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quin-ns · 2 years

Text

Invisible String (Joel Miller x Reader)

Word count: 3K

Summary: bill and frank host. tess is jealous. joel is confronted with his feelings. you cry over a shower

Tags: 2007 (as seen in ep3), age gap, protective!joel, jealousy, tess isn’t painted in a bad light but she gets her feelings hurt a lil, angst, joel being emotionally suppressed, everyone hiding their emotions actually no one copes normally, emotional hurt/comfort, hugs, pining!joel, hugs, fluff

Request: anon: “hello! i am totally obsessed with your work! i was womdering, if you still take requests, if you can write a joel x reader fic where the reader has a tough exterior with everyone, including Joel, but he knows how sensitive and delicate she is on the inside and behind closed doors. picture this for reference: she had warm water at bill and frank's and she started sobbing uncontrollably, but in front of joel she will always deny she doesn't feel depressed and emotional, but he knows better that this and they both help each other to open up.”

Request: anon: “loved your first joel fic!! if you’re okay with requests can you do another joel fic where maybe tess is jealous of how joel softens around the reader? like he’s not really an affectionate guy but with her he is and tess realizes how he feels about the reader? maybe they’re at frank and bills house and she knows joel doesn’t want to stay but for the reader he will? or something like that it’s up to you- you’re the writer after all”

A/N: so since both of these requests included joel being soft for the reader and them being at bill and franks, I decided to combine them. I liked both concepts and I thought mixing them would lead to something interesting. I feel like there’s more to this story so if y’all want a part two lmk

Cross-posted to ao3 • tlou masterlist • writing masterlist

When you, Joel, and Tess first met Bill and Frank, none of you had any idea how you’d end up feeling about the two men.

Frank had allowed the three of you to enter their isolated town and introduced them both (okay, nice enough), and then Bill had pointed a gun at you (not so nice). Why you? No particular reason other than that you were his closest target. From that moment Joel wasn’t a fan.

“If you’re gonna point that thing at someone, point it at me. Not at her,” Joel said sternly, his hardened gaze fixed on Bill. The two stared one another down for a moment as Bill quickly identified Joel’s weakness. Tess looked at Joel, working hard to hide the frustration on her face.

He obliged, turning the gun onto Joel.

“Bill,” Frank said softly yet firmly.

Bill glanced at Frank, who was silently asking him to relent. Bill lowered the gun with a huff.

With the hostility out of the way, or at least set aside for the moment, Frank offered you an apologetic smile.

“Would you like to see our home?” he asked as a peace offering.

“We’d love to,” Tess answered at the same time as Joel, who said—

“We actually should be going.”

You didn’t say anything, which caused them both to look at you. Tie breaker.

Tess had a feeling you’d agree with her, but what happened next still bothered her.

You and Joel exchanged a look, having a silent conversation. Joel registered that despite the gun incident, you weren’t fearful. It was only because of that that Joel looked at Frank and nodded.

“Alright,” he changed his answer.

Tess wanted to scream.

Frank seemed relieved and his smile grew. He led the three of you to the large white house that the two men called their home.

“You’re welcome to anything in the house,” Frank said kindly, ignoring the disapproving grunt that came from Bill. “Clothes, medicine, water, food—although Bill will be starting dinner soon—and of course the shower,” he listed off.

Your ears perked up at “shower.” Joel could tell by the way you actually lifted your head. Just a day ago you had been reminiscing on how long it had been since you felt clean. Like, really clean. Hot water, soap, soft towel—you longed for it and Joel knew that.

Frank noticed too. “Shower it is.”

“Thank you,” you said immediately. “For being so kind and sharing your home with us.”

“If I’m being honest, I’ve been bugging Bill for us to find some friends,” Frank admitted to you quietly. “Speaking of which,” he started. “Bill? Maybe you could get our other guests some drinks? I’m going to show—“ he looked back at you.

“Y/N,” you filled in.

“—Y/N to the shower,” Frank finished.

You didn’t hear what Bill had to say, but that was the least of your concern as Frank gestured for you to follow him.

Joel watched as you followed Frank away. He itched to go after you, not comfortable with you being apart from him. He felt incredibly protective over you and maybe it wasn’t the healthiest reaction, but he didn’t like to let you out of his sight. It scared him—not that he’d ever admit it.

“Don’t worry, I think she’ll survive without you,” Tess said sarcastically, smothering the genuine bitterness she felt at the man’s reaction. Joel was never like this before. Well, before you.

Joel threw her a glance, but didn’t say anything. Bill was approaching them and grumpily suggested they follow him into the kitchen.

They all made casual conversation, Tess doing most of the talking.

Upstairs, Frank was showing you to the shower. He’d given you a towel and found you soap, shampoo, and conditioner.

“Thank you so much,” you said yet again. Frank just laughed it off and told you no worries, and that if you needed anything you could just call for him.

You closed the door, isolating yourself in the bathroom. You turned on the water and held your hand under it until it was warm. A smile spread across your face. You quickly stripped and stepped under the water, longing for the feel of a hot shower.

It was everything you had hoped for. You relished in the hot water rushing over your tired body.

You prided yourself on being tough—like not even flinching when Bill pulled his gun on you—but something about the comfort that reminded you of the old world brought tears to your eyes. Their house was so normal. Nothing like the wilderness, the destroyed towns, or even the QZ. You were only a child when the pandemic happened, but you held onto a few fond memories. You never felt at home in the QZ.

The only thing that made it feel comfortable and safe was Joel, but this was still so much better than the QZ. It was overwhelming.

Next thing you knew, a sob of happiness broke free. And once it started you couldn’t stop.

In the kitchen, Bill was standing at the stove cooking. Joel didn’t know what it was—but it smelled delicious. Frank had excused himself to set up a table outside so everyone could eat together in the nice weather.

“Sorry, by the way,” Bill announced, off topic from the previous discussion. He didn’t look up from his task of sautéing onions as he spoke. “For the uh, gun thing. Can’t be too careful.”

Tess and Joel looked at one another. They both suspected Frank must’ve said something to convince him to apologize. But beyond that, they both thought back to the incident. A flash of anger shot through Joel at the memory of the weapon being targeted at you. Tess remembered how reckless Joel had been, asking Bill to turn the gun on him. Would he really trade his life for yours? Once Tess started thinking about that, she couldn’t stop.

She started to become quiet during the conversation, which was pretty much when the talking fizzled out. Joel wasn’t very talkative, and clearly neither was Bill.

“I’m gonna go see if Frank needs help,” Bill decided after a few minutes. Joel and Tess exchanged a look. Obviously he just wanted away from them for a moment of relief—he wasn’t anticipating having to be social and wasn’t too happy with it.

Once they had a moment alone, Joel had a feeling Tess was going to unleash. It had been building up, Joel could tell her mood had turned sour.

“What was that?” she asked vaguely. Joel furrowed his brows. “Earlier,” she clarified.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joel stated. He had an inclination, but he was hoping Tess would drop it.

She didn’t. “You asked him to point a gun at you!” Tess said in a hushed yell, frustration seeping out in her scolding tone.

“He wasn’t going to shoot me,” Joel deadpanned.

“He wasn’t going to shoot at all,” Tess confirmed. “So then why did you tell him to turn it on you?”

She was pushing for an answer she didn’t want, but now that she had started Tess wasn’t going to let up. She was stubborn like that.

“I didn’t like him pointing a gun at Y/N,” Joel admitted. The memory of it made him clench his fist. Tess didn’t see that, but she saw the way Joel wouldn’t hold her gaze.

Her jaw clenched. “You’re too soft on her.”

At that, Joel scoffed. The sound came out before he could stop it. “How is that being too soft on her?”

Tess was quiet for a moment, contemplating her next words. “It’s not just that,” she said, quieter, almost distant. It was a contrast to how loud she’d been getting.

Joel took a deep breath through his nose, then let out a heavy sigh. He finally looked Tess dead in the eye. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

If it wasn’t for the desperate look on Tess’s face, he would’ve gotten up and walked away. She wasn’t done. She was struggling to say what she wanted to say, and Joel didn’t want her to.

“The moment she came into our lives, that was it,” Tess told herself just as much as she was saying it to Joel.

She was backing Joel into a corner. “Where is this coming from?” he questioned.

Tess let out a humorless laugh. “This has been a long time coming,” she confessed. “I see the way you look at her, how you act around her. She’s just about half your age and yet you always seem to find something in common. You cut me out, Joel.”

Joel was at a loss of words. He couldn’t seem to find the words to defend himself. Tess continued.

“We’ve been in that scenario before, do you remember? When you and I were making a trade and the punk pointed a gun at me?” Tess recalled. Joel recovered the memory quickly, and he began to zero in on exactly why this meant so much to Tess. “You never would’ve considered trading yourself for me. I know because you didn’t.”

“That was different,” was all Joel could come up with.

“I never would’ve made you choose between me and her, but you did on your own,” Tess held firm. Her jaw clenched as she fought to not let herself get any more emotional. “And you chose her. I see that now.”

“Tess,” Joel started, but she shook her head.

“Don’t try to lie to me. Please.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Joel said. He wasn’t even sure what he was planning on saying before. This had all come out of nowhere. At least for him, Tess had clearly had this on her mind for a long while and today just happened to be the final straw. “I’m sorry,” he decided, but it was too little too late.

Tess liked you. She really did. And you hadn’t done anything on purpose. You probably didn’t even know the effect you had on Joel. That’s what made being jealous of you so hard. She wanted to not like you, to blame you for stealing any ounce of affection Joel allowed himself to have, but she couldn’t.

She cleared her throat. “I’m going to go check and see if they need any help setting up outside.” The sudden calmness was eerie. Joel looked at her cautiously. “We’re going to just… drop this,” Tess decided. “And we can all try and have a nice time together, eat a real meal, take hot showers, and relax for the night before we head out in the morning.”

Suppression. Tess was going to bottle everything up. Ignore it and move on. It was something her and Joel had in common.

She left him then, and Joel felt no desire to go after her. He felt guilty about that, but he had nothing left to say to Tess about that and she’d concluded her piece.

Instead, Joel found himself leaving the kitchen table. He followed the sound of running water upstairs. You’d been in the shower for a while and there was a nagging feeling in Joel’s chest that longed to find you.

His feet carried him to the bathroom door, where he knew you still were.

Joel heard a sad, gasping sound from you. It was nearly drowned out, but he heard it. Concern overwhelmed him in an instant.

Joel pressed his ear to the door. He almost busted in, but wanted to take a moment. And it was good he did. What he had first thought were sounds of distress, was actually you muffling cries of relief. He could tell. He wasn’t sure how—maybe it was the tone, or the softness to the sounds, or he just knew you too well—but he could tell.

