#but even THAT choice was stolen from her in both her human & vampire life

[su-angelvicioso]

~Here guys! Have another old creation I never posted (✿◕‿◕)ﾉ 💟✨~

💍💟💎💜✨

I created this moodboard a long time ago based on an old headcanon that came to my mind, but I never posted. I still don’t know why haha. 😅 I gave it a purple theme because I simply love purple.

Headcanon: María’s mate had intended to marry her before his demise.

María discovered an unfamiliar ring interwoven within the underside of the serape that belonged to the love of her life. Placed onto her with a certain gentle admiration that only one who loved her deeply could have done. She’d spent the whole day wondering when she’d give it back to him. It was his after all… she’d woven it herself specifically for him to wear.

She no longer had to wonder.

She wouldn’t give it back to him now even if he physically came back to life and asked for it.

~☔️🌌

She questioned how she hadn’t paid attention to the weird sensation she felt rubbing against her skin while underneath the fabric the entire time, not until it was the only thing left to notice…

Not until it was practically the only thing she had left of him.

She was never bright when it came to romance, so it took her longer than one should to figure out what it meant, why it had been on his person,

and why she had no idea about it’s existence

Not up until that point anyway….

~🎆💟

It’s almost like he knew, almost like life is funny that way. At least, that’s what she tells herself because she couldn’t dare think about what could’ve been, what WOULD’VE been had they not…

She couldn’t spend a second to think about how she would have responded. Would she sob? Would she flick his forehead and say “¡Levántate, tonto!”, would she jump on him and kiss him like some fairytale? She didn’t know.

She would never know now…

There’s a reason she wears white every time she visits his gravestone specifically.

~🕊️💍

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

On Renesmee’s stunted growth and the Cullen’s wondering whether it’s about the diet, curious as to how each Cullen views the situation. Is there anyone advocating for her to try human blood?

The post anon's referencing.

Oh boy, and yes, I imagine it's a matter of hot debate (which is why I cut the post off short before we could get into it.

Alice

Alice doesn't really care but mostly she's miffed that she can't see what will happen either way. Everyone's bickering and Alice feels pressure on her to predict her way out when she's 0 help here. She can't see if Renesmee will eventually die, if she's just stuck like this, if she'll grow older eventually, nothing.

She can't even predict which decision will make the family happiest. I imagine she votes animal blood because it's the most likely thing to keep the Cullens intact. The human diet just isn't sustainable even for one person and the Cullens would have to split in half over it.

Alice is against family splitting in half.

Bella

Get her the blood.

They can use blood donations again! Just because Renesmee needs blood doesn't mean she has to become a murderer/not be a Cullen anymore. And more importantly, how can they sacrifice Renesmee's health for an esoteric belief? It's one thing for the rest of them, where the only consequence is being a little weaker, Renesmee might die/is stuck like this.

If they don't want to steal from hospitals, fine, they can set up a fake blood drive/charity with Alice's money. They'll get humans to donate right there in a truck and then Renesmee can eat it fresh.

Bella fails to see why this is even a matter of debate and judges the Cullens strongly for talking about this at all.

Carlisle

As in most things canonically, Carlisle is team "you decide but there will be consequences". He likely lays out that yes, this may have stunted Renesmee's growth, she may even die young because of this, however it's her choice to make if she's willing to live with this for the sake of not eating people.

Most importantly, if she eats people, she can't stay. Eating blood donations is not sustainable at all and even if it was would be noticed. People would still die if those are stolen frequently enough to feed Renesmee. She would have to eat people, actual people, which means she can't stay.

Naturally, this ultimatum throws the family into chaos, and everyone's very upset by it, but them's the breaks.

Edward

Edward's torn. On the one hand, this is not good for Renesmee's health and growth, but on the other hand he can't support not being on the diet even for his daughter. More, if it comes to leaving the family... he can't leave the family.

As Bella's looking increasingly like she'll abscond with Renesmee to feed her people out of spite Edward finds himself more and more stressed as he has to choose between his beloved family and his other beloved family.

Edward tries to play both sides, this goes poorly.

Emmett

As always, Emmett's staying out of this one/taking whichever side Rosalie's taking. Privately, he thinks they should probably just feed the girl blood. Maybe send her to the Irish or something to look after and the family can visit from time to time. She'd be happy there.

Esme

Esme's siding with Bella. She doesn't see why they should be harming the family, doing this horrible thing to this girl, when there are solutions. They can make this work, they always do, and they can't kick Renesmee out for something that's not her fault.

Jasper

Jasper's also staying out of this one but also doesn't really have an opinion/is a bit torn. On the one hand, yeah, this might kill Renesmee. But on the other hand, sometimes life is miserable and you're born a vampire and it's better to die young and in pain than live the life of a murderer.

I imagine him feeling this is a choice Renesmee has to make for herself.

Renesmee

Renesmee doesn't know what's even happening. She's that dog in space.

I imagine she voices she'd rather stay on the diet, as then this argument can be avoided, and she doesn't become the family freak and the one who couldn't hack it.

No one listens to her.

Rosalie

Oh Hell no.

Renesmee's getting the blood. People die all the time, it happens, and there are lots of people who deserve to die for that matter. Are they going to watch Renesmee waste away, for something she can't help, just so they can feel morally superior?

(Yes, this is at odds with Rosalie's firm conviction to remain on the diet and judgement of those who cannot, but I imagine as with other canon events this would skew Rosalie's priorities a bit.)

[viictorchang]

Hunter

Character Name: Victor Chang Age: 34 // 369 Current Location: Salem Occupation: Motel receptionist/bounty hunter Hunter Speciality: Witch What ties them to Salem?: Looking to break his curse Good traits: Pragmatic, logical, observant Bad traits: Cynical, violent, aloof Anything else: No, he was 'adopted'/stolen from parents who could not care for him. 

Not much is remembered from his life before being taken in by the Changs. It wasn't good, he wasn't taken care off, and he was better off here -- was all his parents had told him.

The Changs come from a long line of hunters that immigrated to China from the Netherlands. As dark as their history is, there's an equal amount of glory in their success as supernatural killers.

With the death of their one and only child, Victor was quickly brought in as a replacement at a young age, believing he possessed the spirit to carry out the work of God, as his mother had fallen ill and feared she was too weak to bring another child into the world.

There was a lot to prove. He faced a lot of discrimination and this only fuelled him to become stronger and better as he underwent training to join The Order. No matter how hard he worked, people still looked down at him. He stopped letting it bother him, and his dedication to The Order by way of hunting monsters never wavered.

The Changs eventually drift from China, all the way through Russia and the rest of Europe before landing in London.

One evening, Victor returns from a week long hunt to find that his father had been turned into a vampire. He’d killed some family members, others he’d tried to turn as well. His plan was to turn the rest of the clan. With no choice, Victor kills him and his entire family.

Rumours run wild and they reach The Order: the adopted boy murders entire family, used black magic, he’s a vampire himself. As punishment, The Order, on the surface, excommunicated the Chang clan, whilst secretly wiping them out, but Victor survives.

He’s on the run and on his own from this moment onwards, still hunting vampires wherever he goes. His reputation precedes him, which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

A witch, whose community had been protected by the Chang clan fighting off the vampires in the same area and in their absence had turned into ruin, curses him with eternal life as her coven is decimated.

After that, he runs into a family of witch hunters, and as old friends of his parents they kindly take him in. He learns from them, and builds up a new set of skills. But he doesn't stay with them for long. Once he was ready to go hunt alone, he parts ways with them.

From that moment onwards, he stopped hunting vampires. No longer bound by The Order, he only hunts when he can get paid for it. Both humans and witches alike.

It has been a while since he set foot in Salem. He returns in hopes that this time around he'll successfully find a way to break his curse.

[captorations]

tw: animal death (nonviolent, elderly.) long post which also features kittens named after TLT characters, to which the warning does not apply.

this is Twilight. he was named for the streaks of orange on his belly, which were even more pronounced as a kitten. not for the vampire series, thank you very much; that nonsense didn't take off until a few months after i named him. he was chosen to be a ten-year-old's first pet because his response to being picked up by a human, as a recently-captured feral kitten, was to purr. not stress-purr, either. his default response to any kind of attention was to purr, absurdly loudly, and this never changed at any point in his life.

he could be grouchy and unpredictable at times, and he never cared for other cats in his space, but he was quite content to live his life alongside mine. he was never a lapcat, preferring instead to curl up somewhere nearby and burst out into purring if i so much as looked at him. i learned his language, able to determine the difference between and meanings of his vocalizations, and he learned mine, responding to his name and offering attention when i was upset. one of the first times Twilight ever came up on my bed with me, when we were both very small, was after a nightmare. sure enough, he was often at my side as i struggled with constant nightmares throughout last year.

but, well. you read the warning. he passed in february, peacefully and painlessly. i miss him dearly. he was my companion for what will for a few years yet count as the majority of my life, and i will always be grateful to him for waiting to go until the evening my partner arrived back home, so she could be with me when he went.

he was, and i recognize that i am quite lucky to have avoided it for so long, the first lost loved one i've had to grieve. and i did grieve. i always will, a little bit. i may have cried while writing this. that's one of the reasons i didn't talk about it here until now.

the other reason is a happier one. i wanted to have good news along with the bad. and i do!

of course i'd thought about what i would do when Twilight passed. my plan was to find a bonded pair of adult cats in need of adoption. but then, as Twilight started to inch past the division between "old cat" and "elderly cat," my partner happened to befriend a feral breeding pair and work to socialize each year's kittens to, hopefully, make it more possible for them to be domesticated by someone else. no TNR programs out there in the sticks, and it wouldn't be ethical to try to domesticate the feral adults.

so. when Twilight passed, and once i had recovered from the worst of it, our attention turned to this year's kittens. it wasn't by any means a guarantee. we couldn't steal them at the ideal age, as the mother was clever and cautious, and taught them to be the same. all the more so because my partner had stolen one of a previous litter to be her mother's pet.

there were so many factors going into this. how many kittens would there be? how many would, and unfortunately this was something we could do nothing about, survive long enough to be socialized and captured? would they like us? would we be forced to make a heartbreaking choice, leaving one or even multiple kittens to remain wild, with all the danger and hardship that entails?

well, the answers to those questions are, in order: two, both, yes, and no. in other words, everything went perfectly. and i'm very glad it did, because i can't even pretend i didn't practically fall in love with them on sight.

i honestly thought my partner was messing with me when she reported a black cat with gold eyes and a grey cat with silver eyes. that couldn't be real. there was no fucking way the universe was handing me two kittens that perfectly match major characters from the locked tomb series, i.e. the most powerful influence on me since homestuck itself.

but no, that's what actually happened. and even though the grey kitten's eyes eventually turned gold too, it hardly mattered, when their personalities started lining up with the characters they resembled. i didn't plan to name my next cats after tlt characters. in fact, i'm a little wary of giving animals the names of characters at all, even derivatives thereof; i prefer to appreciate them as their own selves, not a reflection of another.

however, i make a policy of not ignoring serendipity. we captured them effortlessly, mostly thanks to my partner's work in socializing them. both my partner and i had name ideas, but we agreed not to discuss them until the kittens had been examined by a vet, both in case of health concerns and to confirm genders. sure, gender is fake, and even faker for pets, but whatever.

the vet visit was yesterday, and as we suspected, both are female. so, after comparing notes and compromising on names, i present to you: Nona and Millie, respectively.

i actually had planned to name the black kitten "Hark," but my partner convinced me otherwise, and honestly she's right. Nona suits her better, in personality, in her capacity for violence (against toys, neither has scratched or bitten us even once since capture) hidden by a meek and easily spooked front, and in her habit of following Millie's lead but sometimes wandering off and trying new things and/or getting into trouble. i'll get over the weirdness of the directly copied name soon enough. it's already led to fun sentences, like "Nona spent the entire ride home hiding under a towel." (Nona likes to hang out under things. Millie prefers to climb things. in my partner's terms, Nona is a bush cat and Millie is a tree cat.)

meanwhile, Millie is a double reference. she's mostly named for Camilla Hect, but also for the Millie from warrior cats, who is one of the MVPs of the series, fight me. as mentioned, Millie usually takes the lead between the two. she's a little more cautious about new things, but will accept them after Nona inevitably tries them first. she defaults to protecting Nona when they're both spooked, taking point in the defensive huddle.

please appreciate Nona hiding in the top right photo. she is a black cat who knows she's a black cat, and acts appropriately.

they've adjusted incredibly well. it took about a week for them to be indistinguishable from domestic-born cats, at least when they're around me. my partner handled socialization, getting them accustomed to humans enough that we could capture them with minimal stress. i'm handling domestication, the process of guiding them through their new environment and the expectations of exclusively indoor, household animals. (these expectations are: being cute, not causing too much chaos, keeping us company, and seeking attention at whatever frequency they choose.)

we're both very good with animals, but i have the advantage of being raised by two veterinarians. so even though they were almost four months old on capture, older than is recommended for domestication attempts, i was pretty damn sure i could pull it off. and i did, not least because they're both very smart and adaptable in their own right.

so! thank you for reading this absurdly long post about the personal life of an altogether fairly generic tumblr user. as a reward, you get a video of Millie being annoyed at Nona for going somewhere she can't follow. (note: when Millie goes somewhere Nona can't follow, Nona gets sad and upset and meows pitifully about it.)

[dabblingreturns]

When I started Harrow the Ninth I hated Mercymorn. I hated Augustine, I scorned both men called Ortus, for their weakness, though this rant only deals with G1deon. I hated those adults with all the fury of two infinitely and continuously wronged teenage girls. But then I read Harrow again and again and Gideon and Harrow....and finally Nona and Nona and Harrow again.

And my understanding of them had changed.

I see adults trapped in webs of thier own unreversable consent.

I see adults, who at one timed agreed, and participated...maybe they didn't have all the information...maybe they suspected, maybe they knew almost everything, or maybe their hands was forced, but they agreed.

But it doesn't matter who knew what, or who didn't think things through.... because now they are trapped. They don't know how to get off this ride. Things have changed. They have changed. They have sat too long with their own pain, hatred, and grief, a loneliness, or regret.

They have spent this time frozen, but not unaffected.

The events of Harrow the Ninth give them a chance to break free of their own prison.

Because now they have Harrow to worry for and to think about. And Ianthe to think because of and worry about.

Just like Anne of Green gables, or Spy x Family, or Interview with a Vampire, nothing changes the dynamic of your life like a kid.

And Harrow is a kid to them. They know intellectually, that she is at least 15. But she is so small, and frail, which no figure, which makes her look even more childlike. I don't think any other necromancer, except possible Isaac, could have created the the feeling in the adults brain that "this is a child!" Quite as violently as Harrow did.

And Augustine was an older brother....he was a protector....and now he is living with a child who looks like the sad little sister of his dead friend, Anastasia, and at the back of his mind is a voice saying....don't let bad things happen to this one....not like the others. And he doesn't always listen to it....but it's there.

And Mercymorn looks at this child, and once before she was Mercymorn, she was trained as a doctor, and she probably had patient, and some of them were probably children or teens. And the woman who wasn't called Mercy yet, saw what the world could do to them at least physically speaking, and she tried to fix it. Was M so devoutly pro-choice because her had to do those procedures?....and did she see the aftermath of stolen choices? Did she see those who's choices were taken away from? Maybe M didn't work with those patients, maybe she just heard stories....but she cared, and now she's been given another child and this one probably reminds her of her self. With her brains, and religious furver, her love of the human body, her inability to read the room, and her dead best friend. Mercy may not be able to remember her won childhood, or her own time as a doctor.....but Harrow the ninth makes it clear that just because you don't remember someone, doesn't mean they cant haunt you.

And G1deon, called "ORTUS", I don't know what he sees, I don't know what memories do and don't exist in his brain for 10000 years of being the emperor's dog. I don't know if G1deon was haunted by the child he lost the same way Pyrrha was. But I think G!deon sees a broken child, or at least the top of her head, and Pyrrha said, that he did like an underdog. And in Nona the ninth, Pyrrha said that G!deon liked Harrow.

And that's only Harrows physical effect. Then there is Harrow's actions...the adults are forced to sit there for months and watch "the work" and compare Harrowhark and her work to Ianthe.

And its a stark comparison.

On one arm, they have Ianthe, who did not love her caviler, who is not effected by his loss, who's only issues mastering lyctorhood seams to be in her need to be fully herself. She doesn't grieve, she is not broken, she is smart and clever, good at conversations and an flattery, she is tall and full grown.

And I bet Ianthe is abhorrent to the other lyctors.....she is a threat. A possible new favorite for John. She is competent, charmingish, and shows absolutely no moral compuntions about anything.

She is a monster shaped like pretty young woman to them because she went through the same sacrifice and immersed without guilt.

Mercymorn hated her, G1deon avoided her, and Augustine, Ianthe's teacher, looked for any excuse to put her down. After all, Naberius could have still fought with the other hand. Cavs need to be at least a bit ambidextrous to use two weapons at once. putting her down for having an technical fighting issue in one arm seams a bit of an over reaction. After all, all the lyctors knew that lost limbs don't grown back, so Ianthe can't have been the first lyctor with a few bits missing. I think the problem was never really about the arm.

Then while spending time with Ianthe, the three older lyctors get to see Harrowhark. Harrow who broke herself in her own grief, who had the same choice thrust upon her that Augustine and Mercymorn had. Harrow did ultimately make the same choice to become a lyctor, only to immediately reject it.

Harrow chose to to brake her own mind rather than deal....Harrow is walking around that space station, very clearly not dealing with the consequences of her own actions. Harrow has said, "fuck you" to "action and consequences" Harrow is rejecting reality instead of living with her own guilt. Harrow is not playing by the rules of their polite little society. She's fainting, and bleeding, and stroking out all over the place. She is making a massive fuss. And in her own completely batshit way Harrowhark is fighting back

And the adult lyctors have flirted with fighting back in the past but without much urgency. They played ball with BoE...but the ninth house operation and the wake affair both required no immediate confrontation. John never had to know.

