutifully went over to the couch and sat down, keeping her eyes on Dimitri the whole time. 

Judith motioned for Josh to join Rebeckah, and made his way over to the couch and sat down. You started to follow him before she barked, “I’d like to witness this alone, actually.” 

Something in you snapped, “the fuck you wi-”

Dimitri quickly stepped in, “what she’s trying to say is, as his Maker, I think it’s more than fair for her to be in the room for his first feed? Since he doesn’t know what he’s doing, she has a right to be here. In fact it would be the responsible thing to do, don’t you agree?”

Judith rolled her eyes, “fine, but she can’t interfere. The Council wants to see how he does on his own.” 

The Council didn’t want to see shit, you thought, they wanted him to fail. They wanted the ‘I told you so.’ 

Dimitri’s large hand landed on your shoulder, giving you a comforting squeeze. 

“Very well,” he said in a clipped tone. 

You looked up at Dimitri, the worry written all over your face. He gave your shoulder another squeeze. 

Tentatively, Josh reached over and took Rebeckah’s wrist in his hand, figuring that would be the best place. He could feel her pulse through her arm, and it made his gums above his fangs throb. He felt is instincts trying to guide him, which was a good sign until-

“Oh not the wrist, it's your first feed after all, I know you really want the neck deep down,” she was practically taunting him at this point, and turned back to the older Vampire and used his own words against him, “don’t you agree, Dimitris?” 

Dimitri’s mouth twisted into a frown, “it is the ideal spot I suppose…”

You were practically vibrating with rage right now, and you wanted to physically rip Judith’s head off her body yourself. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to be right there with him, guiding him through it and making sure he didn’t take too much. 

“Don’t be shy, get closer to her,” Judith said while flicking her wrist at Josh. 

Rebeckah obliged first and scooted close to him, angling her head to expose her neck. The smell of her blood filled his nostrils, and at first he thought he was hallucinating. He knew his senses would be stronger, but actually experiencing it was completely different. 

Judith had her back to you and Dimitri once again, and you used this to your advantage as you looked at Josh over her shoulder. You feigned scratching your neck to show him where to put his hand, which he immediately copied. 

He lowered his face to her neck, the scent of her blood was almost overwhelming to him now and it was still safely in her body. Part of him was running on pure instinct, and getting impatient that he hadn’t sunk his teeth into her yet, whereas the other part of him was having an out of body experience as the reality of the situation hit him. He was really about to drink blood, as a Vampire, for the first time. However, the instinctual side of him won out and he pressed his new fangs against her neck. He could feel her pulse against his teeth, and with the same ‘fuck it’ mentality one has before a shot of tequila, he pierced her flesh and her blood began flowing into his mouth. 

Rebeckah made a small squeak, but she relaxed in his hold and a serene smile spread across her face. 

Josh breathed through his nose and took his first real pull from her, and the sudden burst of flavor nearly had his eyes rolling back. He never expected blood to taste this good, let alone have a flavor profile. He recalled the taste of blood as he remembered it from his youth, that gross metallic flavor that would fill his mouth whenever he’d lose a tooth, or that one time Jake hit him in the mouth while they were fighting and cut his lip open. But now? Now he was getting notes of…lilies? Lavender maybe? It was all so overwhelming he wasn’t sure, he just knew that it was good. He kept pulling and pulling, feeling it run out of his mouth a little and down his chin. 

You on the other hand were watching him like a hawk, and listening to Rebeckah’s heartbeat even closer. It was still steady and normal, but you knew it wouldn’t be that way for much longer. The way Josh was pulling was very deep, but he didn’t understand that yet. If you hadn’t been so stressed about your lack of involvement, you would’ve noted how absolutely gorgeous he looked while feeding. He needed to slow down, if not stop completely. You thought back to your first feed, and it didn’t end well for the human involved because you had zero guidance. Isaac had just let you do what you wanted and cleaned up the mess later. But you didn’t want that for Josh, he didn’t deserve to be traumatized right out of the gate like that. 

He didn’t want this to end, part of him wanted to keep going until he couldn’t anymore. But this low thumping noise in his head got slower, and it was then he realized he had been hearing her heartbeat the entire time. It was slowing down, and he had just enough wherewithal to know he needed to let go. But knowing and doing were two different things. 

You were starting to panic, and you looked at Josh, hoping he’d look up just long enough to make eye contact with you. Judith started scribbling notes again, and you wanted to crack that entire clipboard over her head. You thought about faking a cough, making some sort of noise, but you didn’t want her to send you out of the room for ‘interfering.’ 

Josh wrenched his eyes open, and looked up to find you. He saw your eyes were watery and filled with panic, and he understood why. From your vantage point, you mouthed the words, “you need to let go,” to him, and he wanted to listen, he really did, but it was as if his mouth and his brain weren’t working together. But, he tried anyway, and loosened his grip on Rebeckah’s neck and slowly worked at dislodging his fangs from her neck. He fought the urge that was screaming at him to keep going, to drain her dry like a juice box, but he refused to let that voice win. With more force than he would’ve liked, he pulled his teeth from her neck, and let go of her completely. 

Before he could fully relax, he saw you point at your teeth, and then patted the side of your neck with those same fingers, silently telling him to use his blood to heal the bite. Josh sprung into action, quickly and hastily biting his index finger, breaking the skin and rubbing his own blood amongst her own on her neck along the puncture wounds. Within seconds they began to close and he was able to lean back on the couch, out of breath. 

Judith paused for a second in her scribbling, and looked at her watch on her wrist and wrote down the time. She observed Rebeckah for another minute, who seemed completely fine with the situation and was only slightly miffed she had blood on her dress. 

Dimitri gestured at the staff member standing by the door, “please take Miss Rebeckah to the kitchens to get her something to eat. Have the chef make her whatever she wants.” 

Rebeckah smiled and stood up from the couch, “and what about my dress?”

“I’ll get you a new one, as always,” this made her smile as she made her way out of the room. 

Without a second glance at Josh, Judith turned back to Dimitri and sighed, “I’ll give my observations to the Council but everything seems to be fine.” She looked at Josh over her shoulder, “welcome to your new life, don’t fuck up. We know who your family is, after all.” 

Josh glared at her as she exited the room. Dimitri gave you a nod and left as well, leaving the two of you alone. 

As soon as the door shut you rushed over to Josh, your hands immediately took his, as apologies fell from your mouth, “I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t know that was going to happen, you weren’t supposed to be alone like that-”

“...sw-sweetheart…,” his voice was so faint, but it was there. He was gaining his voice back. Relief flooded through you, you didn’t realize just how much you missed his voice until he spoke again. You couldn’t take it anymore and practically lept into his lap and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. His arms instantly wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. He was so thankful to finally get his hands on you. 

After spending several minutes just lying in his arms and breathing him in, you pulled back and said, “are you ok? How do you feel?”

A dreamy smile spread across his face, “honestly? I feel fucking incredible right now.” His voice was still scratchy, but it was gradually getting stronger.

You smiled back, “yeah? You did so good earlier, I want you to know that. They were setting you up to screw up but you didn’t. It's so difficult to stop like you did the first few times, let alone the first time. I’m so proud of you, Boy Scout.”

His cheeks reddened at the praise, “Ah, I just…I just remembered what you told me about listening for the heartbeat…had to force myself off though.” 

You were beaming at him now, “I’m not saying it's going to be easy, but I just know you’re going to be so good at it in no time. Next time I’ll be right there with you, I promise. I won’t let anyone get in the way of that again.”

His hands slipped under your shirt and rubbed the skin of your back, “I know you wanted to be there, it wasn’t your fault…” 

“But I-”

“I don’t want you to beat yourself up over this, it happened, but all we can do is move forward.”

You knew he was right, but you still felt bad, “I know I just-”

“Next time we can share, yeah?”

