#and she goes as a vampire (she has the teeth but always takes them off after like ten minutes bc she cannot speak with them in)

[brittlebutch]

tryingggg to decide what augustus and the changeling dress up as for halloween

[astralnymphh]

what if u get a scratch and vampire ellie smells u from a mile away and she’s so desperate to have your blood that she lures you into her house and begs you for just a little taste. she whines and apologizes over and over again for being so needy while drinking your blood.

no smut. but suggestive! doc version included

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ oohhhh.. literally loser!vampire!ellie. the layout would be reader who's ultimate best friends with her; long time childhood friends potentially? and, let's also exercise the chance that ellie was fortunate enough to keep her vampirism veiled from your knowledge all this time. (if edward cullen could, she can too.) so, on one superficially mundane day near the woods where you happen to break skin by means i will leave up to individual imagination, ellie just so happens to be a mile away - returning home after a hunt proved to be in vain (girl had to feed bad but was way too delirious to concentrate.) - so, what transpires when she picks up the familiar scent of her beloved friends blood, an aroma commonly encountered, but always ignored despite her bloodstained appetite? yield.

"hey, my cars' just by the curb there. can give you a ride back to my place, patch that scratch up. 'ts not a big deal."

strange for her to utter that - it's not a big deal, when your puny little scratch is incapable of even irritating you that bad, but ellie insists, softly. what she omitted, is exactly what will happen between plopping on her bed and actually plastering a band-aid on that scratch. blood was drawn, crimson had dripped, and nothing goes off without a hitch when a voracious vamp meets the nectar of life, nothing. "you don't have to look— just, let me, please? again, i'm so sorry for asking." her voice withered and apologetic, a breathy and sedated mess with her fingers twiddling and twining with yours, sat adjacent to you just looking so so guilty for even bringing the topic up; vex with herself that she couldn't ignore it, like all the other past instances. "ellie, i— ugh, okay. if it's only a little.." and— that reply of sanction should excite her, god forbid she doesn't have the biggest crush on you, and now she's doing this thing viewed as intimate by some of her peers? but she can't help but feel.. sorrowfully faulted at first.

she drags her lips over the nub of your wrist before she separates them and bares her pretty teeth, poking your skin in little dints. vampiric foreplay. "you do this with every girl?" and you say it earnestly, yet with a light heart. no ill will bending in your tone nor intention. yet vulnerability casts a pall over ellie right now, taking blood from the one she can't keep her damn desires off, "i don't— i don't, no, fuck.. never, you're the only one so far." she mumbles, withdrawing her teeth a moment to spew that recital of apologies "so fuckin' sorry, please don't watch me. i just need.. just need—" she's literally so ashamed of her vehement needs for your taste, she can't even complete her sentences, unsheathing her teeth once more and burying them into the flesh by your wrist bone, grunting simultaneously with your pretty little wince.

although it is strange— on the edge of daunting, you managed to muster a fondness for it after a minute or so; the adrenaline rush at first bite, the excess of blood smearing her pale rose lips in a blotchy pattern, sometimes trickling the rise of her chin, those cursedly cute noises she makes during the feed, the fumble of her fingers trying to pull your arm deeper into her mouth like your wrist alone wasn't suitable of quenching, suspending her sucks with a spluttered or breathless, "damn it, sorry, just a little longer." whispered unto the delicate massacre painting your lower forearm— you love it. too much, you love her sudden jump in energy, pinning you on the mattress with her whole body and lodging her knee between your thighs, all while pleasuring you with pain, you fucking adore it. she has to know.

"take all you need, ellie. i don't mind, you can have me all you want, hmm?"

who knows where her mouth ended up next.

MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . IMPORTANT TLOU POST . PALESTINE INFO . BIG TEXT VER

ignore why i wrote sm i did not plan to yap this much apologies if its rushed i am quite tired.

[auclairedetoru]

Hello! I'm a little nervous because I haven't requested anything in a long time, but I was hoping that maybe you could write something for Gojo with a tall, muscular fem reader? Maybe some headcanons? The buff girlies hardly get any love. Thank you 🥺

- 👾Anon

Absolutely! I've noticed the majority of the time the reader is always described as smaller than the character, which don't get me wrong, I love feeling petite and adorable in fiction since that's not the reality 😭 but the strong tall girlies deserve representation too, that's why in my roomie! Sukuna story I made the reader a boxer!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Oh you asked Gojo about his girlfriend? Oof, get ready for him to talk your ear off.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He'll tell you all about her personality. How she's incredibly sweet, and she takes care of him and his students and friends with all the love in her heart, and she's so smart, he's pretty sure whoever made her chose only the best qualities.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 And then he starts talking about her looks and physique... Oh boy, if he wasn't hyper excited before, he's gonna be now.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The first thing you'd notice about Gojo is how fucking tall he is. He's nearly 191cm, 6'3 in freedom units. He could very easily cosplay slenderman. People have a hard time looking up at him because their necks start to hurt after a little while, but... Not his girlfriend.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 She isn't as tall as Gojo, but she can make eye contact with him with ease, and he LOVES it! He can wrap his arms around her shoulders and hug her, he can kiss her without bowing down nearly 90 degrees, he can give her piggy back rides without having her stand on a chair first. He just loves her height, it was perfect, like she was made that tall just for him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Then there's her strength, and no, not the mental strength, but physical. Every time he sees her wearing shorts and/or sleeveless shirts, he goes feral. She makes him feel like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time, or like a school girl with a crush.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 His girlfriend trains hard everyday, and over time she has built very strong muscles that make Gojo salivate. His favourite thing to do is bite them, which earned him the nickname "vampire Toru" and every time she feels his teeth sink into her arms or thighs, she'd say something along the line of “uh oh, vampire Toru is awake!”. Namami told him that if he had a tail it would start wagging because of that one simple sentence.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Gojo loves play fighting with her because she manhandles him with no fear of hurting him and it drives him crazy. Sometimes he lets her win just so she can pin him down on the floor, he would playfully gasp with a hand in front of his mouth to make her giggle, but the blush on his cheeks is very real.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 When his students met her for the first time, they were in awe (except for Megumi who already knew her). Her smile and voice were so sweet, but everything else about her would definitely crush them with a flick of her finger.

“Your shoulders are very broad.”

“thank you! I worked very hard on them.”

“and you're so tall.”

“you'll catch up to me eventually.”

“... Can you teach me how to be like you?”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 At first, Gojo didn't like that, he was supposed to be their role model, not his girlfriend! He huffed and pouted when they ignored him and focused on her instead, but when he got home and his pretty girl showered him in cuddles and kisses and told him he is still her number one, he was back to his happy self.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Speaking of cuddles, Gojo loves when she holds him and vise versa. He never believed in soulmates, but with the way they fit in each other's arms no matter who's the little and big spoon, he started to believe she really is the other half meant for him and him only.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He doesn't have a favourite love language with her, because they were all his favourite ways of loving her. Whether it's through kisses, gifts, words, he does them all. He knows that the world has been harsh on her given that she doesn't look like what people think a woman should look like, so he tries his best to give her back the confidence they have taken away from her.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Over the years and with the help of Gojo, she has become so confident and secure in herself. She stopped hunching over and hiding behind baggy clothes and now stands tall and wears whatever she wants, because she found someone who loves her for the things she thought made her unlovable.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 So yeah, his biggest flex is his tall and buff girlfriend.

It went into a totally different direction than what I had in mind but I hope you like it!

[raisedbythetv89]

No, but like…FAMOUSLY not just in Buffy, but every universe that has spells and magic, real love CANNOT be manufactured or duplicated by magic. Only twisted obsession/infatuation like what we see in Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.

But in “Something Blue” Buffy literally says once the spell is over and she’s talking to Willow “I loved him, we were betrothed” in a spell whose specifications had only to do with marriage which would only change them from being enemies to allies, which then allowed all their suppressed and ignored feelings to come to the surface that they could NOT act on before when the other person was supposed to bring about their death.

And I’m not saying full deep romantic season 7 and beyond love but they clearly CARE about each other and are extremely attracted to each other, in lust if you will…and must have been for a while. Giving SO MUCH credence to neither of them ever succeeding at killing each other because deep down they genuinely never wanted to. (yeah yeah plot armor but so much of the time when one of them got away it was really WAY too easy like they could have at least made it so both of them were always just BARELY getting away by the skin of their teeth instead of how many times one of them really just lets the other go after exchanging a few punches like 😹 they weren’t even TRYING after a while and to me “Something Blue” proves it’s because they do not want to kill each other because they are crushing SO HARD. Because also in season 2 when they make the truce literally FIVE MINUTES LATER Buffy leaves Spike alone with her mother while she’s on the phone. The amount of trust that demonstrates is actually insane especially when you combine it with the fact that Buffy doesn’t do a disinvite spell after he leaves town OR comes back in season 3 & 4. And plot armor or not, them never killing each other becomes part of the lore and informs the motivation of the characters because that’s just how fiction works! 🤷🏼‍♀️)

I mean just look at these two love sick idiots

I MEAN….Buffy’s face when her immortal and extremely durable vampire just gets tossed across the room?? She goes into slayer overdrive, swiftly taking care of the two demons she was fighting to run over and check on him exactly like she does so many times in season 7 because that’s her vampire!!!

We see them so happy and in love - literally the happiest we’ve ever seen Buffy and then the show tries to tell us “it wasn’t even nice” because what? They bickered?? You mean they actually SAID what was on their minds and talked about it and then comforted the other when they were sad instead of bottling it all up or being evasive of topics that would cause fights and Buffy would tell Spike lovingly to shut up when he was being dumb??? OH NO THE HORROR!!

And what really is the cherry on top for me is the “wind beneath my wings” bit because Buffy blames the spell while her body language and face clearly says it was NOT the spell, that was all Buffy. Which opens the door for us to question just how much was what we saw because of the spell’s influence vs the real Spike and Buffy just completely uninhibited by their status of an engaged couple???

Especially when this supposed engagement to a “bad boy” who was helpful to her watcher, extremely caring and loving towards her in front of all her friends and when xander says something mean spike is SO HURT and he’s like “that’s it! You’re off the usher list!” Like oh yes THE BIG BAD INDEED 💀 but Buffy claims being engaged to a Spike “gets her over her bad boy thing because it wasn’t even nice” ….. GURL you are running for the hills to seemingly “normal” captain cardboard because you LOVED being engaged to the slayer of slayers and that scared the absolute shit out of you and you were like I need to do something to convince myself I’m normal and not the kind of girl who would be into Spike IMMEDIATELY 💀 and then avoids Spike for the next several episodes while Spike is always asking where she is for Buffy to achieve maximum avoidant/suppression of feelings possible 😹😹😹

And the way Spike NEVER teases her about it afterwards like he did with the “wind beneath my wings” bit at the end of the episode to me is so telling of the importance it held for him too that he never used everything he must have learned about her at that time or never even taunted Riley about the fact that the Slayer was all over him when her and Riley had first started dating because let’s be honest that would be SUCH a Spike thing to do. Like???? They have been so into and conflicted about each other for a LONGGG time and I honestly cannot be convinced otherwise 😹

[hermesserpent-stuff]

soooooo void!remy meeting the x men and being freaked is a love of mine. and him mistaking kurt for a weird vamp due to void things lol.

based on convos with @golden-buddle

tw: human trafficking, violence, child abuse

Remy clicks his tongue, fighting the urge to hiss and show off his teeth. He has to keep his poker face on. He had been working his way into gambling dens, digging down deeper and deeper, and now he has entered one of the darkest vilest gambling dens in the city. They dealt in things beyond the chump change of the rings that Remy preferred. No, this one deals in people. And not just people, but with a particular eye for vamps, mutants, and the young of both. 

He hates it. And the arch vampires of the city hate it. They had hired Blade to help them out clear out some of these dens of depravity. Which means Remy hunts them down and gets in and Blade and the rest come a knocking. 

