#apparently they just kicked demise out and made it pretty according to some fool on tumjblr dot com

[deamaurea]

the goddesses are just gent/rification is the hottest take i have seen in awhile from this fandom despite the fact that two games explicitly say there was nothing before them

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: the forest is your only escape from the everyday troubles with your family until you find danger lurking behind the trees. or rather, danger finds you. your fateful encounter with the vampire ravn leaves you wishing for a different life. you strike an unexpected deal with the stranger that will soon turn into something more…

pairing: vampire!ravn x reader

genre: vampire!au, angst, humour, romance, smut

warnings: stalking, eating out, handjob, vampire jokes

word count: 2.2k

part one 🌙 part two 🌙 part three 🌙 part four 🌙 part five 🌙 part seven 🌙 part eight 🌙 part nine 🌙 part ten🌙 part eleven  🌙 part twelve 🌙 epilogue

You were running in the forest aimlessly, tears streaming down your face. You had a fight with Ravn. It was about something so stupid, now that you thought about it. You were certain that you’d never want to see your abusive parents ever again and that you’d rather spend the rest of your life with Ravn. However, there was one problem that kept bugging you. You were going to die eventually.

Which meant that you’d lose him and he’d lose you. And you couldn’t accept that. Not when you knew there was an alternative. So you asked Ravn to turn you into a vampire. And he got so angry with you for even thinking of it. He said that he wouldn’t wish such a fate on his worst enemy, so he would certainly never do this to you. 

You told Ravn that you couldn’t imagine life without him and that you’d rather be like him than be without him. Which made him even angrier. He said that you had no idea what you were asking for and that you were just a silly little girl who was deluding herself into thinking she was fond of him. Ravn also told you that nature had made predators appealing on purpose in order to lure their victims more easily. Which in turn, made you angry. 

Who was he to question whether your feelings for him were genuine or not? He had no clue…You yelled at him and said some things you didn’t mean and eventually ran out of his castle and into the ever so familiar forest that had once been your escape and in a way, it still was. You were so upset you couldn’t think straight and just kept walking. 

You had told Ravn you never wanted to see him again. That if he didn’t want to share immortality with you, you’d find someone else to do the job. Which was obviously a lie. Immortality meant nothing to you if you had to face it alone. Ravn was all you cared about. You had only said that because you knew it would hurt him the most. And now you regretted it immensely. 

You wanted to take the words back and beg him for forgiveness. Immortality be damned, you just wished you could be in his arms again. You sighed in frustration and kicked the autumn leaves beneath your feet. You heard a crunchy sound behind you and turned around hopefully, thinking maybe Ravn had come after you. What you saw was far more unexpected. 

A large, grey wolf was staring right into you, baring its huge teeth and glowing yellow eyes. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. The huge animal approached you slowly, as if intending to take its sweet time. It was apparently in no rush of eating you. You panicked and ran for your life. Even though you loved spending time there, this forest was seriously cursed. First, vampires. Now, this? 

You couldn’t tell if the forest was at fault or you just had some pretty bad luck. You could hear the animal looming behind you and even though you were running pretty fast, you had a bad feeling you wouldn’t make it. Your legs were starting to give out and you could sense your heart beating rapidly. 

Suddenly, just when you were about to give up and face your inevitable demise, you felt someone grabbing you harshly and pulling you towards them by force. Before you could make out what was happening, you were somehow being dragged into climbing a tree. You were completely deprived of your senses because it was too dark already. You felt a cold hand being pressed against your lips, as if to silence your already loud breathing.

“Don’t breathe,” Ravn’s familiar voice whispered in your ear, making you relax this instant. And despite your earlier fight, in that moment you were so grateful for him that you would have sighed in relief had he not warned you against it. 

From this different vantage point, you could see the wolf a couple of metres down, sniffing and looking around in confusion. The animal had lost its prey so quickly it couldn’t register how it had happened. It continued to growl for a couple more minutes but you were safely hidden in the tree’s leaves and the darkness was also serving as your protector. 