That surprised you, and you smirked at him, “Boy Scout…” 

He glanced out the wall of windows, and noticed the dark blue sky was starting to get lighter, “I think…I think we need to go back upstairs…and shut the windows…,” the suggestion dripped from his voice.

“Race you there?”

“You better get started, sweetheart…,” his eyes bore into yours before you took off from the conservatory. The two of you were a pair of giggling blurs rushing up the stairs to the third floor. He caught up to you at the door, and lurched to a halt while pressing you up against the solid wood. You reached behind you to start twisting the doorknob as he snaked an arm around your waist. His eyes looked even darker in the dim lighting of the corridor, but his smile was sweet, a combination that only he could pull off. 

Stumbling into the room, Josh locked the door behind him before reaching down and firmly gripping your thighs and wrapping them around his waist. He carried you backwards to the bed, while you stripped your shirt off and threw it blindly to the side. Your hands instantly returned to his cheeks as he laid you on the bed. He stood up momentarily to throw off his own shirt, before crawling up the bed and getting on top of you. The rest of your clothes were quickly shed, leaving the both of you naked. 

Josh’s mouth devoured yours, sucking on your bottom lip before he slipped his tongue inside and tangled it with your own. You moaned into his mouth, the relief of him being okay and back in your arms spurring you on. He groaned and lifted off your lips slightly, running his tongue along his top teeth. He looked at you, a little annoyed at his own body as his fangs tried to descend again. 

You recognized the look, and you smiled, “don’t fight it, Josh. Let them down, I wanna see them again…” 

He closed his eyes for a few seconds and concentrated. They came down ever so slightly faster this time, but he still winced at the pain. 

Staring at him, you reached up and gently touched one with your finger, “I just can’t get over how beautiful they look on you…” 

His cheeks reddened before he started working his way down your body, kissing every bit of skin he could reach. Every so often he’d drag his fangs across your skin, causing you to arch your back. As he made his way down to your core, he deliberately skipped where you needed him most to pay attention to your thighs. 

You sat up on your elbows and made a noise in protest, which made him chuckle against your skin. One of the few downsides (at least to him) to you being a supernatural creature was that any hickey’s he made would heal within minutes, but he loved littering your skin with them anyway. The way you arched towards him, trying to get him where you needed him only made him tease you further. Every time you thought he was going to put that perfect mouth of his against your core, he’d switch to the other thigh to nip and suck at your skin. 

“If you don’t-”

Before you could finish your sentence your lover latched onto your core, flattening out his tongue and licking a stripe from your entrance to just below your clit. A frustrated noise escaped you, and his eyes met yours with the most mischievous energy behind them. Those pools of molten molasses seemed to darken even more. Tilting his head slightly and curling his lip up to show you his teeth, he drug one of his new fangs over the edges of your lips, up and up, and slowly circled your clit. He put just enough pressure for you to feel the sharp edge against your sensitive flesh, before diving in and sharply sucking your clit into his mouth. You cried out, loud enough to echo around the room, and you couldn’t give a shit if anyone in this fortress of a house could hear you. 

Two of his fingers teased your entrance before plunging in, curling upwards and giving that spot inside you all the attention they could. His pace was quick and brutal, spurred on but the grip you had in in his hair and how you were practically fucking his mouth. He grinded his own need onto the mattress, desperate for some friction of his own. 

It wasn’t long before your first orgasm of the night washed over you, making you shake beneath him while grinding on his face. His fingers worked even harder to ride it out, drawing it out as long as possible for you. But he didn’t give you a chance to fully still. Placing one final kiss to your clit, he crawled up your body to claim your mouth, letting you taste yourself all over him. 

You were far from done when you flipped him over, straddling his hips and grinding against his cock. He threw his head back and made the sexiest whining sound you had heard in a long time. He sat up and gripped your ass, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Tell me what you want…,” he whispered against your mouth while keeping you hovered just above his cock.

“Josh please-”

“Josh please, what, sweetheart?” 

“I need you, don’t be mean,” your voice was nearly an octave higher than normal, and now it was your turn to sound whiny. 

“...and what do you need?”

Your nails dug into the skin at the base of his neck, not caring if they broke skin a little now, he could handle it. 

“Your cock, Josh, I need your cock.”

His eyebrows raised in the cockiest manner, “oh? This? This cock?” Before you could answer he pulled you down onto him, plunging him deep inside as he bottomed out. His eyes rolled back at finally being inside you, and you used this distraction to tighten your pussy around him as revenge. A strangled noise left his throat, “you are…such…a little brat…” 

You smirked as you started to work yourself on his cock, relishing in every ridge and vein he had to offer you. He kept one arm around your ass, guiding you and gripping you as he leaned back on his other hand. As your pace quickened, you felt your own gums start to itch and move. You let your fangs descend, not wanting or needing to hold back anymore while with your lover. He was kissing your shoulder, and you leaned your head down to graze your teeth against the shell of his ear. 

He lifted his head, and gave you an equally toothy grin, both of you baring your fangs at each other. 

“Boy Scout…,” you started, nearly breathless, “remember earlier when I told you to wait?” He instantly caught on to what you were referring to, when he had almost bit you earlier. His Adam's apple bobbed as he nodded. “If I let you do that…can I bite you too?” 

His cock twitched inside you at the question, “please, please do…”

“Taste me, Josh, show me you know how,” you whispered. 

Another strangled sound escaped him before he lowered his head and pierced your neck with his fangs. It had been…a long time, decades even, since you had had a Vampire taste you. It was such an intimate act, most considered it almost sacred. 

Josh took a long pull off of you, and the first note that hit his tongue was a distinct cherry flavor, tart but sweet, along with a distinct undercurrent of sea salt. He could practically smell the ocean. Flashes and sounds started to flood his mind, swirling around in his mind's eye. They focused, and he saw you, as a teen in Jamestown, scrubbing the floors of the house you used to live in. A second flash, it's the Victorian era, and you’re giggling in bed with another man. You called him Colin before it dissipated. Another flash, it’s twenties and you look sad as you sipped your drink. You were surrounded by people partying, but you weren’t matching the energy. A final flash, this time it's the seventies and you look darling in your bell bottoms and feathered hair. You seemed happier then, laughing with a few girlfriends in a bar. 

The feeling of his fangs in your skin hurtled you toward your second orgasm. Before you could reach your high, you bit down on your lover's flesh. His taste…his taste was the same, but it was so much more vibrant? As if it had been turned up several notches. That orangey citrus flooded your senses, and as the vanilla showed itself to you, flashes started behind your eyes too. A small, scared, seven year old Josh scrambled to stab a rogue Vampire in the leg with a knife from under his bed. Another flash, this time Josh was older, late teens at best, getting lectured by his father about a hunting job gone wrong. The importance of his responsibility as the “oldest” was being drilled into his head. Flash number three, Josh is sitting next to his twin in front of a fire, laughing at some inside joke as he brings his beer to his lips. Who knew Jake Kiszka was capable of smiling? The final flash was him gathering some files on a table, the one on top had your name clearly on the tab. He wasn’t in his apartment, but in a room that looked like an office. 

Your vision went dark as your high overtook you, making you shake and pulse around him. His cock twitched inside you again, and a muffled groan shuddered against your skin letting you know he had reached his own high. Carefully, you each withdrew your teeth and lapped at the fresh blood on your skin as your wounds healed. 

Josh kissed you softly, mixing your blood with his, enjoying the taste. He opened his eyes and smiled at you, feeling more content and happy than he had in days. The stress from the past week had completely evaporated, and in this moment, all he saw, all he cared about, was you. 

His Vampire. 

The adoration for him was written all over your face, and you silently noted the blood smeared all over him. You looked over your shoulder at the ensuite, and could see the edge of a clawfoot tub from the doorway. 