But John sees Harrows rebellion and John let's her rebel...John let's Harrow be crazy, and bleed, and make an ass of herself all over the Mithreaum, and embarrassment is the only consequence.

He doesn't stop The Work....he let's her continue. Harrow is rebelling against her own lyctorhood and the order god made....and he appears to be mildly disappointed....but that's all.

I dont think any lyctor has done this before, regretting it enough that they changed thier own mind.....and Augustine and Mercymorn and the man Harrow keeps calling ORTUS, just have to watch...and sit with there own memories.

And the worst part is that broken little baby harrow is still more powerfull then they are....

They get to watch her heal herself over and over again. They can see the speed. They see how long she can stay in the river. And they see the theorems she uses. They know that she is a bone adept who has ignored flesh and spirit for bone....but her own flesh and spirit are unwavering.

The consequences of Harrows rejection of her own lyctorhood are so much less then any of them ever conceived. They are trapped with a girl who is in a constant state of rebellion against herself and the universe.

And Mercy and Augustine and even G1deon can't ignore this situation.

On one hand they have Ianthe and all the danger she posses to their rank in the status quo, and on the other hand they have Harrow, who constantly reminds them that they don't have to accept the status quo at all. And they like Harrow. She's the feral kitten wondering around their home and occasionally giving them the worst possible food to eat. But she is cute and charismatic and unpredictable and entertaining, in a wet kitten sort of way. And she has so much potential!

And so they have to ask themselves, "is it my job to put this girl down, to releave her suffering, for her own good, because shes not a threat but she's also not right. or do I just let her be...."

And Augustine says, "yeah, I'll go out of my way to protect her from my brother. Because I like her better"

And Mercymorn says "I am the only one here capable of putting her down without suffering, so I will do it at the last moment possible and take the guilt on myself, because I alone deserve to suffer the most!"

And then G1deon says, "I will try to put her out of her misery in the most distressing and half assed way imaginable until everyone complains to much and everyone realizes that this should stop." Or at least G1deon might if he was ever forced to explain his thoughts....ever!

And then Gideon Nav shows up and blows the whole thing wide open. But harrow lit the long fuse. And now Augustine and Mercymorn have to deal, because G1deon said "fuck it, I'm done with this bullshit. I'm going to go die in battle!"

Here is a wet kitten as a reward for reaching the end

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Worth The Eternity: Dark! Bucky x Reader (Vampire AU + Mob AU + Soulmate AU)

This is for @cherienymphe’s 5K Twilight Renaissance Writing Challenge. Congratulations, keep slaying! I wrote this instead of studying, so pray for my paper please lmao.

A/N: This tired girl tried. 

WARNINGS: something between dubcon and noncon present. Triggering, darkish themes.

Summary of sorts: Ever seen Hotel Transylvania 1/2/3? In this AU, mythical creatures exist and have soulmates and you feel a zing if you are blessed enough to encounter them.

"Boss, we narrowed it down to these core three suspects.” A husky voice, slightly muffled by the sack on your head, entered your ears and you had a hard time being calm.

You had been picked up from your office, specifically the basement of Oscorp Industries while entering your sleek silver car. A pinch in your neck and everything comically blurred. Next thing you know, you are waking up with your entire body sore, your muscles and joints screaming and begging for freedom from tight restraints. Your vision is black, as if you are staring into an abyss and your vision is filled with white and red dancing spots forming patterns, maybe from the hours of inactivity.

Muffled noises of protest and scraping of metal against the concrete floor entered your ears and you realized you are not the only one here held captive. You racked your mind for possible explanations but couldn’t come up with one.

You lived a very simple life, even as the vice president of Oscorp industries. No messing around, no rivalries with other employees, no butting heads with the seniors on the Director’s board. Was this a ploy against the company? Or a domination statement against the weaker species, the humans?

Lucky enough for you, you realized you would soon find out as the sound of a shutter opening and metal clanking noisily filled your ears.

“Took you long enough, Scott. Fill me in.” Another brooding voice reprimanded jokingly and a million goosebumps traveled the path of your skin as you involuntarily shuddered.

“Yes Boss. We tracked the missing sum to the account of this man on the left. He has fourteen other accounts under different names and nationalities, pretty hard to trace but not impossible luckily. This proved he is shady so he’s most definitely involved.”

“This ginger on the right, he made the suspicious call with weird words so we believe he pretty much passed the verdict, calling the shots with the codewords. He has had several surgeries, his face is fucking silicon at this point but his DNA showed us his true identity, Mr. Rumlow here is the Consigliere of The Midnight Moon.”

You sat and listened, piecing together whatever you understood. The pack/mob name more than rung a bell, it scared you shitless. You were quick to catch on, realising that you were caught in an inter species scruffle.

“This shit just got interesting folks. Alright, where does Miss Sexy Legs fit in all this?”

The pencil skirt you wore wasn’t the most modest piece of clothing to exist and the spaghetti straps blouse was a bad choice considering the sheer coldness in this warehouse, the temperature only seemed to go down with the entry of your kidnappers but it’s not like you knew this was going to happen.

You could only assume with your legs on display that you were the one being sexualised and talked about.

“We are not sure about her though, that’s why I said suspects. We have proof the call was made from her phone but the videos show her lending it to a creepy stranger at a café. It might be really good acting but it’s highly unlikely. We brought her in because in the transfer of the stolen cash, her account was an intermediary but it’s a good chance that she was tricked when her phone was borrowed by Mr. Rumlow. Also, she’s a human, you see?”

If it was you being talked about, you felt a jot of relief, just a smudge because at least they were aware you weren’t involved in whatever game they were playing. That didn’t necessarily ensure your freedom, but hey, you were willing to take anything at that point.

“That’s the sweet fucking scent I keep on smelling!” The leader exclaimed as if he made a great discovery, a cure for a pandemic or cancer you’d think. His gruff voice almost had a light, cheery undertone to it, too unlike of a man who was wronged and cheated and was close to murdering someone no doubt. These mobsters are always maniacs like The Joker.

“It sucks that you brought her here. She might not be guilty, but now she knows too much. She’d make a good blood bag though. Maybe I’ll just have a taste, who knows?” The ‘boss’ made a disturbing slurping noise and your heart stopped at his words, a tear almost escaping your eye.

Discussion about drinking blood? You were most definitely in The Vamps territory, your assumption about the inter-species conflict true. You had no doubt you were the weakest in this creepy space, the frailest here, most probably the only human.

“Show me the bastards’ faces.” Like the flip of a switch, the joking man swapped his personality and all but growled. You heard the ripping of cloth and a man gagging, his shrieks muffled. Another flurry of movements and another man retching on the fabric could be heard.

“Well, hello Mr. Rumlow. I must say, brown suited you better.” A horde of chuckles made you widen your eyes, even though only black still filled your vision, as you realised there were at least a dozen twisted, sick men in the room. The fact that they were silent as fuck till now only showed you how disciplined and regimented these soldiers were.

“This one has a pretty face, boss.” You felt the sack ripped off you, and your eyes closed with the sudden flooding of the lights. Your eyes sealed due to hours of inactivity and you kept them shut, afraid to face your tormenter.

A cold hand cupped your cheek and straightened your face that was trying to hide itself in your silky locks by curling in your own neck, the cool metal of rings and insanely icy fingers chilling you literally.

“Open your eyes sweetheart.” A voice called out behind you and you gathered enough courage to face your impending doom, the air as silent as the calm before a storm.

Your orbs opened and gazed into piercing sapphire blue eyes and everything behind this chiseled face blurred. You could swear a ring of pink and red passed over his eyes and you shuddered again, getting overwhelmed due to the eye contact yourself. This wasn’t the usual anxiety you felt while meeting new people, it was somehow both a pull and a push. An inviting comforting pull and a terrifying, ‘stay cautious' push.

You, a self-sufficient woman, who had been independent for as long as you could remember, suddenly felt half; incomplete in a way that you couldn’t fathom. You felt an attraction, a tug towards the man in front of you, and the absurdity of the thoughts and emotions that popped in your brain made you heave on the gag.

Your intellect couldn’t find a reason, your view on love and romance until now completely conflicted. You believed soulmates to be separate pieces of art that complemented each other when together; then what was this broken jigsaw puzzle sentiment you were having now?

Your wide eyes somehow managed to break free of his stare, panicking and looking around to observe, which wasn’t comforting in the least as men with guns and gadgets filled your vision. You were relatively unharmed in comparison to the beaten lads beside you, one with a bruised face and the other with a bloody one.

The handsome man, the Boss’s stare didn’t leave you through the entirety of your searching around, you were sure they saw you as a scared little rabbit, waiting out its inevitable death.

“Lost in her eyes, Boss?” The sideman cracked what he believed to be the funniest joke in existence, earning laughs of the horde of the soldiers around.

 Your eyes went to the Boss’s face, surprisingly when his left your face to glare a nasty stare on his trusted man. His muscular form raised the forelimb, his hand signaling to stop, that effectively quietened the room to a pin drop silence.

With gentle fingers, the man took off your gag and yours lips quivered, throat too dry to make a noise though. You greedily gulped the air through your mouth for whatever reason, maybe just to move your jaw after hours of inactivity.

Maintaining eye contact was challenging, arduous to say the least. It seemed as if he could read you, find everything about you there is to find by studying the flecks in your orbs. His delicate hands, loosened the ties and you were now more so confused, along with the trepidation.

Just what the fuck was going on?

Bucky had almost lost hope, centuries on this planet and no one to love and cherish, no personal confidante, no soulmate. But good things take time, right? And in his opinion, best things take an eternity. He knows this now.

Expect the unexpected was the truest phrase, idiom whatever it was, in this moment. He had spent countless nights wondering about his soulmate, was she pretty? Ugly? Was she even a she or not? Dumb or witty? He made a lot of scenarios of how they’d meet, the kids, reigning together. He entertained the idea of her being from a different species, a nymph, an orc, maybe a werewolf?

And now that he found her, it was a revelation, a surprise honestly. After all optimism got evaporated, after traveling the dark tunnel for centuries literally, there she was, his beacon of light. Finding her was a wonder, and her being a human was astonishing, a possibility he somehow failed to consider, but he was over the moon cause there she was, right in front of him now. A beautiful, stunning lady in flesh and blood, human flesh and blood, with the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. His zing.

He always liked humans, apart from the similar appearances the vampires shared with them, they were always docile and accommodating. In the last few millenniums, after the mythical creatures showed themselves to the world, the humans understood their place and tier pretty early.

They were smart to surrender and be peaceful as all the species came to light, clever to know that even with less numbers they could be overpowered and bloodshed was detrimental to all involved.

He knew he would convert you soon though, your lifespan far too short for his liking, and obviously, now that he found you, you were to rule together. For Centuries.

His happiness was over taken by the realisation that you were not in the most hospitable settings, you were tied and strapped, being preyed on by his men. He made quick work of the restraints, allowing you to breathe by loosening them first. Your scared, trembling form plucked his unbeating heart’s strings, but strangely enough, his brain found amusement and he felt smug. Seeing you tied up and trembling was definitely a turn on for him, noted.

After commanding his foolish men to stop giggling, he leaned closer to you, your aura comforting and intoxicating as he smelled your hair. A divine scent, an addictive one for sure. The goosebumps on your skin confirmed the reciprocation of his connection.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you.” His husky voice, calming but imposing resonated in your ears, his hand tapping your cheek on the other side. Even though the private statement was whispered for you, the deafening silence made every person witness it.

He leaned back, his hands behind his back as he grinned, tone again light like earlier and commanded, “Get her out of here and cleaned up, tell Nat and Wanda, they’ll know what I mean. Then we’ll deal with these guys here, after the lady leaves of course. No scratch on her from this point forward or you’ll lose a limb. Proceed.”  

All three of you, the hostages were going to get ‘taken care of’ but in different ways.

It had been over twenty hours for sure, you were abducted in the early hours of the morning and now the moon was out again, like one endless night. You remember being escorted to a sleek black car; your limbs ached but you managed to keep up. You tried to keep up with the car’s turns, trying to memorize the streets but your head was pounding and eyes were blurry.

You remembered being led to a suite in an expensive hotel like ones where your conferences were held, being taken to room and given towels to clean up. You didn’t change the dress when given another, the attire being a summer dress even shorter.  A woman came a while later named Wanda who checked the forming light contusions and scuffed skin with hands so delicate, as if you were precious cargo. You were, you just didn’t know.

You didn’t eat anything they provided and after hours of conspiring and overthinking, you heard sturdy footsteps. Since your arrival, only women bothered with you, probably the ones the leader sent. But these were heavier, harder.

The door opened and you glanced up to find the leader who demanded your locking up in this fancy place, his eyes travelling on your form sat up on bed, as you mindfully pulled your skirt down. You were anxious the entire day, dreading your future but nothing was like the restlessness that ran through you in this person’s presence.

Maybe it was the fact he was a vampire, or the leader of a Mob or maybe both, but whatever it was he intimidated you, alarmed you, even though you’ve had only two encounters including the present one. You were smart to be scared, he looked at you like, like you were something to eat, your mind told you.

“Hey.” His raspy voice caught you off guard, not having heard a single syllable out of the women the entire day, your questions being ignored the entire time.

You stared at him warily. Your mind having a myriad of emotions and thoughts. You didn’t want to trigger him, besides the place being armed well, he was a vampire, a beefy one at that and you would be stupid to try anything. Shouting and making a scene was no good either, your best option being the lamest one: to talk it out. You refused to become a willing blood bag.

You let out a long sigh, surprising him somehow, “Look, I have money, resources in the business sphere, information, what do you want? I know I got caught in this by accident, but I’m willing to do a lot of things to get out. Name it and I’ll do my best.” You said with your ‘business deal’ voice, the wise, guiding leader voice from your office.

For some reason though, the man found it hilarious. He slapped his hand on his chest, his boisterous laugh echoing. It wasn’t that good a joke if he believed it to be one. Men, ever so condescending.

“Humans, ever so gluttonous. I don’t want your money, precious.” His term of endearment didn’t fall short to your ears, but you had larger things in play here than a sweet nothing.  

“I have other things to offer, name it.” Within your moral sphere, of course.

“You still don’t get it, do you? And you humans boast you have everything figured about us.”

He neared you and you leaned to the inner area of the bed, refusing to get cornered to the wall if things escalate and wanting to have the option of running away, probably in vain though. With each step he took, a new shudder ran through you because of the closing distance between your bodies, it getting triggered in unexplainable ways.

You didn’t need to say words to prompt him to explain, your scrunched eyebrows already doing that mission. “You should feel it too, you know? The goosebumps, the bewilderment in your insides, you’re intoxicated by my very presence too, aren’t you?”

The more he neared, your breaths quickened visibly, his words becoming truer. Your skin heating, mind losing a bit of consciousness. His presence didn’t affect you to this extent in the warehouse, but now? You were putty, almost incapable to think. You tried to roll over to the other side but your plan failed because he caged you with his bulky hands on your shoulder, body diagonal across yours. With how slow and out of it you were, he didn’t even need his heightened speed to trap you.

“Oh, it’s kicking in, isn’t it? The realization, the surge of love and lust? To be held and cherished and be full of me?” He smirked at your trembling form, your chest heaving and weak arms trying to push him off.

“I’ve read humans feel flushed, hot, so let’s get you out of these scraps, yes?” He slid off the thin straps while you mumbled a very unconvincing ‘stop’. Both actions were pretty pointless because he wouldn’t stop, you both knew that and also, he ended up taking the top off over your torso the normal way.

Your hands barely managed to land themselves on his wrist to pull them off, but the foolish limbs ravished in the feel of his cold skin instead. It was like a high you had never experienced and your body wanted more. It was already addicted to the feel of this stranger whose name you didn’t even know.

He unzipped the skirt, your pathetic body no longer even fighting him as he rambled on. “Among us vampires, well not much to tell but we’re all freezing cold when we find our ‘zing’. Like every normal day. Except for the inability to think and the need for their mate’s blood, of course.”

He came back up to kiss you, his body now in line with yours as one hand held your cheek and the other groped your breast. You had an out of body experience, feeling disgusted for reciprocating the kiss but also wanting more of that, more of him.

He trailed down your neck to your collarbone and you gasped for air, your thoughts incoherent. He kissed between the valley of your breasts, removing the bra sometime in between as you heaved. He wanted nothing more than to rest in those swells for an eternity.

As soon as cold air hit your nipples, one was being sucked while other was being pinched. The nameless stranger alternated between licking like a kitten and sucking like a baby on the breasts. Your rational part felt gross but the dominating side was the one experiencing delight.

He kissed down the sternum, to your bellybutton and then hovered above the thin, flimsy underwear. His hands slid down your sides, down the curve of your waist and hooked themselves at the cloth’s side, pulling them down in a swift motion.

Your legs quaked, trying to close themselves but one muscular arm on your thigh was able to hold them off, throw one away from the other. He leaned down and you were pathetically still under his muscles, your lower limbs either not daring to move or not wanting to.

You wrapped your hands around your torso to hide a bit of yourself, but did that really matter in the larger picture of the events unfolding right now?

You closed your eyes, tears already escaping since minutes ago as you tried to accept the reality of what was happening. A cold sensation on your little button caught you off guard; an infinitesimal fraction of time later, an inhale reached your ears.

You looked down, opening your eyes to find the man smelling you, his Grecian nose poking through your folds and taking in sniffs of your intimate part.

“Please sto-”      

“The scent at its source, so fucking divine. I want a taste.” With that, your sentence got interrupted by his words and then by his action as his tongue licked away. It sucked on the bead, delving in the cavity there pretty fucking deep and he slurped away like he pretended to do when you were blindfolded.

Your back arched like a gymnast, hands that were folded across your chest clawing at your own skin, leaving marks behind. His hands were hooked around your thighs and they threw your legs on his shoulder some point in between. When he thrusted three fingers at once, an audible wheeze left your lips, your noiseless gasps now hoarse ‘Aah’s and you could feel him smirk.

