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nightingale-prompts · 6 months ago

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Just your average coffee shop AU-DCxDP prompt

What do you do when you've been blacklisted from every coffee chain in Gotham?

You have to find other sources.

That is Tim's current predicament but he put out a few messages out and an informant got back to him about a new café that opened on the outskirts of the city.

There wasn't much else on it other than the fact that it was located in an old cemetery. No details or anything.

Desperate for the black icker that made up his blood by this point Tim went.

Walking down the cobblestone path Tim began to doubt if the shop was real. The decrepit tombstones seemed to be the only people here but as he passed the mausoleums he saw a single stone crypt that had a sign.

Hours:

Tues-Saturday 12pm-3:00 am

Sunday: All day

Mon: Closed

(Vlad Masters is banned)

Tim opened the stone door and heard the faint sound of violins and saxophones. A staircase led deeper to an aged wooden door.

The rusty door henge screeched as he opened the door like a doorbell. The room was a lounge with plush seats and smooth wood tables. A dance floor was in the center currently occupied by well dressed patrons. The scent of fresh dark roast coffee filled the air. A band played live music, it was a blend of gothic folk and Jazz. The booths were filled with a few patrons cheering for the performers as they drank coffee and played cards.

The counter where he could order his drink was a bar. Despite what you'd assume they weren't selling alcohol at least not yet. The man behind the counter beckoned him over.

The barista dressed in a white dress shirt and a black buttoned vest embroidered with a ribcage design. He had fingerless gloves with matching skeletal hand design. The man's face was a pale bit warm tone with a blueish green hue on his cheekbones. His lips were a dark ashen black with a subtle shine. It was probably just the aesthetic.

"Evening, traveler." His voice practically purred as he greeted the weary young man"The rhythm's alive, and the spirits are waiting—how can I make your afterlife?"

"Coffee. Black." Tim said gruffly despite to get it in his system.

"Oh, you got it bad, don't you? Let me get you something that will actually help." The bartender said turning to brew a cup.

Tim's eyes scanned the chalkboard menu that hung above the bar.

Hot Coffee Drinks:

Graveyard Brew – A rich dark roast with a hint of smoked caramel. (Tucker's pick)

Phantom Flat White – A smooth flat white with ghostly foam art. (Danny's pick)

Latté of the Damned– A spiced pumpkin latte with black cinnamon dust. (Jazz's pick)

Eternal Espresso– A bold, double-shot espresso.

The Velvet Casket – Mocha with dark chocolate and a touch of vanilla.

Sepulcher Spice – Chai-spiced coffee with a hint of nutmeg. (Val's pick)

Necromancer’s Nitro – Nitro cold brew with a dash of maple syrup. (Dan's pick)

Iced Coffee Drinks:

Cold-Brew Crypt– Smooth cold brew with a splash of sweet cream.

Chilled Cadaver– Iced coffee with coconut milk and a shot of hazelnut. (Dani's pick)

The Frosted Requiem – Blended mocha with chocolate drizzle.

Soulful Swirl– Iced latte with caramel and a swirl of blackcurrant syrup.

Moonlit Macchiato– Vanilla macchiato with activated charcoal. (Sam's pick)

Tim definitely sensed a theme here.

"I added a few shots of expresso and some dark chocolate liquor. It should get you right and some minor heart palpitations. I think I'll call it 'The Black Veil'." The barista smiled very cat-like.

"Am I getting my name on the board?" Tim quipped without thinking as he sipped the hot coffee. Actually, it was cooler than he thought it would be. It was the perfect temperature. And the taste was amazing.

"Only if you're a regular and I think your drink might be too much for anyone else." The barista laughed softly.

"So...this place is pretty um...gothic?"

"This place used to be just for the dead but we've recently over up to the living."

"Heh, I get it."

"Get what?"

Tim coughed awkwardly. He didn't want to stop talking to the goth barista yet and the quality coffee was convincing. Maybe it was the environment. It was like walking into a different world.

"So what's this place called? So I know what Im coming back to." Tim tried to sound cool but let's face it, he's been beat.

"This is the Catacomb Club. Where the spirits swing and the night never sleeps. You should come again soon, cutie. I think I got a good surge of inspiration just looking at you." He purred in delight as he leaned over the bar tapped Tim's cheek.

Tim felt his face burn, the touch felt like electricity tickling his skin. A string of babbling seemed to come out of this mouth as he tried to respond.

"Heh heh, don't keep me waiting dear," he laughed "Oh, and by the way. My name is Danny. Catch me in the early shift. My brother works the late shift mixing the alcohol. But if you want you can catch me on the stage or on the dance floor. I might even make you an extra cup or two." Danny said.

Tim found his footsteps on the way up lighter and only when he made it back the cematary gate did he notice.

He never paid.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc prompt #tim drake #deadtired #dead tired #brain dead

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moonlight-presence · 2 months ago

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Pale, Pale Moon

Remmick X Female Reader

Summary: On a lonely, moonlit road, you walk toward town—aching, afraid, and utterly alone. But the night has other plans. From the shadows, Remmick appears, his voice honey-smooth and eyes glowing with something not quite human. He seems kind, even charming, until his gaze lingers too long on you, and his smile stretches a bit too wide. What begins as a quiet walk becomes a haunting transformation. With whispered promises and otherworldly hunger, Remmick sinks his fangs into your neck, not to harm, but to rebirth. Then... you take him under that pale, pale moon.

4,245 words

Notes:

🌙 chomh teann = so tight

🌙 Aon duine = nothing

🌙 foc = fuck

!SMUT CONTENT!

You should’ve known better than to trust a word of a man—no matter his sweet talking or his kind goddamn eyes when he offered you a ride home. You were so fucking naive, thinking he had no other intentions besides helping you get back to your folks who, by now, must be worried sick. You try not to think too much about that, focusing instead on the faint lights at the end of the road that lead into town. The moon, thankfully, was bright and full in the sky, judging by its size, giving you an additional source of light as you walked alone by the side of the road.

You looked down at your wrists and saw that the man’s fingers were bruised on your skin, reminding you of how you had kicked him in the crotch and opened the door of his car to sprint away from him. Thank God nothing more happened… and thank God he didn’t come chasing after you. You weren’t sure how far away you could’ve run until he eventually caught up to you. A shiver ran down your spine, and you adjusted your shawl.

You had been walking for a good twenty minutes now, and judging by how close the town was, you still had a good thirty minutes to go.

“You stupid idiot,” you murmured to yourself.

Then, amid your anger and frustration, you heard rattling, like a wild animal moving through the woods, from your right. You stopped dead in your tracks, slowly looking at the forest beside you and, obviously, seeing nothing but trees and the wind passing through them.

“Now, now, don’t be imagining things. Just get your ass back home and forget this ever happened,” you told yourself out loud, somehow needing to hear a voice amid the silence.

You continued walking, holding your shawl tighter around your body as the night grew a bit colder for the time of the year. Your thoughts wandered back to your parents and how worried they must be. They were quite old now, giving away their age in you, who was not as young as you had been. But those days of adolescence were gone, giving way to the responsibilities that came with adulthood. Time could be such a bitch sometimes.

You were supposed to be married by now. That was the proper way of things, as folks often said around town… But you still hadn’t found a single man worth your time, and you, for sure, didn’t wanna marry just for the sake of it. So, alone in your youth, which often left a sting of pain in your chest, you continued with your walk.

More time passed, a couple of minutes at most, until you heard another noise that made the hairs on your body stand up. Something was definitely out there in those woods… and you hoped it would remain there.

You were now a bit scared, fingers shaking around your shawl, as your feet ached from the uncomfortable shoes your mother had made for you. Perhaps it was your exhaustion talking, too. You didn’t know at this point.

“Get a hold of yourself… Come on now,” you whispered, fastening your pace.

You tried to control your breathing until you figured out you couldn’t. So, instead of drowning in that sweet old fear, you did the one thing you knew calmed your nerves.

You sang.

Oh, pale moon rising over the pines, come

Lawd away until the sun does rise

Leave the day by the, by the door, I don't

Care if sun don't shine once more, that's what I said

Ooh, ooh

Oh, oh, oh

Huh

Mm-hm, mm-hm

You finished your humming softly, letting a breeze of wind brush through your face almost like a human hand caressing your skin. You have always hated nighttime, especially when you had barely any light around you and were all alone.

God knows what demons or creatures wandered those woods…

The rest of the song found you then, easing your nerves like a cup of warm milk with a teaspoon of honey.

This time, you sang a little louder, feeling bolder in the silence, and giving a proper performance to the night creatures.

I'm gonna spend my money on somethin' sweet and strong

Gonna move my body through the whole night long

Gonna sweat the way I been longin' to, nobody gonna

Tell me nothin', that's what I'm gonna do, that's what I said

Woo

That's what I said

Mm-hm, mm-hm

Oh, oh, oh

A slight smile spread on your face as you walked in rhythm with the song, moving your body sideways and creating a dance with each step. Suddenly, the night felt less cold, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous you must look. No bother, there wasn’t anybody for miles to witness this. You were free to sing and dance as you pleased, not scared of being quieted by anybody.