“Lets get cleaned up, Boy Scout…”

His grin widened and he looked over your shoulder, seeing what you were looking at. He also saw the first light of the day start to filter in through the windows. Thankfully the bed was positioned in a way that didn’t put it anywhere near them, but in order to get the ensuite they’d have to cross them. Carefully he kept you in place as he reached for the remote on the nightstand. 

He punched the buttons, and the shades came down. His hand squeezed the flesh of your ass, “only the moon gets a free show, sweetheart…” 

You gave him a quick kiss before crawling off of him and leading him into the bathroom. Soon, the both of you were situated in the hot water, enjoying the extra wide clawfoot tub. 

Josh tried to take the lead in cleaning  up, but you stopped him and took it upon yourself to clean the blood off of his skin. He relaxed into the water as you swept the rag over his skin. Meticulously you cleaned any dry blood out of his beard and mustache, kissing him as you went. It had been a long time since someone had properly taken care of him afterwards. 

It was clear to you that the new-Vampire exhaustion was creeping up on your lover, and you worked a little faster to get him cleaned up so the two of you could return to bed. He would probably have another long sleep again, but not nearly as long as that first one. The process of becoming a Vampire was complete, but it still took time for the body to adjust.

Soon you were back in bed with him, the covers pulled over your exhausted bodies as you wrapped yourselves around each other. His ear was on your chest, and you were softly grazing your nails against his scalp. His eyes were closed, and sleep was well on its way. 

He pressed a soft kiss against your skin before mumbling, “...love you…” 

You stared at him as he completely stilled in your arms, eyes welling up, 

“Love you too, Boy Scout,” but you weren’t sure he heard it. 

To be continued…

Tag List:  @dannyandthekiszkas , @readyforthegarden  , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal , @myownparadise96 , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmelbourne , @twistedmelodies , @that-witchy-pan , @gold-mines-melting , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface , @sadiechar , @char289 , @stardustvanfleet ,

[formosusiniquis]

“There's a goblin, crouched over a large stone table. He's got long greasy hair that probably hasn't ever been washed and his clothes are ripped and ugly. He smells like pipe smoke and mutters to himself as you approach.”

Steve sighs and bravely stops himself from beating his head repeatedly against the table, “Erica.”

“What?” she’s even less affected by his chiding when she’s behind her DM screen, and she wasn’t that affected to begin with. “I'm just describing the character.”

“I'm sorry I said it was adorable, okay! Is that what you want to hear?”

Robin abandons her dice tower to glare at him, “Dingus, what'd you do?”

“Opened his big mouth when he shouldn't have.” A true if mostly inaccurate description of what happened, but he should have known better than to try to speak when Erica actually opened up a little.

“Dude, you know when you annoy Erica the rest of us suffer.” Now Dustin is whining, as if Steve weren’t being punished enough.

“I don't see how anyone is suffering,” but him. Steve definitely feels like he is suffering .

Robin leans in close and whispers, “You'll tell me later?” It’s a Robin whisper though, and it doesn’t go unheard by their temperamental pre-teen DM.

“The goblin is oblivious to the party too busy fooling around with poorly painted figurines-”

“That's out of line.” He’s got his dad voice out now, this was supposed to be a fun session and now he’s parenting.

“That's where you're gonna draw it?” She actually seems surprised by that, eyebrow arched at the idea that she found Steve’s line in the sand.

“Nobody has insulted the things you've worked on.”

“Fine, he's fooling around with his perfectly fine figurines, but he won't shut up about changed princes.”

He can feel it click for Robin, she shoves him almost off of the Sinclair’s overstuffed couch. He won’t look at her, he doesn’t want to look at her stupid I’m gonna mock you face. “Stephan!”

“I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he apologizes, “I really do think it's cute.” But he’s not ready to grovel yet.

“Can dish it out but you can't take it, Harrington.” he rubs a hand down his face, pushing the impending headache this whole thing is causing back into his brain as best he can, and when he looks back up he sees an eleven year old.

“I wasn't dishing anything,” he says, remembering how awful and uncomfortable it was to be eleven. To have crushes and feelings that you didn’t know what to do about, and how much worse it was to not have anyone to help you figure them all out.

“Promise,” her lip doesn’t wobble and her tone doesn’t shake because she’s Erica Sinclair future president of the world, but the youth and the nerves are there all the same.

“Promise.”

“Fine, don't ever try to talk to me about this again.”

“Again, I was agreeing with you.” Because he’s still him and she’s still her and if he let it go too easily there would be just as much hell to pay. “I was saying you have good taste.”

“Stop, I have seen where your current tastes are. Don't align me with you.”

“Fine, fine. Are you going to be nicer?”

“I guess. As you walk into the cave you pass through a powerful illusion, you see that the goblin is really an average looking human man who probably washes his hair at least sometimes.” It’s really the best he could hope for, he figures.

“Wait, is this Eddie?” Dustin’s shrieking as he finally catches up with the interpersonal drama happening at the table is liable to send them back to the start.

“No, and he's not average looking.” He’s not sure who that comment is meant for. Erica for suggesting it or Dustin for finally catching up because of it.

“Mind your business,” Erica shoots back, just as done with the conversation as Steve is, “or your spell components are gonna get harder to find. And he’s not exactly anything to write home about.”

“Can we get back to it,” Robin interrupts, the true love of his life and the jealous hoarder of all opportunities to bully him about his love life, “I was promised a fight for my new dagger and I will use it on this gremlin man who seems like he needs to expand his music tastes if I have to.”

“Robin!” She deserves to get her punches in, he guesses, and if it’s his turn to get mocked by the Scoops Troop at least it’s not happening on a bathroom floor.

[mulletmitsuya]

Tokyo Revengers Groupchat

Warnings: swearing, suggestiveish,

Desc: a series of different dm's consisting of different pairs in tokrev more or less relating to the same event. also it's the last timeline where everything is jolly (ass description, my bad)

Draken + Mikey

Draken: man i'm so fucking tired of you

Draken: if you aren't here in the next 5 minutes i'm trashing your fucking bike

Mikey: no you won't lol

Mikey: you made it, you're not gonna hurt your precious creation are you?😙

Draken: ...

Draken: we won't name the baby after you

Mikey: you weren't going to anyway 😒

Draken: can't you just listen to me then???

Draken: YOU HAVE A RACE IN 10 MINUTES DICKWEED

Mikey: bro chill i was taking a piss

Draken: ITS BEEN 30 MINUTES

Draken: and YOU'RE LYING

Draken: YOU ARE FLIRTING WITH A MARRIED MAN

Draken: LEAVE MITCHY ALONE FOR CHRISTS SAKE

Mikey: no i'm literally in the bathroom

Draken: motherfucker i can see you 😐

Mikey: ok fine geez i'm coming down

Draken: i don't want you to be my client anymore

Mikey: you're married to my sister so you can't get rid of me

Mikey: brother in law😋

Inupi + Shin

Shin: yo Inupi! Mikey's gonna come over after the race and chill with me for a while

Shin: so you don't have to close up i'll take care of that

Inupi: i thought we were gonna hang out lol

Inupi: but ig you don't care about me

Shin: wha-

Shin: that's not true 😞✊

Shin: i mean, we work together so we always hang out😅

Shin: and i feel pretty weird drinking with you since i've known you since you were a kid😂

Inupi: i'm 30

Inupi: did you know that i also have sex sometimes

Inupi: i'm a grown adult Shinichiro

Shin: WOAH THERE BUDDY🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Shin: 😆

Shin: i get that you're grown but idk you're just lil Inupi to me

Inupi: 😐

Shin: just hang out with me and Mikey okay?

Inupi: no

Shin: bro why?

Inupi: i don't like him, at all

Shin: Mikey??? what's there not to like?