His hand reached for the doorknob. Joel grasped it and contemplated turning it. He leaned the side of his head against the door.

“Y/N?” Joel called through the door. He went blank over what else to say. Should he ask if you were alright? Would you be weirded out if he asked to come in? You were showering after all. Instead he said nothing.

You went silent. Joel felt bad now. You were never emotional around anyone, you tried to hide it from him. Joel wished you wouldn’t. But he supposed you were just following by example.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“Um,” Joel stalled. “I was just checking on you.”

“Oh, um, I'm alright,” you replied. A few seconds of quiet passed. “Thank you, though.”

Joel listened to the sound of water rushing from the shower. You’d stopped your tears it seemed, but Joel could hear the quiver in your voice when you’d spoken.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Joel told you carefully.

“I’m fine, Joel,” you assured.

When Joel first met you, you were innocent despite the dark world and wore your heart on your sleeve. You used to express yourself emotionally, but now Joel couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you let yourself break.

You’d gotten better about hiding it. He wanted to help you open up, but that was something even he struggled to do.

Joel went down the stairs and to the living room. No one else was in the house, he could see out the window that Frank was showing Tess around their garden while Bill was setting up the food.

Joel sat on the couch and thought over your interaction through the door. He wished he would have waited for you to come out of the bathroom to talk to you, to make sure you were okay, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Because then he’d have to explain himself as to why and after the conversation with Tess, he feared how you’d react to the knowledge of his feelings.

As if on cue, there were light steps descending down the stairs. Joel turned to look at you.

Your hair was damp, and you were wearing an oversized clean shirt that must’ve come from one of the hosts (Frank was the nicer one, so Joel guessed it was him who lent you it) and a pair of jeans that you’d packed that you hadn’t worn yet.

“Hi,” you greeted.

“Hey,” Joel said, watching you as you moved over to him. “Everyone else is outside.”

“I see that,” you said lightly. “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Joel asked.

You shrugged. “I thought I heard arguing earlier. You and Tess,” you explained. “Bathroom is right above the kitchen…”

A brief moment of unease filled Joel. “What all did you hear?”

“No words clearly, just Tess raising her voice,” you revealed. Joel just gave you a slight nod. He had a feeling that wasn’t the only thing you had to say. “Did you, um… hear me earlier?”

Joel knew instantly what you meant. “No.” He hated lying to you. “Yes.”

“I thought so. I just”—you searched for your words—“I’m fine. That was just—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

You swallowed and took a breath. “I’m not weak.”

Joel let out a small huff. “I know that.” That fact that you thought you had to tell him was amusing in an odd way. He was well aware.

“Well, alright then,” you said decidedly. “It’s just been so long since we’ve had hot water and—“

“You don’t have to explain yourself. You’re allowed to feel,” Joel reminded. “I know you. You’re strong. But you’re also a good, sweet, caring person and I just”—Joel sighed, struggling for his words even as they were tumbling out—“I don’t want to see you go numb to the world. I don’t want you to end up like me.”

You looked at him curiously. He stood for some reason, it felt more natural for him. Your eyes held his on his way up. “You’re not numb, Joel,” you told him, sounding so sure of yourself. “I don’t think that. I think you put on a brave face just like I do. Although I guess I’m not as good at hiding it as I thought.”

A small laugh left you as you shook your head.

“What?”

“It’s just been so long since I talked about… feelings,” you admitted.

“Same here,” Joel agreed.

“It’s weird, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be, but it is.”

Joel got an idea. He hoped it wasn’t a bad one. “Maybe we can… help each other with that. Y’know, find a way to talk about it.”

You gave him a gentle smile. Before Joel could process, you were wrapping your arms around him and clinging to him in a hug. It was a sudden, unfamiliar movement. Joel held you against his body, resting his chin on your head.

“That’s a good idea,” you told him, your voice muffled against him.

Joel hadn’t touched, let alone held, someone in so long. It was nice. Mostly because it was you.

The sound of a door opening and heavy steps alerted you, causing you and Joel to part from one another. Frank approached the two of you with a welcoming smile on his face.

“Dinners ready,” he informed, looking between the both of you.

“Seriously, we cannot thank you enough, Frank,” you said kindly. He gestured towards the door in an “after you” manner. You gave him a smile and headed outside. Before you stepped out, you gave Joel one last grateful look.

There was a slight smile on Frank’s face as he looked at Joel, who hadn’t moved yet.

“It’s nice to have someone in a world like this, isn’t it?” Frank asked in a sincere tone.

Joel looked out the window towards the garden where you joined the table. You smiled at the sight of the food and took a seat.

After having a whole conversation about allowing feelings, Joel decided that he didn’t want to suppress the small smile of appreciation that crossed his own face.

“Yeah, it is,” Joel answered.

starting a joel taglist, if you’d like to be on it lmk through an ask or message!

joel taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose

#quin-ns writing #request #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you

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writeyouin · 9 months

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Hello, for holiday fics, can i request MTMTE Bots X Reader Headcanons where its Christmas time and there's a gift exchange? Thank you!

MTMTE Bots X Reader - Gift Exchange

A/N - A-All of them?! There's… That's a lot of bots. Imma just pick a few, then if anyone wants more you can just ask me for them.

Warnings - None

Rating - T

Swerve

Swerve is far too nervous for this.

It's your first Christmas aboard the ship, and he is determined to confess his love for you. Like, he has spent every last second planning this for months.

Now that it's time though, he thinks he might purge his tanks.

What if you don't like his gift? Worse, what if you reject him? He knows you won't be mean about it, but... he doesn't want to spend his life without you. He really loves you, and nothing terrifies him more than his own feelings.

Still, here is the moment. You've given him your gift.

It was a crocheted blanket, so he'll be comfy on movie nights. When did you have time to make this? Oh wow. He presses the material to his face. It's so soft, and if he takes in some air, it smells like you. Of course it does... You've clearly spent ages making it.

Swerve hugs you and he holds on for a few seconds too long. You laugh amiably, and make a joke about being Christmas crushed.

Finally, he lets you go and bashfully presents you with his gift. It isn't wrapped very well. It must have been difficult for him, since it's relatively small. You can see where the tape has come up a few times, stripping the paper of some of its colour. All this just makes you smile more.

You tear open the gift, and it's a datapad, specially made to be human-sized. You flick on the screen and find that it's filled with music, in a specially arranged playlist.

Admittedly, Swerve doesn't know a whole lot about Earth music. He's more into TV and movies, but he knows how much you love music, so he really tried with this.

Moreover, the first word of each song creates a message, and it is a long message. It's a confession. You might have missed it, had the first word of each song not been highlighted.

You take a while to read what's written. Meanwhile, Swerve is stuck in limbo, feeling entirely sick. Part of him wants to snatch the datapad back and laugh it off like it was all a mistake or a stupid joke. Instead, he waits, trying to stop his servos from shaking by resting them on his thighs.

When you've finished reading his confession, you let your thumb glide over the first song, hitting play.

You smile, get to your feet, and approach Swerve.

"I love it," You say quietly.

Then, you kiss him.

At first, Swerve is completely taken aback. Then, his hands find their way around your back and he's holding you close, your first kiss to Nat King Cole's 'The Very Thought of You.'

Rung

Rung didn't actually want gifts. The only thing he asked for was an evening alone with you.

Normally, he's so busy with his patients, and everyone always wants time with the ship's only human, usually so they can ask you questions and place bets on what the answer will be - Rodimus is still pissed that he lost 100 shanix when you were asked what a colander was (Sufficed to say, his answer wasn't kitchen utensil for draining water).

So, that's exactly how you spend Christmas Eve with Rung. You're sat in his lap, laid back on the sofa while he reads to you from a book you chose.

His fingers gently glide over your head - You feel safe with Rung - loved - and you know that he feels the same when he's with you.

Despite that, you did get him a gift, and little do you know, he's got you one too. They will both wait for tomorrow however, as you relax into one another, with no obligation to anyone else.

The next day, you wake up atop the berth, and realise that you must have fallen asleep when Rung was reading and that he has carried you to bed.

Yet, he isn't there with you. You're just getting up when you hear him humming. Your shared hab-suite isn't like the others on the ship - it's the only one wherein the rooms are separate as if to recreate a normal Earth apartment.

So, upon getting up to explore, you find Rung in the kitchen - He's never been in here before, except when he's looking for you.

This is his gift and his surprise. He knows how much time you always put into cooking, and unfortunately, there's nobody else who could ever cook for you, which he has been led to believe is a normal part of human relationships and something most humans are grateful for.

It took a while to research the recipes, and even more time to find out what ingredients could be substituted. Moreover, Rung has spent months practising this, between meetings, and now, he's rather good at it - he always was good at following instructions and handling delicate objects.

So, your Christmas brunch is courtesy of Rung, and you make sure to tell him how delicious everything is, kissing him afterwards so he might get a taste of the wonderful meal he's made as his arms wrap around you and he presses you against the dining table.

Later, after a long, and frankly heated make-out session, you present him with his gift. It's a model ship of the only one missing from his collection - the Lost Light itself. His eyes light up when he sees it, all ready to be put together.

That afternoon, the two of you sit together and start building the miniature, all while listening to Christmas music which plays serenely in the background.

Megatron

Megatron is staring at you quite intensely. If you weren't used to him, you might think he was glaring at you.

Still, you feel like you might have done something wrong or that he hates your gift to him. It was after all, rather personal, and Megatron isn't a huge fan of PDA.

The gift in question was a song. As it turned out, Nautica was something of a musical prodigy, so with her help, you had written a song about Megatron - She had composed the tune, while you wrote the lyrics.

You assumed that by involving another bot, Megatron felt exposed; it was entirely possible that he didn't like the idea of someone else singing about him or your relationship with him.

You couldn't be further from the truth.

The truth of the matter was that Megatron loved the song. You had poured your very soul into it, and it was so much more than he could have asked for.

... And in return, he had gotten you a gift basket. Soaps, shampoos, lotions - His research had led him to believe this was the social norm on Earth. He couldn't give you that now!

How would that look? You had given him a piece of your soul, and he got you L'oriel "because you're worth it."

No. It wasn't good enough.

"Excuse me a moment, I need to retrieve something from my hab-suite," Megatron said coolly, before leaving you.

You deflated, feeling that all was lost, especially since Megatron took a good thirty minutes to return.

Yet, when he came back, he held out a datapad for you, mumbling an apology that it wasn't wrapped.