I wanna sing

Like I hear the crickets do

I wanna hoo, yeah

Like the owls do

I wanna howl

To the moon

Scream

You raised your voice at the last note, letting it linger for far too long. It felt sweet on your tongue, so you savored it as you looked up at the moon and smiled. It was pretty, you noticed, and you would have marvelled at it for longer if you didn’t hear footsteps… behind you.

The first thing you did was stop your walk, freezing in place until you were sure that those were, in fact, human footsteps. And they were, there was no mistaking the sound of shoes by an animal’s paws.

You swallowed dryly, dread filling your chest as you remembered so well what had almost happened to you that night. You had to run. If you did, you could maybe make it into town or just come close to any people.

You had to try, goddamnit, you had to.

Instead, the person behind you spoke, a few steps away from your back, and a cold shiver ran down your spine.

“Hey there. Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he said with a voice so sweet that it made your ears resonate with the sound. “I thought I heard some singin’ down the road… You wouldn’t happen to be that sweet voice I heard, would you, darlin’?”

You didn’t turn around, fear filling your chest and holding you hostage.

“You must have me mistaken, sir,” you replied, making your voice friendly just in case this man had a temper.

“Is that so?” he said, and you heard him walk around you. He appeared in front of you, and you raised your eyes to meet his for the first time. When you did, you almost swore for a second that they were red… But no, they were blue.

“Yes, sir,” you confirmed, tightening your shawl around your body. He tilted his head slightly, and you saw his teeth appear underneath his lips as he smiled. “I’m just on my way home. I don’t want any trouble, sir.”

“Trouble, darlin’?” he asked, confused. “Who said I wanted any trouble? I was making my way to town too, ya know? I just heard your beautiful voice and decided to see who was singin’, nothing more.”

His accent was like all the other folks you knew, but in some words, it seemed to slip into something else. You didn’t recognise it, but you were sure he wasn’t from around here. No matter how much he tried to seem like he was.

“That’s very kind of you, sir, but if you don’t mind…” You went to walk, but he didn’t step aside. Your heart picked up its pace.

“What happened to your wrists?” he asked, eyeing your bruises.

You immediately hid your wrists under your shawl and straightened your back, trying to act casual.

“Nothin’. Just fell.”

“Is that so?” he said, obviously skeptical. “Alright, if you say so, darlin’...” He grinned at you before adding, “What’s your name? I’m Remmick.”

You hesitated but then told him your name.

“That’s a beautiful name. Pleasure to meet you.” He raised his hand, clearly wanting to either shake or kiss your hand.

You thought about rejecting his request, but the way he looked at you and spoke was too inviting to refuse. He had such a way about himself… And you didn’t quite know why. Maybe it was because he was handsome.

So, you gave him your hand, and he held it before lowering his lips to your skin. You thought he was gonna kiss it, but instead he pressed your skin to his mouth, and you felt him sniff the area. You frowned, pulling your hand away, but he held it and finally kissed it, releasing his hold after.

“You are too kind, sir, but my folks must be worried sick by now, and I must really get goin’.”

Remmick smiled and nodded slowly.

“I’ll walk with you then.”

“Sir, that’s really not necessary.”

“Oh, but I insist. The nights can be so lonely, can’t they?” he said, and there was a hint of a joke under his voice. “We wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to you, would we, darlin’?”

“I…” You thought of arguing further, but ended up giving up. “Very well.”

You two resumed your walk in silence, and you didn’t sing anymore. It didn’t feel right any longer, especially with Remmick walking beside you and looking, from time to time, at you. You tried to tell yourself he meant no harm, but you couldn’t really shake off the feeling that something about him just wasn’t quite right.

However, you continued walking until the pain in your right foot turned too intense and you felt blood stain your ankle and shoe. Right about then, you stopped walking.

“What’s the matter, darlin?” Remmick asked, looking at your feet. You heard him sniff the air, and then his breath caught in his throat. “You are bleedin’.”

“It’s nothin’, sir,” you said. “I just need to sit down for a bit.”

“Let me see the blood,” Remmick said, guiding you towards a broken tree on the side of the road. You followed him and finally sat on the trunk. He kneeled in front of you, eyes fixed on your bloody ankle. “You poor thing. That looks like it must hurt.”

“It’s fine, really-” But he was already taking off your shoe, making you wince.

Blood was dripping down your ankle, and you bit your bottom lip at the pain.

“It smells so sweet,” Remmick whispered in awe as he lifted your leg. You felt your cheeks heat up as your skirt got pushed further up.

“Sir, if you please-”

“I knew you were different, ya know?” Remmick said, cutting you off as he moved closer to your blood. You tried to release your leg, but his grip was too strong. “I could smell you from miles away, darlin’.”

“Let me go,” you said, panic clear in your voice.

“Ssshhh,” he said, putting his finger to his lips. He looked up at you then, and you gasped as droll fell from his lips, and his teeth were sharper than before. “It will all be better soon.”

“What are you?” you asked between shaky breaths. You looked into his red eyes and saw something unnatural in them. Whatever this man was, it couldn’t be human.

Remmick grinned. “I’m your savior, darlin’.”

That was all he said before he jumped at a supernatural speed on top of you, making you fall back to the grass. You screamed in horror as his teeth sank into your neck and pierced the skin. The pain was so unbearable that you screamed until your throat ached and your lungs gave out.

Then, your eyes fell shut and you floated into darkness… You were sure you were dying, and you felt yourself drifting away to meet your ancestors. You could almost see them on the horizon, looking at you with inviting hands and warmth.

But it was as if there was a wall in your path. One you couldn’t cross. You yelled their names, but it was in vain as they slowly disappeared into dust.

Then, you were reborn.

Your eyes snapped open, and you breathed blessed air. You gasped and coughed, putting your hand to your neck and feeling dried blood there. You were supposed to be dead…

“All better now, isn’t it?” Remmick said. You licked your dry lips, feeling them colder than usual, before looking at Remmick, who was kneeling next to you. His mouth was dripping with your blood. “It’s okay, darlin’. I’m here.”

His red eyes left you in a trance, making you giggle and reach for his hands. He held you to a sitting position, and you stretched your arms and cracked your neck. A smile stayed on your mouth.

You felt euphoric, like life didn’t mean anything before. You could feel the coldness of the night and how comforting it was. Every sound was sharper in your ears, and your reflexes seemed to be better, too. You felt unstoppable and… you remembered. Your life and his.

You knew who he was now. You felt his pain deep in your chest, like a crushing weight.

“Remmick…” you whispered, putting your hand to your chest. “I feel so different. So goddamn good.”

“Yeah? Can you feel how sweet it is?” he asked, putting one hand over yours. “It’s all better now, isn’t it? Nobody can hurt us now.”

“Nobody,” you repeated. “Aon duine.”

Remmick’s grin deepened at your words, and you laughed loudly, pushing yourself towards him.

“Kiss me now,” you begged, wanting to feel him closer. “I wanna feel you. I need you, Remmick.”

“I know… It’s alright. Come here,” he whispered.

Your lips met in a fiery kiss, and you groaned as you tasted your blood. Remmick wasn’t lying; it was truly sweet, like a nectar.

Your tongues danced with each other until you pulled back with the need for fresh air. Your chest heaved, and fire seemed to be inside your veins as the heat of arousal filled your body like a poison. But it was far from venomous… it was addictive and nonlethal. A combination not made possible until now.

“I know how you liked to be licked, darlin’,” Remmick whispered against your lips. “And I know what makes you drip.”

You couldn’t say anything to his filthy words, so instead, you put your elbows behind you and spread your legs. His eyes were shining in the dark, and you saw them look between your thighs as you pulled your skirts up and revealed your dripping arousal. You weren’t wearing anything down there, only your dress and shawl, which was now long forgotten somewhere in the grass.

Remmick licked his bottom lip slowly, chuckling and crawling towards your spread thighs. You smirked at him as he moved and finally reached the middle of your legs. The pulse on your crotch was maddening, and you didn't remember ever feeling this aroused for anybody else.

“Look at that… Isn’t that just so perfect?” Remmick said, rubbing his hands from your ankles to your thighs. His skin was calloused but comforting. “Don’t mind if I steal a few kisses, do ya?”

You brought your right hand to your folds, spreading them and coating your digits with your arousal, before bringing the glistening fingers towards his mouth. He didn’t need to be asked twice as he wrapped his lips around your fingers and swirled his tongue, tasting you. A deep moan left your mouth, and you saw him grab and squeeze his cock through his pants.

“Come taste me, baby,” you begged.

A string of saliva fell from the corner of his lips as he removed your fingers from his mouth. His white shirt was unbuttoned on the chest, revealing his chest hair and a necklace, and, as you stared at him, he grabbed your thighs with his two hands and pushed you towards him, making your back and head hit the grass.

You laughed, grabbing his hair as his head went between your legs.

“Oh fuck…” you whispered as he applied kisses around your vulva. He licked and nibbled at the flesh until you were whining for him.

Just when he thought you had enough of his teasing, did he wrap his lips on your clit. When he did, you arched your back and pulled his hair roughly, making his fangs grow a bit. You felt his lust in your mind and laughed again, until he licked your folds up and down, and made you moan instead.

“Remmick… Just like that… Fuck,” you said, breathless.

He groaned against you and moved his tongue on your clit, flickering it and creating a mind shattering rhythm. You looked down at him and saw that he was staring at you as well. Your eyes met and you kept eye contact, loving the way his hair was fisted in your hand and his mouth moved on your cunt.