Remy feels like his skin is itching as the proprietor of the establishment escorts Remy’s little group past the cages. Remy slips charged bits of paper into as many locks as he can. A little jolt and they would explode. He does not plan on things lasting long enough for him to actually to sit down and play a game of poker. He tenses as one of his many many explosions goes off. Well now. It seems someone tried rattling a cage. 

He hears the howl of Wolverine and the snikt of his claws coming into play as the sound of Deadpools endless pool of chatter springs.forth. Remy is ready to join in the chaos of the fight when he notices a little mutant girl being dragged down the stares through a door he thought was a wall. He makes a beeline for it, pulling out his favored bo staff to hit and explode any who tried to oppose him. 

The door leads to winding stairs that go deeper and deeper. He doggedly follows as the men take note that they have a prayer and start trying to do things that might slow him down. The little girl yowls and struggle, Remy spotting her fuzzy cat ears and tail as she struggles. One of the men hits her head and something in Remy snaps. He chucks a card forward, exploding the man's arm off. Then a silver knife finishes the job, lighting the vampire up.  He dispatches the other two with similar explosions lighting up the ill-lit room that surrounds them. He pants and the little girl stares as she sits on the floor. 

Remy pulls himself together and lowers himself to the floor.

“Hey mom petit. I'm not here to hurt.”

She sniffs the air. Probably has abilities similar to Logan's in the smell department.

“You smell like cat.”

She whispers and Remy smiles with no teeth.

“Sure do. Got a princess at home named Beignet. She's the sweetest fluffiest drop of midnight to come into my life. I would never hurt her. Or you.”

The girl seems to trust this, launching herself forward and burying her face in his neck.

“I don't want to hurt anymore. I always hurt.”

She begs and he gently pets her hair crooning lightly.

“Then Remy promises he gonna get you out. You got a name, mon petit?”

She noses his neck, sniffing and holding tighter. 

“They… they took it. Said I wasn't allowed to name myself. They called me Kitten.”

He wants to rip the world apart. Kill those men again and again. Names were important. Knowing his name was his helped keep him sane in the horridness of the void.

“I don't wanna call you something they made you take. What do you like to be called?”

She pauses, her little nails growing out into tiny claws that are sharp through his shirt. But not a threat. She is just scared.

“My momma called me Eleanor.”

He hums at the name.

“Alright. That's a pretty name, cher. Eleanor. I'm Remy.”

He gently pets her hair, and she noses his throat. He stands up with a playing card slotted into his free hand. She presses close, a light purr there as he spins and starts make his back to the stairs.

A man jumps out the block his path and Remy throws his charged card. He slides to the side as the man spits insults and tries to grab at the girl. She whimpers and presses closer into his chest, little pinpricks of blood coming out. He fires off another card and leaps up the stairs and around the man. He kicks his head and throws another charged card, blowing up his chest. Another man bursts into the stairwell and knocks him down. Remy keeps a tight grip on the little girl, determined to not let her down. He throws three cards at the staircase. But the guy dodges the cards and fires at Remy with a gun. Remy ducks down and throws a few more cards, hissing loudly as he shifts backwards away from the guy. His charged cards light up bright pink against the darkness, little flares of hope that explode in a ver familiar way. He gets a good shot on the man’s chest and he blows up.

Once more he tries to get to the stairs. Eyes flash in the darkness ahead of him and the smell of sulfur reaches his nose. Remy freezes, arms tight around the child that clings so fiercely to his chest, her cat ears pinned back at all the sound. In front of him stands a demon- or some sort of vamp? Either way, he does not know their allegiance and his throat fights down a sob of weariness. He just needs to finish breaking free of this hell, to meet up with Blade and Wolverine who he can hear ripping the place a few floors overhead. 

The blue vampire steps forward and Remy pulls out a cross and chucks it and hisses long and loud, showing off his teeth and stepping backwards. He is scared, so scared. The thing grips the cross, mouth opening slightly to say something right before the wood explodes. Remy’s feet are already moving when he hears a poof intermixed with the sound of an explosion. He skids to a stop at the sight of the vamp popping out in front of him.

“Hey, hey. Beruhige dich. Calm. We are on the same team. No need to disrespect the cross.”

The guy's hands go up showing three phalanges instead of the normal five. Remy hisses stepping back. This guy is fast. Too fast. Remy is too slow while carrying someone else, but he is not going to put her down. She whimpers and he gently pats her.

“It's okay Eleanor.”

He whispers, hand pulling out another weapon, a gun full of silver hollow points filled with garlic. The blue vamp loosens his posture, crouching down and curling his tail close. Tail? Maybe a really weird vampire.

“I dunno what game you be playin’ vamp, but if’n you be with the guys upstairs, we gonna have an issue real quick.”

Remy bites out, terror nipping at him. He was not supposed to be so far from the others. But he had been drawn in deeper at the chance of helping a child.

“Ah, mein Freund. Breath. I am not a vampire. I am like you and her. Mutant. Im here with some friends of mine. To help.”

A mutant? That… that actually makes more sense. That or the guy is a straight up demon. The little girl peeks out, arms still tight around Remy. 

“I see. Your group helps mutants… X-men?”

He knows the name from Wade’s friends who come around occasionally that he and Logan avoid. The girl would be safe with them. He would really like to avoid Charles Xavier, not needing to meet another terrifying telepath, no matter how sweet other mutants seemed on the guy. Logan is probably avoiding them for a different reason. 

“Ja! You know us!! We're the good guys!”

The guy cheers, tail swinging in presumable delight. The little girl’s eyes follow the tail, her own responding a little.

“Mmph. Remy will be believin’ he be seein’.”

“Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed. But we’ll make an exception for you, herr und frau. Now! Let the fuzzy elf help you out!”

The guy winks at the girl flicking his tail through the air and grinning. She lets out an amused sound and Remy finds himself relaxing.

“I'm Nightcrawler. And I can teleport. Let me port us out of here. Ja?”

Remy considers it, tucking his teeth away. He looks down at the little girl, who he does not want to scare more.

“What do we say cher? Do we trust a fuzzy elf?”

She sniffs the air and presses a little tighter into Remy.

“Uh-huh. Yess.”

She whispered, hissing the last syllable. He pats her head and nods.

“Alright. Get us out. To somewhere safe.”

Remy steps towards the mutant and Nightcrawler grips them both gently. Remy flinches at the poof noise and forces his eyes back open as the scent of sulfur hits his nose. He sees that they are right outside the doors of the gambling ring. He spots one of the vampire workers bolting out and Remy presses the little girl close, shielding her eyes and ears as he fires. The vampire lights up and explodes and Nightcrawler freezes. 

“You just-!”

“Don't feel bad. Bloodsucker was helpin’ hurt children. This weapon does not blow up normal folks. Just hurts like the devil.”

He hisses and then snaps his head to the side. Blade is there, sword wet with blood. Remy whistles, knowing that the vamp will be able to notice it even with the battle going on. Remy also notes that there are other people who are wearing outfits that have some shared designs. Remy keeps the girl on his hip and aims, firing to keep people away. Blade gets to his side and sniffs for wounds.

“Blood?”

Blade growls and Remy laughs.

“Aw, don't worry about Remy none! This sweet gal accidentally clawed me through my shirt.”

Eleanor makes a soft noise and he shushes her.

“And you shouldn't worry either, petit. I don't mind being clawed accidentally by you, cher.”

He gently pets her head and looks to Blade. Blade scrunches his nose. 

“We’re almost done cleaning it out. Cops are coming and these X-men are helping get the mutants somewhere safer. And some vamps are collecting the fledglings.”

Remy slowly nods.  Good. everyone was being taken care of. A few stragglers try to escape but he and Blade make sure they do not escape. Nightcrawler helps keep people from sneaking up on Remy and Remy keeps anyone from being able to touch the blue fur ball. Remy ends up sitting on a half wall next to the entrance. Eleanor is currently eating some of the Rolo’s that Remy had in his pocket, pressed against his chest with her legs tucked up against him. She seems to enjoy the caramel and chocolate, tugging on Remy’s sleeve to get more. He happily gives her more. Blade sits him on his left and Nightcrawler sits to his right. 

Nightcrawler speaks softly to him.

“The institute is a very safe place for mutants. She can learn there without people discriminating against her.”

Remy smoothes her hair down. He feels a little tense at the idea of just handing her over. She curls a little tighter into Remy while staring at Nightcrawler. 

“That'll be up to Eleanor. Watchu think? Remy’s happy to help you, but he's no good a teachin’.”

“But… what about you?”

She whispers, claws digging down into his shirt. He croons softly to her.

“I'll be okay.”

“He can come visit. I’ll give him the address and everything!”

Remy looks at Nightcrawler who looks genuine. 

“You'll help her?”

“All the best medicine and teaching. And protection. Xaivers is safe.”

He knows they are headed by the person who is the brother to Cassandra. It makes him nervous about going anywhere near.

“Will you visit Remy?”

She asks, hope in her voice.

“I-... I'll come, cher. Remy will come and visit. Keep an eye out for me on the edges petit.” 

“Or you could come too.”

“I got a place already.” 

He says with a shake of his head and scooches closer to Blade who hums pleasantly. Nightcrawler looks like he understands. Maybe. He presses a playing card gently into Eleanor’s hands and kisses her forehead before she goes with Nightcrawler. Blade gently rubs his nape with a firm hand and Remy leans into with a croon. 

[archangeldyke-all]

hi angel!!!

sevika and vampire reader again because i can't get them out of my head <3333 can we get vampire reader turning sevika into a vampire and how their lives would be after her transition?

black reader pleaseee <3

yes yes yes let's do it! i'm going to include an idea mars, @sexysapphicshopowner gave me too! so be sure to check out their blog if u like the bucket list bits <3

same disclaimers as always with this series! i don't know much about vampire lore, so i'm just guessing and making shit up as it goes haha. also, i'm white, so i'll try my best to make this an obviously black reader, but if i mess anything up lmk!! i'll change it asap :)

man and minors dni

sevika's getting older.

a few grey hairs here, a few new wrinkles there, some new aches and pains she'd never had before-- it's an inevitable part of life. at least it is for most people.

but sevika's got you, now, and you've got an out for her-- a very permanent out, but an out nonetheless.

for a while now, she's been pressuring you to change her. about a month ago at work, she very narrowly dodged a fatal blow, and you started taking her demands seriously.

but-- there's a few things you want her to do before you guys go through with it.

you didn't get the chance to live out your final mortal desires before you were changed. you know just how depressing it can be to mourn being human, especially when you don't get to properly say goodbye. so, you've been helping sevika make a 'bucket list' of sorts-- all the things she wants to do one last time before she won't be able to do them anymore.

soaking in the sun, wearing silver jewelry, drinking a glass (or bottle) of whiskey-- stuff like that.

she's been steadily checking items off the list, and now you're down to the last few, and she wants to check 'em off all in one go.

she wants to eat a big, full meal-- steak and potatoes and a slice of chocolate cake on the side. then, she wants to feed you, one last time. and finally she wants to do what all humans are eventually bound to do: she wants to die.

that last one makes you nervous.

changing her requires that you drain her completely before you kiss her back to life. there's going to be a solid ten or so minutes where she's completely dead-- and she's apparently looking forward to it.

"i wanna know what it's like. see if i feel anything, see if i see anything." she says with a curious shrug.

it makes you nauseous to think about.

the entire reason you're doing this in the first place is so sevika never has to die. the idea of her body going still and cold beneath you, of her eyes glazing over and staring off into space, of her breaths ceasing, it hurts you to even fucking think about.

you're trying not to think about it at all.

"babe." sevika says to you over the table as you place her plate in front of her. you look down at her, smiling, and she reaches up to grab your hand. "this look fucking amazing." she says, not even looking at the plate. you snort. "you look... nervous." she says. you groan and slump down into her lap, scooping up a bite of potatoes and shoving it into her mouth. she chuckles.