You swallowed nervously when he wouldn't meet your eye, and then you took the present reverently.

You flicked on the screen and found it open in a folder - "(Y/N)'s Poetry."

There were well over a hundred entries, all of them dedicated to you.

'The Radiance of a Smile', 'Promises of Forever', and 'Forgiveness of the Past', were just a few at the top of the list. Even more surprising was the fact that a great many of them were written before the two of you began dating. When you looked at the earlier entries, you saw how Megatron's feelings towards you had come about and evolved into something more.

You were speechless, yet on your face, Megatron was pleased to see that you knew how he felt for you, and that your love for him was just as much of a weight, though it was one you were glad to bear.

#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #reader #maccadam #transformers #mtmte #more than meets the eye #ll #lost light #the lost light #transformers idw #swerve #swerve x reader #rung #rung x reader #megatron #megatron x reader #gift exchange

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archangeldyke-all · 1 month

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Ooo wait wait wait do you think sevika fishes??

YES I DO! lets talk about it hehee

men and minors dni

i was actually considering making sevika a fisher instead of a miner in the childhood friends fic! i think she would just love it-- any kind of fishing.

zaun is surrounded by water, and it seems like a majority of the food eaten in the under city is some kind of seafood! i think it would make sense that at some point, sevika learned how to fish-- even if it was just to feed herself.

(i like to think that as a kid, she was out avoiding her dad at home, loitering around the docks and looking for trouble to get in. one of the old fisher ladies noticed her, and offered to take her out on the water for a day of fishing in exchange for dinner. sevika begrudgingly agrees, and has to force herself to keep up her grumpy teenage emo act when she finally gets on the water and realizes how nice and peaceful and fun fishing is. and after that, it becomes a daily thing.)

i think in a modern au she's just a hobby fisher. she goes out to local ponds or streams, sets up a little chair, and holds her pole in her lap for the afternoon, waiting for a bite, enjoying the fresh air, drinking a cold beer and smoking a joint.

on occasion, she'll go out with vander on his boat-- the two of them spend hours laughing and chatting and sitting quietly on the water, then they come home with enough food for a big fish fry in vander's back yard.

i could also see her doing it professionally, though-- sevika all dressed up in her rubber boots and life jacket, hauling in nets of fish or cages of crabs and lobster, haggling prices with the local markets-- i think she'd love it.

idk something about the open water, the strength it takes to pull in a catch, the satisfaction of catching her own dinner-- it just seems like something she'd love!!

imagine getting a text from her when she's out on the water, a picture of some random fish, followed by a paragraph of her gushing about what a rare kind of fish it is, and how it's so strange that she caught it this season, and isn't it so beautiful, and that she gave it a sardine to eat before letting it go again.

sevika refuses to gloat about her big catches though, she gets all shy and giggly when she pulls in a giant tuna or catfish. you usually have to threaten her to get a good picture of her holding up her catch, but she obliges in the end.

you don't show the pictures to many people, you keep them to yourself for when you really need a pick me up, and need to see your wife's sweet little proud smile.

you do buy your wife a bunch of fishing gifts, though. 'women love me, fish fear me' hats, one of those singing animatronic fish to hang on the wall, books about the fish in your local waters, new equipment-- she adores all of it. it's so cute.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @claude999 @nhaaauyen

#i've never been fishing a day in my life lmaooo #but i am a pisces and i was in charge of cleaning the fish tanks in my highschool so as;ldfjas;lkj #sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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earthtooz · 2 years

Note

hello!! still new to tumblr so I have to idea how long ago that post was but I saw your requests were open!! can you please please please please pretty please do something do something fluffy with rin from blue lock??? i need to cure my craving for this man and your fics are like a pond of water in the middle of the desert 🙏

say no more fam, i gotchu. and thank you anon 😫😫 you are so kind to me for praise i do not deserve, but ask and i shall deliver!

cw: fluff! food, swearing, bad writing, unrealistic scenario but like fuck that give me the fluff.

"the hell are you doing in my kitchen?"

itoshi rin turns around rather nonchalantly, seemingly unalarmed by the fact that you caught him in your kitchen, in your apartment, a place he wasn't supposed to be.

"i'm baking something," he replies simply, not even blinking once at your dumbfounded expression.

upon entering your house, you were ready for a relaxing thursday night so you could prepare to repeat the same day again. what you weren't ready for was the sight of foreign slacks- that clearly weren't yours, at the getabako by the genkan, and you see that your household slippers had also disappeared from their usual spot.

then you hear noises from the kitchen.

a little alarmed, you don't know whether to call the police or not, then, before your concerns could be answered, you see itoshi rin's familiar face peak out from the kitchen.

what the fuck. why was he wearing your slippers?

"oh, welcome home y/n," he says very casually before disappearing again.

what the fuck?

now that you've returned to your senses just a little and finally registered the intruder-slash-athlete in your kitchen, you walk up to stand beside him, peering down at his work.

"what are you making?" you ask.

"jam sugar cookies."

"that sounds good."

he's already formed a dough at this point, kneading it on a floured surface with quite a bit of skill.

noting his talent in the craft of baking, you can't help but wonder why he decided to do it in your kitchen.

"y'know when i gave you my spare key, it was for emergency purposes and because i trust you not to do dumb shit, unlike everyone else on the team," you point out with a sigh.

the dark-haired only shrugs, now breaking the dough into smaller balls.

"why my kitchen?"

"i don't know, i wanted to spend time with you. i thought you would be back from work since practice ended ages ago."

you ignore the butterflies in your stomach. "couldn't have done that over coffee? and i was working overtime today."

once again, he doesn't answer. itoshi rin is a great conversationalist, what a riveting exchange you're having right now.

you don't see the way his face flushes from his shyness, embarrassed to be caught in this situation.

"can i at least help?"

"sure," agrees rin, moving away. "break the dough into 12 even sized pieces."

you oblige as he goes over to wash his hands, swiftly cleaning up the mess around you whilst you work in silence, pretending like your heart wasn't racing because the itoshi rin was in your apartment with you, alone. the effect a man could have on you was unnerving.

"i think i'm done," you finally announce and the soccer player looks over your shoulder with a satisfied hum, a noise that you can feel in your upper spine. why was he standing so close? you can practically feel him hovering behind you.

"i can take over from here," he says.

"you sure?"

"yeah- actually, i made a pot of fresh strawberry jam on the stove, can you bring it here?"

he made jam? is there another man more perfect than him?

listening to his instructions, you carefully set the now-cooled pot on the marble counter. "i didn't strike you as a baker," you mutter, going over to the sink to wash your hands.

"it's fun. i like it."

"you like sweets?"

"i don't mind them. my favourite are ones that aren't too sweet, but i indulge in sugary ones too."

you hum in acknowledgement, watching him for a few moments longer before the urge to change into more comfortable clothes appears again like an itch you can't scratch. "you sure you don't need my help? i need to go take a shower."

"go."

"wow, okay. i know where i'm not needed."

he doesn't say anything in response, not that you were expecting him to when you made your way out of the kitchen.

twenty minutes and a refreshing shower later, you emerge feeling a lot cleaner and rejuvenated. rin was still in the kitchen, now on his phone as he leans against the counter, waiting for the cookies to bake. when he notices you, he puts his device away and greets you properly.

"would you like to stay for dinner?" you ask, ignoring the way his eyes dip to your exposed collarbones and how the water from your shower drips down them.

if you paid too much attention to it you might explode.

"it won't be a bother right?" he asks, meeting your gaze once more. when you shake your head, he agrees. "then what's for dinner?"

"i was planning on katsu curry, that okay?"

"more than."

thank goodness you bought fresh vegetables yesterday. "how are the cookies?"

"good. they're almost done."

"can i try some after?"

"no."

the audacity. he uses your kitchen and won't spare you any? what ever happened to taxes?

whilst you're cutting the potatoes and carrots, the oven timer calls out to let you know that the cookies are finished. rin swiftly takes them out, hums in approval and lets the batch chill.

you ask him if he can prepare the rice and other ingredients whilst you prepare the pot and the sauce. it's a perfect dance of teamwork, and despite your kitchen being not the biggest, you and rin work perfectly together. sometimes in silence, sometimes speaking about mundane things that don't truly matter.

the domesticity of it all makes you sick, and of course, increases your unescapable yearning for rin. you're so infatuated with him it's annoying.

once dinner is plated, you both eat in the comfort of your kitchen bench, under the warm lighting of your home.

you didn't think you'd be ending your day like this but the complaints die in your mind before they can even be manifested. chatter is exchanged as if you don't see each other during the day, and even when both your bowls are scraped empty, neither make the move to clean up and break out of this little, precious bubble you've created.

the sun has fully set now. rin should be going back home instead of answering some 'would you rather' question you suddenly created, and although you ridicule him for his choice, the best he cracks is a small smile in amusement.

when you first met itoshi rin on your first day on the job, you didn't think you'd get along with him as well as the rest of the team but, you were proven wrong very quickly. on team dinners, nights out, coffee runs, rin always joined them despite having seeming like the most antisocial man ever, and it just became easy to spend time with him.

from then on marked your downfall.

chats in your office became a regularity, his tendency to stay late for extra practice and your tendency to stay late to finish outstanding work made you both excellent commute partners, and his punctuality and assertiveness made him an excellent team captain to rely on.

somewhere between the carpools, mundane conversations on green fields, and water filler station visits, you fell for him.

you just hope rin will let you down easily.

when the clock strikes 10:30 and you let out your first yawn, rin takes it as his sign to leave. productive in cleaning up and wishing you a goodnights rest, he's gone with a soft smile and an even softer gaze.

as your front door shuts, you feel a little empty at the silence that follows his absence.

the next morning when you arrive at work, there's a little more pep in your step due to the delightful night before. when you walk into your office after greeting the members of the team who were already there, you stop short at the sight of something unfamiliar on top of your desk.

rounding the table, your heart skips a beat in a nauseating combination of nervousness, yearning, and flattery.

a box of sugar cookies with jam pressed in the shape of a heart, sit pretty on your desk; next to a note.

go on a date with me? ─ itoshi rin

#SO ooc for rin BUT IDGAF #rin being a baker kind of makes sense. he's like... a virgo... earth signs find comfort in food + he'd be into the perfectionism of it #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin x you #rin x you #rin itoshi x you #blue lock rin #itoshi x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #rin fluff #itoshi rin drabble

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halfetirosie · 6 months

Text

♡ An Edmond-Post for the struggling fanfic writers ♡

(NOTE: This post will be LONG. I tried to be thorough and include evidence.)