“That’s it, baby,” you encouraged him as waves of pleasure ran through you. You pulled his hair roughly again, which made him grab your thighs harder.

Remmick continued with that same pace that was just so right until you felt that tight, familiar feeling on your stomach. It was tightening fast, ready to burst, and you dropped your head back on the grass, moaning loudly his name.

“I’m close, baby,” you warned him with a breathless voice. A whine escaped your lips as he sucked on your clit suddenly, making a spike of pleasure run through you.

“I… I’m gonna cum,” you managed to say.

Remmick moaned against you, and that was all it took before you arched your back and felt arousal pour from your entrance. Your walls pulsed and your clit throbbed against Remmick’s tongue as sweet pleasure made your mind go blank. You pushed your cunt towards his face, almost riding it as he held you down.

Just when you began feeling a bit overstimulated did he stopped his movements, pulling away from your clit.

“Hm, hm…” he said as he cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand. “You sound so damn pretty when you cum, baby.”

You were breathing heavily as you looked at the night sky. Your skin was glistening and your cunt still trembled with the aftermath of your orgasm.

“I’m gonna need you to fuck me now, baby,” you said between breaths. You looked at him and were pleased to see him unbuckling his pants.

“Since you asked so nicely…” he teased you with a grin. He pulled his cock out and you looked at it. It was glistening with pre-cum and as hard as a rock. “How do you wanna get fucked, darlin’?”

You closed your legs and got to your knees in front of him. Then, as he stroked himself slowly, you turned around and lifted your skirts to your waist, revealing your backside to him. Remmick didn’t say anything but a hand appeared on your ass cheek, grabbing it roughly.

“That’s a good girl,” he said in a thick Irish accent. He had dropped his southern accent shortly after you were bitten.

You bit your bottom lip, dropping to your elbows as you felt him run the head of his cock on your folds. He teased himself and you for a while, running his cock up and down and making you shiver and clench on nothing.

“Give a girl what she needs, would ya? Please, baby,” you said to him with a whiny voice.

Remmick chuckled, one hand on your ass and the other on his shaft.

“But you look so pretty all needy for me, darlin’,” Remmick said.

You bit your bottom lip again, and pushed your ass towards him. Remmick groaned, and you smiled in victory as he lined himself with your entrance.

“Now, now… Let me make it all better,” he said before thrusting inside all at once.

You gasped as he entered you, your head dropping between your shoulders. Remmick let out a deep groan as he stopped fully inside.

“Foc… Chomh teann,” he said, now holding your waist with both hands.

He began fucking you slowly, pulling himself all the way out just to slam inside. You couldn’t do anything but fist the grass and moan his name as he set a good pace. His cock hit all the right places inside you, somehow. It was as if it was meant to fuck you all your life.

“Fuck. You are taking me so goddamn well,” he said with a laugh. You moaned his name again and clenched around him.

He grabbed your ass cheeks roughly until you felt his nails pierce your skin. You were sure he had drawn blood from your flesh, but you couldn’t care less as euphoria pumped inside your veins. Everything just felt so good.

“Harder,” you said to him.

Remmick obeyed, and you arched your back and moaned louder than ever as you felt his balls hit your skin with every thrust. The wet and slapping sounds you were making were like music to your ears, and you felt your fangs grow. You needed some blood after this. And soon.

“Take it… Come on, fucking take it,” Remmick moaned, pulling your hair. You hissed at the pain but laughed, feeling him hold your head slightly up.

You held your torso up with one arm and brought your other hand to your clit, rubbing it roughly and feeling your walls clenching on his shaft. You were getting close again.

“Remmick… Ah… Fuck…” you said, looking to him as he pulled your hair again. His neck and chin were still covered in your blood, and his lips parted as he let out ragged breaths. He had never looked more beautiful.

“You gonna cum?” Remmick asked you, bringing your face closer to his. He had more strength than you, so it was as easy as walking for him. “Tell me, baby.”

“Yeah… I’m real close,” you replied, inches from his fangs.

“Then do it. Come on, darlin’, cum around my cock,” he whispered, licking your lips.

You grabbed the back of his neck, feeling his sweaty hair and skin, while the other hand rubbed circles on your clit. He gave you a particularly hard thrust that made your breasts jiggle.

Remmick must have noticed because soon his hands were on your breasts. He ripped open the dress from your chest like it was a tissue, and you gasped as he grabbed your boobs and squeezed them.

“Fuckin’ beautiful tits,” he moaned.

It was too much for you with the added stimulation, so your orgasm burst through you at long last.

You opened your mouth and let out high-pitched moans against his lips as your eyes fell shut. Remmick fucked you through it, feeling your walls clench and unclench around his shaft as you came.

“Fuck… Beautiful,” he whispered, voice strained.

He fucked you unevenely until he stilled his hips and hot strings of cum shoot inside you, making you groan. He whispered your name in your ear while he came, making you shiver.

Then, he put his lips to your neck and licked the two holes his fangs had left on your skin. It sting a bit but you didn’t paid it any mind as you stopped your fingers on your clit and started calming down.

“There we go. Feels good, baby?” he asked you.

“Yes… Real fucking good,” you replied, feeling your skin almost burn.

He held you for a bit more until you dropped to your hands, and he removed himself from inside of you. When he did, you felt his cum drip down your ass, making you shiver. Remmick saw it too as he collected it with his fingers.

“Want a taste, baby?” he asked as you turned around and sat on the floor. Your dress was ruined now, ripped open and covered in blood, sweat, and cum.

“Yeah. Let me,” you said, grabbing his wrist and putting his fingers inside your mouth. You tasted his salty cum and moaned, making Remmick smirk.

“You really are different, aren’t you, baby?” he said as you pulled back your mouth.

“You bet,” you replied, licking your lips.

Remmick chuckled and put himself back in his pants, buttoning them up again and fixing his blouse. You tried to clean your dress until you saw it was pointless.

“That’s no problem, darlin’. There are plenty of dresses in town, I reckon. You may take as many as you want,” he said.

You giggled, breathing deeply as you got to your feet. He followed your lead.

“So… What’s next?” you asked him as you looked at the empty road.

“Well…” Remmick grabbed your waist from behind and put his chin on your shoulder. “I think the people in this town need our savin’, don’t ya think? I can feel how miserable they are, even from here. A goddamn shame, really.”

You hummed with a grin, looking at the lights on the horizon.

“I think you right, Remmick. They need our savin’...And I happen to know just the place to visit first.”

Remmick hummed and grabbed your hand as you two walked down the road. You could hear the drumming heartbeats of the folks in the town, leading you closer and closer to them. But they could wait… First, your parents needed some saving.

Then, everybody else would too.

#sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners movie #remmick #remmick x reader #remmick smut #remmick x you #remmick fanfic #remmick imagine #jack o'connell #x reader #smut #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #vampire aesthetic #vampires #vampirism

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withahappyrefrain · 11 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/withahappyrefrain/756666693791760384/yes-tyler-needing-a-handblow-job-before-going-on?source=share

okay listen 👀 tyler dry humping you against the side of his car before getting to work

Hi, can I kiss your brain? It's beautiful. We got some good ole porn without plot smut here folks.

Having no neighbors within a three mile radius has many perks.

Halloween is spent watching movies, not handing out candy at the door. You can host a party but don't have to hear someone else do the same. No HOA means you're free to paint your door whatever color you damn well please.

It also meant you could grind against your husband's denim covered thigh against his truck.

It started out as a kiss. A goodbye kiss, like one you had given Tyler so many times before he headed out to chase a developing storm.

Okay, yes, it was more heated than sweet this time around. More desperate than gentle. Your hands gripping his sun kissed hair instead of resting against his broad chest.

Who could blame you? Prior to getting a call from Boone, you and Tyler were underneath your bedsheets, his talented mouth having just started to unravel you.

Hopes that Boone was calling to fire off a new experiment were quickly dashed when he called a second time, in between Tyler's phone going off with text notifications, no doubt from the rest of the crew.

The cluster of storm cells had the potential to develop into something big, which Tyler swears is the only reason why he got out of bed and began to dress.

You had opted to stay in the baby blue night slip, knowing you weren't the one on the chase and it was Tyler's favorite.

Another perk of having no neighbors meant you didn't need to put on a robe in order to walk Tyler out to his truck.

So yes, if you were in a courtroom, facing trial for trying to tempt Tyler, the evidence would be overwhelmingly against you. But he truly started it, those large hands of his gripping your waist so he could pull you back for another kiss.

You could never leave it at just one kiss. He knows this. All you wanted was to simply be as close as humanly possible. After all, how else would you be able to inhale his captivating scent of oak and sandalwood?

He has your left knee pinned against his hip, allowing you to feel his denim cladded erection against your thigh.

"Fuck," his voice is breathless as his hips jerk upwards. A tornado is nothing, but feeling your soft body in his hands is enough to nearly bring Tyler to his knees.

Your mouth swallows his needy grunts, a hand squeezing his clothed erection, chest pressed against his.

"Ty," your nickname for him comes out in the form of a weak, needy whine, "Want ya s'bad."

"I know, but I gotta-fuck!" He hissed upon feeling his clothed erection against your bare cunt.

That, you absolutely did on purpose.

He abruptly stopped, hastily opening the passenger door. "Bend over," he hissed, pointing to the now available seat.