Eventually, the wolf gave up and crept away with its tail between its legs. When it was at a safe distance, Ravn finally removed his hand from your mouth. You took a deep breath of fresh air and looked up at the moon, completely disoriented.

“I thought I told you not to go too far away,” he hissed angrily.

“I’m s-sorry,” you suddenly felt ashamed. You hated being scolded but most of all, you hated when Ravn used that disappointed voice on you.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened if I hadn’t followed you?”

“You followed me?” you asked him in surprise. You couldn’t tell how you felt about it. On one hand, it made you somewhat uncomfortable. On the other, you were so thankful he’d saved your life that you couldn’t find it in you to be mad at him.

“I-I…didn’t want you to get lost,” Ravn explained nervously, almost apologetically.

“Thank you,” you murmured dumbly. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Ravn scoffed darkly.

“I just admitted to stalking you and you thank me? Seriously, Y/N, you need help.”

You chuckled lightly.

“I really do. It’s a good thing, then, you were closeby to help me out, don’t you think?”

“Unbelievable.”

“Will you just please take me home?” you begged Ravn.

“Home?” he laughed mockingly. “And where would that be? You made yourself abundantly clear earlier that you never wanted to see me again. Do you want me to take you back to the village?”

“N-no, please!” you stuttered helplessly, tears of frustration and fear clouding your vision. “Listen…I’m so sorry about earlier, Ravn! Truly am. I didn’t mean any of it. Please, please, don’t kick me out.”

“You stormed out on your own accord, remember?” he reminded you. “I didn’t kick you out.”

You nodded, letting the tears fall down your cheeks freely. Ravn simply sighed and pulled you into a hug. The next moment, you could feel him running towards his castle with you in his arms. Once you were back inside your room, you could feel a large weight being lifted off your chest.

“You just saved my life,” you were suddenly hit with the realization that now you owed him far more than before. “That wolf could have killed me and you saved me,” you repeated, feeling a little stupid but you had to say it out loud in order to process everything that just took place. “You saved my life even after I was behaving so rudely and recklessly. You must think I’m the most pathetic, ungrateful human in the world.”

Ravn smiled softly at you and took hold of your hands.

“Trust me, Y/N, I haven’t thought that for a second.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by his kindness.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re right,” Ravn agreed easily only to disprove you. “You deserve so much better. You deserve someone else, someone warm, someone human who wouldn’t drink blood from you, who wouldn’t follow you like a creep in the forest,” he laughed at that last part.

You shook your head.

“I don’t want someone else, I only want you,” you looked into his black eyes and pressed your hand against his cheek. “Ravn, I was a fool earlier. I don’t give a damn about immortality and-“

“Y/N, don’t-“ he interrupted you, his voice full of so much pain your heart couldn’t handle.

“No, you have to know this. I don’t care if I die tonight or tomorrow or after a couple of years, I really don’t. What matters to me is being by your side.”

A single tear smeared Ravn’s cheek as you told him that. You traced your finger alongside his cold skin and he tilted his head slightly, leaning into your gentle touch. You wished you could take away all his agonizing memories. And you tried your best, you really did. 

You kissed the top of his forehead softly and you could almost hear him gasp, even though he had previously told you he doesn’t need air like humans do. Then, your lips touched his closed eyelids ever so fondly. Next was the very tip of his nose. He gulped nervously at the unexpected contact. 

When you finally reached his mouth, he was already falling apart. There was a strange kind of power to it. Ravn was perhaps the single-most dangerous creature this world has ever seen. And here he was, on the verge of shaking because of a simple caress.

“Y/N,” he groaned into your mouth. A warning. “Don’t start something unless you’re ready to play till the end.”

“Who said I wasn’t ready to play?” you spoke boldly. A challenge.

“But I don’t want to h-hurt you,” Ravn admitted with great effort to restrain himself.

“I know you won’t,” you reassured him with another kiss. “Look at me.”

He opened his eyes and stared directly into yours.

“I want to be with you,” you said. “Do you?”

Ravn didn’t give you a verbal response and simply wrapped his arms around your lower back, pulling you closer. It was never enough, never too close for your liking. You snuck your hand beneath his shirt, eager to touch him. He seemed surprised when you didn’t jump away because of his even colder skin.