"i'm trying not to freak the fuck out." you say. sevika hums, grabbing the fork from you to tear into her steak.

"it'll be fine babe." she mumbles around a mouthful. she groans. "fuck, this is divine."

"enjoy it." you say. she grins.

"i'm trying to savor it but i kinda wanna wolf it down and get your teeth in me." she says. you snort.

"eat slower." you demand. she giggles.

"baby." she says, putting her fork down to hold your hips. you lean forward, pressing your forehead against her shoulder. "i promise it'll be okay. it's gonna be fucking amazing, actually. just think about it-- in a few hours i'll be able to float around with you, we can start hunting together, i'm gonna be able to stay up all night with you. think of all the endless sex we'll have once i've got vampire stamina." she says, kissing your head. you snort.

"i'm just. i really don't want you to die." you say. sevika hums, rubbing her hand up and down your back.

"i know. but it's gotta happen one way or another. it's either this-- you killing me with your sexy fucking teeth then fucking me back to life or whatever--" you giggle. "-- or, i die at work or i get sick or something and you're not there to save me. and then we'll both be miserable forever." she says.

you sigh. she's right, of course, but you're still worried. you think you will be until she blinks back to life.

sevika reaches behind your back to grab another bite of her food. with her free hand, she reaches up to gently rub your cheek.

"you're everything to me, you know that right?" she asks around another mouthful of steak. you smile.

"feeling's mutual." you say. sevika smiles, gently toying with the tiny curl near your ear, pulling it straight then watching it coil back up again when she releases it.

"and i wanna spend infinity with you. if you'll have me." she says. you snort, and flick her head.

"course i will." you say. sevika grins.

"so there's no problem." she says.

you'd be lying if you said there wasn't at least a small part of you that's looking forward to tonight. you've been fasting for a month-- in preparation to drain sevika. you're ravenous. and sevika's your favorite fucking meal.

especially now, with her all glowy and happy after a big meal, a little tipsy from the bottle of wine you'd bought her-- she looks delectable.

she grins up at you from her spot on the bed. "hungry?" she asks. you chuckle.

"starving." you say, licking your lips. "i gotta say. i'm really gonna miss your blood."

sevika chuckles. "we'll find something else you like. together." she says, reaching up to thread her fingers through yours. you sigh, leaning down to kiss her, gently trailing your fangs over her lower lip. sevika shudders.

"c'mon, babe. i'm ready." she says, kissing the back of your hand, tilting her chin up, and widening her legs. you laugh.

"i'm not fucking you tonight." you say. sevika gasps.

"what?! why not?" she asks, pouting. you snort.

"because, i gotta stay focused." you say. sevika groans petulantly.

"but!" she tries. you press a finger to her lips.

"i'll fuck you when you wake up." you promise. sevika sighs.

"that works, i guess. is vampire sex any different than human sex?" she asks. you giggle.

"i dunno, it's been so long since i was a human it's all a bit of a blur now. you'll have to tell me." you say. sevika smiles.

"alright." she says. "c'mon." she says, tilting her chin up again. you giggle, leaning down to press a few kisses over her pulse point. sevika sighs, relaxing into the bed beneath her. "i love you more than i've ever loved anything or anyone, you know." she says shakily. you smile against her neck, licking her artery.

"you're sure?" you ask, one final time. sevika reaches up to hold your hips like she always does when she's beneath you.

"more sure than i've ever been about anything in my life."

"i love you sev." you whisper.

"i love you too, baby." she responds.

you take a deep breath, and sink your teeth into her throat.

sevika shudders and sighs, her nails digging into your skin as you retract your teeth and lick against her wounds, before you start sucking down her blood.

she tastes so fucking good. you're tempted to stop, just so you can keep her around as a bloodbag for a bit longer, but you know she'd be pissed if you did. so, instead, you let your instincts take over, and you start to devour her.

sevika's squeaking and gasping beneath you, her hands clawing into your flesh, her thighs squeezing together as you drink.

"th-that's it, honey, drain me. take it all from me. make me yours. make me yours." she whimpers. you growl against her neck, reaching down to hold her shoulder, gently tracing your thumb back and forth on her collar bone. sevika sighs. "c-can't believe you aren't gonna fuck me, shit! gonna make me cum in my p-pants." she says. you groan and readjust, shoving your thigh between sevika's. she laughs as she starts grinding down against you. "fuck i love you." she mumbles.

sevika cums a second later, shivering underneath you as you continue to slurp her down. you're messy-- messier than you've ever been before. something about the fact that you're changing her is making you fucking feral. you can taste the rush of hormones as she cums, and you shiver on top of her at the taste.

sevika goes limp beneath you, her grip loosening as she tries to catch her breath. she's getting lightheaded and dizzy, you can tell from the way she keeps giggling.

"f-fuck." she mutters. you hum against her. "feel drunk 'r somethin'." she says. you snort. "'m so fuckin' in love with you. you gotta marry me now, y'know." she says. you chuckle.

sevika's breaths start getting shaky, the hands on your hips slipping down to her sides. you reach out to hold her hand, intertwining your fingers again. she hums.

a minute later, and all of sevika's sounds stop. you can still hear her heartbeat, but it's much slower and softer than it usually is. your stomach flips, and you continue to drink from her.

when the gentle rhythm of her heart stops completely, you nearly choke with fear.

it's happening. fuck, it's happening.

you take a few more sips from her, draining her completely as she grows cold beneath you, and then you pull away with a gasp.

the usual high that accompanies a recent feed is nowhere to be found, dread taking its place.

sevika's eyes are shut, her skin clammy and cold, and she's not breathing, not moving, her heart completely silent.

you take a second to wipe your face of her blood, licking it off your arm, looking down at your girlfriend. she looks... peaceful. you hope she's feeling peaceful too.

you wanted to give her a solid minute or so to experience death, but your anxiety's too high. you only manage a few seconds before you lean down, cupping her face between both of your hands, and leaning down to gently, shakily press your lips against hers.

sevika's lips are cold and unresponsive.

you start to freak out.

you kiss her again, licking your tongue against her lip.

she stays still.

you gasp, sitting up to tap her cheek with your palm. "sevika." you call. she doesn't respond. tears start to well up in your eyes as you duck back down, sucking her lip into your mouth, running your tongue against it.

she still doesn't move.

you begin to panic.

"sevika!" you shout against her mouth. you bite her bottom lip, then follow it up with a quick peck. sevika remains still beneath you, and tears begin to well in your eyes. "wake up, you bitch!" you cry against her as you press your mouth to her again.

suddenly, sevika gasps and snaps upwards, her lips moving against yours, her hands coming up to hold your hips. you sigh in relief against her, and sevika flips you, pinning you to the bed. you squeal.

"oh thank fuck." you whisper up at her. she grins down at you.

"that is a hell of a way to wake up." she says. you chuckle, a few stray tears escaping your eyes as relief floods your body, and you reach up to grab her by the hair and pull her back down against you.

sevika chuckles against your lips. "you really thought i'd leave you behind?" she asks. you sob.

"fuck off. you had me worried!" you say. sevika snorts.

"i don't think you even fully let me die, babe." she says. "could hear you the whole time."

you giggle, and sevika gently swipes your tears away.

"how do you feel?" you ask. sevika grins, her fangs descending, and you gasp. fuck that's hot. you think.

"honestly?" she asks. you nod up at her. "better than i've ever felt before. what did you do to me?" she asks. you giggle.

"exactly what you asked me to!" you say. sevika grins.

"i didn't know i'd feel so... refreshed!" she says. you chuckle.

"i'm so fucking glad you woke up." you say. "i was gonna kill you if you died on me."

sevika snorts. "how would that work, exactly?" she asks. you groan and shrug, then reach up to pull her against you again, hugging her to your chest. sevika hums, nuzzling against your neck.

"i love you so fucking much." she says. "so fucking much."

"let's get married." you say. sevika grins against your neck.

"that's my line." she says. you giggle and blindly reach out to pat down your bedside table, pulling the drawer open and fumbling for the tiny box you've been hiding for months now. you pull it out and pull sevika away from your neck by her ponytail, before shoving it in her hand.

"i'm dead fucking serious." you say. sevika blinks, her eyes going wide.

"fuck-- really?" she asks. you nod.

"i mean. we're already spending eternity together, what's a ring and some paperwork?" you ask. sevika grins, then tears the box from your hand, tears welling in her eyes.

she opens it and bursts into laughter as she reveals the gold ring, strung on a gold chain so she can wear it all the time. you smile as you watch her squint, trying to make out the inscription.

your secret admirer it reads. sevika bursts into laughter.

"oh fuck-- i love you so fucking much." she cries. you grin up at her.

"yeah?" you ask. "is that a yes?"

"of course it's a fucking yes! are you kidding me?" she asks. you grin, and sevika swoops down to press her lips against yours. "thank you." she mumbles. "thank you thank you thank you thank you."

"for what?" you ask. "i should be thanking you!" you exclaim.

"for stalking me! for falling in love with me and being so fucking sweet and all the gifts and how much you take care of me and changing me and being my fiance and--"

you cut her off with another kiss. sevika hums against you.

"i love you." she finishes.

"i love you too. for infinity." you say. sevika grins.

"for infinity." she agrees, pulling the chain over her neck. you smile as the ring dangles down over you, gently tugging her closer by it.

"you want me to show you how to float?" you ask. sevika grins.

"fuck yes. but first i want to pay you back for that orgasm." she says, leaning down to kiss you.

you giggle, and sevika grins, and right before your lips connect, you think that even forever with sevika might not be enough time.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby

[tyrantisterror]

Why are Bulma and Piccolo your favorite Dragon Ball characters?

It might sound weird, but I love Bulma because of her very glaring flaws. She is loud, short-tempered, vain, self-centered, arrogant, too-clever by half, and extremely bossy, all of which are traits that are generally given to villainous women so that we hate them. But Bulma's not a villain - she's a hero, and for all her faults, she's also incredibly smart, resourceful, and resilient. Bulma never says die, never gives up, always tries to come up with a solution to whatever shit gets thrown her way, and goddamn, she manages to pull something together more often than not! In fact, most of her virtues are connected to her flaws - that arrogance pushes her to defy the odds and succeed, her tendency to overshoot when showing off her smarts will lead to situations where she can apply those smarts under pressure to more spectacular results, and you know what, she is really fucking pretty, so why shouldn't she be proud of it? Like, I've said before on a few occasions that I love it when a hero has villain coding, and Bulma has all the same villain coding as Jessie from Team Rocket - but she's a hero, she's unambiguously a hero, and a hero we need more often than not, and that's so damn cool. I love that she gets to be this loud, bossy, arrogant, vain person who's nonetheless a good friend and incredibly reliable and resourceful ally, that for all her abundant faults she's still a lovable and iconic hero. Girl characters don't get to be those things often enough! We need more Bulmas in the world.

My love for Piccolo is a bit simpler/more obvious. One, he's got a kickass character design - he and Aku from Samurai Jack cemented my love of costumes with big fucking shoulder pads/pauldrons. Two, as a person who had never seen Dragon Ball and found out about the series when they aired Dragon Ball Z on Toonami back in the 90's, Piccolo was the weirdest thing that first episode threw at me, and it threw a LOT of weird shit at me in that episode. Talking turtles, cats, and pigs, a lady with blue hair, a guy whose kid has a monkey tail, aliens, all sorts of shit. But then there's this big green guy who everyone is terrified of for reasons the episode doesn't really explain (because there's a whole series you're supposed to have watched before it) who asks the father of the monkey tail boy to team up with him against the monkey tail alien, and the green guy has these weird pink ridges on his arms and the coolest fucking outfit I had seen at that point in my life, and when he takes off his weird purple ball hat thing it turns out he has antenna under it, and his teeth are sharp like a vampire, and he blows a hole through the dad guy's chest, like holy shit what an icon, I loved him immediately.