You quickly oblige, toes curling at the sound of his belt buckle clicking.

Having no neighbors mean you can be as loud as you want. Who could truly care about a noise complaint when the head of his cock was brushing against your clit?

When his cock sinks in, you breathe a sigh of relief, body welcoming the pleasurable stretch. Tyler always makes you feel so full, all you can think about is just him and his ridiculously amazing cock.

Now that should be investigated.

Thanks to your earlier, albeit interrupted, romp in bed, you're ready for him, allowing Tyler to quickly build up a rhythm. It's hurried, his thrusts harsh and sloppy. And yet, you can help but cling to the passenger seat

The sound of his hips slamming into yours can barely be heard over the moans that fall effortlessly from your mouth, along with the grunts Tyler grits out between his pearly white teeth.

"S'fuckin tight f'me," He groans, "Love you s'much. Can't wait t'come home t'you and this ah perfect pussy."

He's addicted to you. Your soft skin, the way your ass jiggles with each thrust, the shameless moans that fall from your kiss bitten lips. How soft you are, how tightly you cling onto him.

Tyler seriously considers calling out, making up some excuse, hell, even just being honest with his crew.

Who could be upset at a man for wanting to spend more time with his wife?

But he also knew you wouldn't let him. Ever since college, you knew of his dreams and how badly he wanted to follow them. You also trusted that he would always find a way back to you.

"Fuck, pretty girl. Need you to cum f'me, think you can do that?" One of his large hands reaches down to where you two connect, long fingers drawing circles on your clit.

You can barely keep your head up, nodding weakly as your walls clench around him. All you can do is take him, all you can do is let yourself go into the pleasure fueled haze you were craving.

He leans over as he feels your release, stubble scratching against your bare shoulder.

"Atta girl, feel s'good," his words are beginning to slur, signaling how close he is. You reach back, hand finding his dark blonde locks and giving the strands a harsh tug.

The whine Tyler lets out is music to your ears. It just takes one, two, three more sharp tugs for his hips to stutter, his release trailing behind yours.

His body covers yours and for a moment you two simply stay like that, breathing heavily.

"Hey, com're," His voice is now soft, gentle, his longer fingers cupping your chin so he could turn your face towards his.

Thin pink lips crash onto yours, the gesture a stark contrast to what occurred several minutes ago.

"Love ya," he confesses between kisses. Despite having heard it multiple times a day, it still makes your heart flutter.

"Love ya too cowboy," you smile against his lips, "But you should get goin'. Don't wanna be late."

Tyler shrugged, "You know how long it takes them to get ready. Besides, what kind of husband would I be if I didn't help my wife clean up?"

If Boone asks if you were the reason Tyler was an hour late, you would happily plead guilty.

#my writing #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens twisters #twisters 2024 #glen powell #tyler owens smut #tyler owens x you #tyler owens x y/n #twisters #twistets fanfic #tyler owens oneshot #tyler owens fanfiction #tyler owens fic

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iatrophilosophos · 7 months ago

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Hey I'm hearing uh. More, and more, and more buzz about GLP-1 agonists like ozempic from random ppl and healthcare providers alike and there's like a terrifying lack of lucidity abt it so I just wanna say, if you've heard some stuff and are curious:

Ozempic is a chemically-aided crash diet. That's it.

Like metformin, an older diabetes medication used off-label for weight loss, it's functioning as an appetite suppressant in this use-case. It's not magic; it's not changing how your body makes or uses fat; it just makes it less miserable to eat less. It is contraindicated by histories of disordered eating and should absolutely not be prescribed without a full screening for above-adequate food intake and nutrition *and* ongoing screening for adequate nourishment/malnutrition: this is broadly not happening.

I've also seen no indication that ozempic/GLP-1 agonists are any less likely to lead to weight cycling (w/o constant use) than a straight crash diet, or do anything meaningful to limit the known, significant health risks of weight cycling.

Nothing has changed:

The main things we know from a western scientific perspective about weight and weight loss are that 1) almost all people who lose significant weight gain it back and 2) weight cycling causes cardiovascular and metabolic health complications. Yall we aint even have strong evidence to suggest that weight loss is beneficial to health conditions associated with higher weights. This *should* point to Dr's never ever reccomending weight loss (we do know it can hurt, don't know it can help) but yknow we live in uhhhh fucking world.

We are possibly ripe for an aggressive intensification of anti-fat medical rhetoric, especially in pediatrics

Among the projections for an RFK FDA that ive gotten from folks i know in these fields is a renewed focus on childhood obseity and general military-style fitness. As the ozempic fad has already been ramping up, I'm kinda! concerned! about this being a major point of focus for the oncoming administration--i figure we're ripe for another mass diet craze associated with a wide variety of deaths anyway and that existing cultural+market inertia added to it being literally on the agenda spells some not great things. I really seriously reccomend paying extra attention to this area.

Clinics love ozempic because it's extremely popular and extremely profitable--i even know someone who's job was threatened for refusing to prescribe it. We already know that we cant trust doctors to be informed around weight or for the system to sound public alarms.

Obviously, people have the right to do whatever they want--but the disclosure just isn't there and people are being sold this stuff based on the idea it'll make them *healthier* and prevent disease. It can't and it won't.

If the claims here about weight in general are new to you, start here: (Don't love the title of the article, second the exasperation)

If you want to understand more about glp-1 agonists specifically, like, start with the Wikipedia article and do some googling it lays out the pharmacology in relatively plain language. Sry i ain't doing a buncha work to find citations ppl won't click; there's not a lot of good critical stuff out there that's actually published but it doesn't actually take a lot of reading up on critical weight science to form a critical take on the sources singing ozempics praises.

Peace, good luck, do whatever you want forever, maybe tell ur mom that this isn't any different from the disastrous weight loss fads of the 90s.

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thebusybumblebee · 4 months ago

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You Thought You Were So Clever

You'd heard whispers of great riches for those willing to take the risk. Make the right deal with the fae in the forests, and one could walk away set for life. You go when the sun starts to dip just below the horizon. Summer heat is just cooling down. A pleasant breeze kisses your face. Fireflies are already bobbing between bushes and branches. There's so many despite the season coming to a close soon. In fact, there are almost too many. They surround you, the bio-luminescent bugs creating a trail for you to follow. The trails turn and twist deeper and deeper into the woods. The sky grows darker, the air colder. When you're finally in a clearing, even the breeze has stopped. The fireflies disappear, leaving only the moonlight for the shadows to flicker in. Silence is all-consuming. The ringing in your ears grows until you think you might turn tail and give up this venture. "My, my," a voice whispers on the wind. "It's been so long since we've had a visitor." You turn this way and that, straining to find the source of the voice. Another voice, closer, muses, "much too long. Poor little lamb seems lost." Before you can think better of it, you call out, "I came to make a deal." A cacophony of sounds pick up with the sudden return of the winds. You cover your ears trying to block it out. The wind settles in one final gasp. You open your eyes. What was an empty, dark clearing has been transformed. You find yourself in the midst of a party. Lanterns are strung from the trees. Fae are dancing and mingling by fires. In the center, there is a table heavy with food and drink. It's a miracle the legs aren't bowing under the weight of it all. A fae, tall and lithe, strides over. "Welcome, little lamb." You begin again about deals and bargains. "Hush," they coo. Their nails trace up your neck until they hold your chin. "We've so missed having a human to entertain us. In exchange for your company, we will send you off with more gold and riches than you can walk away with just as soon as the feast is over." You nod. It's a simple deal: spend time with the fae and you'd be made. The fae smiles wide and leads you to a seat. The chair is sturdy, lavish even. A golden plate is pressed into your hand. All kinds of food fill the surface. You can't quite recognize some of it, but you're tantalized all the same. Fruit juices coat your mouth, the flavor blooming across your tongue. Hot, yeasty rolls in butter help sop up the many sauces you try. Bread pudding and liquor cut some of the savory flavors before you return to the cuts of meat laid out for you to try. Fae-folk flit in and out of conversation. They're charming and polite, always smiling and refilling your plate and cup. You can't say how much time has passed or how long you've been at the table. There's a point where everything seems warmer. Sweat drips down your face. Why were you breathing so heavily? You pull at your shirt collar to try and loosen it. The fae simply disrobe you. "It's a party," they say. "Don't think so hard." So you don't. You must get tired at some point too, because it's getting harder to lift your arms. It seems like it'd be hard to leave this seat, even if it is more cramped than you remember. You try to lean forward to grab your cup again. Though, try as you might, your fingertips can hardly reach it. The cup topples over. The clatter awakens you from your stupor. It’s as though a veil had suddenly been lifted.

Whatever cotton was dulling your senses can no longer hide what has happened to you. Your arms have plumped up like the hams on the table with fingers resembling sausages. Your hips must have spread across the seat too, because you can feel the arms of the chair gripping your love handles more surely than any lover ever has. You try to look down, but your thicker neck and double chin have to fight for space. A plumper chest greets you. The largest change was the heavy belly that crested beyond your knees. It was burgeoning with all the delicacies you’d been plied and stuffed with all evening. With a small hint of dread, you realize you’re still hungry.

“How long have I been here? When will this end?” You fret and try to rise from your seat. The fae that greeted you puts a hand to your belly. Their touch is appraising, paired with a gaze filled with a hunger of their own.