Inupi: 😑

Shin: :(

Inupi: fine

Shin: :)

Shin: i'll ask him to invite a few friends so it's not awkward and maybe you can invite Koko?

Inupi: k

Shin: 😁

Inupi: ...

Inupi: 🙂

Koko + Kisaki

Kisaki: you need to stop gambling Kokonoi

Kisaki: evertime you lose, a strand of your hair turns grey

Kisaki: and well... you lose a lot

Koko: my hair is white because i dyed it that way

Koko: no other reason

Kisaki: ...sure

Koko: and i'm not that bad, i just need a little more practice is all🙂

Kisaki: you have lost millions of yen due to this practice

Kisaki: enough is enough😕

Kisaki: anyway, i need a drink and there's a new restaurant that opened up yesterday, will you be joining me?

Koko: i'm meeting up with my friend Seishu today so i'll have to pass

Kisaki: oh yes, your friend

Kisaki: the pretty boy, correct?

Koko: yes

Koko: i mean you could call him that, i wouldn't know

Kisaki: ...

Kisaki: are you guys...

Kisaki: nevermind

Koko: are we what?

Kisaki: you know...

Kisaki: gay

Kisaki: are guys gay together? as in homosexual. as in attracted to each other as men? together?

Kisaki: like a couple of sorts

Kisaki: i usually don't like gay people but i'll make an exception for you and still be your colleague and even your friend

Koko: ...

Koko: Seishu is my friend

Koko: 😐

Kisaki: your secret is safe with me

Koko: there is no secret

Kisaki: alright 😏

Kisaki: i regret sending that emoji, i apologize

Koko: what about you and the hand tattoo man?? hm? what about that? Hanma was it?

Kisaki: Hanma??

Kisaki: i've called the police on Hanma 4 times already, you know that😐

Koko: he makes breakfast in your kitchen fully nude

Kisaki: we were friends in our teenage years and then he confessed his love to me and made it weird

Koko: and here he is still in your life

Kisaki: arguing with him is futile, even with the police. what do you want me to do?

Koko: just remember that when you point at someone there are three fingers pointing back at you

Koko: i'm leaving😐

Kisaki: not very slay of you

Pah + Peh

Peh: wife angry again

Peh: not talking to me

Pah: haha bozo

Pah: try rubbing her feet

Peh: they smell bad

Pah: try rubbing her back

Pah: massage

Peh: won't let me touch her 😕

Pah: her loss 👎

Pah: show off your abs

Peh: been eating more lately she cooks good no more abs

Pah: lmao

Pah: cry

Peh: already doing that 😐

Pah: sorry

Pah: don't know what you want me to do

Peh: i'll figure it out

Pah: why is she mad?

Peh: we were watching E.T and she said she liked him and i told her that i would kill him with hammers brutally

Pah: fair reaction

Peh: women r so hard to understand

Pah: word

[highwaywhump]

Would you be up for writing a little piece about kill shelters, from the pet’s POV? I saw that you said you wouldn’t write about pets actually being PTS - completely understandable! - what if someone were to come in at the last second with the news that the pet’s original owner had been found? I’m so curious on what the process would be for the shelter handling this- since it would technically be murder, how would it be done in a way to remain ‘legal’? And what would the pet be told? Would they tell them what was going to happen, or just ‘get on with it’? :o

TW/CW: A CHARACTER THAT IDEALIZES DEATH/HAS SUICIDAL THOUGHTS. to be clear, he doesn't die, but another character does (this comes through very vaguely - never voiced outright). brief and vague mention of a gun, talk of scars, low self image, talk of collars and chains and cages/kennels, description of a hit and run victim (still alive), brief description of a dislocated hip, talk of restraints, talk of syringes and needles.

i know our community has suffered these past few days, and i was seriously debating whether i should post this piece or not. in the end, i figure that writing has been my way of overcoming difficult feelings for many years now, and i have been dealing with a lot of them lately, including intense stress and depression. if anyone feels i am doing something wrong in posting this piece, please let me know and i'll see what i'll do about it.

i am also painfully aware this ask was sent over a month ago (in reference to this ask), but i had to sit down and think about how i wanted to go about it. BE AWARE that the following piece features a character that idealizes/wishes for death - please sit this one out if you are struggling with such thoughts. i'm putting everything under a read more so that you can avoid reading a single word if you don't feel comfortable. my dm’s are always open if you want to talk about anything. <3

this character might seem familiar to some. spoiler, this is how poker from this piece ended up. he was about 35 when joey met him and he’s a few years older in this piece. and i'm sorry but there’s just something about men in cages… (also, let’s ignore that i add a bunch of details here that weren’t present in the first piece with him. also also, i don’t know what happened to the verb tenses in this one. it’s the middle of the night. roll with the punches i guess)

-

It might’ve been months since the guard dog saw his owner last. He doesn’t know. He’s stopped counting. 

Well. 

He never really started. 

He doesn’t remember much about him. He’d lost another fight, the last one in a long row of losses. He’d been pulled into the back of a car by his thick collar afterwards, dazed and hot and sputtering blood all over the leather seats. They’d hit him in the ribs for it and he knew he’d deserved it. 

Whoever was driving had been given orders in his owner’s rough voice. 

“Go down to the docks. Get rid of him.” 

He knew there was a lethal piece of metal stuck down the waistband of the driver’s jeans. 

He’d been taken a few hours outside the city instead, deposited on the wet asphalt outside of a brick building and chained to a drainpipe. The driver had gotten back in the car and sped off. 

The guard dog had leaned against the hard brick, watching as the brake lights disappeared. He didn’t think much, other than okay. As if he had anything else to say about his situation. 

His surroundings turned into a shapeless blur from there. Hands touching him, cold and unfeeling and clad in blue rubber. A couple were soft and took their time to stroke his hair, scratch the hard to reach place between his shoulder blades. He savored those moments, and tried to remember the hands and the face they belonged to, but none of it lasted. 

Nothing ever lasted around him, it seemed. He couldn’t keep an owner for more than a few months, never more than a year. Couldn’t keep winning. Couldn’t keep anyone safe, even though that was the thing he was made for. The only thing that kept, were the scars. 

And the fucking tattoo on his wrist. Not even the facility that had made him, wanted him back when the shelter called them about him. Too old. They had no prospects who would want someone like him. 

That was what the visitors said too, few and far between as they were. Too old. Too big, too many scars, too scary, too ugly, too old, too dumb, too old again. They talked about him as if he wasn’t even there, huddled up in a corner just on the other side of the chain link. 

He knew it was his fault. He should be, or at least seem, happier to see them. Smile. Wait at the kennel gate, like all the others did whenever somebody stopped by. 

But to what end? Another owner who would put him in the ring again, just to be angry at him when he loses? Or someone he can take bullets for again, even though he isn’t quick and bright enough to anticipate them anymore? 

He doesn’t dare hope that anyone else would want him, not in his condition. It’s true, what they say. He’s old. Scarred, slow. There are sunshine stories of even the most unwanted of pets, expenses in every way, who somehow end up on the couches of kind people who just want a companion, their head resting in their laps, petted by soft fingers.

Those people get platonics, though. Domestics. Even the occasional romantic can adapt to such a lifestyle. 

But not an old ex guard dog, like him. 

He’s no use to anyone, not anymore. 

They remove him from the kennel one day. For a moment, his heart beats a little faster. He can’t tell if it’s fear or excitement, but it turns out neither is warranted. He’s taken to another room, a chain attached to his collar, the other end pin shackled to a ring in the wall. Another pet, younger and prettier, is put in his kennel. He can see them through the frosted glass on the door. 

He turns away. 

He doesn’t cry. 