I feel an AGGRESSIVE MORAL OBLIGATION to make this post because of the writing homies that want to write Edmond into their fics, but feel like they don't know enough about him.

My recent Character-Ask post for Edmond might help you guys a little, but I think you could use more information.

The NU: Carnival Lore Spreadsheet (Google Sheets)

This isn't an Edmond-exclusive resource, but still helpful.

If you don't spend any time on the subreddit, you may not have seen this, but this is a fan-made lore spreadsheet contains information the game's world and each of the characters. It hasn't been updated for a little over 3 months, so it's a bit outdated, but it is teeming with practical information that can help familiarize you with characters' backgrounds and such.

(Quick note for Edmond's "Power" category-- although he is unfamiliar with actually using magic, in Frozen Echoes/Tranquil Cloud Edmond intimacy rooms, we discover that Edmond has recently started to practice magic (particularly Light/healing magic).)

2. The current Edmond Era (the most recent Ed Dynamic)

Many people seem to be intimidated by the prospect of writing Edmond because he's a "tsundere." However, to borrow the words from my Character Ask post, "that’s only out of habit (and shyness), rather an actual reflection of his desires." In other words, Ed's inner workings probably look something like this:

It also is noteworthy that, when Eiden initiates sexual activity, Edmond willingly goes along with him. By that I mean, he might scold Eiden a lot and say something to the effect of, "You are a pervert!" but he doesn't actually tell Eiden to stop what he's doing when they're starting out. And while it doesn't happen as often in recent rooms, the habitual "Stop♡" and "No♡" Edmond might say are very clearly insincere, considering his tone of voice (as well as his physical reactions).

And during the rare occasions where Ed does tell Eiden something like "Stop," Eiden will stop; but then Ed will look disappointed, so Eiden will ask him if he wants to continue, and Edmond will say yes. Here's an example of this type of exchange from Sweet Aroma R2:

There have also been times when [we can infer], at the beginning of H-activities, Eiden doesn't have as clear of a read on Edmond's opinion; in which case, he will verbally search for confirmation on whether he can do more. The most accessible example of this is Ed's SR R3:

Here is another example, from Tranquil Cloud R5:

While Eiden is still the one that initiates sexy activity (14/16 of the Ed H scenes), Edmond willingly goes along immediately. That is the crux of the typical Edmond dynamic: Edmond also has strong desires, but is usually too embarrassed to admit them, so he needs an understanding partner that will guide him along until he feels secure enough [and/or horny enough] to admit his wants.

Edmond is in a bit of a transition period right now. He's starting to be much more active in his H-activities with Eiden. He also might "blame" Eiden for his own desires, but he's beginning to own up to his feelings, too. From Tranquil Cloud R2:

3. Edmond Anatomy & Kinks

One word: SENSITIVE. Edmond is HELLA SENSITIVE.

(I'd argue he's even more sensitive than Olivine, but idk if you could consider that a definitive fact or not.)

If there's an area that can be considered a relatively common erogenous zone, it's most likely an erogenous zone on Edmond. Here's the one's that have been canonically confirmed or STRONGLY suggested:

Mouth - Edmond's mouth is very sensitive. When he kisses for the first time in Sweet Aroma, Eiden coaxes him into admitting which specific parts of his mouth are most sensitive; roof of his mouth, tongue, sides. Edmond likes kissing a LOT, and has initiated kisses himself at least 3 times (Elite Instructor R5, Flaming Secret R5, Tranquil Cloud R5)

Ears - Ed has a strong reaction in Tranquil Cloud R2 (Eiden blowing on his ear helps send him over the edge to finally cum)

Neck - Eiden kisses his neck and Ed has a verbal reaction in Tranquil Cloud R5

Nipples - Best example is in Sweet Aroma R2 (he can cum from nipple-play alone); also featured in Spring Chaos R2 and Elite Instructor R2

Hands - Many rooms include Suggestive Hand-Holding™ but White Lover R2 includes significant hand-pay

Stomach/Waist - White Lover R2 includes Eiden caressing Ed's stomach, and in Tranquil Cloud R2 Ed has a strong reaction to Eiden tightening his hold on his waist

Ass - In Elite Instructor R2 Edmond gets spanked and he is VERY into it

Penis - *obvious answer is obvious*

Anus - Has cum from anal-play alone multiple times (including fingering and rimming). It isn't explicitly sated, but I'm pretty sure Edmond's anus is more sensitive than his penis

Additional canon sexual preferences:

A Little Pain - As is famously known, Edmond enjoys a little pain during sex

Praise & Dirty Talk - Gets very embarrassed by it (and will usually scold Eiden) but he has strong positive reactions to it

Roleplay + Dom/Sub Undertones - We see it in SR R5; once Ed is convinced to try it out he gets extremely aroused and feels more comfortable engaging in *mild* dirty-talk himself. It's also sorta-kinda in Elite Instructor R2, but only a little bit on Eiden's part (calling Ed "teacher")

Kissing - I mentioned it before, but I must emphasize it again; EDMOND LOVES KISSING

Overstimulation - Most Ed intimacy rooms include some element of this

Semi-Public Sexy Stuff? - Depending on if you count sex-in-a-carriage, this happens in 7-8/16 intimacy rooms. Idk if this is necessarily Ed's personal kink, but Ed isn't exactly opposed to it as long as Eiden is being careful. He does appear to get excited when Edmond says something like "don't be too loud, or someone will come and see you like this!" From Elite Instructor R2:

Light Bondage - Only seen is Elite Instructor R2, but he seems to like it:

4. Some Ao3 reading recommendation that you can use for Edmond-specific inspiration/references

As a passionate Edmond-Lover, here are some works of fanfic that I think do a particularly good job of writing Ed-relationships. Obviously (by the nature of fanfic) many of them take a lot of liberties, but when I was reading these stories, I didn't need to suspend my disbelief at all. The way Edmond acts in these stories feels very in-character to me.

(NOTE: All of these recommendations are NSFW where Edmond bottoms. Be sure to read their tags!)

Literally everything luster_candy has written (6 works at the time I'm posting this) - just be aware all of it is Eiden/Edmond.

Reprieve, Release by kkuro (~11k words) - Eiden/Edmond, one of the best (if not the best) BDSM-heavy Ed fics. Only note is, because this was written in 2022, Ed acts a bit more stiff/repressed in the beginning than he would now. In-character for Early Era Edmond tho.

A Helpful Hand by dracula (orphan_account) (~4.3k words) - Olivine/Edmond, Olivine tops (a rarity) and Ed is cursed with a V. Don't worry, Olivine-Lovers, he isn't a hella OOC sadist or ultra-masculine dom. XD Just very sweet and very horny, and Edmond is ruthlessly subjected to his brand of horny nonsense.

Do You Know Where the Wild Things Go by no birdstofly (~8k words) - Yakumo/Edmond, idk if it's OOC for Yakumo but it's in-character for Current Era slightly-more-honest Edmond.

The Knight's Discipline by RiyeRose (~3k words) - Restricted to Ao3 members, Kuya/Edmond. I subscribe to the belief that Ed would put up with Kuya if he were horny enough, which is why I don't consider this OOC. I think this fic has the perfect amount of BDSM that Ed would realistically enjoy.

Fanfic where Edmond tops is honestly very hard to come across. That's understandable, because for Edmond to top, there would have to be extremely special circumstances, and it would have to be written carefully in order to not seem too OOC. The best example of an Top-Emond fic I've been able to find is this:

Hidden Guidance by Okami01 (~1.9k words) - Edmond/Olivine, Edmond shyly admits he wants to try topping Olivine, and Oli is obviously down for it. (Let's be honest here; out of everyone, if Edmond were ever to top anyone, it would 100% be Olivine)

♡I hope people found this helpful!!!♡

I know reading this giant post was like reading an essay, but hopefully it was worth the time and effort I put into it!

If anyone has extra inquires, or if other Edmond-Lovers want to chime in with extra information I might've missed, feel free to put them in the comments!

#nu carnival #nu: carnival #nu carnival edmond #i had to revisit many intimacy rooms which is why this took a while #Edmond is love Edmond is life

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fang-and-feather · 4 months

Note

🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 congratulations on 100 followers, darling!!!!! You deserve the love and even more :3

I do have a prompt suggestion hehe. Of course it's my darling Theo, and I was rather fond of the prompt "I can't stop thinking about you". I read it and had such a dreamy sigh hehe.

Thank you!! 🥰❣ I am glad to celebrate with you!

Ikemen Vampire - Theo x Reader

Words: 2,216

Summary: When you and Theo finally thought things would settle between you, a brief illness had him trying to protect you again and a series of overreactions from both of you led to your first fight. Now it was Theo's birthday, and he really feared he had driven you away right when he had the solution to keep you safe and keep you close

Tags: Canon ending divergence, Making up after a fight, Romantic Fluff

Request from my 100 Followers Celebration. Prompts for it were from @anyfandomfluffbingo

this was actually the fic I planned to post for Theo's birthday, but I'm really late to it.

I wrote and discarded so much for this and had difficulty with deciding which scenes and POVs to keep. In the end I kept only one scene and it was from Theo's POV. But I can post another scene at the beginning, and the version of this one from Reader's OV later if you want.

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

Theo knew Vincent had been planning something, but with how often he left the house, the party was not what he was expecting.

Besides, Theo was already happy enough with the rest of his day he’d spent with his brother. There was only anything he wanted for his birthday, and he doubted you would be there.

He’d been such an idiot, trying to push you away when the solution to all your problems was quite obvious. But when he finally realized it, he thought you had made a drastic decision to solve it instead.

The fact it was a joke was relieving now but, when it happened, it annoyed him that you would play with something so serious.

That didn’t excuse his following behavior. And if you had made that joke, maybe it meant you were thinking about it. But that didn’t mean you had to run away like that.

Had he scared you that badly? Theo didn’t think he’d gotten that angry. But he wasn’t that good at expressing himself and understanding other people. He might have said something wrong.

That was the only reason he could think why you had left without a word, but nobody else was acting as if there was something wrong with it.

You wouldn’t have returned to your time because of such a fight, right?

Theo scanned the room as he walked in, but he was right. There was no sight of you anywhere.

The other guys, though, soon surrounded him, offering their well wishes. It was hard to say who did so out of a feeling of obligation, because on his past birthdays he barely saw some of them, others only casually greeted him through the day, and the only ‘parties’ were usually a dinner Comte organized, and some of them looked like they were forced to attend.

Not that they hated each other, but the only person Theo had gotten somewhat close to, even of the guys he’d lived with for longer, was Arthur. And maybe Leonardo, but Theo’s attempts to connect with him were through art, but Leonardo seemed to have mostly given up using his talents.