“It seems our lamb isn’t so little anymore,” they tease. Already, other fae start preparing more plates for their guest.

“When is the party over?” You ask again. You’re met with smirks and snickers all around.

“Oh, darling,” their voice drips with faux sympathy. “Here, in this realm, the party is never over.” You feel a cold chill down your back, but don’t fight the cup being brought to your lips again. As the spiced, warm cider flows down your throat, you find your thoughts flowing away too. The last realization you have is that any gold would be too much to walk away with when soon you won't be able to walk at all. You thought you were so clever.

#feeding kink #wg text #tummy kink #wg fiction #wg fantasy #magic weight gain

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orchidbreezefc · 1 year ago

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ok. years have passed and we've had some distance, so i'm finally gonna take the leap of faith that tma fandom is finally ready to hear me on this. let's talk about tannins.

161 was the first tma episode i heard on early release, and i felt the bit where martin declines wine and cites tannins was pretty obvious in its implications. cool, got it, say no more.

imagine my surprise when i was one of maybe three people i saw read between the lines there, in a fandom famous for red stringing--a fandom that immediately caught the much less obvious thread of ignition sources in the same episode. i'll spell it out: alcohol is an issue for martin.

maybe it just felt obvious because addiction is a pet issue for me--as it is for jonny, who has said everything he writes is filtered through a lens of addiction. i don't know if that's due to his own experience or a loved one's, and i won't speculate; i also don't know if martin personally struggled with drinking or just avoids it for fear he would, but alcohol would fit what we know of his family. his dad walking out and his mum spiralling into bitter wallowing and verbal abuse? i'd bet one or both of them drank, yeah.

on a basic level martin tries to decline alcohol, and that alone should have raised eyebrows given what we know of martin and, again, a fandom that dissects everything. we already knew martin "K" blackwood lied about his personal life and his family in particular, especially pre-canon, which is when this flashback took place. i was shocked that everyone took his flimsy excuse at face value with no further questions.

and the excuse is flimsy. martin turns down wine by--nervously--exclaiming tannins are "a proven headache trigger!" which sounds like trivia from a magazine cover and not the words of someone who actually has headaches--and it hasn't come up before or since. jon, confused, points out that tea, a drink martin consumes to a degree that is memetic both in- and out-of-universe, also contains tannins, and martin squawks a panicked, "what?!"

if tannins are enough of a concern for martin that he knew they're in wine and so avoids it, why didn't he know they're in his drink of choice? why does he still drink tea at the time of canon, and why doesn't he struggle with constant headaches from consuming 'a proven headache trigger' day in and day out? why, indeed, would someone avoid wine and not tea?

when sasha insists martin drink he caves and agrees to 'just a drop'. i imagine him pouring it in a plant, which admittedly he could have done if tannins really were the issue. i will say that i, for one, would be less likely to falsely agree to something that makes me physically ill than to a private issue that i'd rather not be pressed on any further. this scene also establishes martin's birthday was an ice cream party instead of the more traditional visit to a pub.

also, this scene was in the first episode of the final season, as one of three flashbacks that could have been to any pre-canon event in the archives. prime narrative real estate. not really time one would waste on establishing the important character context that martin has... headaches. which never comes up before or after, even regarding the week he spent in spiral town. but you know what is pretty crucial character background...?

it felt like a no-brainer, and yet all i saw was h/c fluff about jon attending to martin's headaches. and i hate feeling bitter about disability representation. i want folks with chronic headaches to feel seen and have fluffy escapist fantasies. i don't want to be mad about people portraying a character with a disability. but, guys? you got the wrong disability. jonny sent a clear message, and it went over fandom's head.

#martin blackwood #tma #the magnus archives #tma meta #the magnus archives meta #tma 161 #mag161 #sage speaks #sage original post #meta #im sure others caught it that i didnt see but listen. i was DEEP in the fandom. people getting it made up maybe 1% of the response i saw #and i had people fighting me for saying it #alcohol cw #alcoholism cw #addiction cw #greatest hits #wonderful news: tma fandom WAS ready to hear me say this!

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yuuchama · 5 months ago

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Asking Lilia Vanrouge to tutor you in history sounds like a great idea, doesn't it? He seems to know a lot about historical events due to living through them and there's even a picture resembling him in your textbook. History is his best subject. What could go wrong?

You leave the tutoring session more confused than before. Lilia's knack for history is no joke, though his knowledge is all over the place.

Hardly any of what he says gets covered in class. It's probably not going to be on the test. He brings up the names of random people, common folk with no impact on the grand scheme of things. He drones on about these people for longer than necessary. He rambles about insignificant bits of their daily lives like an old man reminiscing about old friends and you don't know how to stop him.

"Patricia really hated when they implemented the new calendar system, khee hee hee! Said it made her miss a date with this lad she fancied, but it all worked out in the end. He came to find her after a while and they went steady. Never met him. Heard he was a paper boy. The kind that makes paper, mind you. Word has it that he made fine paper but I never much cared about the quality of paper."

Lilia starts floating off his chair as he becomes immersed in his own tale. He crosses his arms in thought. You stare at his exposed forehead as he turns upside-down, your pen hand at the ready in case he says anything actually useful.

"Ezekiel, though? He was a lad who was mad about paper. Oho. This was, oh, roughly 350 years ago. He penned a letter to the Shaftlands government to petition for lower taxes. About a decade after that blight incident that wiped out their food reserves. More than half their crops were being taxed and it was a brutally cold winter, he could barely afford firewood, but he still used the best parchment he could find. Said it made a stronger point to those in power. Oh, and his daughter was so angry about it!"

Lilia laughs. Three hours pass in this manner. He wafts through the air absentmindedly and bumps against your shoulder, sending him floating back in the other direction. When he drifts too far, he magically pops into another spot and makes you jump. He has a smile on his face, this is genuine fun for him.

You manage to fill in half a page with notes that seem kind of useful. You don't know how you'd source them in an essay, though, aside from "Lilia told me." You ask if he knows anything about the legendary Queendom of Roses Revolt and he launches into another unrelated story that happened around the same time about some really good chicken he once ate.

When you've had enough and the study session is over, Lilia thanks you. He gives you a piece of hard candy, its wrapper somewhat disheveled like it was in his pocket for a week. "It's important for kids like you to study hard," he says with a thumbs up. He pats you on the back before leaving. You consider asking Riddle for help the next time you have questions.

#old man you need to cite your sources.#lilia please. the next test is multiple choice.#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland headcanon #twisted wonderland writing #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x you #twst fanfic #twst hc #twisted wonderland drabble

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moxanji-real · 1 month ago

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I’m just gonna say it straight up; most of my selfship mutuals ship from sources I had never even heard of until I met them. But that has never made me care any less about their ships. I don’t need to know the source to love seeing people happy with their f/o! Some folks have told me they felt intimidated to interact with me because they ship from a different source, and I’m like—nooo, please don’t feel that way!! I’d adore your ship just as much even if we selfshipped from totally different worlds. Love is love, and I’m always here to cheer you on. 💖

#moxie rambles i guess #selfship positivity #but yeah tbh it’s not that big of a deal for me #some people act like they have to selfship from the same source in order for me to like them #and I’m like…. what?#no but in all seriousness just tell me about your selfship and the source #I’ll understand in the best I can #and heck I might even be willing to get into the source too for you

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loveinhawkins · 1 year ago

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When Steve gets to his last year at Hawkins High, it feels like some kind of veil has been lifted right in front him. Or maybe it’s more that the veil’s actually been slowly lifting for years, and he’s noticing it all the more because it’s no longer there.

Either way, when he receives his yearbook, it doesn’t seem like the huge deal that his younger self would’ve made it out to be; he flicks through the pictures half-heartedly, doesn’t even care when the candid ones taken at sporting events catch him in unflattering poses, lip jutting out in concentration.

If he tried to voice his disinterest, Henderson would probably spout off some precocious shit about societal expectations, and Steve would pretend to nod sagely before stealing whatever dorky hat he happened to be wearing—it’s not like he could let the little shit suspect that he occasionally had a point, Steve would never hear the end of it.

The yearbook signings are predictably inescapable: people passing their books back and forth in class or in the cafeteria—and that one’s a risky move, with the threat of drinks spilling on the pages, whether accidental or malicious.

Steve thinks the fever’s dwindled out until he spends a free period in the school library. The seniors typically all bunch together in one of the far corners, the spots with the comfiest seats—loners included, like the perks of age for once outweigh the usual ridicule.

But that silent truce is not exactly being upheld, Steve notes—Eddie Munson is sitting alone at a nearby table.

It becomes painfully obvious when the signing starts up again. There’s a cluster of girls on the yearbook committee who initiate it, and soon every senior in reach is either passing over their own book or signing one.

Almost every senior.

It’s not like Eddie’s the only person ever to be held back. He’s not even the only one to be held back for next year, either: John Nelson off the swim team is in the same position, and he’s still been asked to sign.

But Steve knows that’s not what the source of exclusion is, not really.

He’s gotten good at spotting silent cruelty—good at avoiding it too, before his popularity gave him a temporary shield.

It’s all just bullshit, he thinks. It’s been a recurring thought lately.

He brings out his own yearbook because he knows it’s expected. When it’s finally passed back round to him, he ends up right near the seat opposite Eddie’s, just by chance.