And then Piccolo proceeds to train the monkey-tail kid, claiming he's going to use him to take over the world, but as the show goes on it's clear that Piccolo is not as evil as he claims to be, and clearly cares for this kid despite claiming to only be using him as a tool, all leading up to the big battle with Nappa where Piccolo, that ruthless green slug vampire motherfucker, takes the killing blow to save the kid he stole. Blew my goddamn mind. There were almost no other characters in the media I had consumed as a child up till that point who matched Piccolo's moral complexity- about the only ones I can think of that compare are Dinobot from Beast Wars and Hexadecimal from Reboot, and, well, I'm also obsessed with those two, so here we are.

Piccolo had a great character arc and defined so much of what made Dragon Ball Z instantly special and unique in my eyes as a kid. There was no one like him, no one who did what he did, no one who looked as cool as he did. What a fucking legend.

[crowleywowley]

Babe wake up laurelicious has returned with more modern au headcanons 🥱 thank u to everyone who loves on these posts and adds their own silly things to it!!! Y’all make me very happy and I’m glad we can share this goofy universe!!

Previous sillies:

1 2 3 4 5 6

See yall unda da cut 😼😼😼

-little miss Unnamed Marston Daughter has absolutely been blasting Olivia Rodrigo’s new album around the house

Everyone complains but John finds himself quietly murmuring “seeing u tonight… it’s a bad idea right??” While he’s brushing his teeth

Abigail tries to be supportive and plays it while she drives the kids to school, now she and Jack know all the words to Vampire and listen to it once they’ve already dropped UMD off

-both Marston children always dress as something weird for Halloween

John and Abigail stay up late making the costumes for their weirdo children bc they love them :)

On a similar note when John and Arthur were kids they were little matching power rangers and if you bring it up to Dutch he WILL cry over it bc he loves his babies

-the entire Marston family takes Halloween way too seriously to be completely honest

Abigail and John are the cool family in the neighborhood with the really good candy

Dutch and Hosea have now graduated to the old person level of giving out full sized bars but the window of opportunity before they turn in for the night is SMALL so all the kids in their neighborhood sprint to their house first

Charles and Arthur give out tootsie rolls and milk duds. That’s it.

-the following are songs John cried to as a teenager:

Fall for You by Secondhand Serenade

Miserable at Best by Mayday Parade

Scars by Papa Roach

Disenchanted by MCR

-John and Javier were absolutely bffs in middle/high school, they kissed once at a party then never spoke of it again

Javier is now the cool childless uncle that they all see once a year and brings the kids cool gifts

-when Arthur was a teenager he got caught sneaking back into the house after curfew, he was grounded for a month

John was the asshole little sibling who was super excited that his brother was in trouble

-Arthur wears slippers, Charles wears fuzzy socks. I’m right

-Charles uses nice shampoo/conditioner and Arthur is always hovering around on wash days:)

-Arthur has broken every single toe like. 5 times at least.

-Charles and Arthur love corny ass reality TV

They started watching the bachelor to make fun of it, but now they tune in every single week and have their favorites

Tell me Arthur wouldn’t love the masked singer. He goes nuts every single time (“Charles!!!!!! They opened it up and it was KERMIT!?! That’s too good!”)

-Because Isaac doesn’t live with them full time these two go absolutely bananas when he comes to stay with them, Charles is scrubbing down the house while Arthur clears out the grocery store of all his favorite snacks :)

Before he visits Arthur is texting Eliza like “what drama should I know?? Any new friends? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?!?” Just so he’s up to date

-Arthur loves Raisin Bran/Corn Nuts/other old man cereals

-we’ve touched on this before but Charles’ mom absolutely adores Arthur and when she comes over she’s basically shoving Charles out of the way like “my baby darling Arthur how are you!!!🥰”

-Isaac plays baseball and Charles and Arthur are full on sport dads in the best way possible

They bring snacks for the team, they’re sitting in those little fold up chairs, they’re cheering louder than everyone else in the stands, etc.

Arthur ‘sentimental ass’ Morgan keeps a little box of all the memorabilia from baseball throughout the years :)

This was a particularly silly batch, methinks. As always if anyone wants me to add other characters into this universe lmk😼 alsooooo I have started writing little oneshots/drabbles/etc expanding this if anyone would be interested in reading them!! No promises on when they’d be done but I think it would be a good time hehe

[nyxvamps]

My Lady Nyx

This is a more of an animated vision of who Lady Nyx is. I see her as having the same vibes as Morticia Addams. Very regal and elegant and sophisticated but completely unhinged. and her kid inherited this.

She'll invite them over for tea and the blend would have dried blood in it. The most prized stag blood for her children and something a little more...outsourced for herself.

When they meet for dinners, it's always an affair. Especially if guests are invited. They dress to the T's. A dark academic, vampiric dream of flowy blouses, pressed slacks, leather boots, expensive looking cloaks, glittering jewelry. Looking like a pintrest board. Once dinner is over and the guests have left they go outside to the back garden and the children dance in the moonlight to The Cure and The Cramps and Judas Priest and give offerings to Cousin Artemis for providing the mood lighting for the evening while their mother watches with a fond smile, tapping her long sharp nails on the arm of her chair to the beat.

Lady Nyx refers to her individual children as "my daughter" "my son" "my child" and when they are all together, "my dears" "my loves" "my little bats".

Her children will refer to her as "Lady Nyx" or "Lady Night" as an initial greeting around company but then will refer to her as "Lady Mother" or "Mother Night" for the rest of the meeting. When alone, they will just call her Mother.

Her palace in the underworld feels as though it is never ending. With high elaborate archways, spiraling marble/obsidian staircases, large balconies and terraces, big glass windows, hidden rooms, a giant library. A throne room, two dining rooms (one for personal use and one for guests), a family room, a garden big enough to have a hedge maze. the list goes on.

The garden is full of plants and vegetation that requires little to no natural light and they tend to be monstrous. They might have teeth or make growling noises. There are a few that purr if you pet their petals or roots. There is one tree in the middle of the maze that thrives off of sacrificial offerings and because of this, it has blood red leaves and a slight metallic smell. It also grows the most delicious fruit you will ever taste, but unless you are of the underworld, maybe don't eat them.

All of the children receive a crown when they are born that will shift and change based on the wearers taste. They are only made with the purest of metals and finest cut gems and jewels from Lord Hades himself.

Since her children are of the underworld, they tend to have an affinity for witchcraft because of their closeness to Lady Hecate. Because of this, they will usually hold ritual during the solstices, beltane, full moons, etc in honor of their Mother. To thank the universe and the realm for bringing the gods to this plane and for allowing their Mother to have and keep the powers she has. And for allowing those powers to pass on to their children.

They have wings that can be retracted into the back unnoticeable because magic. Usually either leather, batlike wings or feathery, birdlike wings.

While at CHB, her children are regularly found wondering the woods at night uninterrupted because the harpies do not want to deal with the vibes they give off. When they are found, they smile serenely and say they were talking to Mother or just taking a stroll. But their eyes are a little wider and reflective than normal and their smile just a bit sharper. literally, they have fangs.

They casually walk around camp with fancy black umbrellas to protect them from the sun and are known to stay near the shadows or to bring the shadows to them. with clunky dollar store sunglasses and baggy dark sweatshirts on top of their platform boots with real silver studs they are usually something to look at.

You get the vibe. Thx for reading.

[wuxiaphoenix]

On Writing: Character Voice

Stories are about people. Maybe you have a fantastic world, maybe you have a really cool SF what-if (colonizing the rings of Jupiter!), maybe your characters are an alien and a sentient AI probe from Earth. Still. Stories are about people. And one of the ways to make characters come across as real, breathing individuals on the page, is to give them their own voices.

(This works for fanfics, too; though in that case you’re trying to catch the voice the creator has already established. The same elements apply.)

There are three major components I consider absolutely necessary to catch a character’s voice. Word choice, worldview, and scope of knowledge. Or in other words, would your character pick these words to say X is a problem? Would they actually consider X a problem? And do they know how big a problem X is in the first place?

Word choice is critical; it’s even been known to get people killed. There’s a story, possibly apocryphal, of a British commander calling his U.S. counterpart for help, describing his situation as being in “a bit of a tight spot.”

What the American GI heard: Eh, we have a problem, mind fitting us in when you have a chance?

What the British commander meant: We’re out of ammo and holding them off with knives and our teeth, get over here!

You see the problem.

Word choice helped make the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer memorable. The contrast of California Valley teen voices with a stuffy British Watcher and other far-less-slangy adults and teachers let you immediately identify who was going to be on which side when it came to dealing with the Monster of the Week, and who was likely to 1) make a bad situation worse or 2) get eaten. This was always particularly interesting when one of the Scoobies was mistaking a supernatural problem for something mundane, as this bit from Giles when Buffy asks if Xander’s possessed. “It’s devastating. He’s turned into a sixteen-year-old boy. Of course you’ll have to kill him....”

Which leads into worldview. For the past few years in Buffy’s life, every Major Problem has had a supernatural cause, and she can’t talk about it with anyone who doesn’t already know, or they’ll think she’s crazy. (Including, sadly, her parents.) So with most people she acts the ditzy if observant Valley Girl whose most serious problem is not having the right new outfit to hit the Bronze. Around those who know she still speaks Valley, but with a far more practical edge.

Giles, on the other hand, though trained as a Watcher, has lived many more years where serious problems were just other humans being humans. If it looks like a normal human problem, he treats it as such; the crossbow comes out later.

And here’s where scope of knowledge comes in. Buffy was on that zoo trip, she saw the change in Xander’s behavior. On top of that she takes classes with Willow and Xander every day; she knows how they interact. She saw a sudden shift with a possible identifiable trigger. Giles sees them all less hours of the day, he’s more likely not to have noticed anything except lamentable Teenage Guyness. Until his poking in the stacks finds the Primals. Once he knows, he goes from mentor dealing with unfortunate teenage realities to Watcher with an evil zookeeper to stomp.

...As it turns out at the end, he’s not entirely wrong even before that. Xander is a teenage guy - who normally does not behave in such a cruel fashion because he knows better.

Xander (facing Giles after having proclaimed amnesia to his friends): ...Shoot me, stuff me, mount me.

Giles (dryly): Your secret... dies with me.

Consider what your characters would say. Consider what they think, and what they know. The hero who’s never met zombies at the start of the story will have much different things to say once he’s survived a few chain-swarms!

[sasha199]

Gale/ Rolan Drama Part 18

Read all of me on A03

Mayhem and Madness

Rating: E

Summary: Sasha and Marlie are out fighting in the darkness...and by fighting I mean arguing.

Pairings: Gale & Fem Human Tav

SFW just some cuddling

Y’all…this game hits different when your Tav is a stand in for yourself.

My sister and I are playing a multiplayer as ourselves, as sisters. I (Sasha) am romancing both Gale and Rolan. Sister (Marlie) is pulling both Astarion and Shadowheart.

I feel disgusting. I pull another chunk of...something out of my hair, wincing. It’s dried and matted. I flick it into the dirt, trying not to look too closely.

“What the fuck were you thinking.” Marlie’s voice is tight with anger, every word snaps.

It’s not a question, and even if it was I wouldn’t bother to answer.

“There were un-dead Harpers in our path, and they had a creepy ass dog with them.” I can’t stop moving. Nervous energy is coursing through me, I feel like my insides are itching. “How was I supposed to know the githyanki would be lying in wait?” I glance at her as I turn to walk the length of the fire pit again, her face is stoic, frigid.

“Right, because it’s not like Voss, the fucking kith’rak himself, TOLD us the githyanki would be coming or anything. You have a FUCKING psionic detector on your person for this exact reason-”

“I sent the message, I asked for help-“

“AFTER you’d already triggered a FUCKING ambush.”