Visitors don’t come through this room, he realizes, and for the first few days he’s happy for it. Nobody talks about him now. It’s quiet and the cold linoleum floor is almost comfortable on his joints. The only bad thing about this room is the other pet, chained to the wall opposite of him. The man is curled up, breathing shallowly through dried blood in his nostrils, and the sound is annoying. He’s younger than him, and he was probably very pretty once, but now his face is bruised and swollen, and bloody in the crevices even though they washed him with a damp cloth when he came in. Hit and run, somebody had said in passing.

That was four days ago. The guard dog watches him, mostly because there isn’t much else to look at in here. His leg is in a weird position, he’s noticed. It’s as if the thigh has rotated where it attaches to the hip. He wonders if it’s supposed to be that way. It doesn’t look very comfortable. His stomach is weirdly distended, too. It looks out of place on a body that is otherwise slim and smooth. 

Two workers descend on him one day, kneeling down beside the misshapen figure. They talk to him, sweetly, as they gently lift him over on a gurney and start wheeling him through another door. “You’ll feel a lot better when you wake up,” one of the workers say, a vinyl clad hand patting his shoulder. The one part of him that isn’t broken. 

The guard dog catches the faint smile visible through a swollen cheek as they pass him. The other pet is happy they’re coming for him, making him feel better. Finally. 

Maybe twenty minutes have passed when the workers come back. One of them wipes their hands on their worn jeans. “Glad that’s over,” he mutters. "Should have been done when he came in," the other says. The guard dog meets his gaze as they pass. Neither of them say anything. 

They’d come for him a few days later. They wear the same smiles and the same gloves as they did with the other pet, but he doesn’t need the sweet talking. He goes with them willingly. He’d stopped eating a while back and his muscle tone had disappeared a long time ago, so it was easy for them to help him up to his feet. He’s taller than them, still, and keeps his head down the way he’s always done. 

He’s known cold. Heat, pain, pleasure even, in small stints. Grief, fear. Rage. As he places one bare foot in front of the other on the beige linoleum, obediently following the worker in front, he knows he will soon know death. 

And he isn’t afraid. 

“You won’t feel a thing,” one of them says as they help him sit on the steel table in the next room, as if anyone has ever cared about how he’s feeling. 

“You’ll feel much better after,” the other worker says, without specifying exactly what was supposed to be better, as they gently lay him down. The table has leather straps hanging down the sides, ready to restrain its more unwilling cases, but he doesn’t move and they don’t use the straps. In the corner of his eye he can see two syringes on the counter. One of them is skinny and filled with clear fluid. The needle is small and will slip into him easily. He’s had many needles before. This won’t feel any different, he decides. The other syringe is larger, the needle too big to be used on somebody who was awake feel it. 

It doesn’t matter. He’ll feel better after. The guard dog refocuses his gaze on the bright light overhead. He closes his eyes. 

“Small pinch, now,” one worker says, and he can feel a pinprick at the crook of his elbow, the cold liquid fanning up his arm as it is being pushed in. His heart beats a few more times before the serum reaches it. He can feel his pulse, docile to begin with, calm down even more. He feels sleepy, his body heavy, as if he’s being pushed into the table from above. The hard metal digging into his joints doesn’t matter anymore. He knows he won’t even notice the other syringe. He knows he’ll feel better soon. 

A grating ringtone interrupts his silent mind. One of the workers picks up, speaking in a low voice. Sleep tugs at the edges of his mind, and he wants to follow. Right before he goes under, the sound of hard plastic hitting metal and a few words make it through the fuzzy walls inside his head. 

“No trouble at all. You’re just in time, sir.” 

--

to answer your other questions, anon: in the legal sense it wouldn't be murder, as the pets aren't people anymore, they're only human at the biological level (again, in a legal sense). it's necessary :) and humane :) euthanasia :). the pets aren't told anything/they're gently reassured and told they're going on for surgery, or something similar. i think "you'll feel better when you wake up," is a classic in these circles. i'm sure some understand what is about to happen (hence the restraints on the table), but the majority goes quick and silent. i have no idea what happens to them after though so don't ask me about that :)

[foxtriestobiteandmaimandkilland]

ok so like despite spending years being constantly online and looking at the words Dungeons and Dragons, i am at a loss as to understanding what d&d is 😭😭😭 and i like ik you love jrwi so like... care to explain maybe??? i really wanna know fhdgdfkgk 😭😭

OH MY GID HM YMG SO MHYH GMYMDOG HI SAPPHO THANK YOU SI MCUH FOR ASKING ME HJS I AM GOING TO EXPLODE OKAY SO.

As a premise i have played dnd but with a group of my friends for like 3 oneshots where i had no idea what was going on really and the dm was pretty inexperienced SO i am going 2 go off of all ive picked up from jrwi mostly since thats where ive learnt like. Everythin abt dnd. SO I MAY BE WRONG ABT SOME STUFF BUT IM EXPLAINING FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF SOMEONE WHO HAS LEARNT EVERYRHING LIKE THIRD HAND.

BUT. so dnd is. Fuck iidk what term u use to explain it but its basically exactly like playing pretend as an 8 year old except with more rules and its fantasy instead of like lego ninjago or whatever The Council of 8 year olds has decided 2 play today.

Im gonna relate EVERYTHING back 2 riptide btw forrrr ease of access SO YEAH OKAY.

In dnd, there r basically 2 roles u can be. Either the dm (the dungeon master) or a player. Simply these r basically like the narrator and the characters sorta. The players each have their own player characters (pc) that they play and they very rarely change who they play in a campaign. They might get a new pc if their old one dies or smth happens to them where they arent around for a while. The dm however, plays pretty much every single other npc in the campaign (and grizzly, the dm of riptide jrwi, does it so fucking well and he has a unique voice for like 80 different characters or smth hes insane). The dm also tells the story and presents the players w the situations they need to get past. The players then decide what they do. The entire thing however is a LOT of yes anding. For example, the dm might be like "so you step into this tavern and around you you see [description of tavern bla bla bla] and sitting at the tables r groups of people, many of them bald, [bla bla bla more description of everything happening round them]. And then with that the players might decide their characters talk to each other a bit and then slap each bald man, resulting in the dm then later creating a combat with the players fighting against a group of bald men. For example. But yea thats the dm n the players basically n yea

However beyond just usual roleplay of like characters interacting and chilling, theres the whole thing w ROLLING. Bc like. Just ROLL with it. Bc like any rpg every character, pc or npc or enemy or anything. Has stats in a few different skills. Since i barely remember playing dnd myself bc that was like almost 2 years ago or smth fuck if i remember, im just gonna list of what i do remember from hearin shit in riptide. So these skills r shit like charisma and strength and wisdom n acrobatics n whatever yknow and i dont actuallyyy remember but ITS FINE. and then there r 2 ways ppl can roll these things. Either checks, or saves. Its sorta difficult to explain the difference between a check and a save because in terms of technicality i dont actually know the difference. But usually checks are for if youve decided to just do an action, but saves are for if youre trying to negate a negative effect or. Whatever. For example, if youre trying to pick up something very heavy, youd make a strength check. But if you were like trying to. Fuck wait i cant think of an example of a strength save. Errr. Ok fuck it im switching 2 charisma examples. A charisma check would be if ur tryna like idk win someone over, but usually ud make a persuasion check or a deception check fuck wait er idk the difference. OKAY IGNORE ME HERE BC IDK THE TECHNICALITIES OF DND THAT WELL BC I HAVENT PLAYED IT IN A WHILE AND I ONLY DID A COUPLE VERY MESSY ONESHOTS. but a saving throw would be for smth likeee lets say someones tryna possess u and u dont want em to. U would make a wisdom saving throw to try to like Resist the possession. If u win the save, u dont get possessed. If u fail it, u get possessed. And the way u determine if something fails or wins, is with dcs. I do not know what dc stands for but its basically whatever number u have to roll higher than to pass.