Part of it was his fault, of course. He’d been too focused on his job and his revenge to even consider connecting with anyone. Another part was some of their own social abilities.

Arthur was the only one who didn’t approach him during the exchange, stopping Isaac instead, as soon as the physician awkwardly walked away.

So when the crowd finally broke apart, Theo cast another glance around the room, looking for Vincent this time, but did not find his brother, either.

Theo turned to the door, intent on leaving to look for him, when the door slowly opened, and instead of Vincent, his gaze met your nervous but quite shining one.

But before Theo could rush to you, Arthur finally decided to pop up right before him.

“Sorry for not coming around earlier, old boy. I wanted some space to greet my best friend properly.”

Theo wanted to believe Arthur chose the timing on purpose, but that would imply some form of conspiracy he didn’t want to believe Vincent would be a part of.

“I thought Isaac was your new best friend, and I was finally free of your headaches.”

Theo looked past Arthur to see you talking happily with Comte on the other side of the room.

It was his first chance to take in the full sight of you, and the pretty dress that made you look even more stunning. A little too much for the public with how it highlighted your best features.

“Aren’t you funny, Theo?” Arthur tried to get his attention back. “We should go out for drinks again soon.”

“Haven’t we gone out enough this week? Although that was just you tagging along in my free time.”

“I mean a normal guys’ night, like we used to have. You have been sulking this whole week.”

Had he really been that bad? Theo noticed he’d been going out for drinks more often, independently of Arthur going along or not, but he wasn’t drinking more than usual on these trips, and had been working as usual. Theo knew he hadn’t been feeling all that great, rethinking your fight, what he could have done and where could you have gone, but he thought he’d been hiding it well.

“Anyway, happy birthday!” Arthur patted his back.

“I would offer you a drink, but it seems like you have something else in mind.”

Arthur winked before walking away, only to be replaced by Comte, who had left your side already. And while Arthur let him pass on the drink, Comte brought him one, pulling him around to call a toast to him.

In the meantime, Theo watched Arthur discretely approach you, and strike a conversation right after the toast and immediately made his way over.

“Would you give me the honor of one dance, to celebrate our reunion?” Theo heard Arthur ask as he approached.

By the awkward smile you gave him, you had no intention of accepting, but was too polite to tell him to fuck off. So Theo crossed the rest of the way and wrapped an arm around your waist, making you jump. But as you realized it was him, you relaxed.

“Go play with your dog and get your hands off mine, Arthur.”

“Yours, Old Chap? I thought she was up for adoption after you were so intent on kicking her out?”

“Do you really think I will take a lecture from someone who can’t be serious about a relationship to save his life? Or at least what little is left of his dignity?” Theo turned away from Arthur, unable to stand the way his friend smiled at him and the way he looked at you. “Hier, Hondje.” He called for you as he walked towards the door.

Although Arthur was right. He shouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t listen.

He walked into the hallway outside, and didn’t go far before you rushed out after him.

As the door closed behind you, he could still hear Arthur on the other side.

“Don’t mind us. Go ahead and have fun.”

Of course he knew what he was doing, and Theo felt even worse that he had fallen for it. There was no doubt Arthur approached each of you when he did on purpose.

Theo didn’t dare look back at you after that, as he made his way to a nearby balcony, only conscious of your footsteps following him.

“You didn’t need to talk like that in front of everyone.” You complained as soon as the two of you found yourselves alone.

Theo dared a side glance at you, to find you quite flustered, but it looked more like it was of embarrassment than anger, despite how you sounded.

Of course the fact you actually listened to him, to complain only in private, didn’t help your case either.

“You came, didn’t you? Like the good puppy you are.” Theo reached out to pat your head, but stopped halfway.

He couldn’t just pretend everything would be back to normal before he at least apologized.

“But,” and he couldn’t believe he was ever considering it, “Arthur is right. I have no right to claim you when I was the one who pushed you away. Again. You deserve someone who will take proper care of you.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have made such a careless joke. Neither refused to tell you when the reason I went away had nothing to do with our fight.”

Theo sighed.

“Yes. You shouldn’t have made such a stupid joke. But I shouldn’t have yelled either.” This time he did touch your face. “I messed up.” He moved his hand to the back of your head, nudging you closer. “I thought about everything we had, and everything we could have. Everything I would be giving up if I let you go. And I realized losing you would be a bigger sacrifice than any other decision I could take.”

“That’s how I feel too. I know you want to protect me, but don’t push me away to do so.” You rested a hand over his chest. “You’re not going to lose me because I decided to stay.”

Stay. You were so prepared to, not only sacrifice everything but also risk your life to stay with him. But that only strengthened his resolve to follow up with what he decided while you were away.

“I still can’t protect you from getting sick, but I realized I could go back with you, instead. Keep you safe, and keep you close.”

“Would you really leave Vincent, to live with me in the future?”

That was the hard part, but the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that was the best decision. Unless there was a way he didn’t have to choose.

It was funny how you stared at him with such disbelief, but he had to admit it was surprising even for him when he first thought of it. But that disbelief from you quickly gave way to radiant smile as tears pooled at the corner of your eyes, and you tightened your hold on his clothes.

“If that is his decision.” Theo explained, whipping away your tears. “I have been chasing him for so long, but I realized it is time we live our own lives, and if we have to do so far away from each other… But I would like to ask him to come with us. All you told me about art in your time, it would be easier to share his work and with many more people. He could live somewhere nearby, and we would still have our privacy. But I haven’t asked him yet. And this party today… I had such a bad feeling he didn’t plan it just for my birthday, but also as a farewell party.”

“Really? Because I thought he planned the party as a means to distract the others and get us time to talk.” You laughed, then shook your head, lowering your gaze for a moment, before looking up at him again. “But as happy as you making such decisions on my behalf makes me, I think we shouldn’t make it final yet. You bring such good to this world, Theo. Your work is harder here, but it’s also more necessary. The artists of this time are lucky to have you helping them, and I can tell this makes you happy. I don’t want to stop doing that because of me. Can’t we think a little more about it before we really decide?”

You were thinking of other people, even now. Although it was true, it made him happy to help talented artists thrive, and it was harder for them to do so in this period. But he didn’t intend to let you sacrifice everything you built for him. Now just wasn’t the best time to convince you, not with how he felt.

“Fine. We can discuss this later."

Pulling you closer, Theo finally kissed you. He had missed being able to do so. Your warmth, your taste… It felt like years since he last had any of it.

“Happy birthday, Theo.” You whispered when he let you go, your face quite flushed. “Shouldn’t we save this for later and get back to the party?”

“No. I don’t plan to let you go back there tonight. Everyone is so eager for your attention.”

“They’re just glad I’m back. And Arthur also teasing you a little. But they’re all there to celebrate your birthday. I will stay close, if you want to return.”

“By now they should know all I want for my birthday is to enjoy my best gift ever. You.” He kissed you again. “I don’t know how you did it, but I can’t live without you. I can’t stop thinking about you.” Not when you weren't there and his thoughts were filled with longing, neither when you were by his side, and he was now filed with love and sometimes this burning desire for more than just your presence.

Before you could protest, he captured your lips again, in a deeper kiss, happy that you didn’t even try to resist. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, as his other hand encircled your waist, mostly supporting you as you had to stand on your tiptoes to be at a proper height for him to kiss.

Theo nipped at your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth, letting him in. He tried to pull you even closer and deepen the kiss mire, even when you were practically pressed to him already. Desire burned within him, from his throat as the bloodlust intensified, to… lower regions. Everything in him clamored for more of you. Every kiss was almost immediately followed by another, barely giving either of you time to breathe.

He only released you when your body nearly collapsed in his arms, both of you panting, his own head dizzy, but Theo picking you up.

“Was it too much already, Hondje?” You shook your head weakly, and he smirked. “Good. Because I’m just starting with you. It’s my birthday and I will enjoy my gift. Thoroughly.”

Tag List:

@yarnnerdally, @tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles

@bicayaya, @2-lines-and-a-circle, @vampiricpancake

@eventinelysplayground, @specters0rd

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, even if it's in specific contents, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

#Fang's 100 Followers Celebration #anyfandomfluffbingo #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo #ikevamp #fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic

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bleachbleachbleach · 1 month

Text

Me, moping!

Sharing fanfic is such a depressing hobby. You know that gift exchange fic I took time away from WRITING MY LONG-STANDING WIP to write? I spent weeks on it! I tried like four different versions of it, and it spent a lot of time genuinely not being very good; but I kept working on it, and I worked on it until I thought it was good, and by the time I submitted it I actually really liked it. I've gone back to read it a few times since and been like, damn, this is good actually!! And I was excited for it to post.

It posted this week, aaaaand my giftee did not like it. They left a three sentence comment and none of those sentences were about anything they, uh... enjoyed. Which made me cry on this, a MONDAY.

I've said this before, but I really, for real, need to not do gift exchanges anymore. Because writing a fic for someone creates this sort of obligation where now they HAVE to read it, even if under normal circumstances they would not. And that feels bad. (But then, if they don't feel obligated to read it and ignore it outright, that also feels very bad.) This is a lose/lose.

And then someone else posted about how much they VEHEMENTLY hated the gift fic they received, too. They said they knew the author wasn't going to see their comments (though the exchange is currently anonymous--how would they know?), but I am one of the people who runs the exchange, and it was in a place *I* very much would see it? Which like, I guess people are entitled to venting (that's what I'm also doing right now I guess!). But it makes me really sad that they would 1) post publicly to say negative things about someone's fic in a way that made it REALLY easy to identify exactly which specific fic they were talking about, instead of at least speaking in generalities about characterizations things they don't like, and 2) not care if I saw how much they hated their gift. Because it makes me feel like, do they want me to see it?? What do they want me to do about it? I don't want to do anything about it. The person obviously put a lot of work into their gift; it's not like they just dashed off some garbage they didn't care about. So, yeah, this is a great hobby!

I'm trying to focus on the fact that *I* like the fic I wrote, even though ngl I currently like it less than I did before. 😐 I also really enjoyed checking in with my friend as we write/struggled to write our fics, in solidarity with each other. That was so much fun! And I have really enjoyed working with that same friend in running the exchange. And overall people have worked really hard on their gifts and been fairly communicative with us as mods, and there have only been a few weirdos to deal with.

I hope someone is nice to me tomorrow because oh my god, it is ONLY MONDAY.