You decided you could be warm enough for two and continued unbuttoning his clothes. Ravn appeared intent on letting you do all the work for fear of rushing you into something you didn’t want to do. A small part of you was grateful for him trusting you enough to be in charge, but the bigger, more impatient part of you kept wondering what it would feel like if he took control completely. 

You wanted to be completely under his power, but you were afraid he would get mad at you for being so impulsive. Once his clothes were completely off, you realized you were still fully dressed, because Ravn had not taken initiative. You felt somewhat awkward, towering over the naked vampire.

“Will you undress me?” you asked him sheepishly and when he didn’t respond immediately, you took hold of his hand and placed it on your dress’s ties. He looked up at you hesitantly and you gave him an encouraging nod. It was too late to turn back now. Ravn untied it slowly, almost aggravatingly so, and when your dress was finally off, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief at the newfound freedom.

“What now?” you giggled, feeling silly and a bit scared. Not of him, no, never, but because you were faced with an unfamiliar situation that seemed so daunting, making you feel out of your depth.

Ravn smirked mysteriously and ran a hand through your falling hair. Then, he swiftly flipped you around, laying you down on the bed. He slowly kissed his way downwards, similarly to the way you’d kissed all over his face. When his head finally ended up between your legs, Ravn gently pulled them apart with his long fingers.

“Relax. I won’t bite,” he joked inappropriately and you let out a half laugh.

“As if.”

He granted with you a gentle, almost impalpable lick that made your legs quiver slightly. Stirred by your reaction, Ravn did that thing with his tongue once more, this time more purposefully and confidently. You found yourself gripping his hair in desperation, hoping he wouldn’t mind the added pressure. You just had to hold onto something for support or you would have passed out. 

Ravn was a very considerate lover and put all his attention on you and your pleasure. Soon enough, you were attacked by a sudden wave of enjoyment that had your legs trembling and your lips murmuring incomprehensible words. You were beginning to see little stars in front of you and your chest heaved as you struggled to breathe.

“That good, huh?” Ravn smiled proudly.

When you had finally gathered enough air to help you through this, you lifted yourself up to kiss him again.

“Can you taste yourself, love?” he asked you. “Delicious.”

You laughed.

“Not as delicious as my blood, I imagine.”

“Better, even,” Ravn complimented you.

“Teach me how to…return the favour,” you begged him self-consciously.

“You don’t have to,” he explained.

“I want to. Please.”

Ravn took hold of your hand and wrapped it around his length. You looked up at him shyly, blinking curiously as he motioned for you to move your hand. You were a quick study and did as he asked. You stared at his face, cautiously controlling your actions in accordance to his reactions. 

When you realized he was enjoying himself, your movements grew more confident and speedier. A couple more strokes and he released himself into your palm. You gave him a hesitant smile.

“Was that okay?”

“Okay?” Ravn chuckled in disbelief. “You were spectacular.”

“Really?”

“I’m always honest with you, am I not?”

You nodded, not doubting him for a second. Though perhaps you should have.

To be continued…

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 24: House - Sinner Are We Chap.3:  The Home Of Broken Parts

Orrin sent a lot of time thinking and that could be both good and bad for those around him. One thing was for sure, even he knows the Gray-Phantom home was strange.

Orrin watches his father’s back as he walks away, out the hall doors. They had gotten into another minor brawl, not that that was uncommon in this family. Arguably it was a favourite past time for all of them. Not that his lummox of a brother was all that refined or skilled at it.

Speaking of that fool, Orrin steps back slightly to easily avoid a blast from him; spotting him glaring bloody murder at him. Orrin rolls his eyes, “are you really going to try that”.

Russet scowls at him and stalks over, “you’re supposed to stay out of the way”.

“I don’t listen to you”. Orrin sidesteps to avoid his brother’s claws, turning to follow Russet landing in a crouch, “I'm the alpha here. You’re just a little boy that prefers to hide in your room”.