ANYWAYS. With rolling n shit, with checks n saves, u roll on a d20 (a dice with 20 sides) and then add or subtract ur modifier in that ability. For example, gillion in jrwi has like a -4 to dexterity or smth absurd bc hes not dexterous at all. This means that if he rolls like a 15 on the d20, thatd become an 11 instead. If it is actually a -4 idk the exact number. Altho, chip jrwi has like a +11 to persuasion because hes fucking insane. So then if he rolls a 15 persuasion check thst becomes a fucking 26. Also, rolling a natural 20 or a natural 1 r like. Sorta big things as they r the highest and lowest u can roll. So like, rolling a nat20 is almost always an immediate success UNLESS whatever ur trying to beat has an insanely high dc. For example, at one point gillion had to make a constitution save with like a dc 35 because he had done some crazy shit. He rolled a natural 18, and with all his spells and all his modifiers to give him some kinda buff, he only made it to like a 32 USING ALMOST ALL HIS AND HIS FRIENDS SPELLS. So in this case he wouldve had to roll a nat20, but without the spells and buffs, that wouldnt have succeeded because it wouldve still been below the 35. Anyways.

Theres also a thing called rolling w advantage or disadvantage which is from whst ive seen, just rolling twice and taking whichevwr roll is best. So if u have like an advantage to a perception check bc like lets sayyy someones also looking with you so theyve given you advantage, you could roll twice and keep whichever roll ends up higher. And then vice versa w disadvantage.

Anyways theres a lotta mechanics i cant rlly fully explain bc i dont fully understand lol BUT smth i can explain to the best of my ability is COMBAT. so with combat, you begin with everything that is going to be fighting rolling initiative. This means player characters who r in the fight, enemies in the fight, and anyone who is going to join the fight later. The initiative rolls the decide the turn order, with the highest initiative going first, then down the turn order to the lowest initiative. Each turn, the character can do a buncha shit which i dont fully know BUT. I do know that everyone gets an action for their turn, so with that they could likee go to attack whatever theyre fighting, or use their movement to get away, or cast a spell to help themselves or their friends out or WHATEVER it can literally be like idk fuckin anything. Ur action could b shootin the bad guy in the face or it could b pullin down the pants of ur enemies. But then, some ppl also get a bonus action or maybe everyone or maybe idk i dont know the logistics but theres a number of Things u can do on ur turn until u decide that ur done doing things or if ur out of actions. Also tho bc its still very roleplayed, anyone can like talk to each other, regardless of turn. So like a character during their turn might shout to their ally, who can talk back instead of being locked in a stasis of Not Their Turn. However the person replying cant act on anything until it is their turn. Which leads 4 some kinds funny dialogue ig. Like 4 example it might be like. "Hey, ally, throw the Object over here !!" "I cant !" "Why not ????" "Its not my turn im stuck in my idle animation for the next 6 seconds !" Or whatevwr the fuck. But then they could throw The Object their next turn. Ummm and yeah. Also w combat p much most attacks have to pass the victims AC which is their armour class. So like, if one person wants to stab someone else, the dm will b like okay roll 2 hit. N if the other persons ac is sayyy a 15 (if they remember 2 put on their leather armour and dont forget to equip it for like 50 episodes) then that roll to hit has to end up above a 15, or itll miss. Or however thwy want to flavour it. Sometimes the miss will be flavoured as hitting armour and just clinking off of it, sometimes itll be the victim dodging, sometimes itll be just a complete fuck up, whatever rlly. And then yeah also in combat, if someones hp is reduced to 0, they do not automatically die unless theyre reduced to under double their max hp i think ? Idk the exact thing but no hit so far in riptide has instakilled i dont think other than one that was like crazy insane but that one was like crazy insane dc104 strength save holy fuck kinda blow. Actually i think its different when it comes 2 enemies bc the pcs have plot armour or smth idk man. But if someones hp is reduced to 0 they dont die, theyre knocked unconscious. And then, they remain unconscious until somebody heals them to above 1 hp, and for each round or smth they arent bsck, they make death saves. Idk if the dcs always the same or if its different for different ppl, it seems to just be a dc10 but idk. But if in total the character fails 3 death saves, they r just straight up dead. But if a character succeeds the death saves, theyre still unconscious, but not dead. If theu roll a nat1, thats automatically 2 failed saves in one. But if they roll a nat20, they recover a singular hitpoint and come back up.

Anyways thats all the mechanics shit out the way i do not understand it that well and a lot of it involves maths that im too scared to find out more abt BUT. in dnd as well there r races and classes. The race is like. Ur species. For example in riptide bc i love my examples, chip and jay r just humans, whereas gillion id a triton, so like. A fish guyyy. But with legs hes not a merman. And he is amphibious. Other races in dnd tho include tieflings and orcs and genasi and dragonborne and goliaths and That One Thing My Friend Was In Our Oneshot I Forgor and tabaxis and halflings and elves and a fuckkk ton of different races dude theres a lot. All of them r fantasy tho other than like. Humans. And also pets if there r any. Sometimes the pets r fantasy too. Like on the crew there was a bluebird called apple and she was just a normal bluebird. Well she had some shit going on but tbat wasnt important bc what was important was that her race was at that time just a normal bluebird. Altho theres also the most specialist girl in the whole wide world called pretzel and shes a frogtopus and she has the head of a frog and rhe body of an octopus but frogtopi dont exist irl but yea.

anyways, classes r different to races in that theyre less to do w genetics n more 2 do w abilities. For example, in riptide once again, chip is a rogue (i think hes taken like 2 levels in sorcery ? But hes primarily a rogue), jay is a hunter/ranger i forgot which one and an artificer, and gillion is a paladin and a sorcerer. These classes affect the abilities these ppl r good at and the things they can do, and if theyre magic, the spells they have and also the beliefs they hold. I thinkkk paladins r known 4 bein v like religious n shit bc a lot of the time the other players have been like Yeah Trust A Paladin To Thank God For Us Saving His Life or smth like that. But other classes include things likeee fighters and bards and warlocks and barbarians andddd i forgot any others becauseeeee yeahhhhhh awesomeeee but yeah!

Andddd yea honestly i think thats all the dnd stuff explained theres a few like other stuff ive probably missed out and ive probably got a buncha this shit wrong BUT this is enough 2 understand riptide atleast. I think. Basically, tldr, dnd is roleplay with more rules and fighting and fantasy and the dm is like god to ur players but like also god of the gods. The end.

[coreplant]

Sometimes Cantrips are incredibly useful.

This is Ootah, my half-orc Wizard. Not a very conventional class/species mix, but I honestly loved the contrast, and that she was exceptionally tanky for what is normally a very glass cannon kind of class. I played her from level 10 to level 24, before RL interfered and my DM had to just flat out stop DMing. I miss playing her, so I want to share a story of something she did.