#writing

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lettersfromaphrodite · 1 year

Text

[2.31]

― pairing : Minho x fem! reader ― content warnings : wolf AU, reader is a witch, soulmates, choking kink, a lot of smut y’all, Minho has submissive tendencies 👀, does the word “purplish” even exist? I don’t know, go with the flow, medieval settings as always , unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all), fantasy au ― word count : 3.294 ― notes: different day, different life, different blog but this fic is still dedicated to @minbiny because back then, she was the one who requested this

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

🐺🔮 WOLVES! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris part one | part two // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho part one | part two // Felix // Jeongin

Minho moaned – the sound being close to an animalistic growl, against your neck as he effortlessly scooped you up with his hands behind your thighs, sitting you on the counter of your small, wooden kitchen.

«Minho,» you wanted to giggle at his needy behaviour, but the sound came out as a breathless whine instead. «We have to finish to wash the dishes.» you said, your arms closing behind his neck as he pressed his body against yours while leaving open mouthed kisses on your marked neck; Minho always became much more needy when the full moon was approaching, leading you to secretly wish for the moon to remain full every night.

You and Minho met each other more than a year ago and, despite what you believed, the visions about him never stopped, leaving the both of you incredibly flustered during improbable times of the day. Both of you thought that once you had accepted your soulmate bond, your visions would go back to normal, showing you fragments of future not regarding your mate; but even if almost everything you could see were images of Minho fucking you into oblivion, you were definitely not disappointed.

«You’re a witch,» Minho breathed on your neck, and goosebumps immediately erupted on your skin, «you could cast a spell.» his fingers lifted your long cotton skirt in order to grip your bare thighs and, for a moment, you were about to give in and let him fuck you – once again, on the kitchen counter.

«I won’t.» you smiled, pleased with yourself to hear his disappointed whine. Minho eventually obliged, but still decided to finish marking up your neck with a purplish hickey before detaching from you.

After one long year, you were still amazed about the fact that doing house chores with Minho could be actually funny; you went from doing everything by yourself to do everything with a mate willing to help you and spend time with you, somehow managing to make you laugh in the process. By now, Minho was perfectly aware about the fact that using too much magic in a too short amount of times made you feel sick and so, he helped you finish washing the dishes before escorting you to town.

The news about a pack made of wolves and witches living in the woods quickly spreaded in the town next to where you all lived, and contrarily to your expectations, they saw your pack as their protectors. Therefore, the fact that you and the other witches would follow the citizens’ requests and cast protections spells over the village was by now a habit.

Every month, following the moon’s calendar, you’d take turns and walk to the village in order to cast a powerful spell which irredeemably made you feel weaker and as if your head was about to explode, but the citizens’ gratitude and the money compensation you received was a fair exchange for you – or the other girls, being sick for few hours.

Since it was your turn to cast the spell, Minho escorted you all the way to the village, patiently waiting for you to finish while playing with some of the children living there, and giggling along with you as they offered you some flowers as soon as you were finished. Both you and Minho dearly loved kids and so, you ignored the headache that was now making you feel slightly dizzy, and as your eyes flashed golden once again, the flowers immediately turned themselves into small, neat flower crowns for both you, Minho and the kids – which were ecstatic with the fact that you could use magic and immediately started running around to let other people see “the pretty witch’s gift”.

«They’re right, tho,» Minho said, hugging your shoulders and making you instantly feel relieved thanks to his touch, «you’re pretty.»

«I better be,» you answered with a snort, «they also called me “Madam”. Oh, come on! You look older than me, why do they never say anything about you?» you playfully whined, heading out of the village while your fingertips were interlocked with Minho’s – which was smiling at your outburst, finding you very much adorable and very little threatening.

As soon as you and Minho were far enough from the village, he kneeled in front of you, and you eagerly lifted your skirt to effortlessly let him carry you on his back; with a sigh, you nuzzled your nose on Minho’s neck, hearing him chuckle and gently shake his shoulders because he was ticklish. Tightening your hold around Minho’s shoulders, you shortly closed your eyes, loving how even the mere touch of your mate could make you feel better, as he led you both through the path in the woods, which conducted the both of you back home.

Both you and Minho decided to take a break and lay on the grass of a small clearing in the woods, your faces kissed by the sunlight as you peacefully relaxed; there was still time until night and therefore, before Minho completely acted out of control due to the moon’s influence.

To be honest, no one in the pack has ever hurt you or the other witches - at least not after Changbin hurt his mate by mistake during a full moon hunt, but even so, you were just used to spend the night of the full moon away from each other; by now, you and the other girls were used to meditate together by the moon while the wolves were running free on their night hunt.

While your eyes were still closed you felt a delicate, warm sensation enveloping your right hand and you instinctively smiled, aware that Minho had just intertwined his fingers with yours and was now bringing your joined hands towards his lips in order to kiss the top of your hand, your knuckles, your fingers. Instinctively, you giggled and shied away from his touch at the sensation of Minho’s lips brushing your skin with such a feather touch it was almost ticklish.

«How do you feel?» Minho asked, propping himself on his left elbow, partially shielding you from the sunlight while silently admiring your beauty.

«I’m good,» you smiled, looking at him after taking a deep sigh, happy that your boyfriend was concerned with your well-being, «A kiss would make me feel even better.» you moved your still joined hands so that you could toy with the strings hanging from the collar of his shirt, giving it a light pull towards your frame. Minho was watching you with his eyes full of love and desire that despite the fact that you were out in the open you almost felt like you could hardly breathe. Will he ever stop having such an effect on you?

«That can be arranged,» Minho answered with a playful smile and within an instant, his lips found yours.

It started out as a gentle, innocent kiss; as cliché as it was, Minho’s kisses really made you feel more powerful and somehow, made you regain all the energy you eventually lost because of casting powerful spells. Gradually, a wave of warmth spreaded through your body in multiple different sensations; you indeed felt more powerful but on the other hand, Minho’ s hand furtively sneaking around your throat until it rested on the side of your jaw had started to make you feel incredibly aroused. What started out as a languid repetition of brief pecks on your lips turned into Minho tilting his head, and with a gentle but firm grip on your jaw, he slightly moved yours as well, in order to deepen your kiss while his tongue was dancing with yours almost in a teasing manner. You sighed against his lips, pulling on the strings of his shirt in order to make him lean even closer to you; shifting your position, you bent your knees in order to move even closer to Minho, which caught the opportunity to reach out and grab the hem of your dress and lift it over your knees, making it fall around your waist.

Immediately, Minho’s hands gripped your thigh, as his lips were still busy kissing your neck; the pent up frustration from your morning make out session made you feel even more sensitive, so that you couldn’t help but whimper and hold your lover closer as he parted your thighs in a rough manner using his hand. Minho was definitely not in the mood to tease – neither were you, and you were glad that he wasted no time into slipping two fingers inside you, eventually moving his body between your legs as he busied himself scissoring and curling his fingers inside you. Despite the fact that he was trying to be careful, you could feel the approaching full moon’s effects already influencing his movements, since sometimes, he had to reach out and kiss you in order to distract himself and not give in into his wild and animalistic side that was begging him to claim you immediately. You kissed him back eagerly every time; you perfectly knew that during sex, Minho could get pretty rough sometimes, and you absolutely loved it.

It was definitely one of the messiest foreplay sessions you’ve had - aside the ones where Minho was in heat, since somewhen in between that make up session you managed to reach out, unbutton his trousers and pump his shaft into full hardness, enjoying you lover’s throaty moans against your skin.

Minho’s eyes were now completely golden, and held the same desire you held for him; all it took for you was a quick glance to understand that you didn’t need further foreplay, and Minho smiled at you in a silent way to thank you. His instinct was about to take the lead and he couldn’t wait to bury himself inside your wetness; you, however, couldn’t wait to catch the perfect occasion to tame him. You’ve been thinking about trying to be the dominant one for a while, mostly driven by the curiosity to see Minho falling apart under you, and you couldn’t help but wonder how needy he could get in such circumstances. Minho’s moan as soon as he bottomed out inside of you was somewhere between a whine and a low, throaty growl, and you had to force yourself not to come on the spot because of his blissed out expression.

Patiently, Minho kissed your neck, nibbling along the skin every now and then and waiting for you to get used to the sudden stretch; you smiled to yourself, content about the streak of praises he was mumbling against your skin, before purposely clenching hard around him, which immediately whined right next to your ear - definitely one of your favourite things. Minho quickly got the input and started moving, frantically thrusting his hips in a harsh and slow pace, occasionally burying his head in your neck as his breathing got even more ragged; at first, you found it ridiculous how the moon could influence a wolf’s sexual behaviour so much, but you slowly started to get used to it, growing to appreciate how demanding and rough he could get. Minho sat straight, balancing his weight on his knees while tightly gripping your hips under your skirt - now completely pooled around your waist, and threw his head back as he changed his pace, his strokes now a little faster than before.

Needless to say, the moon didn’t only affect him, and you were reduced to an oversensitive moaning mess, feeling even more sensitive than you originally were.

However, you were desperate to see a particular visions of yours come true and so, even if it took you a lot of concentration and some effort, you propped yourself on your right elbow, reaching out to hold Minho’s nape with your left hand in order to pull him in for a passionate kiss; eventually, you smirked in victory against his lips as soon as you felt him relax under your touch, immediately rolling the two of you around, so that you were now on top of him.

Thankfully, you were a witch, and so, while you shifted positions you managed to get rid of your skirt while casting a brief spell, seeing with the corner of your eyes that the fabric was neatly folding itself next to you as you were staring at Minho’s pleading eyes, currently blown with lust and a glimpse of adoration.

«Come on, witch,» Minho whimpered, lifting his hips from the ground in a weak thrust to prove his point; you scoffed at how he managed to be so demanding even while what roles were reversed, but complied to his request. Minho’s strong hands gripped your naked hips, short nails drawing small crescent moon shapes as they sank into your tender skin. Since the front leather strings of his shirt were untied, the shirt was half-open and allowed you to scratch long red lines along his toned and tan chest. Minho threw his head back, bending his knees and placing his feet on the floor, and he begun thrusting up into you, meeting you halfway and causing you to jolt forward with a loud moan, using his torso as a support while your nails sank into his skin as well.

Furrowing your brows, you allowed yourself to get lost in the pleasure as continuous moans escaped your lips, even if you were hyper aware about Minho’s body language; by now, you made love a countless number of times and you perfectly knew the moment he was about to come. Every time Minho was close, his grip on you would tighten, and he’d throw his head back moaning incoherent phrases as his hips lost any kind of rhythm, thrusting sloppily into you; this time, as soon as you realized he was close, you halted your hips and snapped your eyes open, golden meeting golden.

Minho looked at you with a confused expression, why couldn’t he move? Every one of his doubts eventually found an answer as they acknowledged your victorious smile.