There a also a lot of teeth involved with his razor sharp canines that appeared out of nowhere during this and when he thrusted his fingers particularly hard with his teeth nibbling on your sensitive bud, you shamelessly let go of the inside flow.

It felt humiliating and mortifying, your body glowing with the aftereffects of descending into bliss while your mind wanted to cry. Your soul was surprisingly content with what unfolded, at peace. You hated the diversity of emotions you felt, revolted to find even a bit of positive sentiment at your assaulter’s actions.

While your inner monologue happened, the man got up and out of his clothes painfully quick. You tried to sit your up, feebly trying to escape but ineffectively so. Your eyes couldn’t meet the handsome stranger’s nor did you want to see him naked and removed him form your eyeline, making you get caught off guard when his hands wrapped around your ankles and pulled you down, finishing the small distance you managed to crawl up.

His hands left their place as he kissed his way back up your flushed skin, from the swell of your ankle to the swell of your stomach. He licked away the drops of blood around the crescent scratches left by your nails under the intense ecstasy he forced upon you. Then he continued his journey from the swells of your chest to the swell of your cheek, taking you in a fiery, needy yet affectionate kiss.

Your surroundings blurred a second into the kiss, mouth and skin hungry for his touch alike. A thrust had you painfully gasp as you were stretched unlike ever before, impaled to a depth unlike ever before. He kissed away your tears that continued to spill on command of your ashamed mind and leaned back to look into your eyes, a pretty pink passing over them for a fleeting second.

His blue orbs bore into yours and you almost believed he loved you by the intensity of his gaze. At this moment in time, nothing but you two mattered, connected and finally together. How you got here didn’t matter, how unwilling you were didn’t matter. This felt right, felt necessary and was worthy of everything you went through. The rational part seemed to die the instant you two physically connected and somehow, everything and nothing made sense.

But you felt complete.

Your lips captured his of their own accord, and you both smiled into the caress of your lips while he began thrusting, one hand on your waist, the other supporting his weight. Out of breath, he leaned back, still thrusting though, and gazed at you. “Scott back there, he called you pretty, that’s practically an insult. The way you look right now, you’re much more than beautiful. You’re ethereal, my Zing, the loveliest in existence.”

His genuine words tugged at your heart. For some reason you believed him, had confidence in his feelings. Your foreheads connected as he quickened, his hand caressing your skin, the cool against your warm skin soothing. It didn’t take long for you to let go again this time; your previous resolution already dissolved. He neared your ears and whispered, “I want you to scream my name. It’s Bucky.” You nodded absentmindedly, chasing the high.

One particular thrust paired with his canines piercing your skin made you cry out “Bucky!” and you felt him smirking in your neck, lapping the blood. You wilted in bliss and your eyes closed, warmth filling you minutes after. Your eyes were dazed and you felt ‘Bucky’ shift, removing his towering frame from you, a goofy smile on the chiseled face.

With mind free of the aforementioned disapproving thoughts, you checked out his handsome face. It was like you saw him in an entirely different light now.

He gave you a quick peck, his hands cradling your face and he spoke with the utmost sincerity. “You are worth the wait, precious. No measure of time with you will be long enough. But we’ll start with forever to compensate. I’m never letting you go.”

[thecaffeinebookwarrior]

A Writer’s Guide to Viewpoints

Most of us know that there are three major viewpoints from which stories are told:

First Person -- “I tell my own story with the pronoun ‘I’ because I’m just so damn awesome.”

Second Person -- “You are a character in this story, and you can’t do anything about it.  If it makes you uncomfortable, tough shit.”

Third Person -- “He muttered himself and pulled the blankets over his head, wishing this asshole would stop narrating his life.”

Those are the three viewpoints, and that’s all there is to it.  Just pick your favorite, and you’re ready to go.  Right?

Well.  Not exactly.  

You see, my fellow scribblers, there are actually multiple sub categories of each viewpoint -- beyond even the “Third Person Omniscient” or “Third Person Subjective.”

To be specific:

First Person:

First Person Informant

First Person Reminiscent

Unreliable

Second Person:

Reader as Character

I Substitute

Third Person:

Objective 

Limited 

Multiple Selective Omniscience 

Omniscient

This might seem overwhelming, but fear not!  Each perspective is fairly easy to break down, and ultimately, apply to your own work and understanding of literature.  This post will elucidate each.

So let’s take charge of our narratives and delve in, like the active protagonists we are.

What is the First Person?  

I’m sure we all know this, but a First Person narrator tells their story from the pronoun I (or sometimes we, though this is quite rare.)

The different factions of First Person narration are somewhat under-discussed -- certainly not as widely known as the Third Person Omniscient versus Objective viewpoints -- but, as these examples prove, they do exist.

As you read, you’ll likely think back to your favorite narrators, and realize that not all First Person viewpoints were created equal.

The First Person Informant:

“I’m telling it like it is.  As it’s happening.  I’m living in the moment, and watching it unfold with you.  Look at us, charging blindly into the future together.  Isn’t it exciting?”

This dude conveys the events as they transpire, or appear to transpire, in the present.  There’s no “once upon a time” for him.  Merely the unfurling now.

Examples:

“Vampires in the Lemon Grove,” by Karen Russel

“In every season you can find me sitting at my bench, watching them fall.  Only one or two lemons tumble from the branches each hour, but I’ve been sitting here so long their falls seem continuous, close as raindrops.  My wife has no patience for this sort of meditation.  “Jesus Christ, Clyde,” she says, “You need a hobby.” 

Russel’s narrator – a world-weary vamp navigating the tribulations of eternal love and insatiable bloodlust in an Italian lemon grove – is an excellent example of a first-person informant.  He isn’t telling us about the lemon grove as it was, but as it is.  The lemons fall before his eyes as they fall before ours.  We are in this lemon grove together.

“Natural Selection,” by Jacob M. Appel

“The stolen baboon.  On the evening news, she’s an irrelevancy -- a simian mug shot tucked between National Hairball Awareness Day and an interview with the Boston Strangler’s Children.  Six hours later, she’s lounger on the sofa in our living room, smacking together her protruded lips, scratching her back on the damask.  Suburban Tampa is apparently far more fun than a lab cage in Atlanta.”

Here, we are transported directly into a father’s dilemma after his well-meaning yet painfully naive and somewhat spoiled daughter “liberates” a mistreated lab baboon -- a decision that could effectively ruin both of their lives.  The informant perspective amplifies the reader’s suspense, as we are in the moment with him and can only discover the outcome by watching events unfold (or skipping pages.)

“What I Do All Day,” by Hellen Ellis

“Inspired by Beyonce, I stallion-walk to the toaster.  I show my husband where a burnt spot looks like the island where we honeymooned, kiss him good-bye, and tell him what time to be home for our party.”

This one is just great.  We are transported into the perspective of a seemingly chipper, affluent housewife as she quietly goes insane from suffocating domesticity and the horror of a meaningless life.  And, emphasized by the informant perspective, we feel all of this with her!  It is characteristically brilliant and hilarious satire from Ellis’s brilliant and hilarious collection, American Housewife.

The First Person Reminiscent:

“It was on a dark and rainy night when I decided to tell this story.  I tell it as I remember it, after these events have transpired.  Let’s look back on them together.”

In this perspective, the narrator is looking back on events after they have happened.  He isn’t describing these events as they unfold;  he is telling a story.

Examples:

Life of Pi, by Yann Martel

There are actually two reminiscent narrators here.  The titular Pi, and the author who has elected to tell his story.  

“This book was born as I was hungry.  Let me explain.  In the spring of 1996, my second book, a novel, came out in Canada.  It didn’t fair well.  Reviewers were puzzled, or damned it with faint praise.  Then readers ignored it.  Despite my best efforts at plating the clown or the trapeze artist, the media circus made no difference.  The book did not move.  Books lined the shelves of bookstores like kids standing in a row to play baseball or soccer, and mine was the gangly, unathletic kid that no one wanted on their team.  It vanished quickly or quietly.”

So opens this immensely clever novel, which, in all regards, blurs the lines between allegory and reality.  However, most of it is narrated by the eponymous Pi, who becomes this author’s muse.

“I've never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. The pain is like an axe that chops my heart.”

Here we have Pi, reflecting on his spiritual and allegorical companion, Richard Parker (an oddly named tiger whom we come to love as much as Pi does.)  Pi’s retrospective narration allows for the clear-sighted view of his complex feelings that can only come with time and distance.  Thus, this reminiscent narration enhances the power of the narrative.

The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”

My feelings towards J.D. Salinger are somewhat negative (I recommend you watch the documentary Salinger to figure out why) but this book is timeless for a reason.  This opening line offers up countless questions that leave you thinking long after you turn the final page.  Moreover, it impeccably establishes the voice that will carry us throughout its meandering narrative.  Catcher in the Rye would not be the same without its reminiscent narration, and this line establishes that.

Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.”

This opening line makes me somewhat sick to read, because, of course, it is the floral soliloquy a frothing, rabid pedophile, about a “four feet ten” twelve-year-old girl.  But, as a piece of art, it is still remarkably done -- the perspective of a monster, putting himself on trial before an imaginary jury, and telling a story that is invariably partial towards his warped perspective.  Once again, the retrospective is integral to this grotesquely fascinating narrative.

The Unreliable Narrator:

“I am the King of the Lizard People, and no one will acknowledge it but me.  Don’t believe me?  Too bad.  I’m the one telling this story, and you have no choice but to believe my dubious rendition of these events.”

It’s widely debated as to whether this should be its own category.  Why?  Because all first person narrators are inherently unreliable.  We just have little choice but to take their information as it’s denoted to us.  Oftentimes, they win our trust;  but other times, it is their unabashed unreliability that makes the narrative memorable.

Don’t believe me?  All of the past three examples were unreliable narrators.  And I examine several more in my post on types of unreliable narrators here.

In the meantime, let’s move on to the oft-underrated Second Person.  

What is the Second Person?

This highly controversial viewpoint uses the pronoun “you.”  Most people associate this perspective with amateur fanfiction or pretentious purple prose, but let me tell you:  when this perspective works, it is stellar.  And I’ll explain why.

The Reader as a Character

“You’re walking down the street, and you realize the narrator is talking about you.  Maybe you like this.  Maybe you don’t.  The narrator doesn’t care.  The narrator is a cruel and indifferent god.  You put in your headphones to tune the narrator out.  The narrator finds this incredibly rude.  You can’t escape me, motherfucker.” 

This is what most people think about when they picture a Second Person Narrative.  Okay, not this specifically -- being frank, most people probably think about reader-insert fanfiction (which can be amazing as well.)  This viewpoint asks the reader to imagine themselves as a character -- usually the main character -- in the narrative.

Examples:

“This is a Story About You,” from Welcome to Night Vale, by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Craner

“‘This is a story about you,’ said the man on the radio. And you were pleased, because you always wanted to hear about yourself on the radio.”

Even if you’re unfamiliar to this podcast, I highly recommend you listen to this episode (or read the transcript) immediately.  It shows you virtually everything reader-insert can be, and what a remarkable effect it can have.  It virtually envelops you in this perspective, this town, and this surrealistic reality. 

“The Young Immortal,” by Brooksie C. Fontaine (me!)

“When it started, it was the February fourteenth of 1945.  An American plane was hit in the engine by Japanese fire, fell from the slate gray sky like a shooting star.  Its blazing red reflection ignited the swell of colorless water.  And then it was gone, taking with it all the color in the world.

In that plane was my fellow air force pilot.  The love of my life.

You.

I know what you’re thinking:  you weren’t alive in ‘45, and you weren’t a man.  Well, I’m gonna tell you you’re wrong on both counts.  You’ve been a man before.  You’ll be one again.  It doesn’t matter to me, so long as it’s you.”

This one is unique, because it includes both the First Person Reminiscent (the eponymous immortal narrator) and the Second Person Reader as Character.  The reader is in the perspective of the narrator’s oft-reincarnated love interest, and so I decided to include it as an example. 

The “I” Substitute

“You were fifteen when you realized you could only get hard if you were thinking about carnivorous dinosaurs.  Not me.  You.  This has absolutely nothing to do with me, and I resent the insinuation that it does.  This is your problem, dino-fucker.  This is your story.  This is about you.” 

This one’s interesting.  The narrator is in denial, and using the second-person to distance themselves from the events of the story.  It is a substitute for the First Person, and a thinly-veiled one at that.

Examples:  

“Freaks,” by Alden Jones

“From the cluster of mourners, Kristen’s mother had emerged; she strode towards you.  Her straight brown hair was limp and flyaway.  She wore the expression of an animal who wanted to devour you.  Her eyes were cushioned by the bluish puffed skin beneath them, but they flashed hot with fury.

‘You,’ she said.  She pointed her finger.  She began to gallop.  ‘You think you see something no one else sees?’  she called.  Mourners turned to watch her progress towards you.  Heather took a step away.

You dangled the camera by your side.  You froze.  You did nothing but watch the thing happen.

‘YOU,’ the mother said, charging.  ‘YOU.  YOU.’”

These are actually the concluding lines of this haunting story from Jones’s collection, Unaccompanied Minors.  I had the pleasure of hearing her read this story for my graduate program;  in the Q&A afterwards, she explained how the narrative, and the characters’ mentality throughout the story, depended on the Second Person.  “It was a different story without it,” she said.  

“The Other Person,” by Nathan Leslie

“You write the story in the second person.  It’s your go-to point of view now.  You like it’s edge, its resonance of irony, even if your story lacks said irony (it adds irony).  You makes anything possible.  You is the new me.” 

This one is simultaneously hilarious, sad, and strangely invigorating.  It encapsulates the deep trenches of insecurity that come with being an author, and whittles them into sharp, sly satire.  The “I” Substitute doesn’t just emphasize the story;  it is the story.  This story would not exist without it.

Now that I’ve successfully changed your mind about the Second Person (and if you still don’t agree with me, you’re wrong), let’s move on to the ever-popular yet difficult-to-master Third Person. 

What is the Third Person? 

You know what the third person is, but I’ll suspend my disbelief and pretend you don’t.  It uses the pronouns he, she, or they, but the perspective can be virtually anywhere.  Which makes the Third Person such an interesting thing to explore.

Third Person Objective

“She slaps him.  He touches the red mark her ring left behind, and stares at her with wide eyes.”

This one is also known as The Dramatic, The Camera Lens, or The Fly on the Wall perspective.  It describes the events as we would view them, with no inside information into the thoughts or motivations of the characters.  What we see is what we get, and we have to discern the characters’ feelings based on what they say and do.

Example: 

“Meanwhile.  A Conversation,” from American Gods, by Neil Gaiman

“‘Miz Crow?’ 

‘Yes.’

‘You are Samantha Black Crow?’  

‘Yes.’

‘Do you mind if we ask you a few questions, ma’am?’

‘Are you cops?  What are you?’

‘My name is Town.  My colleague here is Mister Road.  We’re investigating the disappearance of two of our associates.’

‘What were their names?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Tell me their names.  I want to know what they were called.  Your associates.  Tell me their names and maybe I’ll help you.’ 

‘...Okay.  Their names were Mister Stone, and Mister Wood.  Now, can we ask you some questions?’ 

‘Do you guys just see things and pick names?  “Oh, you be Mister Sidewalk, he’s Mister Carpet, say hello to Mister Airplane?”’”

In this unique and hilarious chapter, we witness an exchange between (bisexual icon) Samantha Black Crow and a minor villain who has been assigned to track down the protagonist.  We aren’t privy to either of the characters’ emotions or thoughts, or even their actions, yet we can discern all of it from dialogue alone.

Third Person Limited 

“She’s had enough of his bullshit.  Something in her snaps, and her open palm collides -- hard -- with the side of his stupid, stupid face.  He touches the red mark she left behind, staring at her like he can’t believe she actually did that.  Good.  Maybe that’ll teach him to stop being such an pugnacious fuckwad.” 

This one is tethered to a specific character, whose thoughts and feelings we are aware of.  However, we are not inside the mind of the character in the same manner as a First Person narrator.

Examples: 

American Gods, by Neil Gaiman

“Shadow had done three years in prison.  He was big enough, and looked don’t-fuck-with-me enough that his biggest problem was killing time.  So he kept himself in shape, and taught himself coin tricks, and thought a lot about how much he loved his wife.”

Though American Gods features an impressive diversity of perspectives, we spend most of the book tethered to the lovable ex-con Shadow Moon.  We are never trapped inside his head, as we would be if the story were First Person, but we know what he is thinking and feeling.  He is our viewpoint character.

The Giver, by Lois Lowry 

“It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened.  No.  Wrong word, Jonas thought.  Frightened meant that deep, sickening feeling of something terrible about to happen.  Frightened was the way he had felt a year ago when an unidentified aircraft had overflown the community twice.  He had seen it both times.  Squinting toward the sky, he had seen the sleek jet, almost a blur at its high speed, go past, and then a second later heard the blast of sound that followed.  Then one more time, a moment later, from the opposite direction, the same plane.”

Lois Lowry’s timeless, haunting dystopia is introduced through the guileless eyes of twelve-year-old Jonas.  We are aloud to see the world from his perspective, but the distance of Third Person Limited allows us to feel the horror of each situation with more clarity.  Lowry demonstrates how to utilize POV to one’s advantage, similar to how Neil Gaiman uses Third Person Limited to enhance the horror of his masterful modern fairy tale Coraline.

Multiple Selective Omniscience 

“She decides she’s had enough of his bullshit, and slaps him.  Hard.  Hard enough that her ring leaves a red welt on his cheek.

He feels his eyes go wide, and he touches the side of his face.  He keeps waiting for her to apologize, but her eyes are narrowed and her lips are pursed.  She doesn’t look sorry.”

The viewpoint shifts between characters.  It can be extremely effective, as long as we are aware of when the proverbial camera changes angles.