Orrin rolls his eyes, easily bending out of the way of a lunge, “you tell yourself that”, sighing and stepping next to him, putting his hand to Russet’s chest, and promptly blasting him into the back wall, “and I’m more of the wanderlust type”. Turning and watching Russet pull himself out of the wall rubble, with the wall immediately repairing itself, and sighs.

Russet scowls and aggressively tosses off the little bits, snarling and clearly baring as much fang as he possibly can, “fuck you, Ori”, and stalks off with a huff. Orrin does catch the slight glance back with a hint of worry on his face though.

Orrin smirking, “fuck you too, Rusty”, quiet enough that one of the living absolutely wouldn’t have heard him. He gets it, Russet was a blowhard that felt he deserved to be the king of the roost; who just got upstaged by someone he thought didn’t give a damn. Shaking his head and turning to look up at Dove, who’s floating upside down and fiddling with the white lace frill of her baby blue dress. Crossing his arms loosely, he has a feeling she didn’t notice the animosity between her brothers. Sure they didn’t hate each other but neither would lose sleep over the other's demise; and neither have damn if the other was at home at the time or not.

But Dove... she was something strange and unfamiliar to him. Yes, he had understood from a young age and his many travels, that their family dynamic was all kinds of unusual. That most of the living and dead were far kinder and gentler than the rest of his family. Or him for that matter. That was perfectly fine with him. And other people and families were protective and supportive in a way his wasn’t, from what he had observed anyway. That’s not to say his wasn’t, his father was probably the most protective being on the planet in all honesty. His brother would have gotten himself destroyed by now otherwise. Not that Russet ever seemed to appreciate it, and not that father gave a shit if his actions were appreciated or not.

Father was quite content to protect them, destructive methods or not. While mother was much more of the ‘protect your damn self’ type. She was very big on them being as capable as possible from day one, and he knew more methods of torture than he really knew what to do with. Mother was a fighter, father was more of a scarer. Encouraging him and his brother to be more creative and dramatic about pretty well everything. Mother always gave him that weird fond look that used to make Russet gag when father was being over-dramatic.

The only dramatic bone Russet had in his body was overblowing his own power and throwing fits like an entitled brat. He also couldn’t build a weapon to save his half-life. But he had tank throwing down to an art and a knack for blowing shit up. While Orrin himself was more dramatic in the confident sense and always being the ‘beau of the ball’ in any room. He knew he could come off as quite snobbish, but he was better than the vast majority of people. And if someone had a problem with that then he’s got no problem force-feeding them an ecto-light or tripping them down a well. See he had creativity, panache; Russet was just a brute. A brute that was more mediocre strength-wise. Which was just a bit sad in his opinion. Sad in a pathetic way, not in a ‘he feels bad for him’ way. Russet has been a real bastard growing up after all. Russet never blooming into power was just him getting his comupins.

Moving his hands to motion Dove to float down to him, her sitting on his forearm. The problem he can already see with her is that she just felt gentle. And kind. Not powerful, or sneaky, or dramatic, or aggressive. She felt like the opposite in fact; which was odd in this household. Yes, she was young, newly born/formed, but even him and Russet had a feeling of danger to them from day one. Russet’s first word had been to scream ‘DIE!’ while incinerating his food according to mother. And he had always been a teeth-barer who liked fire and anything that went boom way too much. Orrin had been blown up more than a few times in his youth because of that bastard. Didn’t help that mother encouraged them both to play with weapons, bombs included. And their father had literal fire for hair and a tendency to set anything around his feet on fire. If he was somewhere recently you would know it, because there’d be foot-shaped scorch marks.

As for himself? Father said his first word, or phrase really, had been to tell Russet to ‘fuck off’ before shoving Russet over via a foot to the face. Father had apparently laughed so hard he tipped the chair over. And while the larger world viewed Russet as the ‘demon child’ all the servants of the Keep gave that title to Orrin. Mother had a collection of photos of all the times he’s scared the crap out of someone simply by being somewhere they didn’t expect. He hardly thinks it’s his fault that curling up in cupboards, cabinets, and other assorted small areas, was comfortable. It was certainly a plus that seeing that look of abject terror and shock flash over someone’s face was rather enjoyable. So what if he may have given one of the mortal servants a heart attack or two. Their fault for being weak.