“None of this would matter if your boyfriend could aim. How does he miss-”

“Don’t act like you're EVER within five feet of an enemy-”

“That shouldn’t matter when he’s wearing that stupid ring!”

“It FUCKING matters, Sasha. I DIED because of your carelessness.”

The image of her crumpled body flashes in my mind. I send it to her, through the tadpole. The desperation and rage I felt coat my tongue with a bitter taste. Something twists inside me. I un-clench my fists.

“Please stop pacing. Just stop walking around.” Marlie sounds exhausted. She rubs her face with her gloved hands, smearing the streaks of grime.

I stand in front of the cold fire pit, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I don’t know that it was my fault, exactly. I keep going over the moment in my mind, when I made the call and motioned Minthara to get low to the ground. I should’ve reached out to Marlie as soon as I’d spotted the Harpers. I’d hoped we could still circle around unseen. I remembered the feeling of the detector buzzing in my pocket. The panic that had gripped me as the gith appeared on the bridge.

My bottom lip trembles. Fuck fuck fuck I have a headache from all this crying. “I said I was sorry. The last thing I wanted was for you to-” I take a deep breath unable to say it, and start again. “I know that doesn’t fix anything and it’s not Astarion’s fault…”

“He saved you.” Her voice is soft steel, like the whisk of a dagger being drawn, “Even after I was gone he still came back for you, and you dare to blame him. For my death? How could you be so fucking ungrateful.”

I can feel the spike of rage in my gut, the righteous anger broiling. Ungrateful?

“That man...that vampire…” I hiss between clenched teeth. I hate that I owe him my life, I hate owing him anything. “He always has an agenda. You think my life matters to him? He does nothing...NOTHING… for the benefit of others.”

“Get off your high horse.” She sneers at me, “you’ll get a nosebleed.”

“How can you not see it?” There’s a note of despair in my voice. This can’t be happening again. I know I'm at the precipice of something, I can sense the breech looming before me. I leap anyway.

“He’s a leech! All he knows is power and blood lust. It’s all he talks about! He goes on and on about how terrible his master is, but he’s no better. It disgusts me, the way he uses you, but what’s worse is that you LET him.” 

Marlie’s eyes are storms, the stoic indifference replaced with cold fury, “Astarion is not Cazador. If you would open your eyes and stop JUDGING for one fucking second, you would see-”

“What? What would I see, Marlie?”

“That he is more.” Her tone is icy, her body tense, like an avalanche about to unleash. “More than what what he was made to be. More than anything you could possibly believe. We both are.” Her hand twitches.

“We? What we? I am talking about the fucking spawn!”

“His name is Astarion.” She moves quickly, a dagger in the dark, closing the gap between us in the span of a heartbeat. “I won’t remind you again.”

We stare at each other, cold blue eyes and burning green.

She pulls back from me, and a smile overtakes her delicate features, making them fierce and deadly. “By the grace of our mother’s blood, I will let you walk away. Do it. Now.”

A moment passes, another.

I leave.

***

***

“I am judgmental.”

“Yes.”

I lift my arm from over my eyes, “You’re not supposed to agree with me, Gale.”

He pauses in combing my hair, I told him it was pointless without a wash, that it would just frizz out completely, but he insisted. He bends down and kisses the top of my head, “I know, darling. Alas, the truth is we all judge occasionally. You tend to partake a bit more often than others, especially when it comes to your sister. You’re protective of her, it’s endearing.”

“I just don’t want to lose her.” I wince as the comb snags on a particularly stubborn knot.

“You can’t lose what’s already yours, my love.” He leans on me, I relish the feeling as his strong arms envelope me. “Astarion is not a threat to what you have with Marlie. In fact, I am most grateful for his actions on the field today. Without his quick thinking, I fear you would not be here with me now.”

I sigh. Gale’s right of course, it was wrong of me to lash out at Astarion when the person I’m most upset with is myself. “I still don’t think he’s right for her.”

“And you are absolutely entitled to that opinion. But if you value your relationship with Marlie, as you say you do, I’d keep that particular insight to yourself. Or at least between us. Your judgments are always safe with me.”

I smile and nuzzle into his beard. He kisses my neck and I close my eyes. My rib is still sore but Shadowheart said it would take time for the pain to pass completely. I’ll have to apologize (again). I should say something to Astarion too. I hate that I called him a spawn, that was wrong. He doesn’t deserve that. But I can’t shake the feelings that plague me as I curl up next to Gale.

I did my best to be tolerant (if not outright supportive) of their relationship. I said almost nothing when Marlie awoke from a night’s rest bloodless and disoriented. I worked hard to ignore his snide remarks when I turned down payment for helping people. I hid my revulsion when he implied he was interested in accepting Raphael’s deal, and I knew he and Marlie were guzzling tadpoles without a second thought for their own safety. Marlie had tried her best to hide THAT from me, but I saw her powers growing in combat…her potential.

The truth is the closer Astarion and Marlie get the more I feel pushed out.

I don’t feel threatened in the same way by Shadowheart, despite her twisted perspective on religion and Shar worship. My relationship with her is more or less open, friendly even. Is that the right course of action? Do I have to really become friends with Astarion? I feel myself frown. Easier said than done. Or is it something about our past. Marlie’s and mine, that needs to be mended instead. The long years of silence and worry before the Nautaloid…we’ve never talked about it. Or about what came before…a part of me hoped we would never have to. I'd wanted to let the past vanish into smoke, like Father had.

It seems none of our bad blood would be erased without effort.

As I feel sleep take me, in that middle space, where I can still twitch awake, I find myself walking through a forest. My hands are being held on either side. A golden-haired girl on my right try to rush ahead, and I have to gently pull her back every third step or so. She laughs treating it like a game. There’s another girl on my left, also younger than me, holding my hand much less firmly. Her hair is a lighter brown than mine, but we share the same tight curls. Every step she takes is tentative and hesitant, I almost have to coax her along. We look more alike than the golden haired girl and I, but our connection is...uncertain.

We three suddenly stop, and there are other people around us. A man and a woman, an elf and a human, also holding hands. They smile at each other. A warmth settles over me, a feeling that comes to me only in this place, with these people. A wholeness. I look up and gasp to see beautiful pink flower petals. They cascade down in a bright shower, dancing in the sunlight and I hear laughter. My mother’s laughter and I suddenly recognize the “wholeness” I’m feeling.

Family.

We always feel like family here, even though we are far apart from each other most of the year. I spend my days trawling on pontoon boats with cousins in the swamps to the east. My sisters are with my mother’s clan in the southwest, in the plains and deserts of her people. Father follows the herds to the north riding through rolling hills on horse back with other ranchers, cattle dogs loping at their heels.

But every spring, when the seasons shift we return here, together, to the banks of the Chionthar outside of Baldur’s Gate. We sit and watch the cherry blossoms fall, and sing. I hum the tune to myself, it comforts me, because I know that no matter how far we stray, mother says, if we follow the river it will always lead us back to each other. To this place.

Family.

As I sing my sisters join in, and I begin to cry.

Down down down by the river...

[herenortherenearnorfar]

I've been swishing around a set of little stories for over a year now. I hoped to get them out for February, but failed. Instead maybe I'll manage to put a few out for June? This first one goes out to @outofangband my fellow in Aerinism.

Flayed, Thuringwethil walks through woods that she once flittered above.

She is still a nightmare, her great teeth beneath her lipless mouth. But a bat cannot fly without leather stretched between its bones. A vampire caught between human and leech is just another monster; bereft of all mutability, all prismatic sheen.

No one has use for a messenger without disguise or flight. Reduced to a common haint, she feasts upon the elves of Nargothrond, then wanders north up the river to Dór-Lomin. Men are plentiful there, so easy to catch and kill and rend—she regains her vitality, which Lúthien plundered, feasting on Beleriand’s new blood.

She doesn’t bother to stop when the quisling men, who call themselves her master’s servants, come to power. They ought to be frightened of what dwells in the dark. They tell stories of a witch woman cursing them—she hears it when she lingers under their eaves—but attribute the ill fortune to elves. As if elves could hang entrails from a tree!

Thuringwethil hunts other creatures too, in the shadow and the dark. Wolves, orcs, bears. She tries them on for size like cloaks, but finds none fit her so well as her bat fell.

Years pass. Her stolen skins slough off her, she does not love any of them enough to bind them. Her bare flesh prickles in the cold. The sky is ash dark, sunless. Crops struggle to survive, trees go dormant. The world has been on fire for a very long time.

One day the fire blazes closer.

A great house, the greatest one these mortals have built, burns. There are no screams. No one comes to douse it. Thatch fires are not unheard of, even after rain, but these men have many thralls to stomp them out. The plume of smoke is growing to the point of no return, and still the air is silent—no cries of men, no baying of hounds, no horses screams.

Intrigued, Thuringwethil comes nearer.

Through the trees she peers, and sees no onlookers. The hill is empty.

She wears a mountain lion’s coat this month—frozen gore around the curling edges. Cats are always curious. Creeping from shadow to shadow, Morgoth’s dead messenger slips through the abandoned homestead, over the stone wall, past the empty stable. There are fresh tracks in the mud of many people fleeing.

Blood clamors from inside, an olfactory overture beckoning her closer. Though she fears the flames—she burns like everything does in this shackled realm of substances and static song—she can’t deny her hunger. The fire is mostly absorbed with the damp straw of the roof, the turf-covered walls of the longhouse have yet to catch.

Thuringwethil ducks into the shadowed door, letting her stalker’s eyes take in the scene. Smoke coils around her and slithers into her lungs. There are bodies scattered about the hall, lying sprawled over tables, draped like drunkards over benches. A few have swords in their hands. Some are already aflame, for though the ceiling has yet to cave in there are pools of flickering oil drizzled across the floor and seasoned wood piled at the corners of the hall. All the fragrant scents men burn to fend off their stench blend together, pine, cedar, cherry.

Someone started this fire, she realizes, leaping over hazards. What fool would deny the ruler of the world this measly corner? Who would court death to kill a dozen mortal servants?

Only someone already doomed to die. Interest bubbles in her gut. The timbers above her are creaking. She wastes no time on the dead men, their roast meat and thin blood. Further back, that’s where her instincts (and the smell of burning hair) tell her the prize lies. Past the high table and the dead men clustered around it—burly men with broad shoulders now seared, rich bellies being rendered down to dripping fat, beards fizzling to ashes—is a woven curtain dividing the public life from the private.

Thuringwethil pushes through it, ignoring the cinders now falling on her pilfered pelt. Amid the looms and low chairs there are no dead mortals, just a few slaughtered sheep. On the great bed to the left one torch is blazing; a person, laid down as if to sleep, burning alive in a pile of fabric and furs. It looks as if they gathered all the bedding in the house and made a cocoon.

Perhaps they meant it to smother but the layers of slow catching wool and sturdy hide have had the opposite effect. Nestled up in their deathbed, this daring murderer has yet to die. Oh, the smoke is starting to finish the job; they're too far gone to even cough. Yet a hidden fire, the first fire, still flickers in their chest.

Such a little body, even shrouded. Such a tenacious spirit. She has hunted elves and orcs and men, but she's never seen any of them build their own funeral pyre.

Darting fast, Thuringwethil pulls them out of the firetrap they made. Her paws scorch, fur incinerating instantly and stolen skin blistering. There's oil on the blankets and it fries her at a touch. Beneath, her raw flesh shudders--its been decades since she's tasted such heat. But she wants to save this mortal thing, if only so she can shake answers out of them.

It is the nature of this world they built that the creatures that kill, live. Flesh-giver, fruit-bringer; cousin Ivann would disagree. She likes to coddle her own creations. But Thuringwethil is the beasts that tear each other in madness, the rage-sickness that hides secretly in bat blood and runs amok in drooling dogs. She is the predator and the infection that sets in after the bite. Both animal and disease know nothing but survival. To self-destruct like this is insulting, especially from something capable of such slaughter.