Examples: 

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith

First of all:  if you haven’t read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, do it.  Do it right now.  It is the piece of classic literature I recommend to everyone who hates classic literature, because it’s devoid of all of the traits that make people hate classic literature to begin with.  It has oodles of complex, idiosyncratic, autonomous, and tough-as-hell female characters, bad language, and frank discussions of sexuality, poverty, and classism.  Read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.  

Anyway.  Though its protagonist is Francie Nolan, who, like the eponymous tree, perseveres and thrives against insurmountable odds, the viewpoint bounces around an immense deal, between Francie’s family and neighbors to the most minor side-characters.  Because of this, many people believe that the true protagonist is Brooklyn itself, and the people in it. 

The Twelve Tribes of Hattie, by Ayana Mathis 

This is a captivating, gut-wrenching book, similar to A Tree Grows in Brooklyn in its highly effective depiction of poverty.  The book follows the children of Hattie Shepherd, a formerly young and optimistic mother, who lost her firstborn twins to an easily preventable disease in the aftermath of the Great Migration.  The viewpoint changes with each chapter, showing the perspectives of each of her children and how they are haunted by this loss.

The Vacationers, by Emma Straub 

A far cry from its poverty-focused predecessors, this book focuses on the problems of the affluent and privileged.  It is, however, a deeply interesting read, as it swerves between the perspectives of the titular vacationers after a patriarch’s fore into adultery threatens his family and marriage.

Omniscient 

“She decides she’s had enough of his bullshit, and to his surprise, she slaps him.  Hard enough that he feels her ring leave a red welt on his flesh.

He touches his cheek in shock, and stares at her, awaiting an apology.  But she isn’t sorry.  All she feels is satisfaction.” 

Just what it sounds like.  The character is an all-knowing entity.  Or Lemony Snicket.  Perhaps both. 

Examples:  

Everything I Never Told You, by Celeste Ng

“Lydia is dead.  But they don’t know this yet.”

Celeste Ng’s beautiful and haunting novel begins with the wordless affirmation of the narration’s omniscience.  The narrative knows things the characters don’t, though it doesn’t always choose to relay its secrets.  In this case, it doesn’t answer the mystery of Lydia’s death until the very end -- an answer that the characters themselves will never discover.

The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.  Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat:  it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”

Tolkien’s book shows us how useful omniscience is for worldbuilding.  He doesn’t need to cleverly sneak this exposition into Bilbo’s dialogue;  he can tell it to us outright, and immediately draw us into this world while doing so. 

Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

“Current theories on the creation of the Universe state that, if it was created at all and didn’t just start, as it were, unofficially, it came into being between ten and twenty thousand years ago.  By that same token the earth itself is generally supposed to be about four and a half thousand million years old.  

These dates are incorrect.” 

This delightfully Pratchett-esque opening immediately puts us into a -- literally -- godlike perspective, in which we are given insider information about the start of the universe.  It immediately establishes the tone of this amazing novel:  one in which life and creation are too important to be taken seriously.  And for this purpose, this uniquely omniscient perspective is the only way to go. 

That’s all I’ve got for now, my fellow scribblers!  As you contemplate perspective, just think about how different the same events would look from a two disparate viewpoints.  Even if two people are sharing a moment, that moment is different for both of them.

The perspective isn’t something you tack on to your story.  Oftentimes, it defines your story.  So choose carefully, and don’t be afraid to explore!

Happy writing, everybody!  <3

[kiss-my-freckle]

Damon Salvatore: Lost Girls

"None of this adds up. The only thing that's really clear is that you're not just a liar, but you're a liar with secrets. So you can tell me the truth, or I can figure this out on my own."

Elena had more respect for Liam than Stefan had for her. She has no choice but add these things up on her own. Continuing on that note because it's either a continuity error or just plain idiocy. "When you were honest with me about what you were. How did you know that you could trust me with such a huge secret?" Stefan didn't reveal his truth to Elena because he was in love with her. He revealed his truth to her because he had no choice. She already knew. "You know." She was at his door because she wanted to hear him say it out loud. "That's easy. I was in love with you. I wanted you to know everything." Do not try to sell me the idea that Stefan fell in love with her by the 5th episode of the series because he stalked her far longer than he actually spent time with her. And he didn't want her to know everything. Do not hand me a pile of shit, then try to pass it off as a bouquet 6 seasons later. 

Elena adds it up, and Beauty of the Dark was a wonderfully chosen soundtrack for the scene. "Dear diary, I'm not a believer. People are born, they grow old, and then they die. That's the world we live in. There's no magic, no mysticism, no immortality. There's nothing that defies rational thought. People are supposed to be who they say they are. And not lie or hide their true selves. It's not possible. I'm not a believer, I can't be. But, how can I deny what's right in front of me? Someone who never grows old... Never gets hurt... Someone who changes in ways that can't be explained... Girls bitten... Bodies drained of blood... "

Damon is written opposite Stefan. He buried his humanity because he's not human, he's a vampire. Like Stefan, he has his own secrets, but they're kept out of respect rather than the need to hide who he is. Stefan hides the cut on his hand because he's hiding the truth of himself. Damon hides the dream he handed to Rose because it's not his to share, it’s hers. Stefan plays pretend, Damon chooses not to. As you view how Elena adds up Stefan's secrets, expect her to do the same with Damon's humanity. A little piece here, a little piece there. It'll be the reason she tells him to stop acting like he doesn't care. Because she knows he does. Damon denying he cares, like Stefan denying the cut on his hand.

Now that he's escaped, Damon proves actions have consequences. What he does to Vicki, I consider just as much Stefan's fault. He starved him for nearly a week, so he should expect Damon to hit a campsite. He took Damon's daylight ring, so he should expect him to turn Vicki out of boredom and loneliness. Rather than spend the night standing outside of Elena's window, Stefan should've recovered Damon's daylight ring and handed it to him before the sun came up. His priorities suck. If Stefan truly wanted to protect everyone from Damon, he should've been the one guarding him rather than heading back to high school as if all was good in the world. "No, what have you done? You're the one that locked me in the basement and starved me, so whatever I've done, whoever I've sucked dry is on you, buddy." Cold hard truth. At least Damon is now willing to cover his tracks. "I already want you dead. Don't give me another reason to make it happen." This follows through with Lexi.

I love the focus to their childhood photographs when Elena leaves the house. Vampires killing mockingbirds. She's now catching up to Caroline, asking questions about garlic and holy water. These parallels help one to understand why Caroline takes longer to accept Damon. Consider the abusive partner. It may not happen often, but people are capable of change. Imagine one of those few, and what they'd be like with their future partners compared with their past partners. That's the difference you get with Caroline and Elena. Stefan's 145-year mistake with Damon, was believing a vampire could change a vampire, much less the vampire who forced him to become a vampire. That's why Stefan needs to pair Damon with Elena. Allow him to spend time with her. If he loved his brother more than he obsessed over Elena, he'd do right by allowing him the chance to be in her world, to feel what he feels. Until he feels it, Damon will continue believing he has to feed on it to feel alive.

Stefan defends Damon's actions as a vampire because that's what vampires do. None of this is okay, but they're not okay. They're dead. 'He saw that I was happy with you, and he wanted to ruin it." Because Damon promised him an eternity of misery. Trust he has every reason to hate Stefan. He outwardly admits he didn't care that he had gotten something Damon wanted. He didn't even care that it hurt him. Yet another difference. Damon actually feels guilty for wanting Elena. Stefan didn't care. "That's the thing about Damon. He doesn't get mad. He just gets even." Damon gets mad. Trashing Stefan's room is the extent of him getting even. He's not turning Vicki to get even with him. What he gets from Vicki is every bit what Stefan gets from taking Elena with him on his little field trip. The beauty of not being alone. Damon and Vicki dancing is the best thing ever. View the parallels in these like-minded relationships, and you see where they're going. Elena is a lot like Stefan. Vicki is a lot like Damon. Now insert Vicki's dialogue to Jeremy, and you see Delena throughout the entire series. "I really hope you're not one of those guys who, now that we're together, tries to change everything about me." Elena is gonna change Damon. The purpose of them hitting Denver. 1x11 plays opposite 1x6 that way. Delena having fun, but sitting at a bar rather than dancing it up at his house. 

"What Damon wants, Damon usually gets." The very reason Stefan felt threatened. "Believe it or not, Stefan, some girls don't need my persuasion." And the purpose of Damon saying what he did. "You won. You got the bad guy. Now nothing could come between you and Elena. Except the truth." It'll be the reason Alaric hands him the cure and tells him to get his girl. Because Damon usually gets what he wants. It's not about whether or not he gets Elena. It's about how he gets her. His character development matters. "Turns out she wasn't ours to steal." Because she's a lost girl. Elena will follow the same concept. She's much like Katherine and her vervain necklace that way. Damon didn't steal her, he found her. That's why this episode is called Lost Girls. They're lost, not stolen. Klaus lost Katherine. Stefan lost Elena. "I lost you the minute I left town with him." The necklace and its two ships. "I wanted to protect you from Damon's influence. But I also wanted to protect you from me." Because you can't protect a girl from falling in love. Vicki piques Damon's interest when he finds out she's sleeping with Elena's brother. "Actually, you know what? You should go. In fact, if i were you, I would stop by your boyfriend Jeremy's house. Bye. Tell Elena I said hi. And IF you see Stefan, tell him to call me." Follow her dialogue, and you see Damon. "And when I think of my future, i just come up blank." For 145 years, he's been waiting to get in that tomb. Nothing but blank between then and now.

Aside from his dancing scene with Vicki, his scene at Elena's house is one of my favorites of the episode. She's judging him for turning Vicki after she just got done judging Stefan for choosing to transition. "The same choice you made?" What I love about her scene with Damon, is her belief that he made the same choice Stefan did. She bites back. "Did you thank Katherine?" This is the first time she attracts Damon. He's feeling her Petrova fire, and he likes it. That's why he eyes her body. He doesn't plan to kill her, but he's gonna use her to get the tomb open, and leverage her should Stefan try to stop him from getting his girl. When it comes to Elena, what he's willing to do isn't necessarily what he wants to do. He's willing to hurt her if he has to because he waited 145 yeas for this. "Tip for later, be careful who you invite in the house." A nice slam after walking in her house without permission. Because Stefan did the same thing. He was the first vampire she invited in the house, and when she ran from him, he forced her to face him when he appeared in her bedroom. Never mind waiting for an invitation.

Stefan wanted Vicki to die. This shows in his reaction to her completing the transition. "You mean we'll come up with a lie." By entering her life and romancing her the way he has been, Stefan forced Elena into her own shadow of existence. She's now having to live as he does, lying to everyone she cares about, having no one to talk to about the darkness she now knows exists. And this is being added to the pain she alredy feels having lost both her parents.

[ericsonclan]

Lupine’s Eve

Summary: Prisha is enjoying some time with Violet during lunchtime when suddenly Violet starts acting odd...

Word Count: 2173

Read on AO3:

Prisha leaned the back of her head against the tree. It was such a beautiful day today. The calming spring breeze, the sounds of different monsters enjoying the freedom of lunchtime, and Violet resting in her arms. It was perfect. The werewolf’s natural warmth seeped into the vampire’s cold body, warming it up slightly. Prisha sighed happily and wrapped her arms further around Violet, causing the werewolf’s tail to wag faster.

Tilting her head up, Violet looked into Prisha’s eyes. “I’m glad I met you,”

“I’m glad I met you too,” Prisha leaned forward and stole a quick kiss, making the werewolf’s tail whack around at an accelerated pace. The vampire’s heart warmed at the sight and she wished to speak further adoration, going as far as to say the words that she truly felt. After pondering it for a moment Prisha decided to go for it. Lifting Violet’s hand up, Prisha pressed a kiss to it then summoned the courage to say the words. “Violet, I lo-”

Prisha’s words were instantly cut short though when Violet bit down on her braid, growling lightly. Violet munched on it for a second then glanced up, locking eyes with her girlfriend. Without waiting a second Violet released Prisha’s braid and scampered off. The vampire remained frozen in shock.

What on earth just happened?

Prisha waited a few minutes for Violet but soon found herself growing more and more concerned. Violet had acted odd just a few moments ago; perhaps she had gotten a head injury and sustained a concussion. The vampire started to wander around the campus, running into some friendly faces and some not so friendly ones. Each time she stopped to ask if they had seen Violet and each time she was met with the same response until she bumped into Marlon and Louis. The two best friends were currently laughing loudly as they swapped heads, wondering how many monsters they could spook like this.

“Prisha!” Louis beamed while his head was snugly on top of Marlon’s body. “Here for some music time? If so, I have to rain check - Marlon and I are about to go spook some fellow monsters!”

“They’re gonna freak out!” Marlon’s smile mirrored his friend’s. He fistbumped Louis’ wrist which immediately popped off again.

“Damn it,” Louis sighed.

“I came here hoping that one of you had seen Violet,” Prisha jumped back into the conversation, drawing the monsters' attention.

“Oh, Vi? She went tearing across the lawn a minute ago. It was pretty fucking weird,” Marlon motioned over towards the torn up grass that lead towards the picnic tables.

“Thank you and be careful with each others’ heads! I’m sure Clem and Sophie would be heartbroken if you two did something that caused any permanent damage,” Prisha gave a goodbye wave to her two friends then sprinted off, following the damaged grass.

After a few minutes she reached the picnic tables where Sophie, Minnie and Renata were all having a bug-eating contest. Renata and Sophie seemed neck and neck in the race to finish their tasty snacks first but Minnie was the dark horse of the race and soon she had not only caught up but overtaken the lead. Polishing off the last few bugs she gave a loud crow then without thinking she cupped Renata’s face and kissed her deeply.

“I won! Take that, Soph!” Minnie gave a smug smile over to her twin while her girlfriend seemed to be looking off into the middle distance with a dreamy look in her eyes. The huldra definitely felt like she’d won in her own way.

Prisha was about to make her way over there but stopped when something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Violet’s tail was wagging at a fast pace, her ears twitching this way and that as she slowly snuck towards the table. Her neck was extended as she tried to bite down onto Brody’s lunchbag. The selkie was too caught up in the excitement of starting a garden club with Ruby to even notice.

The dryad was practically radiating joy as she spoke with her best friend. “Oh, this will be grand! Our own garden, right here at school!”

Ruby’s smile made Brody’s grow and the two kept talking as Violet inched closer and closer to the lunch bag. Suddenly her eyes locked with Prisha’s. The vampire shook her head no which caused Violet’s ears to flop down but she immediately didn’t listen and snagged the bag. Her sharp teeth tore through the brown paper as she scampered off on all fours.

“What the hell?” Brody jumped up, pulling her sealskin closer around her shoulders, trying to figure out what had happened as the contents of her lunch were scattered across the ground. Prisha wanted to sprint after Violet and learn what was going on here but the correct choice was to help her friend out first. So the vampire helped the selkie and dryad, making sure they were both okay before running after the werewolf.

After a few more minutes of searching Prisha spotted Violet again who was frantically trying to catch her tail. The werewolf spun around again and again until she spotted Prisha. Violet’s tail was out of control as her eyes widened. Without warning she sprinted forward and circled the vampire a few times before tackling her with a hug.

“Oof-” Prisha collided on the ground and was stunned for a moment as the werewolf continued to hold onto her.

“I see you are having a fun Lupine’s Eve,”

Santiago’s voice made Prisha tilt her head back to see the mothman smiling down at her.

“A what?” Prisha got up but Violet continued to hold onto her.

“Lupine’s Eve is a werewolf holiday where the full moon appears during the day. It makes werewolves act feral while in their human forms. You really didn’t know about this?” Santiago quirked an eyebrow as he pushed up his glasses, his antennae twitching in amusement. “I understood me not knowing it till I met Javi but with you and your vast years of life, I suppose I assumed you did,”

“Vampires and werewolves tended not to be on good speaking terms. So we didn’t learn much of their holidays or customs,” Prisha explained as she saw Violet being distracted by a leaf fluttering in the wind. “So I suppose you have your hands full with Coach Garcia then,”

“That is putting it mildly,” Santiago gave a deep sigh and was about to speak but again when the werewolf in question sprinted towards him.

“Santi! Santi! Santi! Santi!” Javi ran around his boyfriend then got distracted chasing his tail for a moment before he turned around. “I LOVE YOU!”

Those words made Santiago blush deeply, his wings fluttering with joy. That is until Javi started to lick his face copiously. “Ugh, Javi, no, bad!” Santiago pulled out a spray bottle and sprayed his boyfriend. The werewolf’s tail grew puffed at that and he growled for a second but it soon changed into a whimper. After a split moment though Javi’s attention had turned elsewhere. His tail flicked this way and that as he watched a rather chunky squirrel bounding back to a tree. A playful glint entered his eyes and he was off like a shot.

“Javi, don’t harass the squirrels!” Santiago shook his head; today’s schedule was already a mess thanks to this.

Prisha watched as the mothman chased after his boyfriend for a second before her eyes looked off in the direction where Violet once was but she was no longer there. Shit. Prisha swore her heart would’ve stopped then and there if it wasn’t already dormant. Her eyes darted around left and right when suddenly they landed on her beautiful, blonde and feral girlfriend who was marking a nearby trash can. Her shoulders brushed against the pungent trash can again and again until she caught sight of the vampire. Her ears turned down and out as she growled, protecting her territory.

“I’m not going to steal your precious trash can, Violet,” Prisha sat down a few paces away and sighed deeply. The frantic calls of Santiago made her glance back to see Javi on all fours running across the baseball diamond with a tennis ball in his mouth he had stolen from a few monsters who had been playing a tennis match. This was going to be an experience.

And an experience it was. Violet kept marking different things as he territory throughout lunchtime before trying to drink a puddle of water then scampered off and accidentally ran into a tree right when the bell rang. Prisha silently picked up her girlfriend and carried her to the next class. Her plans for this lunchtime were shot and the courage to share the words of her heart had vanished.