«Come on, wolf,» you smiled at him, lifting his hands over his head, «Let me have some fun as well,» you casted another spell, watching as some strands of ivy started snaking on the grass as if they were alive, moving towards the two of you and wrapping themselves around Minho’s wrists in a tight rope, before you allowed your boyfriend to move once again. He looked to you with stupor, never once you tried to be dominant with him, especially near a full moon; surprisingly enough, the thought of you taking the lead aroused him more than he originally thought. With confident movements, you started to grind on his length, making the remaining of your clothes disappear thanks to your magic - clothes that politely folded themselves on top of your skirt.

The sight of a desperate Minho sprawled out and tied up under you was much better than you could have ever imagined; his chest was flushed red, and you could see the rapid rise and fall of his torso as he struggled to keep his breath even. His eyes were locked on you, attentively following any and every one of your movements, as if in that moment, the dangerous predator was you instead of him. Minho arched his back as your teeth closed around his nipple, his hips stuttering against yours as he tried to focus on not to come, yet.

«Can’t you stay still?» you mumbled, licking a long stripe on his chest, «Do you want to be punished that much?» Minho quickly shook his head with a weak whimper, his eyes shut close due to the fact that you were indeed keeping on stimulating him but you were doing it with such slow and teasing movements that he had to refrain himself from moving his hips in fear of what your punishment might be.

«Please,» he whimpered, his voice small and his length repeatedly twitching inside you; you knew he was close - you were as well, and you mistook his plead as a request to let him come, you gave in with a soft sigh; after all, you’ll have countless occasions to tease him further in the future, but at the moment, you both needed to come.

Balancing your weight on his chest, your hips picked up pace, and you were effectively bouncing on his length as Minho kept begging you to keep going, pulling on the ivy ropes and resulting it to be an useless move, since your spell was still active and therefore they were indestructible.

«Choke me,» Minho whined again, and at the unexpected request, your hips stuttered against his for a moment, «please.»

Well, this was definitely new; you’ve never heard Minho sound so desperate and needy, and you’ve never seen him look so helpless. You’ve never seen this side of Minho before, and you knew you’d probably never get enough of it. Nodding, your slowed your pace as your right hand caressed his torso all the way up, until your fingertips hesitantly caressed his neck before closing around it with a slight pressure; you knew you grip wasn’t tight enough to prevent him from breathing, but the fact that Minho immediately choked on a whimper made your fingers tighten a little bit more, massaging the base of his neck while applying pressure every now and then.

Minho came without warning you, arching his back and pulling on the ivy ropes as if they were his only grip on reality; his orgasm caught you off guard enough for your spell to weaken, and your lover managed to effortlessly break them, his arms falling limp on the grass for few seconds, before he eventually reached out to you.

Minho propped himself on his hands, so that your eyes were at the same level; his left hand eventually ghosted over your body, hyper aware to the fact that you were still moving on top of him because he was weakly whimpering in overstimulation because of it.

«Come for me, witch,» only when Minho gently connected your lips by holding your cheek, you felt them: two pointy ivory fangs were occasionally grazing your lower lip, and that was everything you needed to come, burying your head in the crook of Minho’s shoulder as he threw his head back in a streak of whimpers and curses, since you kept clenching around his overstimulated length.

«My wrists are sore,» Minho chuckled, his head still thrown back.

«I’m sorry,» you admitted, wrapping your hands around his chest, as if it would have made him feel better.

«It’s okay, it was worth it,» he shrugged, making your head move by inertia, «we should do it again.» he timidly confessed, and you nodded against his skin.

«Do you think our kids will be witches or wolves?» he asked out of the blue, as the two of you were almost home, you hummed in answer.

«Probably a cute hybrid, like a wolf with magical powers.» you answered, honestly confused about it because you’ve never heard about a witch being a wolf’s mate – despite the bizarre coincidence of Minho’s pack.

«Can’t wait to find out.» he chanted, hugging your shoulders and, kissing your hair, making you tense up for a moment; you loved kids and you knew Minho loved them as well, but you never thought – or talked, about having one which was completely yours before.

As vision of a little child resembling your mate running around your house just to throw herself in Minho’s arms – which immediately lifted her up in the air, suddenly occupied your thoughts, and you smiled, aware that he saw the same thing as you did. «Yeah, can’t wait to find out.»

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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olderthannetfic · 4 months

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Hi, OTNF & Co (and YoungerThanNetFic)! So, I have a question.

When I started out doing gift exchanges and the like, I thought the idea was to not force your own vision on the prompter, and that in return you would be left a modicum of, you know, leeway in your own endeavour.

So yes, you'd follow the prompt(s) given, respect the DNWs and the wants if given, of course! But I've always felt that expecting someone to write exactly what you want was a doomed thing--the only person who could hit your buttons just so was yourself, and chance might make it happen sometimes when you find you read THE fic, but you can't expect a mystery person whose skills you don't know to just do it. That seems... unfair, compared to letting them play to their own strengths?

If I'm expected to follow a very detailed plot already outlined for me, then I know that I will have absolutely no desire and worse, no ability to do it. All I'm left with is "Why don't you write it yourself if you already know everything that's going to happen?" (If you couldn't tell, I'm definitely not someone who likes detailed scenario prompts, lol. Best way to get me to dry up instantly).

I thought the idea of gift exchanges would be to accept a little bit of surprise, at least--sure, I prompted, idk, "Space Pirates AU," but I wasn't expecting the vampire twist! I've also always considered fandom events to be for the entire fandom, not just the participants; I thought the goal was to make your giftee happy with a story they'd like, sure, but that you put in effort to make it good for them AND everyone else who might enjoy it.

But then, I've seen and heard different things; that one should follow a list of very detailed wants (the... letter? for Yuletide? I've never participated so I'm a bit ??? about Yuletide) and that somehow everyone was apparently expected to be able to write stuff they don't vibe with or even dislike, if the needle falls on you. I'm assuming a modly human touch is supposed to help with that, but now this is all making gift exchanges look quite scary instead of an exhilarating perspective.

It depends very much on the exchange and the people.

I personally love outline-level prompts as long as the person gets that I might write something else.

For Yuletide, I do generally consider it a present only for that one person because it's quite possible that nobody else cares about slashfic of Medieval Spanish books of proverbs or whatever.

Letters in Yuletide are optional to write and optional to read. The writer isn't obligated to follow any of your details other than DNWs that are listed in the actual signup, and they aren't even obligated to click the letter link.

Since they can already do whatever they want, I generally write fairly specific ideas and don't offer a lot of "You don't have to write my ship" waffle.

IMO, the key is that the more detailed your requests, the more variety you should give for each ship/fandom/whatever.

But really, most exchange participants are pretty low key. It's just the absolute die-hards who circulate massive lists of "rules" that appear nowhere official and make the whole thing more stressful.

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justgayrevolutionnaries · 1 month

Text

Of snowflakes and revolution

My gift for @fructidors for the @drinkwithme-exchange ! I was more than happy to make another fic for you, this time I wanted to focus on Grantaire an Jehan and I had so much fun writing about them, I hope you enjoy <3

This one takes place in canon era, a few weeks before the Barrière du Maine episode.

Read it below or find it on Ao3 !

February 1832

“You know, my friend, since you forced me to go out, I feel the least you could do is look happy I obliged.”

Jean Prouvaire’s words seemed to be met with an immediate success, as the man facing him, though he didn't assume the happy look expected of him, was effectively snapped back to reality and considered him with an ironic stare.

“I would apologize, but I should have thought you would be more than eager to look out that window yourself - are you not the same one who would rather talk about the shapes of the clouds than listen to Enjolras pestering us with practical matters ? I am curious what you should have to say about the snow out there.”

In Grantaire’s defense, although he was not usually one to admire the landscape, it was not everyday you could find Paris under the snow, and both of them had a feeling they should revel in the occasion, as they did not know when they would come across such a view again - or even if they ever would. In fact, Prouvaire’s face as he called out to his friend was more bemused than actually upset, as he had barely been able to tear his eyes from the window himself since they had sat down at the Corinthe.

The pair would usually meet at Prouvaire’s apartment, although it was so messy these days that there was barely enough room for him to move around, let alone his imposing and exuberant friend. Not that it bothered the poet in the slightest, it seemed almost natural for him to live amidst a mess of worn out-books, pieces of paper filled with fragmented verses and various flowers all around, and since there was always a bottle of good wine to be found somewhere in this mess, Grantaire did not mind either. This time however, upon finding out that his friend had been so absorbed in his readings that he had completely neglected his mortal needs such as buying decent food, Grantaire had positively dragged him out of the building, claiming that “burying yourself in books will make you even more boring than Combeferre” and that he needed to go out immediately to prevent this unfortunate occurrence from happening.

Which was how the two of them had found themselves walking along the quays of Paris under the freezing wind, looking for a decent place to eat. The streets were cold, probably colder than they had been in years, and although this did not affect their enthusiasm in the slightest, all Jehan could think about was that they would not be able to show their faces at the Musain for weeks to come, as they would never hear the end of it if Joly was to catch them with a cold.

Either way, as one could have expected, their wandering had led them to the Corinthe ; the cabaret was not exactly an establishment that could be qualified a “decent place to eat at” but it seemed any other place would have felt wrong - at least that was Courfeyrac’s usual saying to justify their constant going back. Well, that and the fact the waiter here knew Grantaire so well that she immediately brought not one, but two bottles to their table- two bottles that the man had been eyeing with envy since they had sat down.

As he reached for one, however, Jehan immediately slapped his friend’s hand away, blatantly ignoring the offended look he was met with.

“I will remind you - do not give me that wounded look, capital R - I will remind you that I agreed to come only if you did not inebriate yourself before we even got the chance at a meal together.”

Grantaire merely wrinkled his nose in disgust at the thought.

“Really, Prouvaire ? You, of all people, are going to tell me I am not allowed a drink today ?”

“Actually, I had expected my winning personality was enough to keep you good company - in fact, I shall take great offense if I find you brought me here only to immediately replace me with a bottle of wine. I should be upset, really. Positively vexed.”

The stern words only earned him a sarcastic look from his friend, who was used to Prouvaire’s theatrical lectures enough to know he did not mean one word of it.

However, though the redhead enjoyed teasing his friend about this subject, the truth was that being around Prouvaire had an unexpected effect on Grantaire. While the man was ever the most likely to grab a drink, and had drunk himself to oblivion more than once after a disdainful look from Enjolras, Jehan’s presence often sufficed to help him sober up. Not that the poet himself did not enjoy a drink, he was never the last to hold a glass of good wine to his lips, but he somehow seemed able to soothe Grantaire’s temperament with his mere words - after sharing a meal with the two of them, even Courfeyrac had marveled at the man’s sober self, effectively assigning Jehan the name of a “miracle worker”.