Shaking his head slightly and floating off to Dove’s room, her staying tucked in his arm and grabbing his frock coat; his parents might be all over that skintight bodysuit style, but he could do without it. At least that one ghost had been nice enough to explain the best use of glamour to him. And by ‘nice’ he means suddenly very agreeable under threat of some very creative knife play. So now he could accentuate the vertically half black, half white t-shirt/shorts bodysuit he was born with. The frock coat, top hat, and cane were his general go to. Never underestimate the usefulness of a cane for knocking out people's feet or snagging some ghosts tail. The white gloves and thigh-high black heels he was also born with worked quite well he thinks. Having a leaner body than mother certainly helped. And it was very amusing that the borderline-stiletto heels confused father. As was the absolute chaos his ocean blue eyes caused. Since apparently father had neglected to tell mother that she knew him as a human. She had blown half the Keep to smithereens over that; which brother had giddily helped with.

Walking into Dove’s room and eyeing the pink-tinted white walls and plushies all around. The Keep had formed her a very different room than the rest of the family. It was incredibly foreign to him... and incredibly interesting. It said a lot though, watching her float off and scrunch up the down-feather comforter over her mouth. A teddy-bear -which is apparently something children normally had- falling off the bed, only being stopped from hitting the ground via Dove’s telekinesis; her floating it over to her and patting its head.

Him walking over, “why did you do that. It’s not like it can get hurt or even care”, and Gray-Phantom’s didn’t care if something outside of their family got hurt in the slightest. She predictably just hums at him, changing to her ghost-form seemingly purely to coil her ghostly tail around the plushie. Orrin’s not sure she’s ever actually spoken.

Shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her. Dove was the sweetest little thing he had ever seen. Wavy soft gray hair nearly twice her small body’s length and eyes the colour of pure amber. Pale skin so easily burned by the sun, while he and his brother were of a darker tone. She touched everything like it was the most breakable thing in the world, she was a gentle soul, and looked at everything like it was made of sparkles.

Their parents would destroy her. A Gray-Phantom wasn’t soft, gentle, or breakable; and that’s all Orrin could see in Dove.

Even her ghost forms outfit felt that way, it was reminiscent of a spandex ballerina, all white with little sparkling black stars dangling off the rim of the skirt and long flowing arm-sleeves; little black shoes and black spandex over her fingers topping it off. Father liked the stars, not that he said that, but if it weren’t for her being black and white like the rest of the family then their parents would likely have questioned if she really was theirs.

With him it wasn’t even a question if they were his parents. And Russet had their father’s bulk plus the more angular appearance to his military-esque jumpsuit. At this point people probably though the white machine guns he carries strapped around his hips were actually attached to him. Same with the military cap he wore over his shaggy black hair. Orrin gets a bit of a kick out of himself being the only one to get father’s fire hair. Even if his flames were a dark red. Which yes, was absolutely blamed on mother. Father had teased her for weeks about probably having red hair when she finally keeled over.

Sighing at the sound of an explosion. Russet was probably picking fights. Or just aimlessly blowing shit up like a rabid mutt. Russet absolutely had mother's tendency to hold grudges and overreact to the slightest slight. Dove looking up to the ceiling and tilting her head, like she didn’t understand the sound. At least she had their parents’ seeming fearlessness. Nothing seemed to startle or scare her. Even him and Russet had the sense to be somewhat cautious of new things that clearly had the potential of danger. Not that Russet would admit to that, or possibly even knew he actually did that. Dove was gentle and soft, never cautious.

Orrin seriously wonders how breakable she is, how strong she is. Mother and the FrightKnight already didn’t know what to do with her. She wouldn’t swing a sword hard enough to even give a piece of paper a paper cut. Her dainty fingers had a lot of promise for putting things together, for intricacy. But the little pistol she had put together at mothers prompting had fired flower petals somehow. Which yes, he had gotten her to use to fill Russet’s bed with flower petals. He was pissed. And in typical fashion tried to blow the both of them up. Which Dove had just stood there and took, giggled slightly even. Before pouting over there being ash on her dress. Mother teased father over her having his dodging skills. Which was fair, father’s dodging was practically non-existent even to this day. Though he could see that mother was actually just slightly concerned. The only ghosts -or halfas for that matter- that could get away without ever dodging were ones like father. And their parents' way of teaching dodging or fighting was just to get hit and shit kicked till you learned better.