Luckily Violet was better during classes but the vampire figured that was because she had rubbed her shoulders against Prisha, marking her. With that done Violet had sat in Prisha’s lap and stayed there throughout all the classes, her head tilting back and wanting attention every few seconds. Prisha would press a kiss to her head or cheek and play with her hair while she wrote down notes. The vampire’s cool outer facade didn’t stop the other monsters’ eyes from being on them; if Violet learned of how she was acting she would be utterly humiliated.

Still for the most part things went smoothly... at least until the final period of class where Violet kept growling and trying to attack a bird through the window. Luckily it was study hall and the ever positive imp Mr. Omid made sure that Violet didn’t get in any sort of trouble. As soon as the school bell rang Violet barreled out of the room and outside to the front of Ericson High.

“Violet, wait up!” Prisha called out as she grabbed the few books she needed and sprinted after her girlfriend. She soon found Violet playing a friendly game of tug of war with Javi.

“Glad he has a buddy now,” Santiago smiled, his antennae buzzing lightly. “My arm was growing sore throwing the stick again and again. Besides, it's easier to read a book with two hands. I see you made it through the day,” He smiled and turned a page in his book as Prisha collapsed onto the bench.

“That’s one way of putting it,” The vampire spotted a few more books in front of the mothman “Mind sharing your wealth of books?”

“Not at all. Not when it comes to someone who actually handles books with care,” Santiago shook his head at the thought of mishandled books.

“Oh, I completely understand your frustrations,” Prisha saw Santiago’s eyes flicker with appreciation at those words. The two monsters soon became lost in the joy of discussing books while both of their werewolf significant others fought for dominance in the tug of war match. The werewolves continued to have fun playing tag and fetch until the afternoon gradually turned into the evening.

“Before I leave there’s one thing I forgot to tell you,” Santi said as he placed away the books in his bag. “Javi told me that werewolves still transform on this night but they are usually fairly tame and far too exhausted to do anything as they normally would,”

“Good to know, thank you,” Prisha smiled then made her way to Violet. It would probably be best if she just spent the night at her dorm. All she had to do was make some calls and everything should work out. The vampire led the way to the dorms while on the phone as Violet was busy chasing her tail.

After a few minutes the pair was in front of dorm room 203. With a small yawn Prisha pushed open the door and helped Violet prepare for the full moon transformation. After clearing a few things out of the way, Prisha gave her girlfriend some space to transform. It was a sight that Prisha was used to: the creaking and rearranging bones, the fur, the overly dilated eyes, but still she always could sense how painful the experience was.

Within minutes Violet had fully transformed. Instead of her usual wild energy she immediately collapsed on the ground. Prisha carefully picked her up and placed her in bed, tucking a blanket around her before kissing her cheek. “Sleep well, Violet.” Prisha paused for a moment then decided to speak the words she felt. “I love you,”

The werewolf’s tail wagged excitedly at that but she remained still, deeply asleep. Prisha gave a soft laugh at that then pulled out her desk chair. She supposed she could get some homework done while Violet was sleeping. Although homework never seemed to last long when it came to a vampire doing it. Prisha stared at her math assignment for a second then glanced over Violet’s way. A small smile pulled on the corners of the vampire’s lips. She was truly glad she had met Violet.

[robotslenderman]

How did you fuck up your OC and why?

Stolen shamelessly and self indulgently from @bixbiboom 's anon. Fellow members of the Vamily are welcome to join in!

Madeline Jones: Fed her blood to Strauss to save him from torpor, resulting in her getting kicked out of the Chantry and Los Angeles because the Tremere freaked out about it. Did it to give her some time on her own, and to teach her that undying loyalty is not always rewarded, and is certainly not worth it when not reciprocated.

Meredith Jones: Maddy's disappearance destroyed her. That was just a natural consequence of Maddy becoming a vampire lol so it was not done intentionally, but it allowed me to explore something I don't often see touched on - what happens to the people left behind.

Jonathan Grey: Losing Meredith, his wife, sucked, but what really fucked him up was becoming a ghoul in his forties, and eventually having to cut off his own children to preserve the Masquerade for a bunch of people he hated but could kill his girls because he had to hide his inability to age. Did that honestly because I found it interesting, but it (unintentionally) also really hardened him up into the kind of person Clan Lasombra eventually found interesting - much to his dismay - setting him up for his own Embrace. This plays a huge role in his never ending internal conflict - the Brujah ghoul he was (rebellious, compassionate to ghouls) VS the Lasombra Kindred he became (scornful of weakness and losing control).

Elisa Mulgrew: Everything surrounding her Embrace, her kidnapping by Lampago, and basically up to VTMNR (and also VTMNR itself). She was on her own struggling to survive without a sire to guide her, and I did this to explore her as a contrast to Maddy. Maddy is very low generation so even though she was an orphan, she had a lot of inherent power that made her vampiric life substantially easier as it was harder for elders to walk all over her or otherwise coerce or intimidate her. Elisa, in contrast, was generation ten - not that high, but high enough she seriously struggled and barely survived her childehood. I found it an interesting back story and am often drawn to the concept of feral children. Even if they're childer instead of actual children.

Rose d'Eleanor: Like Elisa and Maddy, she's another spin on the lonely orphan concept and in a way combines both of them - Rose is low generation at gen six, but an orphan of possibly the most persecuted clan outside of being an actual Baali. How do you survive on your own when you're completely and utterly alone? At least Elisa could talk to other Gangrel. Rose had nobody but a mortal, unghouled mother to look out for her, and so entered kindred society at almost a century old. Like feral childer, I find the concept of someone struggling to survive on their own, and hiding in plain sight to do so, quite compelling - especially when that person resolves to build her own community and bring it back from the brink. She parallels another OC of mine, Liriel Lavellan, in a lot of ways.

Olivia Martin: Was blood bound to a man who kidnapped her and genuinely fell in love with him underneath the blood bond. Other than her captivity and the obvious consent issues, he treated her quite well. She eventually escaped him, but she was on her own and struggled even more than Elisa and Rose did, and often missed the safety and security of her captivity. Her struggles with freedom, her genuine affection for her captor and his treatment of her otherwise being quite good for a captive fucked her up way more than the actual captivity and kidnapping did and she really struggled to reconcile those complicated feelings. I did it because I was like "fuck it, I want to explore a relationship that has genuine love in there but is actually pretty fucked up in a way that's not full of arguing." Because it seems like most fiction only explores the toxicity of relationships in ways that involve constant fighting. It was really fun to explore.

Kiwi: Having to drive for the Camarilla despite her derangement - needing to use willpower to be visible, including any vehicle she's in - making her a complete fucking danger on the road. She lives with a constant, low level guilt, a knowing that this is a choice she made that she's responsible for, but shows no signs of stopping. I wanted a character who's more "human" (for lack of a better word) in that she was more willing to endure the guilt of being a danger if it meant taking the easy option of not rebelling against her sire and entire support system because she was scared of being on her own and without support in a world she barely understood.

Oliver Stonecreek: It didn't really fuck him up so much as cause a constant source of annoyance in his life, but being Embraced at twelve means that he has to take extra precautions regarding the Masquerade than most as he can't move around human society freely like Kindred Embraced at adulthood. I thought it'd be really interesting to see how his life would be different as someone who appears twelve, and his young Embrace means he has a perspective other Kindred don't due to "missing out" on experiences most other Kindred had as mortals.

[ryttu3k]

All Night Road Journal entries! For players who are new to VtM, this is absolutely invaluable. For those who are familiar with VtM, it's still pretty neat! Find it in the menu below your stats.

Note - the Characters list changes depending on your in-game actions; this list is based on my Banu Haqim hot mess Courier, Pyre.

Characters

Kindred

Aila: A powerful Daughter of Haqim. You consumed her, Blood and soul, ten years ago.

Edouard Chambet: A member of the Ministry and influential fixer. Or he was until you and Raúl destroyed him.

Julian Sim: Your sire Technological visionary, data scientist, and (by Camarilla standards) an "Anarch" bent on bringing down the Masquerade. You and he worked together under the Camarilla's thumb for a few years before going your separate ways. Now you're both back in Tucson.

Prince Lettow: A Gangrel, originally a minor aristocrat from the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth—making him one of the few elders left in Arizona. Lettow came to America after serving as a pilot in the Great War.

Called the Eagle Prince on account of his eagle servant, Riga, Lettow seized control of Tucson after the last Prince launched a murderous and doomed campaign against all non-Ventrue in the city. He magnanimously spared the old Prince's childer and has sought to rule with as much compassion as an undead crime lord can allow himself.

Millicent Rue: A blood trader whose specialty is finding obscure vintages for fussy Ventrue. From a clan called Lasombra, which you don't know anything about. After the fall of Camp Scheffler, has started to rebuild her "business."

Dove: Prince Lettow of Tucson's second in command, a Nosferatu and former courier. Keeps her mouth shut about her past, but she has known Lettow for many years.

Invidia Caul: A Tremere sorceress who works for Julian Sim ever since Prince Lettow forced the closure of her research facility, Kiowa Xenogenetics.

D'Espine: A Toreador. Manages the Cinderblock, a jazz club in Dallas. Obsessed with surgically modifying her ghouls.

Elin Olivecrona: A Ventrue. After the fall of Camp Scheffler, Olivecrona disappeared into the bureaucracy of the US government to work against the Second Inquisition.

Lampago: An ancient vampire—or some kind of related creature—who lurked in Tucson for years until hunters finally drove her away. She now dwells in Biosphere Zero.

Pattermuster: A Brujah. You helped him block a proposed renovation to the hospital.

Reremouse: A Nosferatu elder that dwelled beneath the sands of the California desert. You and Julian spent a depressing year feeding the elder to keep him dormant. When he finally arose, you helped Julian teleport him across the world using ancient sorcery that you do not fully understand.

Z: Julian Sim's mysterious acolyte.

Ghouls

Raúl Cañedo: Vampire hunter you first encountered when a wight attacked you after your CR-X broke down. Now your retainer. Knows how to fight and hunt; also a capable investigator.

Miguel: One of Lettow's retainers and couriers. Killed at Camp Scheffler, probably by hunters affiliated with the Second Inquisition.

Carlos: One of Dove's retainers. A police detective and the local Camarilla's contact with the Tucson police.

Nadia Goh: One of Julian Sim's retainers. Works as a delivery girl for a Malaysian restaurant when not helping Julian.

Others

Elena Prodan: Owner of Covenant Pawn Shop.

Agent Samantha Donati: Technically just a special agent with the FBI's Special Affairs Division, Agent Donati in fact controls most Second Inquisition activity across the Southwest. Her lightning-quick strikes have destroyed dozens of vampires and thrown the local Camarilla into chaos.

Clans

Banu Haqim

Originally from the Middle East, the "Assamites" were once feared assassins and sorcerers. They have recently entered into a tentative alliance with the Camarilla, the vampire shadow-society of Europe and the Americas.

Disciplines: Blood Sorcery, Celerity, Obfuscate. Some Banu Haqim focus on rituals, while others favor inhuman speed and the powers of invisibility.

Clan Weakness: Thirst for vitae. Banu Haqim are compelled to commit diablerie—the sin of draining another vampire, body and soul.

Brujah

Once a proud clan of philosophers, the rage-fueled "Rebels" are now scattered and disorganized.

Disciplines: Celerity, Potence, Presence. Unnatural strength and speed help the unsubtle Brujah in a fight, but the secret to their survival is in shaping crowds with their eerie charisma.

Clan Weakness: Temper. Brujah are prone to losing control of their Beast in terrible rages.

Gangrel

The savage "Outlanders" are shapeshifting beastmasters who, almost alone among vampires, can survive outside of the cities.

Disciplines: Animalism, Fortitude, Protean. Gangrel flesh is both hardy and able to change its form; the Outlanders also have various powers over living animals.

Clan Weakness: Feral. Gangrel struggle to relate to normal humans, especially as their Humanity declines.

Malkavian

The "Lunatics" are all mad, but their madness gives them strange insights. They often serve as court seers and mad prophets.

Disciplines: Auspex, Dominate, Obfuscate. Keen senses and the power to vanish from sight give Malkavians their reputation as prophets. Their mental compulsions often spread their insanity.

Clan Weakness: Madness. All Malkavians are incurably insane.

The Ministry

Formerly the "Followers of Set," the Ministry are friendly and good. There is nothing bad about the Ministry. They are here to help and to get you what you need. They are not a snake cult.

Disciplines: Obfuscate, Presence, Protean. Vampires of the Ministry can become invisible, control minds, and turn into giant snakes (it always helps).

Clan Weakness: No problems here, nothing to worry about.

Nosferatu

The "Sewer Rats" are hideous and malformed vampires whose information-gathering skills make them invaluable. They once managed electronic communication for the Kindred, until the Second Inquisition infiltrated their servers.

Disciplines: Animalism, Obfuscate, Potence. Nosferatu use their shadow-powers not just to turn invisible, but to hide their hideous faces. When exposed, they can call on their unnatural strength, or their allies among the Creatures of the Night.

Clan Weakness: Hideous. All Nosferatu are monstrous in appearance.

Toreador

The elegant and sophisticated "Aesthetes" would prefer you didn't call them "Degenerates." Obsessed with beauty, the vampires of Clan Toreador can seem almost alive when their passions move them.

Disciplines: Auspex, Celerity, Presence. Supernaturally keen senses and a beguiling aura let the Aesthetes thrive among high culture; when things go wrong, unnatural speed helps them escape.

Clan Weakness: Distracted. Toreador are so obsessed with beauty that it can endanger them.

Tremere

The "Usurpers" of Clan Tremere are said to descend from a mortal wizard who stole immortal life from an ancient vampire. Once organized into a disciplined arcane hierarchy, the sorcerers of Clan Tremere are in turmoil after the destruction of their greatest occult stronghold.

Disciplines: Auspex, Blood Sorcery, Dominate. Though famous for their Thaumaturgy—their intricate sorcerous tradition—many Tremere also possess supernaturally acute senses and the power to command mortals with a word.

Clan Weakness: Frail Blood. This manifests in different ways for different Usurpers. Some mend their flesh slowly; others cannot form Blood Bonds or create ghoul servitors.

Ventrue

The Clan of Kings rules from the shadows, controlling modern boardrooms as they once controlled courts and cathedrals. The mental powers of the "Blue Bloods" also protect the Masquerade.

Disciplines: Dominate, Fortitude, Presence. Ventrue study two distinct paths of mental control: Presence is more subtle, Dominate more direct. Some are also nearly indestructible, even when exposed to banes like fire and sunlight.

Clan Weakness: Refined palate. Ventrue cannot drink bagged or animal blood, and most are restricted to a particular kind of human prey.

Caitiff

Not a clan at all, Caitiff vampires are the Clanless—those whose Blood is too thin or whose education was too inadequate for them to join a proper clan.

Disciplines: Varies based on ancestry and inclination.

Clan Weakness: Outcast. The Camarilla has little respect for Caitiff, and other vampires don't treat them well either.

Hunger and Willpower

All vampires suffer from an undying Hunger for blood. Using Disciplines (vampire powers) and mending wounds uses some of the blood you've stolen and increases your Hunger; so does the simple act of rising every night. Only killing and fully draining a living human slakes your Hunger fully, and then only for a time. As a Child of Haqim, drinking vampire Blood also increases your Hunger.

If you become hungry enough, you lose the ability to activate Disciplines or mend your wounds. If your Hunger equals or exceeds your Willpower, you suffer penalties to actions that require concentration and self-control. That includes most actions you take, except those that risk a messy critical—see that entry. The penalties grow as your Hunger grows.

Willpower is based on your Resolve and Composure scores. Increase those scores to increase your Willpower and ignore the distraction caused by your Hunger. Certain actions, like extended negotiations or staying out too close to the sun, can mentally exhaust you, temporarily reducing your Willpower. You can regain lost Willpower by embodying your Convictions (see Experience and Convictions).

Messy Criticals

Succeed too well on certain actions and you run the risk of unleashing your Beast. The monster within you assures your success…at any cost.

Any choice that ends in an exclamation point ("!") risks a messy critical. Most of these are attacks or other aggressive actions where you risk losing control, such as threatening people or bashing down doors. Any choice that involves hunting and drinking from a human also risks a messy critical, and messy criticals there usually result in you draining the mortal completely, reducing your Humanity and leaving you with a corpse to dispose of.

The good news is that choices that risk a messy critical aren't more difficult due to Hunger (see Hunger and Willpower). Your Beast guides you in these savage actions, even when you're desperate for blood.

Experience and Convictions

After a decade of lethargy and routine, you find yourself bursting with newfound creative vigor!

You gain experience in two chief ways: first, by going on missions and succeeding in your goals. Second, by gaining Convictions and living up to them. To gain a Conviction, select choices that increase that personality trait: if you want to Defy the Traditions, then you must Defy the Traditions: ignore vampire laws like the Masquerade (see that entry), disobey elder vampires, and defy the Camarilla. If you want to Seek Luxury, then demand money and inducements as often as possible.

The Masquerade

The First Tradition of the Camarilla—what passes for civilization among the undead—is to hide the existence of vampires from the mortal herd. This is the Masquerade. You can violate the Masquerade by openly using obvious supernatural powers (such as shapeshifting), feeding in public, or failing to dispose of a body you drained.

Violating the Masquerade risks the wrath of elders among the Camarilla. Worse, with the Second Inquisition raging across the United States, a breach of the Masquerade risks sending an entire Second Inquisition kill team to your doorstep. Such an attack usually comes in daylight and can destroy you if you're not careful.

Humanity and the Beast

Vampires aren't human. They're dead things animated by stolen blood, with a screaming monster in their head they call the Beast. Perhaps because of this damned state, most vampires cling to their Humanity and struggle to control the Beast's savage urges.

But the Beast is always waiting. Acts of callousness and brutality strip vampires of their Humanity until, in the end, they are nothing but mindless animals that lurk in the shadows and hunt at night. Even before that point, low-Humanity vampires struggle to act with kindness or empathy.

Killing mortals (unless attacked first, such as by hunters or assassins) is a sure way to lose Humanity. The Beast permits no excuses—killing to feed and killing to hide your true nature (and protect the Masquerade) will stain your soul as surely as killing for sport.