These are the justifications she feeds herself as she drags the human, still burning in places, back, through the doorway and the long hall of dead men, through the choking smoke and falling embers. Ambient heat has finally started to dry the thatch and burn down through the turf. Soon the entire hall will be ablaze, and after that the outlying buildings. Other men from nearby settlements will swarm in, vultures to a fresh kill. They will find the cracked bones and red-hot blades and start to piece together a narrative.

The hounds and hunters will come soon after.

Quick though she is, she is much diminished in later days. She worries the man will be dead by the time she drags them outside. The fire in her arms never diminishes though, and so she keeps carrying them; down the hill, into the woods. Only when they're safe beneath the darkness of the pines, where meddling mortals do not dare wander, does she stop to put out the smoldering flames in her coat.

The high-king's eye will wander here in time, if it hasn't already. Thuringwethil does not intend to be caught interfering. There have been no orders since she was skinned--to the iron fortress the useless are as good as dead. In her convalescence she's enjoyed a degree of freedom not known since her earliest days, when this spinning globe was blue with new air and the only hunters were minute, flanged, ocean-things--brainless beautiful new predators working on a scale that now seems infinitesimal. She's not eager to return to duty; she gave up on revenge years ago.

Harboring a little mortal fugitive, if only for a moment, could ruin things. She needs a disguise, and she needs some way to stabilize the half-burnt, gasping thing at her feet.

(The woman's eyes have opened, lashless lids peeling apart to stare feverishly up at her. They're a blue that borders on black, like the water-pourer's northernmost seas. For a moment she thinks of that girl, the nightingale's daughter, snarling and grey on the riverbank, a wolfhound lunging for a wolf.)

Thuringwethil kneels and caresses the human's--her human's--crackling, blistered cheek. Her pulse is thundering under dead skin and despite everything she's still breathing, rasping, desperate breaths. How unfair of her to go and kill herself when she so clearly wants to live.

"You are brave," she hums. "Be brave a little longer for me. I do not have enough water to drown this sickness in."

Blood makes a much better tonic. Fortunately, Thuringwethil has been staking out a she-bear, a fighter who tore apart those orcs and more recent monstrosities audacious enough to come after her. This charred lion's hide will have to do for a little longer--the bearskin is needed more urgently elsewhere.

She strips the last of the woman's clothing, sensible long wools that shielded her chest and stomach from the worst of the fire, with her claws. Her arsonist's temperature is too high and the fiber will only encourage infection from here. Underneath is a soft-skinned body, hardly made for violence. Only a killer's eye can see the death kneaded into every spare ounce of fat. This is a time of starving, having calories to spare is a triumph that speaks for itself.

The bare body pressed up against her chest as she runs through the forest is giving and heavy, warmer than a fresh corpse. Did little Lúthien find her this tender, when she laid her down and stripped her cloak by force? Such thoughts can make even ancient ones go mad.

Instead she focuses on the path through the forest, following the scent of prey. 

Her sow is out hunting. Hibernation is a thing of the past now; no one has enough spare food to sleep away a winter. Instead they struggle, eat, survive.There have been no cubs for years now. This aging matriarch rules over a forest without children, the last born generation now starvling adolescents ekeing out survival and lashing out at anything else with a pulse. What a world the Elder King has wrought! The snake that eats its own tail draws closer and closer to glorious self-obliteration; this is death unchecked. It makes Thuringwethil’s heart race, for she is the last feeding frenzy before collapse. Some part of her, the bit made with foresight, wonders if a single cumulative orgy of violence ending in the destruction of all thinking life is actually as interesting as a prolonged experiment in existence. The other lordly ones were killjoys, yes, but they never actually stopped her or her kin from carving out their little niches of the Music.

Maybe that’s why she finds herself cradling a mortal martyr and slinking into a burnt forest glade where a grizzled bear is tearing into a wasted cervid corpse. The deer is an obscenity of sloughed flesh and grey gore. It died while it was still alive; this too is of Thuringwethil’s singing. She slings her gasping mortal over one shoulder and charges before the bear can turn. The first rule of fighting a predator is to attack first and attack hard. Stolen claws and teeth rake into scraggly fur and depleted fat—but that’s not the true attack. As her mouth latches over an open wound she sucks, draining blood and vitality from the beleaguered creature. It keeps fighting for several minutes, batting over its shoulders with massive knife-tipped paws, roaring plaintively. At one point it staggers towards a fir tree and Thuringwethil worries it will try to bash her off like a parasite. Being crushed between a bear and a hunk of half-dead wood would hardly hurt her… but it would spell the death of the woman still clutched against her side. 

Finally, blessedly, the old mother begins to topple. Missing her wings, Thuringwethil leaps back. Her cheeks are swollen with blood; she’s been trying not to swallow. If she’s to save her arsonist she’ll need all the flesh she can get. 

The woman is a breathing corpse, fur and dirt embedded in her sticky burnt flesh, her lungs rasping with smoke. That she still lives means she is unwilling to die. Of course, chutzpah can only drag these flesh-tethered children so far past the limits of their shells. Speed is key. 

Straddling the bear’s ribs, Thuringwethil cores it open, making a cavity, evicting unnecessary organs until there’s a human sized hole in its great mass. It’s gory work but no messier than little Lúthien was in her field dressing. If she could wear a stolen skin, why can’t another aftercomer? 

When she lifts up the charred mortal there’s a moment of fear. What pulse there was has vanished; the woman’s tired heart is still. But her blood is still warm, that much a vampire can tell. And even Thuringwethil, who is no expert on shades, knows the faint shuddering of a spirit not-yet fled. The hum of lingering is easy to detect when it’s pressed against her own heart. 

She buries the dead woman in bear meat, bear skin, tilts her chin up and fills her dry mouth with blood. 

Pinning a skin to someone else is different. What is instinct when dressing herself becomes fumbling when confronted with a stranger’s self. What these infants call magic is simply skillful working; but even the oldest craftsman can fumble in a new medium. Thuringwethil knits half-dead flesh to half-dead flesh, blood to blood, making a new thing out of two old ones. Like a cuckoo virule, inserting its own song and rewriting the music of its host, she undoes what this body was, turning it into a copy of herself instead. 

This is the secret to death–just like life it yearns for propagation. Thuringwethil, who is both at once, a permanent superstate, cannot be blamed for loneliness. Like every other predator she wants to make more of herself. Like all of her kin, she was conceived to reshape a corner of this faltering world in her image. When she smelled the oil and blood thick on her arsonist, she felt a pang of jealousy like nothing she’d ever known before. Next came a jolt of protective rage. 

How stupid to die for someone else’s story, even if the alternative is surviving in shadows! Don’t these mortals know how terrible it is to go scorched and skinless? 

The spell catches. She breathes out from lungs that aren’t really hers (matter is always a costume for creatures of her ilk) and sits back on the mouldering forest floor, amid the blood and gathering flies. She holds the edges of the chest wound closed and waits for the deathseeker to stumble back to life. It’s like watching mold grow across a piece of fruit. Coarse fur creeps over open injuries, the bubbling texture of a blister overtakes the raw red of exposed viscera. What was once a distinctly ursine skull distorts, muzzle shortening, skull rounding. 

Days pass in the woods. She wanders short distances, hunting the wild-eyed tree squirrels and a few ferrets the size of hunting dogs then returning quickly to her vigil. Thuringwethil hears some human ruckus far back where they came from but makes no particular note of it. The search parties that are sent out are brutish and oblivious, scraping past their little glen without incident. Why would they pause? To all mortal eyes this is a lion feasting on a dead bear; better to move along quickly and hope no other predators linger nearby.

On the third night after the fire a bear wakes up and takes a swing at her without rising from the ground. Having anticipated this outcome, if not the immediacy of the violence, Thuringwethil counters quickly. Were this fresh made creature at full strength she would not have been able to overpower her, for she has put her charge in the coat of a killer. Famine drained and newly returned from the precipice of death the bear bucks beneath her but cannot summon up the strength to throw her off. 

“Calm yourself,” Thuringwethil caws. It has been years since she’s had cause to speak with voice and tongue. They feel brittle like bad tin. “You still exist inside of there. Find the focus to return.”

Bloodshot brown eyes bore into her. They lay there on the rot covered duff for a long time, next to the maggot-ridden slime that has become of the deer carcass. It’s nearly dawn (not Thuringwethil’s favorite time of day, though she doesn’t shrink from it as she did in the years first following her skinning) when the first change comes. 

It starts with the paws pinned beneath hers. Fleshy pads melt into firm, calloused fingertips as her hands lengthen, dextrous thumbs stretching out, dactile. The bargelike body Thuringwethil is perched upon shudders into a still sturdy but decidedly human shape. Tall, as many noblewomen are, fuller figured than any mortal she’s feasted on in years. The worst of the burns have faded, leaving only a rippling pattern of blisters, like the sea at a distance. Down her bare torso is a fresh, gnarled pink scab. The edges where Thuringwethil held her skin together for hours, batting away every insect that came to lay eggs in her fragile flesh, are just barely holding together. 

“If this is what comes after death then I have been lied to all my life,” says the gasping, squirming, alive woman. She is just as marred as Thuringwethil was in the aftermath of heer despoilation. Yet she breathes in borrowed skin.

“This is not that place which waits for your kind beyond the walls of the world,” Thuringwethil promises her. Idly, she laces her fingers through the human’s, marvelling at how similar the phalanges are to wing bones. When little Lúthien had her pinned and screaming she did much the same, held her hand as she stripped the flesh from her bones with a song. “Tell me, lady, what is your name and why do you seek your end so dearly?”

A small pink tongue, still wet, somehow, with blood, smears across the woman’s lips. There’s a predator’s stillness to her, a stony look in her eyes. “I am called Aerin. As for death–well.” She laughs.  “What else is left to me?”

This is what Thuringwethil has been waiting for. “Oh, plenty. Come, let me show you.”

[fangswbenefits]

(I'm apologizing for my cute thought here with fluff and a touch of angst) As we know, Astarion likes cats. Loves them even, always has loved them. Whenever in a town where cats frequent, he will sneak off to pet them or steal food to feed them. But he never takes any of them back to camp, because he knew that he would end up with a cat army and want to care for them all. So his desire to own a cat for himself is never fulfilled. Until one day, as he explores the nighttime woods around camp. His ears twitch as he picks up the loud mewls of a cat, and is already rushing towards the sound. He finds a frail mother cat, licking over her mewling child. She's wounded, badly. . . The mother cat notices Astarion, hissing at first before deciding he isn't a threat. She meows weakly at the vampire spawn, looking between him and her still mewling child. The kitten couldn't have been older than a week, with eyes still closed and ears still small and on the side of their head. Astarion didn't need to talk with animals to know what the mother was asking. He gently pet the mother's head, soothing her. "Do not worry. . . I will make sure your little one is strong and well fed. . . you can rest easy." He keeps the kitten hidden for days, weeks. He goes about stealing milk from pastures and cows to feed the mewling thing. In a funny sort of way, the little feline reminded him of himself. Wispy white fur grew and covered the little pet, matching the white hairs atop Astarion's head. Once the beginnings of sharp teeth grew in, Astarion would feed small bits of meat to them. Of course, everyone finds out Astarion has a kitten on him when the thing screams at ungodly hours of the night for food and has zoomies around camp. What was once Astarion's secret becomes a part of the party, and gets along well with the dog and even the owlbear brought back to camp. But at the end of the day, the kitty will always return to Astarion's side and purr to soothe his nightmares.

............

[daemonwritesstuff]

Ladies, Gentlemen and Non-Bianary Pals, We delay your regular schedule with a special trade with… @br4inr0tx !!

A/N: Thank you sosoosososo much for doing this! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed your matchup you made for me <3 (also don’t get mad at me I added yet ANOTHER fandom 😈)

For your Zenless Zero Zone Matchup, You have been paired with…

Billy Kid!