Little Dove couldn’t handle that, he’s sure of that. She was good and kind and sweet. Which was strange and he was curious to see what would become of that. He also just didn’t want to see that sullied and stripped away. He didn’t want to see her become their mother. He was aware of what his parents used to be. Heroes. Which was also strange. But enough ghosts and even mortals had told of it or pointed out footage that it was undeniable. So he can’t help but wonder if Dove was a return to that. That the good that was destroyed in them rebuilt itself in her. It would explain a lot. And honestly? Orrin was well aware that their parents were not remotely good people. Evil and villainous really. Russet was just as bad, and Orrin himself was hardly better. He was more immoral and vaguely bad, rather than downright evil. Which was perfectly fine with him and the family. Dove seemed to be trotting right into the innocent sweetheart do-gooder territory though, and a family like this was bound to crush that into dust. The fact that their parents were once the good guys wouldn’t help. They knew the tricks and ways, and they knew how to break a ‘good guy’ and teach them anarchy at the very least, downright world-destroying merciless villainy at worst.

So what was he to do? He could stand back and watch things play out; he’s not too fond of that option. And a Gray-Phantom, a prince, doesn’t do things they don’t want to. And he wasn’t lying when he referred to himself as one of wanderlust, he could arguably take her away from here. Sure father could sense where any ghost, or half-ghost, was, but Orrin had made himself exceptionally skilled at glamours. If he didn’t want to be found, then he wasn’t going to be. It wouldn’t take much to get a small space amongst the living, sixteen or not he could seem older if he wanted; he could look as old as father if he wanted, older even. Age-morphing was an incredibly enjoyable power to have. Of course if he went that route then they would really be on their own, not that that was an issue to him or even out of the ordinary. And living arrangements wise it would be quite the downgrade. The living didn’t have partially nice living arrangements. Houses getting blown up or suffering some other form of destruction didn’t particularly encourage the living to build them well or fancy. Dove might mind that, or she might not care at all.

And living with mortals posed its own inherent issues, they weren’t ‘one of them’ and the living could be quite perceptive to that. If you acted like them then you could generally be fine, but he could only fake it so much and couldn’t really relate. Dove wouldn’t even know to fake it or hide her halfa status. Which if they did get found out that could be a problem, not to mention a blow to his ego. Both the living and dead weren’t entirely fond of the Gray-Phantom’s. Which he finds logical, they were dangerous threats who ruled through fear and destruction. If the mortals and ghosts could destroy or dethrone them, then they probably would; and likely without hesitation. And even if they could only destroy or harm Dove, they’d see that as a blow to the high royal family; which it would be. Sure, no ghost would with him around. Making an example of those troll giants served its purpose fabulously. Mortals, however, where much more willing to sacrifice their life for the supposed good of others. Martyrdom and self-sacrifice was quite romanticised by the living after all. Ghosts valued power, mortals valued community. Ah the differences between the strong and the weak.

But what really interests him with this idea was what will become of Dove and society should she make it to adulthood with her pure heart intact. What kind of change could that bring about. Would the living flock to her as some sort of symbol of hope. As the good princess that could reform the king and queen. Or perhaps usurp them. Would the dead see her as a chance for the Ghost Realm to flourish without all the constant destruction or ‘living’ in fear. Or would the two realms tear her to shreds in repentance for her lineage.

Regardless of his ponderings, if he wants to see this through he’ll need some sort of name. After all, him and his brother had their own titles. The Shadow Prince and The Poisoned Thorn Prince. Looking her over, watching her play with the legs of the plush animal, shimmer glittering in her wide amber eyes and smiling faintly. He finds himself breaking out into a grin.

The Golden Princess.

That would work splendidly.