Regaining Humanity is arduous but possible through great acts of sacrifice and by risking yourself for others. But beware: if your Humanity falls low enough, you'll have to spend Willpower (see Hunger and Willpower) to perform even small acts of decency.

The Camarilla

The Camarilla—the so-called Ivory Tower—is a secret society of vampires dedicated to hiding their existence from mortals, a guiding ideology called the Masquerade. Most Camarilla cities are ruled by a Prince (the term is gender neutral). Beneath this monarch is an elaborate hierarchy of underlings and overlords, bound together through favors, mutual enemies, the Traditions (including the Masquerade), and the overwhelming nightly drive to find more blood. Vampires of the Camarilla call each other "Kindred." They all appreciate the bitter irony of that term.

The rise of the Second Inquisition has made the Camarilla more paranoid and restrictive. Where once the Princes tolerated "Anarchs" and fringe types (like independent couriers), now they retreat into their Elysiums—hidden sanctums where they can conduct their business in peace—and try to weather the storm. These nights, the Camarilla are the vampire elite, and like any elite, they are happy to sacrifice everyone else for their own safety or convenience.

The Second Inquisition

The first Inquisition taught the arrogant vampires of the Middle Ages that they were not invincible. They learned that mortals, while weak alone, were almost unstoppable when organized and when they knew their enemy.

The vampires of the Camarilla took the lessons of the Inquisition to heart, hiding their actions behind the Masquerade. But no deception is perfect. As digital technology proliferated in the twentieth century, young vampires adapted, leaving their elders in the dust. They didn't know that mortals were listening in. And even when they realized the danger, many in the Camarilla believed they could direct these hunters at their enemies.

The results of this arrogance were catastrophic: the fires of the Second Inquisition blazed across the world, destroying elders and fledglings alike, cleansing whole cities of vampires. Embedded in the security and intelligence agencies of various national governments, including the FBI and the CIA, the Second Inquisition employs every weapon at its disposal to hunt down and destroy vampires. Now the SI has turned its sights on Arizona. Its goal is nothing less than the total eradication of every vampire in the state.

The Beckoning

A strange event called the Beckoning recently started luring elder vampires to the Middle East. No one knows the source of the Beckoning, but the sudden loss of so many elders—and the vast supernatural power they possess—has thrown the Camarilla into chaos and allowed Anarchs and other independent groups to seize power.

The Nature of the Blood

A vampire's vitae—the stolen blood that flows through your veins—has a variety of supernatural powers.

Disciplines. A vampire's supernatural arts are called Disciplines. Different clans manifest different arts, from mind control and shapeshifting to superhuman strength and speed. Most Disciplines require Blood to activate (increasing your Hunger) and grant a significant bonus to any relevant action you undertake. This bonus increases with your level of mastery.

Mending. You can use the blood you take to repair your dead flesh. In fact, this is the only way vampires can "heal," as they cannot do so naturally.

Ghouls. A vampire who feeds vitae to a living mortal creates a ghoul. Sometimes called a retainer or a thrall, a ghoul does not age, manifests minor supernatural powers such as occasional bursts of great strength, and is loyal to their vampire regnant through the Blood Bond (see below). Most established vampires make use of one or more ghouls to handle their daylight business.

The Embrace. Feed a mortal your vitae and you create a ghoul. Drain a mortal to death and feed that mortal your Blood and you create a new vampire of your clan. You are now the sire to a childe. This act is called the Embrace. Most Princes of the Camarilla forbid Embracing new vampires except under special conditions, as there are always too many vampires and never enough places to hunt.

The Blood Bond. Drink a vampire's blood three times on three separate nights and you are bound to that vampire, forced into service through a supernatural compulsion called the Blood Bond. If you create a ghoul, that ghoul is soon Blood Bound to you. Beware of your sire—you've already tasted your sire's Blood once, when you were Embraced and turned into a vampire!

Learning from the Blood. Vampires of different clans begin with different Disciplines, but you can unlock more Disciplines by tasting the Blood of another vampire and then receiving instruction from them.

Diablerie. To drain another vampire, body and soul, is called diablerie, and the Camarilla consider it the most awful of crimes. But young vampires practice the art in secret anyway, hunting their elders, in order to lower their generation and gain greater power.

Generation. According to legend, the first vampire was Caine, the first murderer. Legend further says that Caine had three childer, who had childer of their own, and that those vampires of the Third Generation founded the clans. Whether or not you believe this story, when a vampire Embraces a mortal, that childe's Blood is thinner and weaker than the sire's. Vampires of high generation are sometimes Caitiff (the Clanless), and those of very high generation are thin-bloods—barely vampires at all. Though a vampire's Disciplines develop with age, generation does not change…except through diablerie.

Functions of Abilities, Skills, and Disciplines

Abilities

Strength: Punching, wrestling, clawing (if you have claws). Most climbing where you haul yourself up.

Dexterity: Balance, speed, reacting quickly. Attacking with a bladed weapon or in coyote form (if you can change shape), reacting quickly. Most shooting that relies on speed.

Stamina: Adds to your Health. Not used actively.

Charisma: Getting people to like you. Leading people into battle or giving them orders. Impressing a crowd.

Manipulation: Getting people to do what you want (even if they don't like you). Most kinds of lies and deceit.

Composure: Adds to your Willpower. Staying cool, in social situations or in a fight (especially when threatened by fire or sunlight).

Intelligence: Education, reasoning ability, analysis. Most forms of research.

Wits: Cunning, cleverness, noticing things on the go. Intuition, "following your nose." Shooting when you can't see clearly.

Resolve: Adds to your Willpower. Determination, patience. Performing tasks that take all night or that are mentally draining.

Use the language of the choices to determine what is being tested. "Quickly" usually means Dexterity, "clever" signals Wits, "patient" implies Resolve.

Specific descriptions override general rules. You normally use Dexterity to strike with a sword, but if there's a lot of smoke and the choice says you need to be clever to hit, that's Wits.

Skills

Athletics: Jumping, swimming, running, dodging.

Combat: Brawling, wrestling, wielding swords or improvised weapons, using claws or teeth.

Drive: This gets your AE86 to its destination in one piece.

Firearms: Shooting a gun.

Clandestine: Sneaking, moving silently, hiding, picking locks, forcing doors.

Intimidation: Threatening, bullying, and forcing others to back down.

Leadership: Giving orders. Commanding your ghoul; also adds a passive boost when you work together with your ghoul.

Persuasion: Getting people to do what you want in a more or less straightforward manner, without lies or threats. Also covers etiquette and manners.

Streetwise: Bribery. Knowing streets and alleys (useful for quick getaways). Interacting with criminals.

Subterfuge: Lying, swindling, and deceiving. Also includes palming, picking pockets, and similar deceptions.

Academics: Nonscientific education—everything from history and philosophy to occult lore. Used in Blood Sorcery.

Awareness: Noticing things just by looking around (or listening or sniffing around).

Investigation: Careful, systematic exploring. Helps you both find hidden items and interrogate people until you find something.

Technology: Crafts, car repair, computer use, and hacking, as well as scientific acumen.

Survival: Finding shelter (especially from sunlight!), hunting wild animals.

Disciplines

Most Disciplines increase your Hunger when used but add a bonus to your actions.

Animalism: Grants you a wolf companion who grants significant bonuses to actions when activated. Your lobo gains power as you advance this Discipline. Low risk of a Masquerade breach; your lobo is just a "big weird dog."

Auspex: Enhances your senses, typically improving skills like Awareness, Investigation, and (if you're shooting where you can't see clearly) Firearms. Low risk of Masquerade breach; Auspex affects only you.

Blood Sorcery: Not a proper Discipline so much as a collection of ritual techniques developed over millennia. Most rituals take time and grant automatic success to an action; particularly challenging rituals, or those opposed by another sorcerer, often rely on Intelligence and Academics. Risk of Masquerade breach varies based on the ritual.

Celerity: Supernatural speed and quickness. Offers only a modest bonus, but helps with a huge number of activities, especially when you need to fight or flee. Mortals will be surprised by but not suspicious of the lowest level of Celerity; any more than that breaches the Masquerade.

Dominate: Overwhelming short-term mind control. Usually succeeds automatically, especially on mortals. A blunt instrument; doesn't gently boost your natural abilities like Presence. Low Masquerade risk since it's so uncanny. Dominate can also be used to scramble memories, which protects your secrets.

Fortitude: Unnatural resilience, even against the vampire's natural banes (fire and sunlight). Not used actively; it works automatically when you're hurt to absorb injury. Low risk of Masquerade breach—maybe you were wearing body armor?

Obfuscate: Fading from sight. Not literal invisibility; people just don't notice you. Mostly used to enhance Clandestine when sneaking. Low risk of Masquerade breach unless you just vanish in front of someone.

Potence: Monstrous strength. Increase your ferocity in combat and smash right through obstacles. Like Celerity, mortals will accept the lowest levels of Potence as the effects of adrenaline, but any more than that breaches the Masquerade.

Presence: Unnatural allure and charisma. Use it to fill mortals with dread (enhances Intimidate) or to enhance your natural charm (pairs with a large number of social skills). Lacks the immediate and inescapable power of Dominate, but more flexible. Low risk of Masquerade breach; people just believe you're unusually magnetic.

Protean: Three distinct shapeshifting powers. Beginners can grow wolflike claws to rip their enemies to shreds. Intermediate students learn how to meld with the earth, sinking into the ground to escape pursuers (or the rising sun). Masters take the form of beasts—in your case, a coyote. Any use of Protean is a huge and obvious Masquerade breach.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 191

191

   Lance spent every moment he could before they left making sure the house was cleaned from top to bottom, then bottom to top. The nursery had gotten his blood flowing again, Pidge roped into playing delivery person for him as he fixed up his garden, mulched and pruned, then scolded himself over spending so much money. Then there was Pidge’s birthday party that they’d nearly missed as Lance had let the days of the week slip by. If it hadn’t been for Hunk, they would have been fined a hefty present tax, and had Pidge teasing them for the rest of their lives. The party was small, games and alcohol, Lance trying to do the catering, while Hunk tried to make sure he got in and did everything that needed to be done before Lance could do it. Moving felt better than sitting still. Keith letting him work until he was too tired, then would force feed him as he put him down for a nap... from which Lance would wake up and find himself cleaning again.

  Deep cleaning the house felt good. Keith putting up with hanging the washing out, then bringing it in. Everything from the linen cupboard hit with vinegar washes to kill any mould particles that thought they had a right to make themselves at home. The only room to escape was Matt’s and Rieva’s, as they were entitled to their privacy, and Rieva was being fussy over how many hours he was spending on his feet. He’d been banned from cooking by her, and even having to get up to pee earned him a scowl over being on his feet. She’d smacked when he’d tried to mow the lawn, pretty much chasing him back inside and forcing him to leave his precious lawn half mowed. He was an old man robbed of his pleasure as far as he was concerned. Sure, he was plenty sleepy during the day, but once he’d been stung with cleaning bug, it left him feeling useful, and being outside meant he didn’t have to listen to Rieva scolding Keith for letting him do too much.

  Honestly, when they’d left the house for their trip, the only thing he was sad about was leaving Blue and Kosmo behind. The pair seemed to think that his cleaning was for their benefit. They’d taken to playing in the middle of night, which spilled over into Blue less than ceremoniously waking them by jumping on Keith’s head as Kosmo barrelled up the bed to get to her. The pair thick as thieves and Blue not afraid to use her humans as a convenient escape. The drive was something like 6 hours, with Keith being on edge over how he’d react to being in the outside world again. His ego putting Lance’s ego on edge, leaving them having a spat just as they’d put their bags in the back of Lance’s bronco. Lance had faith that Keith could do this. Keith had anxiety gushing out of every pore by the bucket load. When Keith snapped at him, Lance had snapped back twice as hard.

  This led to a very tense first hour of driving. No radio. No snacks. No talking. There were plenty of snacks packed. All the snacks and drinks within hands reach sat on the backseat. Hunk had baked cookies, and sent along a bag with them, that they were absolutely not allowed to open until they reached the hotel. Their planned six hours seemed so long, until they reached the first unplanned stop on their trip. Keith pulling in at a service station, Lance knowing instantly that his boyfriend had to know he needed to pee. Even when they fought, Lance knew Keith still had his best interests in mind.

  With breaks in almost every small town they passed through, Lance felt like he’d peed his way half way up America. They’d stopped for lunch at a kind of backwards diner off the main road. The food greasy, the milkshakes icy, but the company made up for it. Being alone with Keith felt soothing, despite the shaky start. He didn’t have to adult. He didn’t have to run around after anyone. He didn’t have to worry about the tiny flecks of dust that seemed to have it their personal mission to settle almost immediately after he’d dusted. All he had to worry about was Braxton-Hicks contractions that worried him a whole heck less now he’d been through real ones, their twins spinning summersaults, and Keith’s terrible choice in music... that’d he’d never admit to secretly loving, especially when Keith would seem to forget he wasn’t alone and start singing along.

  Seeing Keith smile, and having his whole attention sent Lance’s ego into some kind of blissful state. His scent filling the car, accidentally, as he found himself getting horny from watching Keith be so happy. Keith teasing him as he pulled off the main road at the first available chance, for some very awkward car prepping in which Lance got a leg cramp and Keith smacked his head on the sun visor. It then progressed to out of the car sex, Lance lost in bliss all over again at the feeling of Keith’s hands over his skin as his head swam, drunk on Keith’s scent. He hadn’t known what he’d missing, or maybe he had, and that’d contributed to him discovering that he didn’t mind Keith biting his neck, or nipping at his nipples hard enough Lance was sure he’d end up pierced by Keith’s fangs. He’d been so caught up in cleaning, that being intimate had slipped the last few days. He’d become such a slut for Keith’s undivided attention that he could have purred contently, like a fat cat whole stolen a whole bottle of milk for himself.

  He hadn’t told his boyfriend, but he’d packed to play a girl depending on the kind of town it was. He looked female enough to pass. No fake chicken fillets were required to fill out a brallet anymore. He’d packed a wig, and a dress, kind of embarrassed over both, yet willing to face the embarrassment if it meant making the trip easier for his boyfriend. When they’d climbed back into his car, Keith was all smiles as Lance curled into him, ignoring his own rules over seatbelts and sitting properly in a car. He didn’t need to fear his car rolling over, not with Keith behind the wheel, plus leaning against Keith meant kisses on the top of his head as Keith drove, Lance unable to offer to drive thanks to no longer fitting comfortably and a new fear that they would crash and he’d lose the twins if his stomach impacted against the steering wheel. This was really nice. Just a vampire and his werewolf boyfriend off on a life changing trip, and some alone time, until they were party crashed in a couple of days by humans. Yeah. It was nice.

    *

The hotel was a piece of shit and Keith hated it. The town he’d once apparently called home, now verged on some kind of city. The sign in boasting a population of 3000 people, though you wouldn’t know it with sheer amount of people at the hotel. Kids were yelling as they played in the tiny pool in the centre of the U-shaped complex. Parents yelling at their spawn. Their room was upstairs, and the bedding so basic it made his bedroom look fancy. For a hotel boasting about being the only one in town, they had nothing to boast about. Every noise seemed to drift right and through their room.

  Late to check in, Lance offered to go in, Keith shaking his head at the offer. He could totally handle one 2 minute interaction. Said interaction blowing out to 20 minutes, with far too many questions asked. No. He wasn’t there on a get away for Easter. No. He didn’t have kids. No. He didn’t have a wife. Yes. His eyes were an unusual shade of purple. He didn’t know what the old man behind the check in counter got from his interrogation, but he was lucky Keith didn’t snap with how tired he was. He didn’t blame Lance for the numerous stops they’d made, but he did think that maybe they should have split the drive and found somewhere to camp overnight, with less fucking people around.

  Coming waddling out the bathroom, Keith noted Lance had packed his own robe. His stomach on display, with the looped belt sitting just below his breasts. Their room was so “Lance-esque” that his boyfriend blended right in with brown shag pile carpet, khaki bedspread and orange flowered wallpaper. Being Lance, his boyfriend had fixed the dripping shower, instead of simply complaining to management. Keith annoyed his boyfriend didn’t care that the hotel wasn’t great. He was certain he’d heard more than one couple doing the do well into the hours of the morning when normal people should be sleeping. Hell. He should be sleeping. All the scents and sounds, coupled with a boyfriend hogging the blankets had made for a long night.

  Seeing him watching, Lance shot him a smile. Opening his arms, Keith made straight for Lance. The vampire chuckled as he kissed Keith’s hair

“Come on, it’s not all bad”

“It’s not all that good either”

“I know. It’s only for a few days”

“This place is awful”

“It’s not getting a good Yelp review, but it’s not completely horrendous”

This was no place for his pregnant mate. A budget hotel room with a TV smaller than Lance’s laptop, and way too many people

“How do you think this isn’t horrendous?!”

“Because you’re here”

   Lance’s sincere answer made him splutter, Lance chuckling at him as he kissed his hair

“I know it’s not what you expected, but it’s not forever”

“There’s so many people...”

“I know. It’s a lot for your senses. Why don’t you take a shower? We were both too tired last night, and I want to go get something decent to eat. Maybe find you some coffee?”

Coffee sounded good. Showering sounded like too much effort, but after tossing and turning all night, it’d feel good to feel clean of their bedding

“Okay...”

“Don’t take too long though. Your kids are seriously craving pancakes and I might have to stab someone if I don’t get them soon”

Keith gave a weak chuckle, not at all looking forward to the outside world

“We can’t have that. Get dressed and I’ll be out in a bit”

   The shower ran out of hot water halfway through. Keith kicking the wall tiles hard enough that he cracked the tile that took the main impact. Not that he felt bad about in the slightest. When he’d been on the streets, even a place like this would have been heavenly. Now he’d gotten used to being pampered by Lance and the niceness of Platt. He’d been spoiled. He shouldn’t be expecting city niceties in a backwards town like this.