• Since there’s not to much information about him, I’ll be collecting everything I know about him the best I can, But honestly, I see this as a very compatible relationship!

• With his carefree personality he wouldn’t really be very intimidated by you, to your surprise, he’s someone who can get you out of your shell to start talking with him, he’s very interested in you!

• Your humor comes off as “insulting” to others, when you start using that humor with him he’ll pretend to be hurt and pout, but in reality he’s just playing with you.

• He’s probably caught you accidentally staring at him while you were day dreaming, he doesn’t do anything (unless if y’all are in some situation)

• He would definitely buy you so many plushies!

• He’s in love with your style too! Maybe let him wear some of your clothing (nevermind, it’ll probably rip.)

• Even if he’s very silly, he’s also a very serious person (*cough robot*), he will do his best to understand your disabilitys and help you anyway possible.

Round-Ups: Soldier 11, Lycaon

For your Hellsing Matchup, You have been paired with…

Alucard!

• I think I really like this matchup, also with your TPOF matchup too, this one’s definitely a very good one! Even though your a human, if so, he has deep respect for you!

• You guys get together perfectly, People don’t usually come around him for reasons, to put it together, because their scared of him, and the same goes for you since you look like someone who may not be approachable (not true at all, your super cool! — A/N)

• He may feel a bit surprised by your insulting and sarcastic humor, he will do the same back to you, if he hurts your feelings he’ll apologize and tell you he didn’t really mean it at all, and will get you whatever you want, just don’t be so mean.

• He probably thought you were a vampire at first, and (if) you said you weren’t he was very taken back, so your saying those teeth of yours doesn’t have fangs? huh.

• Your style and his own style match each other very well, he may or may not use some of your accessories or perhaps some of your clothing, he will also give you his (long ass) hat.

• Even if he doesn’t seem to show it, he really loves you so much, and he hopes you do too, don’t you?

Round-Ups: None! This is perfect, too perfect

For your Homestuck Matchup, You have been Paired up with…

Karkat Vantas!

• Another good one! I feel like him having a partner like you would be very good!

• He probably won’t approach you first, you may have too, you guys were probably at a party (idk😭), and you guys bumped into each other, you guys didn’t talk much but later on you guys would become friends and later on, lovers.

• Your style matches his very well! he thinks you look so cool!! he just doesn’t show it……. but that’s okay, he’ll always compliment you.

• He’s very caring for you! He understands your mental disability’s and does his best to take care of you, if someone thinks your trying to be “quirky” he’ll kill them off.

• His personality seems to match with yours, like a missing puzzle piece, I think he wouldn’t probably want a partner who has idiocy in them, someone like you is perfect, he loves your humor, you definitely said something and he’s covering up his laughter.

• Please take care of him too! He has a lot of insecurities, he does his best to look out and care for you, do the same too, he just wants some love :,(

Round-Ups: None!

For your Price Of Flesh Matchup, You have been paired with…

Celia!

• The best of the best, an iconic relationship.

• I feel like your another victim, but to her, you seemed to have something, she needed to know, so she took you as her “rat”

• The more and more she spent with you, she started developing feelings, hell, her? having feelings? no way, well, she definitely doesn’t like annoying people, she would probably just kill them immediately.

• Your humor is funny, but sometimes she may not be in the mood for it, be careful if you do so she’ll put you back in the cage.

• Since your a caffeine addict, I’d feel like she would buy you coffee and you guys would just talk really, she doesn’t really care for your mental illnesses but later on she will and she’ll help you too.

• She doesn’t really care about your style to be honest, you’ll see her stealing some of your accessories if you wear them.

• She hates her husband of course, but she’s in love with you so much, you guys are definitely gonna kill him and run away together, just the two of you where you find real love.

• Once that happens, your her new significant lover she’s marrying (but your not hearing that from me though—)

Round-Ups: No one! I love this one so much!

For your Boyfriend to Death Matchup, You have been paired up with…

Sano Kojima

•This one was a little bit difficult for me but I feel like this is a pretty compatible relationship!

• He’s pretty closed off, kind of like you he probably wouldn’t know how to start talking at first, but he does though!

• You we’re supposed to be just one of his experiments that would soon later die, but then you turned out to get into his heart and make him fall for you.

• He LOVES that your into anatomy! you can be his study partner, you guys can experiment on his victims together! Isn’t that romantic? No? What do you mean? Anyways… You would probably help him kidnap some people to work on his experiments, that’s what I think.

• He enjoys your sarcasm very much! it’s what makes you and him more closer with each other, he’s very cold hearted but when you came, you were able to make him warm up too you, and that’s such an amazing thing.

• He would love hearing your shower thoughts, or JUST ANYTHING! He loves giving you plushies just to see you happy, he may be a bit jealous when your not cuddling him, can you cuddle him too?

• He’s just fallen in love with you, he’s making you stay forever, don’t leave now! he wouldn’t wanna kill you after all (:

Round-Ups: Strade.

For your Sally Face Matchup, You have been paired up with…

Larry Johnson!

• I did think of sally for some time, but I feel like he would be more good for you, but I’m gonna add sally to the round ups because he also feels perfect, but not as perfect as him!

• He’s definitely a person who wouldn’t be someone annoying to you, he’s very laid-back like you are! He doesn’t wanna intimidated you easily, so he finds a way to get you to be comfortable around him.

• He would love listening to a lot of metal and rock music with you, but wouldn’t mind also listening to more of your other favorite artists outside the metal/rock genre, he can totally teach you how to play the electric guitar, no need to pay him! your his beloved after all!

• He doesn’t find your mental illnesses “quirky” at all, if anyone ever says that or makes fun of you he will definitely stand up for you, don’t worry about them, he’ll take care of them.

• He would buy you plushies for sure! You guys can play video games on your free time too!

For your Jujustu Kaisen Matchup, You have been paired up with…

Sukuna!

• Don’t get mad at me for adding another fandom😭 I immediately thought of this, I couldn’t get it out of my head how perfect you would be for this man, let me tell you.

• His personality AND yours collides perfectly, including with the rest of your dislikes, he took a liking to you when he layed his eyes on you, he couldn’t get his mind off of you, who are you? why are you making him feel like this? he needs to know you.

• He wouldn’t be someone that would intimidate you, he would try to get you to calm down, he likes that your into a lot of gruesome things like horror, true crime, hunting, etc, you guys are just a powerful couple, he would definitely take you on killing sprees, don’t you wanna kill your enemies with him? how good would that feel?

• He doesn’t care that your a “petty bitch” he’s not that good either, he LOVES your humor so much, he loves you using it, he can’t stand kids either like you, you guys can kill them together! even more romantic! why are you holding grudges? he would tell you to just let them go!

• He finds your style pretty cool, he loves the things you wear, he may even tell you to put on a outfit he may like from your wardrobe!

• Honestly, this is the third 10/10 relationship i wrote for you, Im in love with this pairing, you can’t change it otherwise, you guys are made for each other, remember, he’s never gonna let you go now!

Round-Ups: Toji (Zen’in) Fushiguro, Choso.

[rachelsfav-queer]

Hmmmm yeah,,,, just thinking about domestic days at home for VampRavenWolf 🥰🥰🥰

Usually starts off with the trio all waking up in bed together, Enid & Yoko waking first and taking a few minutes to watch the seer sleeping soundly between them. Eventually, they do wake her up gently, both of them practically melting at how adorable Wednesday is when she first wakes up, always just a tiny bit crabby for a few seconds before she sees her girlfriends, then the widest smile spreads across her face as her body wiggles around on its own in pure happiness. They spend a little longer in bed before their bellies start calling, forcing them to get up.

Enid’s the first up, always the morning person of the relationship, and so she’s the one to start making breakfast. Yoko and Wednesday are a little bit behind, only cause Wednesday insists on being carried and Yoko is definitely NOT a morning person. But, they manage to reach the table and wait patiently for breakfast to be served. Wednesday, as always, is sat between the vampire and the werewolf as they all eat, Raven sitting comfortably in her lap. Yoko and Enid chat idly while they eat as Wednesday basks in the glorious feeling of her girlfriends’ company, their voices wrapping around her like her weighted blanket.

After breakfast, the trio goes back to their room to get ready for their day at home, brushing their hair and teeth, and dressing themselves in comfy clothing. Enid in a simple tank top and basketball shorts, Yoko also in a tank top but instead wearing sweatpants with it, and Wednesday is padded up in a pull-up and wearing one of Enid’s oversized shirts, even larger on her.

Then, they make their way back to the living room to watch some TV. They watch a bit of everything, none really caring all that much as long as they’re together. Wednesday in particular is just breathing in the comforting scents of her girlfriends, just enjoying living in the moment with them.

Maybe at some point, Auntie Bianca will stop by to hang out for a while. She’d play around with Wednesday for a bit, Yoko and Enid watching on happily until Wednesday pulls them into the fun. Eventually, Wednesday is worn out by all the fun and Bianca has to leave.

When the trio is alone again, they settle back onto the couch, this time cuddling much closer, and decide to watch a movie or two after dinner. Wednesday is laid across her girlfriends, her butt on Enid’s lap while her legs are atop Yoko’s and her head snuggled softly on Enid’s shoulder. Raven is, of course, held tightly in the seer’s arms.

Finally, the little raven begins falling asleep and so they decide to move back into bed. Yoko and Enid lay Wednesday down first in the middle of the bed and then they lay on either side of her, wrapping their arms around her and Raven. It’s soft and warm and peaceful and perfect. Wednesday loves it so much and just before she slips off into sleep she mumbles gently,

“Good night Mommy. Good night Daddy. I love you both so much.”

“Good night little raven. We love you so much too.”

“We will always love you baby bird. Good night.”

[patchworkorphan]

The Immortal Hunter: part one

Heath stalked up the marble steps to the ostentatious mansion. The annual masquerade party was in full swing, the smell of blood permeating the air was intoxicating, and for a moment just outside the open doors Heath hesitated. Slowly closing his hands into fists and opening them again. It occurred to him that he could leave, and the idea was all too enticing.

Maybe coming here was a mistake.

“May I take your jacket, sir?” Heath looked at the servant and was glad for the red mask obscuring part of his face, it would make the night go smoother.

Though the servant wore a full faced decorated mask, through the eye holes Heath’s maroon eyes met blue ones staring back at him.

Human. Interesting.

“That’s quite alright, thank you.”

“Of course, Mr Cain. Mr Felix has been expecting you and would like a private audience as soon as you have mingled.”

“Would he now?” Heath asked, going to stand beside the servant leaning against the wall and pulling out a metal case of cigarettes.

He clicked his fingers lighting the cigarette between his teeth and took a drag, as he watched the boy from the corner of his eyes.

“What’s your name?” He asked, and the boy hesitated.

“Forgive me, Mr Cai –”

“You can call me Heath.”

“Of course. Forgive me, Heath, but with all due respect you’re a vampire… if I tell you my name- well, I’ve heard the stories.”

Heath let out a snort of laughter, looking at the boy plainly now.

“Smart boy.”

“In this line of work, I have to be.”

Heath smiled, taking a long drag then offering the cigarette to the boy.

“Do you smoke?”

“No sir.”

“Good lad. Smart lad,” Heath said genuinely, then cocked a brow. “Not smart enough to be as far as possible from a vamp party, though?”

The boy swallowed and looked away from Heath’s penetrating stare.

“What do you owe Felix?”

“Umm…”

“You don’t reek of any thrall,” Heath began, exhaling a lungful of smoke into the cool night air. “Which either means you’re in debt –”

The servant hesitated. “The party is in full swing inside, sir.”

“I’m aware,” Heath said easily, humour lacing his voice. “Full of loathful bloodsuckers like me who eat people like you. So, either- you’re one of Victor’s pets waiting to be turned, which I’m guessing not because you knew not to tell me your name… Or you owe him something. Feel free to correct me.”