But actually sitting there is his own choice.

He can tell that Eddie has spotted him even though he’s not looked up from whatever homework he’s doing; there’s a silent tension in the way he’s holding his pen.

Steve mulls it over before he asks the question. It could blow up in his face, but what did that matter, really? In the grand scheme of things, it would hardly count as a major embarrassment; it’s not like it’d be any more mortifying than telling his dad that he didn’t get into any colleges whatsoever.

So he pushes his yearbook across the table, because what the hell.

“Wanna sign?”

Eddie glances up. There’s a guarded look in his eyes, and Steve can almost hear him mentally replaying the question.

“Pardon?” Eddie says with pointed emphasis, like he’s daring Steve, let it drop and we’ll say no more about it, Harrington.

Steve doesn’t take it back. He shrugs and flicks open the yearbook, finds a blank spot and taps it once with his finger, a silent offer.

Eddie stares like Steve’s a riddle, like he’s wondering just who the show’s for—but the other students have turned away, have gone back to their seats, yearbooks temporarily forgotten.

Eddie’s hold on his pen relaxes, ever so slightly.

“You sure, Harrington?” he says. There’s still a wary edge to his voice, but there’s an undercurrent of something else, too, like he’s secretly amused despite himself. “Haven’t you heard what folks say? I could curse you.”

Steve scoffs. “That all you’ve got? I’ve dealt with way worse, man,” he says mildly.

A corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a surprised smile. Then it’s gone almost like it had never been in the first place, his gaze turning thoughtful rather than defensive.

And obviously this isn’t Eddie’s first rodeo at the whole senior year thing. Steve wonders if there’s a veil that’s been lifted for him too, wonders if he can see straight through it right now.

The bell rings.

Eddie stands up, gathering his stuff.

Steve thinks that’s the end of it: something that’s neither a success or a failure.

But then, lightning fast, Eddie darts across the table and scribbles something on the open page. Slams the yearbook shut and pushes it back over, and it feels like a challenge, like some of his caginess is back—like he’s just daring Steve to reveal that it had been a joke all along—

“Bet you’re counting down the days till you can hold your own copy, huh?” Steve says dryly, as he stuffs the book into his bag.

It’s a risk; he knows Eddie could easily take it as pure ridicule, could misinterpret it as Steve throwing the failed school years back in his face.

Eddie just shakes his head, but he could be laughing—the moment’s gone too quickly for Steve to know for sure.

“Nah, Harrington,” Eddie says easily, thrown over his shoulder as he leaves, “those things aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on.”

Steve doesn’t check the yearbook until he’s home. He eventually finds Eddie’s signature, simple black ink right in the upper corner of one page.

Good luck, Steve. —Eddie

Some of the letters are bunched a little too close together, drifting upwards on the blank page, as if they usually need lined paper to guide them—left-handed, Steve thinks vaguely.

Within a sea of scrawled nicknames and loudly enthusiastic messages, Steve finds that he kind of likes how mundane Eddie’s truly is. Likes the sign off with minimal fuss. Just “Eddie.” Likes how he was just “Steve”, too.

And yeah, if anyone needed to be told good luck, Steve thinks, with the kind of amusement that only comes from distance—pictures his past self, freaking out about monsters come to life.

He slots the yearbook into his bookcase. By summer he might forget about it altogether, left to gather dust as he works for 3 bucks an hour, but for now he marks its significance: something real, hidden alongside the bullshit.

#back with the unexpected kindness in high school agenda #pre steddie #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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kerink · 3 days ago

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since it seems i'm being a bit of a hater this morning i'll say this too: it's really obvious a lot of the GF fandom has no idea about institutionalization and forced mental health hospitalization. the vast majority of what i've seen, and the way a lot of people talk about it, makes me think the prison system is the model that's being used, and that's not correct.

i'm a psychologist with 13 years of experience in the field, and while i've personally only worked with partially hospitalized patients (e.g., come to the hospital when it opens, spend all day in treatment, then go home at close for 5 days/week) and intensive outpatient (e.g., same as above but 3 days/week), i routinely work with folks who have a 5150/5250 history. i also know someone in my personal life who has been 5250'd.

every single time i talk to them about their experience i make sure to ask did they find it helpful, harmful, or neutral. for involuntary hospitalization, almost everyone says it's harmful or neutral, very few people involuntarily hospitalized say they found it helpful. and the people who were voluntarily hospitalized are about a 50/50 split on finding it helpful or harmful.

the primary reasons people cite as it having been an unhelpful experience were:

1) the patient didn't think they needed to be there. (typically this is because there was a misunderstanding/miscommunication between them and either the police or their healthcare provider, so they ended up appearing higher risk and more acute than they actually were.)

2) the ward was too broadly mixed between high acute/risk and lower acute/risk, such that folks who were lower risk/acute and more willing to receive treatment did not get treatment because the folks with higher baseline needs were given more attention. (which makes sense, people with more baseline needs have more baseline needs. this is more a comment on how wards should be better segregated and hospitals need more resources.)

3A) there was no individual therapy, or patients couldn't receive individual therapy unless they took medications.

3B) patients are often coerced into taking medication. i've heard all sorts of horror stories on this from being denied release, to being given other people's medications, to having horrible side effects which get misconstrued as symptoms which escalate their perceived care needs, to never being told what they're taking or why.

4) group therapy is unhelpful both because of the wide mix of presentations but also because of the mix of folks who want treatment and those who don't. (anyone trained in providing group therapy would know that you cannot do this, it's a contraindication for every form of group therapy and completely tanks its effectiveness.)

5) patients are often denied visits from their primary support people (e.g., parents and partners) because anyone who is conceivably a trigger is denied visitation.

there are obviously as many reasons people find it unhelpful as there are people in hospitals, but in my experience these are the most commonly cited ones. typically the main reason folks find it helpful is it gives them a break from their stressors or gets them away from their abusers, which is such a no shit sherlock statement it doesn't even get a bullet point.

if you're going to write about the theraprism, i beg you to research what MH hospitals are like and what patients have to say about them. while also understanding that whatever source you use is going to be biased (remember: the people who write reviews are either 10/10 or 0/10).

additionally, i encourage you to think about how employees at MH hospitals think.

pause for a moment and consider me, keri, hi how are you. i'm anti-institutionalization both for prisons and MH, i picked a career where my goal was to help people, and yet one of the legal requirements for my job is that i institutionalize people under certain circumstances. how do you think that makes me feel? what do you think i have to consider when working with high risk/acute individuals? what sort of mental workflow must i have created in order to provide the maximum level of care with the minimum level of suffering? how do you think it makes me feel when i have to call in welfare checks for folks i think are going to hurt themselves?

i don't even work with any level of inpatient anymore, just outpatient. imagine how folks on inpatient wards feel, how they think, how they have been worn down by a system that doesn't care and won't pay for it. where the only goal is keep people safe and sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to do it. can you imagine looking another human being in the eye as you strap them down and force medication upon them as they beg you not to? what does that do to a person, what mental gymnastics do they have to do in order to do that?

when you come from the position that every person in the system, from employee to patient, is a human being with their own thoughts, feelings, emotions, and goals, you can build a richer, more humane story.

the theraprism is not an evil institution that seeks to torture those with bad karma because they deserve it. it's not hell. but is it possible that due to poor training, provider burnout, outdated science, under funding, overpopulation, and working with beings who don't want to be there and are very dangerous it could lead to people being tortured? even if that's not the goal or the mission statement? or hell, even if that was not the intention of the treatment; one man's exposure therapy is another man's needless cruelty.

do the employees, who are all medical and mental health staff, see themselves as guardian angels? as jiminy cricket? guiding the multiverse's worst of the worst into being healthier? kinder? giving them a second chance at a softer, more gentle, more loving life? but people don't want to be told how to be, and they certainly don't want to stop being themselves. would you be willing to change everything about you? especially if you know that if you do you die at the end of it?

the theraprism can be a kind, loving, gentle place of healing and second chances and also a cruel, unforgiving, inconsiderate, house of horrors. because it's actually neither of those things. it's a hospital.

medical hospitals are exactly the same: understaffed, underfunded, with providers who think they know best. some patients accept the help their given, understanding they need it to get better and know less than their doctor does. some people want to control every aspect of their treatment, want to know and understand, want to have a say, will accept some aspects and reject others. some people are just scared of hospitals in general and even if they know they need to be there, being there is psychologically damaging.

hospitals are neutral, treatments are only approved if they have proven efficacy and fall within certain ethical guidelines. that doesn't make them good or bad, because something good to one person is bad to another.

that's why in MH we work in a provider-patient collaboration model. my personal philosophy for treatment is i know the books and the patient knows the experience and the patient and i meet in the middle. they teach me the experience and i teach them the books.

but what happens when a patient doesn't want to participate? what happens when they have to participate? what happens when the provider has to participate?

when i was working inpatient substance use treatment it was fucking nightmarish for me whenever i would have to meet with my patient who didn't want to be there but had to. he had to come to treatment, and i had to provide treatment, or we both would be in trouble. neither of us had a good time, but sadly i had to pretend i was. because i'm a professional and that's my job. what do you think that looked like to him? felt like to him? i didn't want to twist his arm or force him to talk or make him listen, but i had to show i did something with our hour.

what is bill's therapist going through? what are any of the therapists going through?

anyway. i don't have an ending point in mind. it's just that MH hospitals are not medical hospitals and they aren't prisons and you can't extrapolate what a MH hospital is like just because you've researched medical hospitals and prisons. they're not the same at all. and you need to. if you're going to play in this space, talking about something so sensitive and something that people do experience you have to honor it, you have to respect it, you have to take care of it.

we can't keep demonizing MH care, it's not good for anyone. and also, we can't pretend that all levels of MH care are good for and effective with everyone in all cases, that's also not good for anyone. people need to be treated as people, regardless of their care needs and regardless of what side of the desk they're on. and saying this person's the good one and this person is the bad one is reductive, harmful, and makes for a boring fanfic.