  With a towel barely bigger than a hand towel around his waist, Keith walked back into the bedroom to find Lance had gotten dressed. He’d stumbled to a stop as he stared at his boyfriend. Lance was in a dress. An actual flowy white dress. A wig of long brown hair flowed down past his shoulders. Catching him staring, Lance sighed at him

“Don’t look at me like that”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re confused. Our friends might be okay with me being pregnant, but I don’t want people making assumptions and being rude as fuck”

  They could go fuck themselves sideways as far as Keith was concerned. Lance was Lance. Lance didn’t love wearing dresses and hiding himself... He shouldn’t have to, either

“You dressed like that for me? You didn’t have to...”

“It’s fine, babe”

“But you’re a man...”

“Who’s currently pregnant and just wants his pancakes in peace. Besides, I like to think I look cute”

He did... but it was so freaking weird. Lance was Lance... and now he suddenly had a girlfriend in place of the man he loved

“You always look cute, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I don’t want you to feel you have to hide away”

“I know. Look, I figured it’d be easier for these poor country folks. Or don’t you like it? I mean, I can change, but I’m okay for now... more importantly, you know that’s the bath mat you’ve got around your waist, right?”

  No. Why hang it up if it was meant for the floor?! Keith’s cheeks flamed, scrambling for an excuse he pathetically replied

“It does the job”

Lance could only shake his head at him. Keith feeling that was fair

“I did pack our towels. I thought you’d like something more familiar from home. I just didn’t think to grab them”

Lance meant he hadn’t thought to grab them as he rushed off to vomit. Keith copping both the wet noises and the scent. Neither making him feel all that good about their “holiday”

“I’m going to get dressed. Please tell me you’ve found where we can get coffee?”

“As if I’d make you wait for coffee. There’s a restaurant not far from here”

  Thank god for that. He had no idea how this was all going to work, or when they’d be finding his dad’s grave. Now that they were here, he didn’t know how he felt. Yes, he was glad to be there with Lance. But at the same time, everything outside the confines of their crappy room scared him. Logically no one would recognise him. Not when anyone who’d last seen him had seen him as a little kid, but he still feared it. He feared someone from the past coming up to him to say “Oh my god! Are you Keith? I remember when your father died...”. He didn’t want to be remembered. He didn’t want the awkwardness or pity from some stranger. He didn’t even know if he wanted to stay in town long enough for Curtis and Shiro to join them. He did know he wanted to find the shack he’d called home... but even then, he didn’t know what he’d do when he did. All of it felt too much, but all of it would bring some kind of closure. That was if he listened to Lance... Lance who was annoyingly right more times than not. All he could do was hope that he was strong enough to see this through, and that Lance would remain by his side, no matter how he might react.

[gayregis]

do you have any examples of the witcher subverting common fantasy tropes? (other than the obvious like ciri being the chosen one but doing evil actions, the male lead being a pacifist etc) i like the books but i have friends who don't wanna read it bc they think it's just another generic fantasy story based off the netflix trailer, i obviously am not gonna force them to read it if they absolutely don't want to but it always hurts when good works go unnoticed because of misinformation

okay!! i won’t give book quotes for this one, this is just off the top of my head, because i think including quotes would take a really long time and wouldn’t helo the point. also there’s probably things i missed here

geralt 

tropes: Icy Cold Killer / Witches Stealing Kids

actuality: is a very emotional man who was born into his profession of killing and never had a choice in the matter. doesn’t want to kill for a living, is a pacifist at heart. adopts ciri because he truly is a good father and loves her and eventually teaches her witcher skills so she has a form of self-defense.

yennefer

trope: Bitchy Witch

actuality: sincerely selfless woman who risks her life multiple times to save her child from harm, does many things to save her lover, only seems bitter and closed off to the most of the world because she has been hurt by everyone she knows and doesn’t let everyone in.

ciri

tropes: Prissy Princess / Chosen One

actuality: she is a princess for approx. 1.2 seconds and then she loses everything she’s ever known, and will continue to lose everything she’s ever known. 

as the chosen one, her powers don’t help her much, she’s super powerful but still super vulnerable and her life continues to be shit - she loses everything again because of her powers, which make her a target. everyone is after her for her powers, she’s the macguffin of the story, she’s been reduced to the holy grail because of them. being the chosen one is more of a curse than a blessing.

dandelion

tropes: The Coward / The Freeloader / Slovenly Bastard

actuality: okay yeah he’s all of these things never mind he demonstrates incredible bravery and loyalty (doing something even though you’re scared to death to do it is bravery), he keeps being by geralt’s side not as a nuisance or a leech, but because geralt genuinely needs him there as his best friend.

milva

trope: The Girl of the Company

actuality: isn’t just there to be sexy while shooting arrows, is not a love interest to any of the main male characters, literally just exists in the company as a woman and no one is creepy towards her because of it. pregnancy arc is handled relatively well and she is given actual story and emotions of her own instead of being reliant on any male characters for developent

regis

trope: Every Single Vampire Trope Ever (esp. being heartless/part of an evil organization)

actuality: “the epitome of humanity,” is a healer/medic/surgeon whose profession it is to preserve life, is kind and acts with goodwill. 

the vampires in the witcher don’t drink blood to survive like hungry beasts or out of evil cultlike activities, but instead it’s like alcohol to them and they face the same social issues as humans surrounding it. also of course every other vampire trope is broken, like sunlight, garlic, wooden stakes, running water, religious symbols...

cahir

trope: Evil Soldier of Darkness

actuality: he is a young man who was manipulated by his family and his society into service of an imperialist nation, he never wanted to cause harm to ciri but raher just sought honor for his family. he then spends the entire rest of the saga redeeming himself.

angouleme

trope: Shitty Orphan Does Crime For Fun

actuality: she’s an extremely young woman who has faced abuse her entire life and has stolen and killed out of pure survival. she is actually a genuinely good person and warns geralt of the attempt on his and his company’s lives.

the sorceresses who were on thanedd and of the lodge

trope: Vain Women Get Nothing Done And Only Think About Men

actuality: 10 insanely powerful women form a powerful political cabal, at least one is a lesbian, they unanimously decide to bar the organization from men because they speak about how men are too emotional and can’t be trusted, they are capable and dangerous as an organization and would have succeeded if not for freak accidents.

witchers in general

trope: godless fiends who thrive on violence

actuality: they were created as a profession to eliminate monsters as being threats to humans, but the threat of monsters has faded and now finding work is more difficult than ever.

sorceresses in general

trope: witches steal kids

actuality: sorceresses take in unwanted daughters, from families who gave them up, and if they show magical prowess they continue to be trained

the striga (princess adda)

trope: Horrific Monster

actuality: a 14 year old girl who has been mistreated all of her life

a grain of truth

story: beauty & the beast

actuality: the real beast is the beauty who tries to rip her boyfriend’s head off

the lesser evil

story: snow white & the seven dwarves

actuality: snow white is no princess, she has been forced into a life of killing which she has become comfortable with

the last wish (heading into the bounds of reason)

trope: love at first sight

actuality: electrocute your ass at first sight, yennefer and geralt fight in the last wish, and after they fall in love date for 4 years they inevitably break up again because love at first sight doesn’t exist and they’re both too immature to hold a sincere relationship until much later

the bounds of reason

story: a peasant can kill a dragon, dragons are beasts that attack villages

actuality: you’d need professionals to kill a dragon, and also the dragons were trying to protect their child and are sentient, intelligence, respectable, and beautiful creatures.

dudu

trope: Evil Doppleganger

actuality: dopplers are incapable of being evil, they mimic forms to survive in this world dominated by violent humans.

the aen seidhe

trope: Elves Are Pretty Boys Who Don’t Do Violence

actuality: these pretty boys do a lot of violence. they kill humans because humans have usurped nearly all of their territory and pushed them out.

the aen elle

trope: Elves Are Pretty Boys Who Don’t Do Violence

actuality: these pretty boys do a lot of violence. they’re colonizers and slavers who take over entire worlds.

unicorns

trope: Unicorns Are Pretty And Docile Creatures

actuality: unicorns and elves have been at war, unicorns are incredibly intelligent and sentient and are their own civilization

nilfgaard

trope: Evil Empire

actuality: it is an imperialist nation, thus it is evil, but there are many nilfgaardian POVs throughout the saga which demonstrate that even though they are committing atrocities they are still very much human. they’re not faceless evil.

geralt’s company

trope: Grand Quest To Save The World

actuality: geralt in the saga, i think as one of the sorceresses said, is just running around lost, getting upset. geralt running around with his gathered company in the wilderness is not a grand march towards power or fame, but rather the journey of how geralt becomes a better person and a better father, he finally accepts help, he finally becomes a leader.

the quest doesn’t concern power or being a grand hero, it’s not a beautiful march. it’s a bunch of idiots traipsing through the forests, grasslands, and marches, trying to dry out their boots and footwraps because the ground is muddy. 

the goal of the quest is not to save the world or find great power or complete a prophecy or save a desperate lover, but rather to just get geralt’s daughter back. his daughter. because he loves her and wants her to be safe. that’s all.

you can’t step two inches in the witcher without breaking a trope. they’re strewn everywhere, like crackers on the sidewalk. step, step. now the pigeons are eating the crumbs

i think largely you have to look at sapkowski’s personal history with writing and fantasy bc iirc he was a scholar or something about arthurian legend and also he was influenced by many polish folktales

[shirtlesssammy]

8x12: As Time Goes By

Then:

A family with a lifetime of happiness ahead of them!

Now:

1958:

In Normal, Illinois, a young boy is woken by his father wishing him sweet dreams and that he’ll see him in the morning. The father then heads off to work to a Men of Letters secret hideout. (Erm, I just looked at the episode order, we don’t know about the Men of Letter yet. Spoiler!) Anyway, the man enters and finds his colleague, Josie, waiting for him. It seems they’re getting initiated into some kind of secret society. 

A hooded man beckons Josie inside first. As the man waits, he hears screams. He dashes inside to find pure chaos. A robed man with bleeding eyes gives him something, pleading, “Henry, do not let Abaddon get it.”

Josie is really Abaddon! She sees Henry and he takes off running, with Abaddon in close pursuit. He locks himself in a room and starts making a potion for a spell. He makes a sigil on a door, chants his spell, and jumps right into Sam and Dean’s motel room. “Which of you is John Winchester?”

They demand to know who he is. When he doesn’t answer, Dean body slams him against the wall. Still, he insists that one of them must know John Winchester. They want answers from him --but he merely tells them there’s been a mistake and tries leaving. Unfortunately, at the mention of John, Sam and Dean are on high alert, so they handcuff the guy, which he breaks from instantly and escapes. (Sam and Dean are now handcuffed to the chair.)

A man out of time, Henry gloms onto the one thing that looks even remotely like home --the Impala. He checks the date on the license plate and then breaks the window (!) to break into the car.

(Man, I think Dean gets his flair for dramatics from his grandfather because Sam just walked up and opened the passenger side door --doofus just had to open that door and slide over to steal the car.) 

Back at the motel, the brothers test him for everything, but holy water doesn’t take out arrogance. John won’t talk to alpha-male monkey men. Dean lets it slip that John Winchester is his father. Before Henry can parse that fact, Abaddon busts through the door. She wants what he has. 

Henry pleads with Josie, the woman Abaddon possessed, but gets nowhere. That’s okay, because Dean’s got his demon knife, and stabs her in the back!

But, uh, it was more like stepping on a lego than death for her, so the boys and Henry run. 

The three of them pull over when they reach safety and Henry explains that Abaddon is a demon from Hell, and he is from 1958. 

He needs to see John Winchester. Dean breaks the news that John Winchester is dead. Henry breaks the news that he’s John’s father. 

Sam believes him. Dean is #TeamJohn (ofc) and says that Henry left when John was just a kid. Sam wonders if this was the reason --he traveled to another time and couldn’t make it home. 

(Sidenote: I love that Sam’s willing to give his time traveling deadbeat grandfather more of a chance than the vampire that SAVED his brother’s life...hrmf. But it does play nicely with both brothers --Henry has to earn Dean’s loyalty, family or not.) 

The family bonding includes discussing why Abaddon didn’t die from Ruby’s knife, shoving Abaddon back where she came, and learning about blood spells that require the use of the human soul. Henry is confused why the brothers don’t know about the last bit. “You’re Men of Letters, correct?”

Sam breaks the sad news that they’re hunters. Henry keeps winning Dean over by calling hunters “apes.” He then calls them legacies. “Legacies of what?”

Henry takes them to the Men of Letters secret hideout. It’s currently a comic shop. 

Henry explains what Men of Letters are and why it’s important that the brothers carry on the family legacy. “So you’re like Yodas to our Jedis?” Yes DEAN yes. 

Sam wonders why they’ve never heard of the Men of Letters. “Abaddon,” Henry concludes, and heads inside. He has the mysterious box still and wants to find another Men of Letters to help them stop Abaddon. 

(Funny time travel generational jokes ensue.)

Sam borrows a laptop and finds the article detailing the night of Abaddon’s attack. Henry hears the name Albert Magnus, and boom, they’re walking around a dark cemetery. Magnus was a code word for other Men of Letters-- to alert them that something was amiss. He sees another grave marker and realizes that the message is here, and asks his grandsons, “You boys ever exhume a body?”

At the comic shop, Abaddon strolls in like she invented dark ennui. She reels the young clerk towards her, steals her memories, covets her shirt, and...sends the clerk off on a wonderful, all-expense paid vacation to San Diego Comic Con! That’s...definitely what happened.

In the cemetery, Dean and Sam dig out the body because they are SUCKERS while their grandpa sits his aging bones cleanly on the edge of the grave and oversees their work. Henry doesn’t know the body buried  in the coffin, but he’s ready to investigate! He thinks a survivor may have stolen the identity of the buried body and may be still alive somewhere. Time to get moving! As soon as the Winchester boys rebury the body!

Back in the motel, I have to interrupt the recap for Motel Room Decoration Porn.

Henry whistles “As time goes by” like it’s a super normal thing to lounge around whistling songs while your future grandchildren research demons. They reminisce about the song. Henry bought a music box that played that song for John when he was a boy, to comfort him when he was scared. This tale brings GREAT comfort and not an OUNCE of jealousy to Dean, who changes the subject. The identity of the body belongs to someone who actually still lives in Lebanon, Kansas, and is terrifically old by now. Sam’s also uncovered a tidbit: according to their dad’s journal, Abaddon is a Knight of Hell. They’re the first-born and purest demons. 

Henry muses over John’s journal, and flips the pages to reveal initials engraved in the cover: HW. John was using his father’s journal - the one Henry had purchased to chronicle his own Men of Letters studies after his initiation. 

Henry realizes that he’s not heading back home after this mission. And although Henry is appalled that his son became a hunter instead of an esteemed Men (Man?) of Letters, he runs up against Dean’s defense of John enduring against hardship to become a hunter. While we often grit our teeth when we think of John and parenting in the same breath, I do get the sense that Dean’s defending his own life and choices here too. Dean’s emotions continue to radiate out of every pore like the sun on a cloudless day, because he lashes out at Henry for accepting his fate of never seeing his son again and being more loyal to the Men of Letters than his own family. Dean Bean!

Henry reads through John’s journal. SPOILERS! In the morning, Dean “I’ll never sleep under covers again” Winchester and Sam “How is my hair this perfect” Winchester wake up to discover Henry missing. Henry has left so he can fix everything! GREAT! Happy ending, episode done. 

At a small new age shop, Henry demands spell ingredients. He knows they’re there because of the hunter’s signs in the window. The shopkeeper aims a shotgun at his gut.

Henry offers to buy some wholesome chamomile, and then blows powder at her face while saying a quick incantation. She passes out immediately. f r o w n y f a c e

At the motel, Dean and Sam realize that some spell ingredients, like an angel feather from their trunk, are missing. Henry is trying to cook up another time travel spell! More important than this fact, though, is that Dean and Sam keep angel feathers in the trunk of the Impala! Sometimes I think LOL okay angel wings are ethereal and quasi-metaphorical on this show and sometimes I think THEY HAVE FEATHERS that you CAN TOUCH and my mind slips down soft, feathery wing-kink adjacent side tunnels…...

Ahem.

I’m fine.

News crops up. There’s one dead at Astro Comics.

Sam interrogates the last-remaining Men of Letters. He tells Sam that Abaddon was a “hired gun” who destroyed everyone. In the box Henry took is the key to every spell, every bit of Men of Letters knowledge. 

At the shop, Henry chants his time travel spell. When Dean tries to stop him, Henry tells him that reading John’s journal hurt. Dean reveals that reading his dad’s journal hurts “every damn time.” DAMN YOU DEAN WINCHESTER AND YOUR SOFT NOUGATY HEART!

Henry reveals his plan: he’ll travel back in time to an hour before Abaddon attacks and then THEY’LL have the upper hand. Dean’s concerned: he might not exist if Henry fiddles with the past. 

Sam asks the last surviving Men of Letters how to stop Abaddon, but the old man has no useful advice. Instead, he counsels Sam to chuck the key into the secret lair and scram to keep the secrets safe from Abaddon. Then Sam reveals that Dean has the key and Larry’s wife stands up, her eyes flicking to black. It’s Abaddon! She slices up her old foe while Sam tries to scram. 

Abaddon calls Dean and taunts him gleefully. She offers up a deal: Henry and the key in exchange for Sam. Henry’s still resolute about going back in time but Dean won’t risk him failing - not with “Sammy on the hook now.” Dean sleeper holds his grandpa. 

At the meeting spot, Dean offers over a grim Henry in exchange for Sam. Yay! Family reunion again!

Henry circles Abaddon while Sam and Dean try to scamper away. Abaddon traps them though and then stabs Henry through the gut with her BARE HAND. YIKES. Henry shakes it off, though and shoots her through the chin. Oh, he also doesn’t have the box anymore! It’s just a pack of playing cards. “I’ve been played!” Abaddon should have said.