As part of the story, she and the rest of the party were working at the behest of Fate, through the medium of a saloon that existed on and connected to simultaneously on many planes of existence and many alternate timelines at near-random. As one of the marked of Fate, she'd get sent out with only a vague sentence or two and the faintest of hints as to what needed to happen. This time, it was an alternate history, and at least part of it was preventing the lynching murder of the local baron and his family - the local population were a few pitchforks away from mob mentality due to a lot of other things going on and that no-one had seen the baron's sister in over a year, and the house had been shut up tight right after they'd arrived in the area. The sort of thing that's pretty much gasoline on the fire of superstitious worry when the rest of the country's facing a war, something's been eating the livestock, and people keep turning up dead. Ootah was passing as a nun since this wasn't a high-magic world, and one of the party was Brother Enoch, a priest from yet another world that had been very much like this one they were in currently. Due to party shenanigans, we learn about how reclusive the baron has been, and between Brother Enoch and our charismatic paladin, the party manages to get inside the manor. It took some work, some sincerity, and some heavy leaning on magical skills, but we persuaded the baron to let us see if we can help his chronically ill sister. With the maid and the cook there, Ootah and Brother Enoch did a physical examination of the poor girl first - it was a very midwestern sort of world - and paused to discuss how to do a purification ritual, since there were signs the illness would just come back if they cleared her, trying to figure out what the root cause was. I put forth to my DM that since it had been established that those serving Fate see the Saloon as it is, Ootah had spent some of the time watching documentaries on the bar TVs. My DM agreed that was reasonable, and asked just what I was thinking. "I want to take a look at the room and see if anything pops out to Ootah as health hazards, since she's seen all those random documentaries." My DM laughed and nodded, asking me to make a few skill rolls to see what stood out to Ootah and Brother Enoch, and what they could remember to compare it to. Two eighteens and a crit later, we got a description of the room and how _splotchy_ and dark it was. Brother Enoch headed out of the bedroom to start setting up the purification ritual in the cleanest room of the manor. "Ootah's going to stand up, and wrap her cloak around the girl and hand her over to [the paladin] to take into another room. She's then wrapping a bandana over her nose and mouth and giving them to the cook and maid to do the same, and tell them to start getting all the furniture moved out and out into the yard to get cleaned thoroughly with soap and hot water." "The maid and cook look utterly confused, and start protesting the orders and the moving of their mistress, calling for the Baron." "Ootah doesn't wait for them to start talking before she starts thunderwaving the black mold off the walls, and she's going to blow out the outer wall if she has to, if it means getting this room clean as fast as possible." My DM was grinning from ear to ear describing how my character was utterly thorough in getting the infestation of black mold completely obliterated, and how much it scared the local crows to have the wall blown out. Turns out the poor girl was fighting off the side effects of black mold, and it was slowly killing her. Between Brother Enoch's ritual and Ootah terrifying the household into hardcore cleaning of the house, our paladin pitching in as a guard to help keep the town calm (as well as help the baron foster good-will by buying supplies there), we managed to avert the lynching.

[vnllarum]

one new message

jjk megumi fushiguro x gn!reader

megumi missed a call.

- word count: 0.9k

- contents: poorly written angst with slightly detailed descriptions of death and injury, established relationship with (most likely) ooc aged!up megumi, not beta read

- notes: i haven't written on a tumblr blog in years, so please ignore the cringe. i thought maybe writing bad fanfiction would help prepare me for going back into a writing course in the spring semester. also, if you want to leave criticism, you can always dm me, but remember to be respectful and kind. i will cry. here's to the first post on this blog!

“you have one new message. to listen to your messages, press- first unheard message.”

shaking fingers slide over the keypad, pressing down on a single digit before lifting off. megumi releases the breath he had been holding ever since he had entered the room. the smell of antiseptic and medical equipment always made his stomach churn. even when he visited his sister, he had a bad habit of doing it because why should a supposedly sterile room smell so bitter-

your voice cuts through his thoughts, effectively giving him no more room to spiral further.

“hi, ‘gumi. i know you’re probably still out with yuji and nobara, but i just wanted to, uhm, talk to you for a little bit. well, you in the future, hm?” you giggle. it’s breathless. megumi can imagine you standing in front of him, rolling your eyes at your own words. the thought makes him stumble. “ah, i called because i wanted to hear your voice, but i figured i might as well leave a voicemail here while i’m at it. if you see any more missed calls after this one, it’s because i so do enjoy hearing you grumpily demand me to ‘leave a message at the tone.’ hah.” he tries to swallow to wet his dry mouth, but the lump that’s been slowly forming in his throat ever since he got the call from shoko prevents him from doing so. megumi drags his fingertips from his teeth down to his neck, trying to will away the lump.

it doesn’t leave and the world spins a little more as he struggles to unblock his airway.

“i, uh, finished the mission later than expected, so i’m sorry for not being in your dorm right now. i’m just, er, resting right now. found a nice spot on the ground until i can catch my breath… i, uhm, wonder if you’re listening to this message, waiting up for me. i hope- ugh, i hope you aren’t. hate it when you worry so much. you’re going to get premature wrinkles from how much you frown, you know?” you try to laugh, but megumi can hear the faint gurgle of liquid pouring from your lips. he can hear the raspy wheeze beginning to form behind each sentence.

“i’m going to run out of time on this thing if i don’t hurry, but you know how much i talk, and… i miss you. i know i saw you this morning, and i know i’ll see you again, but you just looked so sad about me leaving. ha-hate seeing you pout. i miss you so much. did you at least smile when you saw that i called?” you cough and choke and try to pull it off, even though the sound is ragged and wet and clear. megumi feels ten times more sick knowing that you’re fighting to talk right now for his sake. your last memory with him was of him asking you to let yuta cover your mission. megumi should have been more insistent and selfless. he should have followed you.

“you make me so unbelievably happy. i’m happy right now because i got to hear your voice and think of you, and…” you sound so tired. megumi can practically see your eyes closing shut. the sleepy smile that you wear every time you wake up from a nap next to him. 

bile begins to crawl up from his stomach. his phone clatters to the ground with a crack as he uses both of his hands to grip the edge of the autopsy table because his knees grew weak, nearly sending him crashing onto the tiles. the cold steel of the table bites hard at his aching, bloody fingers that have had the nails anxiously chewed down to nubs. 

logically, he knows your body would be as cold as the metal that you lie upon if he even dared to lay a finger on you. illogically, though... if yuji could come back from the dead, then why couldn't you? megumi wants to rip the white linen off of your body and shout at you to wake up, to tell you that the joke isn’t funny anymore.

if he gained the courage to look at you for the final time, megumi would be able to see that you were all cracked ribs and shattered lungs. the warmth of your skin was no more. there was only dried blood and a sterile sheet to cover your bare body.

you were the embodiment of his broken heart.

a choked sound, reminiscent of your own, tries to escape his lips as he finally crumbles to the floor. he dry heaves as the bitter scent of disinfectant rips into him.

if megumi fushiguro was a stronger man, he wouldn't have his forehead pressed against the tiled floor of the morgue. he wouldn't be pleading and begging for you to come back, to wake up. he wouldn't be accidentally binding a curse to you as his head reels from nausea.

if he was a stronger man, he would let you rest like you rightfully deserve after years of exorcising curses and cleaning up messes that weren't yours to clean.

if he was a stronger man.

“megumi, baby, i love you… so much more than you know.”

“you have no new messages. please check erased messages.”

[charsal24]

Fan Autoethnography

In summary: This autoethnography summarizes the various ways I interact with fandom and how each one has shaped me differently. My relationship to every media is fundamentally different, as this will share. I've learned that while in style and talk I haven't been effected by fandom, creatively and the themes that carry with me, has.

Note: My peer review partners did not suggest changes, so I've kept it as is with the summary above added.

My experience as a fan ebbs and flows between deeply engrossed in the tv show/book/series, etc. to casually enjoying. With the former, I’m on Tumblr reblogging GIFs and fanworks like a madman, occasionally rambling in the tags about x character’s arc and y’s characterization and — fuck, tumblr user Kinegg, you must be a prophet from the Gods. Modified the actual user’s name there, but their take on Collector from The Owl House? Absolutely immaculate. Even in my fandom spaces, I can’t escape my writing-major-ness, and I really search for those users who share my love of analysis of characters/themes/subtext. It’s crazy the amount of essays that will be poured out over what could be a single line, a single painting, a piece of clothing.

In the Owl House (spoilers —albeit somewhat vague — ahead!), users poured essays over the tapestries in the Archive house and what they meant for the Collector’s backstory. I had found myself following along with their detailed descriptions and theories in such a way that I rewatched the scenes they mentioned and found myself nodding along to their takes: of course Collector is an orphan of war! Of course his siblings didn’t like him mixing with the titans! Of course this parallels the segregated magic system!