#gravity falls #anyway this is also my plea for everyone to read dream operator because wallys the only one out here doing it right

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bixbythemartian · 28 days ago

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50+ Ways to Annoy the Death Witch

Chapter 2: Actually do a Necromancy

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Callahan insisted we go back for his broken side mirror, which he fortunately found quickly enough that I didn't get too aggravated about the sideline, and then we headed to the gas station.

By the time we got there, the sun was high in the sky, as the day heated up. My eye throbbed, and exhaustion was quickly catching up to me, so I headed in to put five bucks in the boys’ tank, and grab an energy drink.

When I headed back out, Callahan was chatting with the boys, who'd already started fueling up.

When I got to the truck, he pulled me into the conversation, even though I was kinda hoping I could just jump into the truck and ignore them.

I'm not great with people, is the thing, they seemed like nice enough kids.

“This is Miss Tabitha Greene, by the way. Tabitha, this is Jacob and Dylan Matthews.” He pointed to each kid.

Jacob was the older one with pinky-peach hair, and Dylan was the younger one with the box dye black look.

“And you two do this kind of thing a lot,” Jacob said, apparently continuing their earlier conversation.

“About once or twice a year,” Callahan said.

I nodded. “It’s for the whole country, not just here,” I said. “It’s not that common. And it’s mostly just sad people who miss people they love, and that’s usually pretty easy to rectify.”

“Well we didn’t do it,” Jacob said. “And there wasn’t much love lost between Mom and them, before you ask.”

“You don’t have any aunts or uncles on that side?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” Jacob said.

“But it wasn’t us,” Dylan said.

“Just because your mom and grandparents didn't get along very well- death can change people’s priorities,” I said.

“I’m not saying Mom didn’t do it,” Jacob said. “I’m saying, if she did, it wasn’t out of love.”

Dylan nodded.

“Now, you don’t know about-”

“I’m real sorry to hear that,” I said, running over Callahan, who was definitely about to some whole ‘don’t you love your mother’ spiel that I was happy to spare the boys. “Is there another reason you can think where she might wanna talk to her folks again, though?"

The brothers glanced at each other. “Mom thinks that they had a bunch of money that nobody found,” Dylan said, after a minute. “Like, buried in the yard, or something.”

I nodded.

“Do you still live at your grandparent’s?” Callahan asked.

“We sold it a while back, to pay for the nursing home for Grandma,” Jacob said. “Grandpa died last year, and she wasn’t doing okay on her own.”

Callahan turned and looked at their pretty new, fairly nice SUV. “Was there money buried in the yard?” he asked, turning back to them.

Both boys looked at each other.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the answer.

“I genuinely don’t give a damn. But if she has good reason to think there’s money buried in the yard, we should probably go to your grandparent’s place first, and see what there is to see.”

“Using the dead as free labor and sources of information is also really normal,” I said.

“I’ll give you the address,” Jacob said, after a minute. “We’ll show you the way.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Callahan said.

“Do you know the folks who live there now?” I asked.

“Nah,” Jacob said. “Grandma found someone who sold it, and told us where to dig before we moved everything out. I don’t know what she did with the taxes, but I think it was the last spell she had in her. Everything was all smoothed over. Then... she just kinda faded, after that. Mom can’t know about the money, though, she’ll never leave us alone. It’s supposed to take care of us for a while. Hopefully long enough for Dylan to get through school.”

“We won’t say anything,” Callahan promised. “Do you know where she is?”

Dylan shook his head. “We haven’t heard from her in a few months, most of a year. But that’s- I mean, she disappears for a while, shows back up. Sometimes she swears she’s cleaned up, but if she is, she never stays clean for long.”

“What’s her thing? Meth?” I asked. I wasn't trying to be mean, it's just really common.

He nodded. “Among other things, but mostly meth.”

“How long do you go without hearing from her?” Callahan asked. “Is this normal?”

“Months, sometimes a year or more. She kinda just shows up when she needs money or a place to crash,” Jacob said. “But we don’t let her crash with us anymore. She’s got to find somewhere else." He sighed. "I’m not even sure she knows Grandma’s dead, actually.”

“I tried to call her,” Dylan said. “But her phone was cut off again. I mean- I hope she’s okay, but- she’s not our job, you know?”

“I know,” I said. “Get us that address, we’ll meet you there, okay?”

Callahan dug his phone out so Jacob could recite the address to him, and then we headed out.

I can’t tell you how long the drive was, I fell asleep basically as soon as we were on the highway. Next thing I knew, Callahan was shaking me awake, dragging me out of sticky sleep.

I hadn’t even opened my Monster.

“C’mon, Tabby Cat.” “Are you allergic to calling me by my name?” I asked, rubbing my face. I just wanted to go back to sleep. “Fuck.”

“Is it such a crime for me to express my fondness for you through whimsical nicknames?” he asked. “Here.” He held his hand out.

I looked at him, struggling to keep my eyes open, not sure what he was offering.

“I can give you a little boost. If you want. You look half-dead yourself, and we’ve got a lot of day left.”

My first instinct was to say no, but he’d never offered this before. Although I think it’s the first time he’s been around me after I’ve used a lot of juice, so it probably just hadn’t come up before. “Do I just take your hand?”

“Nobody ever done this for you before?” He asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m basically a hermit.”

“Yeah, take my hand, and a deep breath.”

I was very uncertain but, as much as he’s annoyed me over the years, I did trust that he wouldn’t hurt me.

I took his hand, and the breath wasn’t really voluntary.

It wasn’t quite like being electrocuted, but it wasn’t not like that, either. It was like you could be electrocuted by a cold wind, maybe. It was like being electrocuted, if that felt like swallowing a mouthful of crushed ice very suddenly.

It didn’t hurt, but it was very sudden, and bracing in a way I hadn’t expected.

It made me shivery all over, for a second.

“Alright?”

I nodded. “I’m awake, now,” I said.

“Good.” He squeezed my hand before he let go, and we got out.

It took an act of force not to shake my hand or rub it or be weird about it, I just grabbed my backpack and stuck the offending hand in my pocket.

Been a long damned time since anybody’d held my hand, and I wasn’t going to have weird feelings about Callahan, for Christ’s sake.

Just a little touch starved, that’s all.

The boys were waiting, looking nervous. “Stay right here,” he told them, and we walked up to the house.

It looked like your bog standard ranch style house, built sometime in the 70s. They’re really common out here. The brick had been painted with some sort of off white, which did sort of personally offend me, but what the hell? It wasn’t my house.

Had one of those high wooden privacy fences for the immediate back yard, it looked pretty new.

There were what I would bet used to be flower beds that ran along the front of the house, but they’d been filled in with pea gravel and nothing else, not even the odd decorative stone. I probed to see if I could sense anything, but there was nothing.

The porch had an old straw Welcome mat, and the door was painted a sort of powdery gray blue. There were no other decorations, which I thought was a bit odd.

I did see one of those hide-a-key rocks up in the corner of one of the flower beds, just poking up through the gravel. I don’t think I’d have noticed it if I hadn’t been marveling at the lack of ornamentation. The flower beds were edged in stone, and this was kind of tucked under the stone.

There was also one of those doorbell cameras, and a security camera was hanging under the light on the garage. Light looked to be on a motion sensor. There was also a security sticker in the window, but on further notice, it was just a warning that there was a doorbell security camera.

Callahan walked right up to the door and knocked. He did prefer the direct approach but, in fairness to him, it usually paid off. I followed, mostly because I’m nosier than I am anti-social.

A tall woman who looked to be- well, look, I don’t know. Maybe ten, fifteen years older than me? I’m not good at guessing ages, but maybe in her mid fifties?

She had that kind of golden pearly blonde hair color that ‘ladies of a certain age’ dye their hair to disguise that it’s going gray. It looked fine on her, she carried blonde well. Kinda tan, blue eyes. Pretty, older woman who wasn't quite elderly.

She sneered as soon as she saw us.

Callahan, however, is not now nor ever was a man to be deterred by someone who is not pleased to see him, as I can personally attest. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I know this is an odd question, but has someone come around, and tried to break into your backyard?”

She blinked at us, taken aback enough that it knocked the sneer off her face for a second.

I could see, in her eyes, she knew what we were asking about.

“Yes,” she said, after a long moment of looking us over and deciding dealing with us was acceptable. “Some crazy woman, a couple of times, right after we moved in. That first month. I called the cops, but she left before they got here. That’s been it. Why? That’s an oddly specific thing to ask about.” She gave me a particularly hard look.

Hm. I wonder if their mom is short.