Instead, Abaddon shrieks in rage and then discovers that she’s trapped in place. Abaddon ate a devil’s trap bullet, so her powers are nullified. Dean slices her head off and tells her he’ll carefully dismember her and bury her under cement which is some REAL DARK SHIT MY FRIENDS. It’s actually a comfort to know that he couldn’t follow through on the whole piece-by-piece dismembering!

Dean congratulates Henry on his win, while Henry slowly dies in Sam’s arms. “We’re Winchesters,” Henry tells them. “As long as we’re alive, there’s always hope.” With his dying breath, Henry tells them he’s proud of John because of Sam and Dean and...you know what? It’s a sideways compliment, but I’ll take it.

Sam and Dean bury Henry in the old Men of Letters graveyard. “The Winchester and the Campbells,” Sam reflects on their legacy. “The brains and the brawn.” Dean doesn’t appreciate the poetry of it. He only sees the pain. He also thinks about John’s pain, thinking that Henry abandoned him so many years ago when he died for his grandsons instead. “Freaking time travel, man.”

Sam pulls out Henry’s mysterious box. Time to open it up and see what’s inside! “We are legacies, right?”

What, the Quote-ans?

Is it absolutely essential, sir, that you keep your hands on me?

That’s no way to treat a lady

Seriously? Dudes time-travelling through motel-room closets? That's what we've come to?

Let me get this straight. You traveled through time to protect something that does you-don't-know-what from a demon that you know nothing about?

We had a deal!

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[we-pay-for-everything]

On the Role of Dreams in the Buffyverse

Dreams are arguably the most private, enduring and universal kind of human propriety. No matter how hard we try to conceal our real desires, they always manifest themselves in the shape of dreams. Even if we refuse to dream, our true wishes are reflected in those we admire or envy, in our deepest or in our most indulgent fantasies, in our nightmares, in our regrets. 

In a society that allows only for the profitable and for the “realistic”, dreams are, at most, fantasies. And in a world created by the most prolific type of dreamer - the artist - dreams are strangely absent. 

In the Buffyverse, dreams aren’t something the characters grow up with. To be sure, dreams can change or take form later in life, but they are a common byproduct of our childhood or adolescence. Our preferences, our strengths, our weaknesses, and our environment determine the shape our dreams take. 

Buffy’s dream, which was simultaneously her biggest strength and her biggest weakness, was born out of necessity. She became a slayer, so preserving her humanity and protecting her girlhood became her dream. Saving the world was always a duty, a burden, an imperative. It never brought her real happiness or fulfillment. In fact, to Whedon and co., being a hero meant sacrifice, and dreams, or rather desires and impulses, were roadblocks to overcome. 

Likewise, until becoming a vampire Angel had no dreams. As Liam, he was the embodiment of Buffy’s “carpe diem” philosophy, and as Angelus he took that philosophy to the next level. Becoming human was a dream created by the Shanshu prophecy and Angel’s hatred towards vampires. Being a champion was the source of Angel’s honor and fulfillment, his genuine desire. In his new life he found happiness, though not without sacrifice.

The main difference between Buffy and Angel has always been that Buffy never wanted to become a Slayer but Angel chose to become a champion; Buffy’s life was stolen and Angel’s life was gifted to him. (In the same vein, Connor was both a gift and a test to Angel while Dawn was only a burden to Buffy at first.) This distinction is unsurprising. Men deny women their agency all the time. 

This isn’t to say that Angel was a better person than Buffy - not at all. But Buffy lost herself and became colder and sadder as BtVS progressed, while Angel discovered his true purpose, made friends and had a son on AtS. 

But I’m digressing. You can’t actually say that dreams and the pursuit of them are a topic the Buffyverse tackles - which is precisely what limits it as a “coming of age” story. The characters in the Buffyverse have, in theory, every choice in the world to make, but they never even take a look around. Sunnydale is just a small town, but ATS’s L.A is pretty small too. 

In the Buffyverse everything is decided: by the supernatural, by circumstances, or by luck. There are choices the characters make, often heroic ones, but their options are limited. On the one hand, we box ourselves in all the time. We make few choices and take few risks; so the Buffyverse is realistic in that way. On the other hand, as teenagers and young adults we are confronted with a very big world, and its infinite possibilities, which makes us feel small, overwhelmed, lost, out of options. 

Buffy had no choice but to be a slayer. It was that or death. Angel had a choice between doing nothing til he died or becoming a champion. And every other character on the show made similar choices. The Buffyverse is about defeating fear and indifference, fighting for yourself and for what’s truly important (friends, family, love, humanity). More than being a coming of age story, it encourages you to care and to fight for yourself. It’s a story for those coming of age who are already burned out. Choosing a career, randomly meeting people, falling in love, finding hobbies, having fun, feeling lost (not because of depression) - those are real coming of age issues and stories that the Buffyverse doesn’t tackle. 

Dreams, essentially, don’t belong in the Buffyverse. 

(A/N: I wrote this because it’s @missusgordo‘s birthday, but I also wanted to write something that reflected myself right now. Like I’ve explained, I’m slowly outgrowing the “burned out” phase of my life, and find myself growing distant from the Buffyverse. I wanted to explain why I’m not very active anymore. I still love the universe though! I just can’t seem to write about it these days. Hope you actually enjoy this D! Sorry!) 

[leechfluff]

Transformation (2/2)

Part 1

Content Alert For - Stuffing (aftermath), transformation, body horror, vague hints to blood drinking, mild belly kink, hurt with comfort, very mild whump, gagging (no vomit), hints to a past abusive relationship.

Note- I plan on doing way more with these characters but this is the end part of their first story. Please feel free to send in asks for my OC's at anytime or to ask me anything! I'd love some ideas for drawing them.

Cardinal cursed at the lock, jiggling the key until it finally gave and let them cross into the dark room. It was messy, but not overly so. The desk (as usual) being the focal point, covered in its usual clutter of pens, paper and coffee cups.

They entered the kitchen, not bothering to hit any of the lights on the way through. The light was unnecessary, their vision worked better in the dark than in the light if they were to tell the truth. As they bent over to put the container of soup into the fridge, their stomach gave out an unhappy grumble.

"Oh hush." Cardinal mumbled in response, rubbing at the taught skin in an attempt to quiet it down and wishing they had thought to wear a hoodie rather than the snug T-Shirt. Really, they'd barely even fed. Just enough that they wouldn't have to worry about it. Still, their stomach stuck out unhappily and complained at any sudden movements. It would be an excuse to steal one of Grace's hoodies, something soft and warm.

The young vampire was brought out of their thoughts by a loud thud from Grace's bedroom. Followed by crashing and more thudding, like furniture being knocked over. Cardinal froze, listening up at the rapid heart beat pounding overhead.

It was louder than it should have been, faster too. The most concerning thing however was the sound of claws on wood. A fact that was especially upsetting considering Grace didn’t have any pets, especially nothing that large.

Cardinal crept up the stairs, not even breathing as the sound of breaking glass carried through the home. The door was closed tight, and no light shone from underneath. The scrabbling noise increased, it sounded like the claws were scraping drywall now.

In a single, fluid, movement Cardinal wrenched the door open before sliding in and slamming it behind them. Whatever they had been expecting, the large wolf escaping through the (now broken) window left them at somewhat of a loss for words. There was no sign of Grace, and the animal had clearly not been dragging her with it.

There was no evidence of a struggle, no blood on the sheets, and the air smelled strongly of Grace albeit sharper than Cardinal ever remembered it being. The dresser had been knocked over in the creature's (in her) attempts to escape. It was apparent nothing had entered or exited the room recently other than the concerned vampire.

The pieces fit together in an unfortunate manner, making Cardinal groan in dread. This… wasn't how they had ever wanted to introduce their girlfriend into this world but it was happening regardless. Time to minimize the damage, at least to Grace anyway. 

--------

The first thing Grace did when she woke up was groan.

Everything hurt. Her joints cracked and popped as she stirred and her muscles complained. Her head pounded in a way reminiscent of a hangover, but worse in it's own special way.

Potentially topping the migraine however, was the cramping pain coming from her stomach.

"Easy, I don't know exactly what you did but I reckon you feel pretty bad right now"

It was Cardinal, in a voice as smooth as honey. Soothing the headache to a degree. 

Grace struggled against the blanket laid over her, feverishly trying to get up.

"Hey, just lie down. Please, Grace. Just lie back down."

She did, that sticky-sweet voice drawing her in. The blanket was pulled back, leaving a sheet to cover her.

A sheet that was the only thing covering her naked body.

"I'm going to grab you some clothes and help you get them on, ok?"

The voice was less sticky now, more recognizable. Once again Grace felt acutely aware of the heavy, painful feeling in her stomach. A feeling accentuated by a prolonged groan.

Finally, her eyes fluttered open. Cardinal was holding a tshirt and shorts, an older outfit Grace usually wore when sleeping. Their hair was wild, sticking up all over and falling in their eyes. Their dark shirt was ripped and muddy and their pants were much the same way. It was a simple outfit that Grace didn't think she'd ever seen worn before on the petite figure. 

"Wha' happened to ya shirt?"

Grace didn't even register how bad her mouth tasted until she opened it. Coppery and foul, with a touch of something gone off.

That was the breaking point and she bolted upright despite her painful stomach and leaned off the bed as she retched.

And retched.

And try as she might nothing came up but strings of saliva for her efforts.

A cool hand rested on one shoulder and supported her until it ended.

"I'm sorry. God- just- just lean back. Oh God" 

Grace hadn't even realized she had her arms cradled around her stomach. What was typically fairly average and flat was stretched out painfully. Hard and round, it had expanded outwards a significant amount and with every threatening gurgle she felt as though she was going to vomit.

But it never happened.

The cool hands pulled her back until she was no longer hanging off the bed. Hands pulling her shirt over her head as she numbly complied by lifting her arms gently. The soft shirt was still baggy around her shoulders and chest but was just barely snug around the mysterious belly. Every movement of her midsection left her panting on the verge of gagging as she worked with her partner to get the shirt on.

Cardinal leaned her back onto the bed before lying beside her, on top of the sheets that covered Grace's bare legs. Her stomach let out a long gurgle in protest of the movement and a pale hand reached tentatively for it, pausing before gently rubbing it. The motion was painful as first, eliciting groans both from Grace and her tortured stomach. Soon however, the pressure seemed to lessen and Grace belched wetly. The taste almost brought on another retching fit, but the slight decrease in pressure and the relief it brought helped immensely.

"What…" Grace coughed, and held a hand to her swollen midsection.

"I…" Cardinal froze. Their voice was soft as they stammered, "What do you- um. You…" 

They took a deep breath.

"You might be a, uh…"

"Werewolf?" Grace croaked out.

Cardinal shifted their body weight suddenly.

"How did you even know to guess that?"

"Had an ex-boyfriend who bragged... well it was threats really but I thought he was full of shit. Not to say he wasn’t-" she burped again, less satisfying this time but it helped "Just not about that. I guess."

"How much do you know?"

"Not much." Grace admitted. "I thought he was trying to be funny, then I thought it was annoying when he threatened me with it. He called me last month all pissy and angry. I told myself that the nightmares I had that night were coincidental. That it didn’t mean anything, just my subconscious picking up on his claims."

Another burp, more relief and unbelievably her brain presented the idea of actually trying to go get something to eat. An idea that made Grace almost want to weep.

Instead, she curled up as Cardinal lay still and silent at her back. Soon she was asleep again.

-----

This time when Grace woke up she could move. She felt… good actually. Really good. Her stomach still had a small paunch to it but nothing like the painful, heavy lump she had woken up to. 

The smell of coconut curry soup wafted through the open door, and Grace was on the verge of drooling as she pulled on her shorts and hurried towards the kitchen. Trying hard not to run down the stairs and trip in her haste she stuck a head around the corner into the kitchen

Cardinal was standing there, with an amused expression. 

"Glad to know you feel a bit better."

Grace nodded as she grabbed the bowl of soup sitting on the counter, barely even bothering with the spoon. It didn't fully end the ravenous hunger, but gave her room to think with a clearer head. 

"Yeah, I do." She glanced around the kitchen hoping to spot some more but was out of luck. The rest of the soup must have been in the fridge still 

"God. This is insane. I don't think I've ever been so hungry in my goddamn life and considering this morning I really shouldn't be."

"I think it's just part of it darling. Best to eat when you're human, at least then you have more of a choice."

Grace stopped for a moment. Gears turning. If her stomach had been full, then she must have eaten something and if she were to go by the rancid taste in her mouth when she first woke up...

"What exactly did I eat last night?"

"Honestly? Not a fucking clue but your breath was rank and you certainly seemed to regret it. I had to carry you back. That is, after I chased you through the woods for several hours."

Grace groaned and leaned against the counter. 

"It's not over yet, is it? So will several days a month be trying to consume literally anything I can rationalize as food or is this an all the time thing?"

"You're asking the wrong person, I have no idea."

Grace eyed them suspiciously. Her rational side finally catching up despite the weirdness of it all. 

How did they know this? How did they know any of this?

"Got something you want to share?" Grace kept her tone controlled, looking Cardinal dead in the eye.

Their partners' body language shifted, from comfortable to mildy self-conscious. Like they were trying to shrink in on themself.

“What do you mean?

She poked Cardinal in the stomach, where the soft skin bulged beneath the hoodie stolen from her closet. It was obviously an attempt to be subtle, but it wasn't the first time they had been mysteriously bloated. Typically they just tried to pass it off as a food allergy or intolerance. Other times they both just ignored it.

"Between the belly and the nighttime disappearance act-"

"I'm not a werewolf. I'm something else. Think more along the bloodsucking side of the spectrum."

Grace recoiled before gently poking Cardinals firm stomach. 

"So… You're like a tick or a leech or something?"

"I think vampire is the politically correct term, but yes."

"So… you were going to tell me when?"

Cardinal grimaced.

"Probably not now and not like this. I just… I was worried about you."

"Hmm."

"Are you mad?"

Grace paused in the tactile exploration of her lover's distended stomach before grabbing them by the face and kissing them slowly.

Cardinal pulled away gently, lifting their head and looking them in the eye.

"We should make sure you actually eat enough today. I really don't want to have to chase you through the woods again."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I have a friend who’s a bit more in touch with this sort of stuff that I am. He said you should actually go ahead and cave to that growling stomach of yours. Supposedly it’ll make the change easier, and will hopefully keep you from trying to go hunting.”

"Hunting? What was I even hunting?"

"Judging by the smell, you didn't hunt anything. You found it."

Grace grimaced, not even wanting to know anymore.

She leaned into her partner, the ghost of the pain she had felt this morning when she woke up was still fresh and that gut had to be a little sore. It gurgled softly, as if in reaction to her thoughts.

"You ok?" She said, putting a hand gently on their stomach.

"Hmm?" Cardinal glanced down and laughed. "Oh yeah, this is mild really. I stopped short to come back early. I wanted to go ahead and check on you. Turned out that was a good idea, wouldn't have wanted you stumbling naked back to your house just to find the door locked."

Grace hummed in response, already casting her eyes around the kitchen for more food. 

It was going to be a long day.

----------------------

Grace woke up suddenly, having fallen asleep on the couch with her small partner curled up next to her.

It was easy to realize what had woken her up.

"Holy hell."

At her exclamation Cardinal stirred.

"What's up?"

Grace didn't even answer, trying to stand up and immediately collapsing onto her knees as a wave of vertigo washed over her.

There was swearing from Cardinal, then the short vampire picked her up and set her down on the couch. 

"Your bedroom window is broken. We decided you should stay down here, remember?"

Grace shook her head, a clawing pain in her throat starting to bring her to tears. As if reading her mind Cardinal grabbed a water bottle, removed the top and steadied Grace's hands as she downed the whole thing. The pain didn't go away, but as she moved her joints started to crack and pop.

-----------------

Cardinal watched helplessly, their enhanced hearing picking up every shift and squelch as Grace's body began to rearrange itself. The taller girl curled in on herself, shivering even as her temperature skyrocketed.

"I-it's going faster this time." 

Grace managed to force out the words as Cardinal helped her with her shirt. Despite the close relationship, the vampire still grabbed a light blanket and wrapped it around the werewolf. Covering her bare torso and hiding the disconcerting warping of tissue and bone beneath the skin. Then, they carefully massaged her back along the spine and shoulder blades and tried to ignore the feeling of bones moving under the skin every so often.

Caelum had said this would be rough, and not just for Grace either. As usual, the witch was right. However, Cardinal had more sympathy for the person actually going through the change than for the person who only had to listen.

And watch.

And feel.

Grace moaned feverishly, a sound that lengthened into a yell as her muscles clenched abruptly.

It cut off suddenly with a choking noise, and Cardinal instinctively backed away as the girl convulsed. When it got to be too much, they closed their eyes. Refusing to look at Grace’s body was forced into its other form.

Until the noises stopped, and something bumped their leg. They jerked their head up, obviously startling the large gray and copper wolf who jumped up and scrambled back like a scared dog.

Guilt tugged at Cardinal’s insides from the sight. Some half forgotten tidbit of information presented itself to her mind. Something about helping werewolves by saying their name.

Well, it was worth a shot. Right?

“Hey-” 

The wolf began snarling, and Cardinal swiftly realized the large animal had backed itself into a corner.

“Grace, it’s ok. You know me. I won’t hurt you, and you don’t have to worry about hurting me, ok?”

The animal still seemed wary, but it recognized the name.

“Grace, you there sweetheart?”

They suspected they knew the answer. The wolf was definitely intelligent, but something was clearly lost in the transformation. Leaving a wild animal with some version of human rationality. A fun concept considering Grace already had the incredible ability to get into heaps of trouble, even when not high off of adrenaline and moonlight.

The wolf stopped snarling, cocking her head before rushing Cardinal and knocking them to the ground.

Cardinal yelped hands going up in an instinctive attempt to protect their face as the wolf-

Started licking their face like an excited puppy.

The vampire laughed, gently rubbing their hands through the unbelievably thick fur while they tried to come up with ways to keep the energetic werewolf occupied and the damage to a minimum.