Surprisingly, despite the glory and beauty of anonymity, and my deep love of character analysis, I’ve never actually thrown my hat — or, well, a post — into the void, into my fandom community. Instead, I stay to the tags or rambles in friends’ DMs.

Here’s a particular long example about the game Dredge, another fandom favorite of mine taken from a friend’s DMs.

Massive spoilers ahead for the game!

Just the fact that like… it’s been Y o u and it’s always been Y o u just augghhhhhhhh when hands of love become hands of destruction and you burn away every piece of yourself resisting the natural course of grief because goddamn !!!!! You *will* bring them back !!!! But if you do, they can’t recognize you anymore, and if you can’t, then you destroy every part of yourself trying and just aughhhhhhhhh aughhhhhhhh just the way grief warps every part of you until all you can think of is *them* I just augghhgghhhhhhhh and then you can’t move on because to move on would be to leave them would mean it was all for nothing and you’ve come so far to stop and it’s just another step and then they’ll back and just another step until they’ll be back and just another step until you have buried yourself neck-deep in the ocean and still you will go one more step because you’re !!! So !!! Close !!! But !!! You !!! Can never!!! Be close !!! And just aughhhhhhhhh

Okay so there’s like three main colors, right? This sorta dark purple red — raspberry-esque — this sorta slightly darker sea foam green and I think there’s either like a yellow or another green, can’t remember. I think it’s another green. There’s also the colors of different fishing areas: coastal, shallow, dredge, abyssal, hadal, but not important I’m taking about the dialogue and some item colors

So — and as you can guess — the colors coincide with their usual associations: red is bad, green is good, etc. now what’s interesting is that parts of the horror elements come with that color association that “oh red is evil/corrupt” and so there’s a really neat sorta psychological element of like when a text reads “be careful” and it’s in red and those color associations tell you that “oh no something bad” and the like. But what’s really really fucking cool and sorta subtle is that during the game this “Collector” guy — so cool lore around this guy but won’t spoil anything if you wanna play/watch — asks you fish up some relics for him and in exchange he compensates you very nicely with some nice power ups that are very much Monkey’s Paw-esque.

So, you fish up some of the relics: necklace, ring, music box, key, watch, and other stuff and when you put them in your inventory, the items are *red* whereas usual items like wood or metal or non-relic rings are just like grey or whatever. Now what’s also red you may ask? Four things, but let’s talk about the first two first. One: mutant fish. Sometimes when you’re fishing you’ll pull out an oddity like a bass with three heads or its spine out—something mangled and warped beyond recognition. And that, too, is *red* in your inventory whereas regular fish are like grey

Two: panic. So, if you stay up too late you start to get this thing called “panic” and it presents itself as an eye appearing under the time looking around worried and not only that but everything gets red like a red fog and rocks may appear out of nowhere or scarier creatures start to chase you—it’s a lot like a gameplay mechanic of “oops you’ve stayed up too late now you’re paranoid and seeing things that aren’t there or are they” kinda thin

Three: crimson and silver book, which is the source of corruption happening in this place and causing all the auroras to turn red and shit to get warped and corrupted and stuff

Four: infection. One of which you never actively see so much as much as you just see a dialogue of a package you can deliver saying that it’s “squelching and wet” or something like that

And so back to relics and mutant fish! If you notice those colors when the mutant fish appear, you can start to notice that hey !!!! These relics you are fetching are fucking cursed !!! And not only that but like when you use the “power ups” that fetching the relics gets you, they come with a cost

So like the power-ups you get are: haste (move faster, but increase panic), manifest (teleport back to the first island, increase panic/time speeds up), atrophy (catch a whole area of fish in one go, fish rot and get infected faster), and I thiiiiiiink one has to do with like sounding a signal to scare fish away or something like that

But like all of them are strengths that come at a cost!!!!! Which feeds into the narrative of “everything has a cost/you cannot get what you want without sacrifice” and just that theme of time and madness and aughhhhhhhh power comes with sacrifice and you are losing a piece of yourself for every “power-up”

And like!!!!!!!! Everyone knows more about you than you do!!!! And like they are just watching you spiral once again and once again and once again and just aughhhh aughhhh everyone knows of the madness except for you

And then you have green!!! Green is like the stuff that’s good, that’s helpful!! And like you see certain characters who dialogue highlights some words in green !!! And you can tell “oh yes this is friend, they are good” like the lighthouse keeper who is wearing green and has green dialogue occasionally !!

And then you have the other green as like “location for you to go” and again it’s like you can use these colors to 1. Make things easier to remember 2. Have a psychological impact 3. Associations !!!!!!!! And it’s just such a subtle thing to impact how you intake and receive information and hints to the overall corruption of the items you’re fetching and the corruption of the book itself and just aughhhh aughhh aughhh aughhhh

God and just the eye imagery is so cool fucking love eye imagery !!! But god yeah just the fact that it’s you and it’s always *been you* AND THE POCKET WATCH!!!! One of the relics is a pocket watch whose hands cannot move forward because you !!! Cannot !!! Move forward !!! You cannot move on !!! And you keep finding pieces of your life you can’t remember and aughhhhhhh!!!! Aughhhhhhhh

God. Just….. unable to move forward without That Person in your life, unable to move on, the need to rewrite what was written, to grab death by the bones and shatter them until your beloved has returned, until your beloved has returned and sees not a shadow of who they knew and just…. God.

You were always bait……. You were always the hook on the fishing line going to and fro… all to see her again, all to see her again…. And everyone knows except You that she isn’t coming back and will never come back and still you will burn yourself to pieces to try

*Goddamn* just unable to go back, unable to play god, unable to bend the forces of nature to your whims. Aughhhhhhhhh

As the above long example suggests: I love the deep analyses and most importantly the emotional core of any given work. As I said, couldn’t escape my writing-major-ness even if I wanted to and that dips into my main fandom experience: fanfiction writing.

Surprisingly, it’s only Gen loss and Gravity Falls I’ve written fanfiction for. Gravity Falls was the first, of course, and I still remember the cringey Wattpad “Author Notes” — a staple of the ol’ era of a 12-year old’s writing in 2013. I haven’t revisited those old Wattpad fics and I never will, but I know for all their cringe, they’ve been stepping stones for my writing.

Gravity Falls, especially, hugely influenced what became of my writing style and interests. The show introduced a world that balanced its lightheartedness with moments that had you staring at your screen like “what the fuck just happened?” and it balanced those moments beautifully. Not only that, but the premise of “normal kids move in to weird town but everyone who lives there just kinda deals with the weird stuff so it’s normal to them” has become one of my favorite things to write. I think what I like the most about that kind of premise is that it challenges the idea of what normal even is. Especially since “normal” means something different across cultures and what I, as an American, may find completely normal (let’s say, steering wheel on the left instead of the right), completely boggles the mind of someone who’s never seen that. To them, I’m the weirdo, and to me, they are the weirdo, but neither one of us is wrong or right and that’s the beauty of it.

This lends itself into the question of “us” vs. “them” — again, thinking about the “what is normal?” — that appears in some spaces in fandom. I think an “us” vs. “them” in fandom comes from the lack of acknowledgment that no one is right and that’s okay. There’s definitely a huge “us” vs. “them” in fandom spaces when it comes to shipping. Personally, I’ve never really understood why some people feel so personally to certain ships, and I’ve never really cared, but maybe it has something to do with what Jensen talks about: compensating and parasocial relationships.

For me, I find myself less compensating and more so either exploring pieces of myself through the other (a lot of this with grief narratives as found in Dredge) or examining other people. Characters and studying them and their actions is fascinating for me and I find that understanding characters allows me to be better at understanding people in my own life. After all, what is the self if not a character we all play?

@officeofdocmalone