The servant said nothing for a moment. Then faltered. A dip of the head. Then back to their rigid posture, head held high.

“Family?”

“How –”

“It’s always family that fucks you. Whether you like them or not,” Heath said, throwing the cigarette to the floor. Crushing it beneath his shoe. “You live a few centuries; you see the same mistakes. I’m not saying your family isn’t worth it. I’m just saying, there will be no thanks for your sacrifice. For the years you give up.”

“You say that as if you know from experience.”

Heath smiled again, winking at the servant. “Like I said, smart boy.”

With that Heath pushed off the wall, fixing his suit jacket and mask before turning to the servant, extending a hand.

“If all goes well, I hope I never see you again,” he said, and the boy looked as if he had just solved all his problems. Like his words had somehow lifted an invisible weight from his shoulders.

“I hope so too.”

Heath nodded, taking a deep breath before breaching the doors of the building.

*~*~*~*~*

“Ah, if it isn’t Chaos himself, hmm?” Heath turned and saw the familiar face of an elegant woman strutting towards him. Wicked grin painted in red, hair immaculate as always and delicate hands outstretched to greet him.

Heath took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Celeste, is it me or do you get more gorgeous with the centuries?”

“Oh darling, it’s not just you. I age like a fine wine.”

Heath chuckled, letting her lead him through the crowds of blood drunk vampires and love drunk fools who let the vampires tap them like maples.

“When did you get back?” she asked over her shoulder, her sultry tones carried like the word of God on a breeze, making music in his ears as they walked.

“I’m not back,” said Heath, eyes scanning the room for the reason he was here at all. “Just visiting Victor.”

Celeste laughed her beautiful laugh, both scathing and genuine at once.

“What’s so funny?” Heath asked, the Irish accent leaking out when he got defensive.

Celeste turned to Heath then, a manicured hand on his chest as she said with knowing eyes, “everyone knows what Just visiting for you means. No one can seem to get you out of that – oh what is it called again?”

“Ireland.”

“Just the same who seems to have captured your heart. Normally you have to be dragged away,” her eyes narrowed as she looked at his lips. “Just what could it be that’s piqued your interest this time?”

Heath smiled his dazzling smile at her and took her hand in his. “Can’t you just say it’s good to see me?”

“It’s good to see you,” a new voice said. Both Celeste and Heath looked to the left to see the host of tonight’s festivities.

Victor Felix stood to their left, a wine glass of blood in one hand, the familiar hint of a smirk on the corner of his quirked lip. He was dressed in a velvet navy suit, a purple cravat tucked into his wine waistcoat that matched his wine domino mask that had horns growing from the top. The devil himself.

“Felix!” Heath exclaimed, stepping out of Celeste’s arms and went to kiss each of Felix’s cheeks.

“Mio vecchio amico, it’s been too long.”

“Too long indeed.”

“We were just discussing his absence in favour of the Emerald Isle,” Celeste added walking towards the pair, her hand extended to Felix who took it and pressed a kiss to her now gloved knuckles.

“Celeste, gorgeous as always.”

Celeste just hummed, stepping back to be in line with Heath. Heath threw an easy arm around her waist keeping her close as he shot a megawatt smile at Felix.

“How have you been, Victor?” Heath asked, smile only half forced.

“I’ve been… busy,” Felix replied, looking between Celeste and Heath with golden eyes. “Where are my manners, dear boy, you don’t even have a drink! Waiter!”

A waiter appeared in less than a second, with a tray of wine glasses half full of blood. Heath took one, holding it at his side. Celeste took one too with a smile and a thank you, before taking a sip. Felix watched the exchange with calculating eyes, that same amused smile now shining in his eyes.

“I met your boy outside,” Heath said casually, and Felix looked towards him, daring him to continue. “Smart boy.”

“He is,” said Felix bringing the glass to his lips. He paused right before he took a sip, stare cutting through Heath’s and said, “reminds me of you way back when.”

“I was just about to say the same thing. Do you plan on turning him?”

Felix shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Perhaps. It’s always good to keep the sharp ones, Heath. Speaking of… I have a friend I’d like to introduce you to.”

“Do ya now?”

Felix let out a short breath of a laugh, as if there was a joke that Heath wasn’t privy to. “I do. He even asked for you by name.”

“What an honour.”

“You boys are so boring,” said Celeste, stepping out of Heath’s hold. She placed a hand on Heath’s cheek bringing him down into a short, sweet kiss and said, “come find me after you’re done doing business at a party.”

“Of course,” said Heath. Celeste looked back at Felix then.

“Don’t keep him too long,” she ordered, and Felix nodded. Then Celeste turned and disappeared into the crowd once again.

Heath looked to Felix who turned and walked into the crowd, expecting Heath to follow, so Heath did. Through winding crowds, occasionally stopping to greet someone, or someone stopping them to greet Heath and welcome him back.

“It’s good to be home, no?” Felix commented as he led him to the back of the ballroom out towards the gardens. Heath kept his head up, eyes forward.

“I’ve made my own home Felix. It was never here.”

“You wound me. After everything I’ve done for you,” Felix said with a pantomime pout.

“That boy. Outside, the human –”

Felix stopped, stepping in front of Heath, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Let me guess. You’re going to beg me not to turn him.”

Heath shrugged. “Yeah.”

“And what would you do for me?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to stop you from making the same mistake twice.”

Felix hummed, starting to walk again to the balcony overlooking the garden. When they got to the edge, Heath leaned his forearms over the rail looking out over the green expanse below. The garden was his favourite part of Felix’s mansion. It was the one place that was peaceful. When he was human, it was his brief reprieve from Felix and his orders, out in nature with the animals and the insects, the smell of the flowers calmed him. With his vampire senses, everything was too much, and the garden became too bright, too beautiful, too smelly.

“You wouldn’t like a little brother?”

“He wouldn’t like an older one more like,” said Heath taking a sip of the blood. Tastebuds tingling with iron. It was fresh. Heath hadn’t drunk fresh blood in so long.

Felix put his back to the railing looking at Heath from the corner of his eye. “I did miss you, you know,” he said quietly. “Even if you didn’t miss me.”

“Who is this person that wants to meet me? Have you been telling stories about me again?” Heath asked without missing a beat.

Felix cleared his throat, taking a sip of his drink looking back into the ballroom. “His name is Wolfe. Ah, and here he comes.”

Heath turned as Felix stepped away, going to greet Wolfe. He was tall. That was the first thing that struck Heath, that he was tall, taller than Felix. But where Felix was slim, Wolfe was broad. He was muscled to the point of being ripped under his white collared shirt and waist coat. A half smile was on his lips, stubble lined his strong square jaw that went up into his hair line where shoulder length purposefully messy hair lay perfect.

He also wasn’t wearing a mask, Heath noted, eyes narrowing slightly. A loose tie hung around his neck untied, a mask in one hand and his drink in the other.

“Felix,” his voice rumbled smooth. “It’s been too long, mate.”

English accent. Northern. That’s about as much as Heath could discern before Felix led the hulking stranger over.

His eyes were a piercing, opaque grey colour that sent Heath’s mind reeling. He listened for a heartbeat but heard none and when Wolfe outstretched his hand Heath took it robotically and felt no warmth. No pulse of blood. Yet his eyes were grey.

“You must be Cain, Felix’s boy, yes?”

“I’m Heath,” said Heath. Not friendly and not unfriendly. “You’re English.”

“Very astute. You’re Irish.”

“For the weather I am.”

Wolfe let out a booming hearty laugh, hand tightening around Heath’s with mirth. He cupped his other hand around Heath’s and pulled him in close for a hug. Wolfe swamped Heath’s frame, his strength unnatural even for a vampire and for the first time in a long time… Heath was scared.

“Good, good. The weather is shit in our parts, innit?”

“Never any sun to contend with,” Heath laughed, but at the joke or the fact that Wolfe finally released him he didn’t know.

Wolfe’s face levelled into a happy neutral expression. The same expression he walked up to them with. “Sorry about the mask, I didn’t want to greet you without you knowing what I look like.”

Heath glanced at Felix and nearly hated himself for it. Looking to Felix for a command. An order. A silent question. Does he need to take his off too? Heath decided against it because he could, because he was his own man. He didn’t need Felix to tell him what to do anymore.

“Felix told me you’re young. What is it? A couple decades?”

Heath opened his mouth, but it was Felix who answered. “He’s 149.”

Heath shot Felix a look, but Felix just smiled back like a proud father.

“Barely out of your fledgling days!” Wolfe laughed.

“Or maybe you’re just ancient,” Heath said twisting his lips into a smile. He could do this. Don’t show any fear. Play it up. It’s fine.

Wolfe laughed again, some ancient knowing settling into his eyes as he said, “maybe.”

Heath couldn’t hold the stare long, glancing at Felix beside Wolfe instead. “Felix said you wanted to chat with me?”

“Yes. I do. If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all, what about?”

Wolfe fixed Heath with a pinning stare, his grey eyes enthralling Heath just a little bit to keep his attention and for a moment Heath felt his feeble humanity humming in the back of his mind. That primal fear of predator watching prey. The same look Felix set on him when he decided he didn’t want Heath to leave him.

“The immortal hunter.”

Those three words hammered through Heath’s skull, and if his heart still beat, he’s sure it would’ve beat faster at Wolfe’s confident words issued through a cool, casual tone that demanded Heath’s attention with those cold grey eyes.

Heath looked at Felix, mouth open, looking like an idiot and Felix tilted his head – a smile on his lips watching Heath squirm before stepping closer to Heath, and Heath could have preened at the familiarity of his sire so close even after he broke the bond.

“Felix told me you had history with it,” Wolfe continued, his voice a low rumbling drawl, smooth as gravel and gentle like a lion just before it was about to prance. Wolfe tilted his head regarding Heath with inquisitive eyes. “And with the old blood. The ancient blood, of course, that’s what enticed Felix to you in the first place I’m guessing.”

Wolfe glanced at Felix then. “I can still smell it on him, even after he’s turned- what was it, 140 years or so? That ancient blood is always tricky. Especially for a fledgling.”

“I’m not a fledgling anymore.”

“Not to you, perhaps,” said Wolfe eyes going back to Heath. “But when you live as long as Felix and me, a century is nothing but a blink of an eye.”

“So, what do you want with the immortal hunter?”

“Isn’t it obvious, dear boy?”

Heath’s hand tightened harder on his glass. “Obviously not.”

Wolfe hummed, bringing the glass to his lips, and swallowing a gulp of blood. Then he smiled showing his teeth and the blood staining his lips and canines nearly made Heath sick.

Wolfe looked at Felix. “I forgot how impetuous the youth of yesterday can be.”

Felix shrugged, “it can be fun to get them in line.”

“You have the patience of a saint, Felix,” then his eyes slid back to Heath, void of the humour it had been full of before. “I, however, do not.”

Wolfe took a step towards Heath and Heath took one back, his lower back pressing into the rail trapping him, with Felix on his left caging him in.

He felt so small. So weak, so human.

“We should chat, Cain. After everyone is gone, perhaps? Are you staying with Felix while you’re here?”

“No,” Heath said at the same time Felix said, “Yes.”

Wolfe grinned, a big hand clamping down hard on Heath’s shoulder. The grip turned bruising, but Heath didn’t wince. He didn’t flinch. He kept Wolfe’s cruel stare, even when Wolfe’s claws penetrated flesh and cut through his shoulder.

“I like you, Cain,” Wolfe said, withdrawing his hand. He put his mask on finally, and it felt like Heath could finally breathe again.

Wolfe looked at Felix then, “I’ll stay here too if you have a room.”

“Of course,” said Felix his eyes on Heath again. “Don’t disappear on us now, Heath.”

Heath said nothing as he pushed passed Felix, his mind swimming as he stalked back into the ballroom, downing the glass of blood before looking for Celeste. He needed to calm down and she was the only one who could soothe his nerves right now.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued Here