“Well, their mom is… we’re trying to figure out where she is,” he said, pointing to the boys. “She’s kind of hard to get hold of, but we need her to sign some paperwork. You haven’t seen her, lately? Or have anything odd going on in your yard?”

She crossed her arms, shook her head. “What’s her obsession with the yard?” she asked.

“Her folks used to live here, and they buried a time capsule in the yard with some beanie babies or something in it, she thinks it’ll be worth a damn if it’s dug up,” he said. “Have you seen anything lately? Even just… you know, someone lurkin?”

“Nobody’s been here who shouldn’t be,” she said. “This is a nice neighborhood.”

“If I leave a number with you-”

“If I see her, I’m calling the cops. You can deal with her then.” She shut the door.

“Well,” I said. “Huh.”

He sighed. “Yeah,” he said.

We headed out to the truck- we’d parked on the street. When I looked back at the house, she was on the phone, peering out a window at us.

She twitched the curtain shut when she saw me glance.

“I bet I know why the cops took a while to get here,” I said.

“Yeah, she definitely seems like she likes to chat to dispatch, don’t she?” Callahan asked, as we came close enough to talk to the boys without yelling.

“Nothing?” Jacob asked.

“No, and she’s definitely the kind of person who’d kick up a fuss about strangers digging in her yard,” I said. “Apparently your mom was out here a couple of times right after they moved in, but-”

He sighed. “That sounds like her. But not since?”

“No.”

“Sorry, boys. This is a dead end. We’ll meet you at the graveyard,” Callahan said, and we got back in the truck and headed out, though he waited to start driving until the boys pulled out.

He’s that kind of guy. He’s never dropped me off anywhere without waiting until I was in the door before he left.

“We might have to come back and check her yard in the dark,” he said. “Depends on what we find at the cemetery.”

“Oh, joy,” I said. I agreed, though. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve snuck into someone’s yard. Or the second.

A lot of people panic and bury bodies in the yard or basement or whatever.

“Yeah. We’ll probably need to do some spell making, I don’t think I’m kitted out for a break in.”

I nodded. “I have a couple of ‘don’t look at me’ spells, but nothing more complicated than that, and I saw at least two cameras out front, she could easily have more,” I said. "Probably not tonight."

“Yeah, it’s a look before you leap kind of situation.” There is some magic that interferes with cameras, but glamours of any kind don’t work on them- cameras don’t have a mind to be altered, they tended to see reality. You have to block them, or disable them. “High fence around the back yard, did you notice?”

“Yep. Looked new, I think. The flower beds were all empty, nothing decorative, just the gravel.”

“No root systems, or nothing?” he asked.

“Nothing that I could feel. Could be they had some kind of minor disaster and just ripped everything out and are waiting for the spring, or something.

He nodded. “I think once we hit the graveyard, our next priority has got to be tracking their mom down. We’ll save the yard for last resort.”

I nodded. “Yeah, that really feels like the key to this whole thing.” Also, I hated nothing more than talking to the cops, and that was basically guaranteed if we had to get into this lady’s yard.

We lapsed into silence, as he drove, following the boys.

“Does it really bother you when I call you Tabby?” The question seemed to burst out of him. “It’s hard to tell when you’re genuinely being mad at me, but we’ve known each other for years. I’m just being friendly.” He really seemed upset about it.

I was kind of taken aback by how upset he was, actually. “It’s hard to take someone being that familiar with me when that person regularly accuses me of atrocious things,” I said. “You call me a necromancer and accuse me of doing foul things to my neighbor’s chickens out of one side of your mouth, and call me by nickname out of the other? It doesn’t feel friendly, it feels patronizing.”

“I’m- I swear, I’m jokin, mostly.”

“Mostly,” I said.

“Well-”

“Like I haven’t had people say that shit to me my whole fuckin life. It’s not funny, Callahan, it pisses me off.”

“But it’s me! I don’t mean anything by it.”

I cannot stand that whiny ass thing he does when he’s wrong and he knows it. “Yes, you do. You may not mean much by it, but you do mean something by it. You do think that one day I am gonna snap and start doing heinous shit. So you always ask, you always gotta get your digs in, you always gotta make sure I know that you’re a fuckin threat to me. One call to the council and I’m bound up, yeah?”

“Oh, come on, Tabitha,” he said. “That’s not-”

“And we haven’t ‘known each other for years’. We’ve spent about 2, 3 months in each other’s presence over the course of… I don’t know, 7 or 8 years, I guess? We don’t hang out, and we’re not friends. You don’t even call me when you’re gonna come out to visit, because you think I’ll take off, or some shit. You treat me like a murderer in waiting, not a colleague, not a friend. No, I don’t like it when you call me Tabby.”

“Well,” he said. “Fine!” He sounded really upset. "Then I won't!"

I tipped my head back against the seat, fucking annoyed. Of course, this is somehow my fault.

Look, it’s not like I hate him or anything. I actually think he’s overall a decent guy, and once I’ve told him it wasn’t me, he drops it. He always believes me.

I trust him, to the extent that I trust anybody.

But the fact that we have to do the same damned song and dance every fuckin time, and then he acts like I’m being a big old grouchy bitch for fun, instead of being genuinely frustrated that I have to drop everything on no notice to help him out after being accused of raising the dead.

He has my number! He could just call me and ask me to drive out to Macomb and give him a hand. I would, I could use the money! I always do it even when he's pissed me off, if he asked me nicely, I think we might actually manage to get through a job without at least one of these little fuckin tiffs.

So, obviously, I spent the rest of our drive quietly stewing, and I think it’s a fairly reasonable guess to say the same was true of him. But we did get to the cemetery.

It was a dinky little cemetery in the middle of nowhere. It’s just a flat spot where they bury people between pastures, to be quite honest. There’s a fence, chain link, but not particularly tall. Both entrances had signs over the entrance, and there were fences they could gate shut. A particularly determined toddler could scale this fence without too much trouble.

I could see the graves in question- I was pretty sure, anyway. It wasn’t a large graveyard, and there was police tape set up on some of those metal stakes, though the police tape had already started to tatter in the wind. There was also a mound of earth right there.

It’s May in Oklahoma, what can you do? Wind’s gonna blow.

The boys turned into the cemetery, and we followed. I gently probed at the magic in the area.

It was sloshing like crazy, churning and shifting and moving enough that I almost immediately got motion sick, which never happened to me. I’d never seen this before, usually something like this felt more like an open would, bleeding and painful.

Before I got the chance to tell Callahan to stop so I could get out, he was stopping, and I scrambled for my belt, dropping out of the truck and falling to my knees, gagging in the grass besides the little bitty ‘road’ (grassy lane with twin lines of worn in tire tracks) that we were on.

“Shit a brick,” I heard him say, and it wasn’t a second or two before he was next to me, rubbing my back as I gagged and spat and gagged and spat, and finally puked up a little bit of bile.

I hadn’t even had the damned energy drink, I remembered.

I sucked magic in, trying to soothe myself, trying to settle the churning. Pushing magic back out. Like breathing, in and out.

“Do we have water?” I asked Callahan. My voice was hoarse, and I fucking hated how close to tears I sounded.

“We got some, Miss Tabby,” Dylan said, running back to their truck, and coming back with a kinda cold bottle, unopened.

“Bless you, hon,” I told him, rinsing and spitting, before gulping several big gulps, and taking some deep breaths. “So, bad news,” I told Callahan. “This is a new thing, I don’t know what this is, but this is new feeling, the magic’s- it made me motion sick, it’s heaving and churning and-” I sniffed. I was not gonna cry in front of these boys.

He nodded. “You feeling up to looking at the graves?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. I wasn't sure, but I needed to, anyway.

“Here,” he took my arm, helped me stand up. He kept his hand on my back as I walked over to the graves- he’d never done that before, but I’ll admit, I took comfort in it.

The graves were- they were null. Like a dead battery. No leaking, no remnants- gone.

They were rectangles left in the dirt- the cops had scooped out the coffins, it looked like, or the boys had had them pulled out, so their grandparents could be reburied.

But that wouldn’t do it. There’d be lingering magic, here, and in the dirt. Not just of the grandparents, but of all the other things in the dirt- bugs and such.

Not from the bodies, they were sealed up, but. You know. It’s dirt. There’s bugs, often dead ones. There should have been something.

But it was gone.

Someone had, with extreme care and precision, extracted every last drop of death magic from those two graves, and nowhere else in the cemetery.

This wasn’t some upset kid or a teenager who’d gotten into some old books. This was the real deal.

This was a Necromancer.

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If you read this and enjoyed it, maybe you want to help out and contribute to my ko-fi? I'm disabled and that's the best way for me to earn a living right now! Check out my masterpost for other fiction.

#50+ Ways to Annoy the Death Witch #fiction #immediately stuck myself with a pain in the ass transition chapter and I've been fistfighting it all week but we got there #I actually really like where I got with it #and I have a solid idea on how to complete the first little story arc here #so I'm gonna chip at that and we'll see how people are enjoying it #no promises on how often they come out but I'm gonna aim for weekly #I'm thinking it'll probably be little monsters of the month kind of deal with maybe a vague overarching plot #if I get to the end of this first novella's worth of story and people still want more #I've had this character idea for a while and the scene in the first chapter #where she turns the gas into Mesozoic sludge #but she was a character with a scene in search of a story and I really am having fun with this

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