As if to acknowledge this, Grantaire’s eyes softened as he answered :

“And I am more than grateful for that company, Prouvaire. Although I think you are avoiding my question.”

At this point he took a solemn face and leaned in closer, earning him a puzzled look from Jehan.

“You will have to remind me what question you are talking about, R. I am afraid you were not the only one not paying attention.”

Grantaire leaned in even closer if that was possible and, whispering dramatically, he asked :

“What about the snow ?”

Prouvaire smiled as he understood what his friend meant. He leaned back into his chair, taking a puff of his pipe as he assumed a pensive look.

“The snow, uh ? A white mantle that comes to cover our whole city, petals white and pure, as if they had been sent by the gods themselves. For all we know, Chione could still be the one blowing snowflakes down until they reach us, so small and yet all chiseled by her hand, one by one. ”

“Is that all ? You are letting yourself go, Prouvaire. I expected more of-”

Grantaire burst out laughing as Jehan threw his hat at him, deliberately missing his face.

“Would you just let me think, you heathen !”

He closed his eyes to better concentrate, deciding that his friend’s ironic smile was not helping him at all.

“City asleep in the silence

Footsteps of a ghost in the night-”

“A ghost, really ? It seems to me those appear every time you try and write a verse about anything.”

“And why should we not talk about spirits ?” Jehan countered. “They are all around us. But if you have better inspiration, feel free to share it ; I shall be glad to hear what you have to say.”

Though caught off guard, Grantaire was more than happy to oblige.

“Snow falls from the sky like sparkles in the dark- no, this one doesn’t feel right. Keep going, you are better at this than I am.”

“No, no, wait, you had a good one with this. Snow falls down from the sky, sparkles in the dark / Black and white as far as my eyes can see…”

Here the poet stopped for a moment as he seemed to come back to reality, and he blushed slightly at the pride written on Grantaire’s face.

“I can keep going, if you want me to,” he said almost timidly.

“Of course you could. You seem to have a gift for this, you know. Poetry- your sensitivity seems to come almost naturally in your words.”

“You are not so bad with words yourself, my friend. You should consider coming by to help us write a speech, one of those days.”

Though light-hearted and seemingly nonchalant, the offer was merely met with a disdainful scoff from the man facing him.

“A speech ? So I can stand by and make a fool of myself with nonsense while Enjolras tells me to go home ? I don’t see what use I could be there. You should know by now your speeches mean near nothing to me.”

As Jehan was about to answer, his eyebrows furrowed, he found himself choking on the smoke of his own pipe. His friend seemed used to this occurrence, as he began softly patting the redhead's back with a bemused smile.

“I am a lost cause, Prouvaire. You should go waste your time on someone else. Besides, you should know Enjolras would never allow me in the vicinity if he is writing a speech to rally workers - or whatever it is you are trying to do - I would only spoil his credibility.”

“Grantaire, I have seen you go on for hours about the most beautiful of subjects - do you think I don’t remember that time you made up a limerick in just a few seconds, with only a candle for inspiration ? Your problem is not your style of speech, because you are splendid at it, it is merely your convictions.”

The suddenly serious tone of the poet was not lost on Grantaire, who leaned back in his chair to consider him thoughtfully.

“That is quite the compliment you are giving me here. Where are you going at with this flattery, if I may ask ?”

“I heard Enjolras is looking to make a census a few weeks from now- he believes it could be of use soon. He may be looking for someone to go to the Barrière du Maine, and I believe you are a familiar of Richefeu’s.”

Jehan understood he had got his friend’s interest as he saw, for the first time, a glint of surprise in his eye.

“You really have thought about this, have you not ?”

“What I am trying to say is, if you want to be taken as seriously as you deserve, you have to show what you are capable of. I believe you should try and convince Enjolras to let you go, just this once. You might even find you actually have beliefs- whether you are willing to admit it or not.”

As Grantaire opened his mouth to try a last word of protest, he added :

“And if you still think I was wrong about this then, I promise to buy you a meal to make up for it- and a decent one this time.”

Lost in his thoughts, his friend did not answer him immediately ; and when he did his response was lost in the noise of the conversation surrounding them. However, Jehan’s words seemed to have worked like a charm at reinvigorating Grantaire, as when the two of them finally left the café, he was engaged in one of those soliloquies not even Jehan dared to interrupt.

“Your friends may despise me, but I will have you know I am more than capable of starting a revolution if I put my mind to it. I should like to think I am not an idealist, what good did that ever do to anyone ? I refuse to die for your revolution. Prouvaire says I shall become a mere spirit too one day. I call this nonsense. Men will take a look around, and the snow bothers them no more than the sun ; still they talk of battles and oppression. I am more than happy to say I will leave the guns and the glory to you, my friend - although I shall personally be very disappointed to see a gun in your hands. You are, like me, a man of sentiment, and we shall-”

Grantaire’s grandiloquent speech was cut off abruptly as the wind caught a hold of his hat, causing it to fly off along the boulevard, a few feet before the two men. He swore profusely as he began running after it, followed by the redhead who was laughing heartily, turning his face upwards to feel the snow landing on his skin.

God, Jehan loved snow. He really wished they would get to see it fall again - next year, hopefully.

#i apologize for the late posting i have no time management skills and struggled to find a decent internet connection #hopefully i will succeed at posting this #fair warning i originally had a completely different idea for this #but then it kind of. morphed itself into a serious talk. because i can not write a fun piece to save my life #still i had so much fun writing about those two so i really hope you guys will enjoy !!!#les mis #les miserables #jean prouvaire #grantaire #les amis de l'abc #drinkwithme2024

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gargoyleandgremlinpress · 8 months

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Renegade 2023 Typeset Exchange: Achievement Unlocked by The Feels Whale

So for those of you following along with my @renegadepublishing typesetting exchange saga, I typeset a social media MDZS fic! Another MDZS fic! A pinch hit SVSS fic! Another shorter MDZS fic for the pinch hit (do it half-size, smaller is quicker, suuuure...) And then one more for @admiraltypress. Because I could.

I wasn't truly planning on doing this one. Not really. I'd sent off a request for permissions, hadn't heard back yet, and because it was a pinch hit, the timeline was pretty tight.

The typesets were due Monday. But Saturday night, I got a message back from @thefeelswhale! Sunday typeset speed run? Sunday typeset speed run!

Achievement Unlocked is a post-series SVSSS fic where Shen Yuan ends up back in his old body in our world, and Luo Binghe is pulled after him, and accosted by The System with a mission. Or, as the summary goes, "That one where Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe don’t realize they’re in a domestic fluff bonus chapter." This is fun. SO much fun, with some emotional depth that will sneak up on you, and a couple of plot twists that are delightfully bonkers as the source material.

This was a Big Bang fic, and I had a really lovely piece of fan art by Ataratah to include, and pulled the colour tones from there. Circuit board graphics are all public domain stock art, and the scene breaks are designed to mimic the typing dots in a text message. I am supremely happy with how this turned out, ESPECIALLY given the time crunch.

And that's how I ended up making five typesets for an event where I was only obligated to make one.

.... okay, technically, it's seven. Because I did the bound book exchange too, and made two books for that one. But I'll have actual physical book photos to share for that one soon, plus the saga of the Great Textblock Disaster of Late 2023. (It was all okay in the end!)

#fanbinding #ficbinding #scum villain #svsss fanfic #bingqui #the feels whale #achievement unlocked #another really elaborate fic rec #renegade publishing 2023 typeset exchange

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pancake-breakfast · 4 months

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I'm a day behind because yesterday was more busy than anticipated, but one final recommendation for Trigun Fanfiction Appreciation Week (@trigunfanfic)!

And this last spot I'm giving to Evocatio by @deludedfantasy

Words: 5,029

Status: Complete

Rating: Teen

Relevant Tags/Warnings*: Vashwood, Vash the Stampede, Eriks Vash, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Prayer, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Post-Canon (Stampede S1, ep 12)

Summary: A year after the destruction of July, Wolfwood returns to what's left of the city to pay his respects. He's never had much faith in a god, but there is one person he feels might be worth praying to....

Ok, ok, I'll get to the story in a minute, but first, I need to gush a bit about its author. Because without Dani, two of my fics wouldn't even exist. They're only here because of their request. Granted, the first one was for a gift exchange and so they didn't know the request was going to me specifically, but do you know how encouraging it is to have someone accidentally end up making a fanfic request of you and then purposely make another one?

I'm pretty sure they've read all of my meager offerings, and they comment on them and share them and seem to love them quite a bit. Most of the fanfic I write is for myself, but at this point, when I write Trigun fanfic, I think I might also be writing it for them. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU, Dani, for your constant encouragement and willingness to try and spark my creativity! No one is obligated to like or read every work by any author, but the fact that you give so much of my stuff a shot means the world to me. You make me wish I read more fanfic myself just so I could also be so encouraging.

Alright, on to the fic.

One of the more beautiful things I've found in the Trigun stories is how they provide space for their audience to work through religious trauma. I don't say that to imply that's what the author is doing with this fic, as that's beyond my scope of knowledge. Rather, I bring it up because our dear Wolfwood is working through his own share of religious trauma here, and the way he does it might provide some of that same space the original narrative does to its reader.

It's a beautiful story of a man's struggle for hope in a world where hoping often seems meaningless. Wolfwood wants so much to have a reason to hope... in the world, in others, and mostly in himself. He finds that hope in Vash, but what's he to do when Vash has gone silent? How is he supposed to keep the candle burning when the one who lit the flame is gone?

I could write a pretentious little essay chewing on this fic. Wait, no. I could write a pretentious long essay chewing on this fic. But I'll spare everyone that. Especially myself.

If you've struggled with holding onto the hope you feel you're supposed to have, or with the disconnect between what you've been told you need to be by authority figures and how you know you actually need to be, or with feeling like it's just you by yourself in a very dark world... maybe give this one a read. It may not solve your problems, but at the least, maybe it will make you feel not so alone.

Do it for Vash.

*We all know some AO3 tags are added for fun/shits and giggles/because how does one even tag, so I’m just listing some of the basic ones that might be of use to people when deciding whether or not this is for them.

#vashwood #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun wolfwood #wolfwood trigun #wolfwood tristamp #vash the stampede #eriks vash #vash trigun #vash tristamp #trigun vash #trigun #trigun stampede #trigun fic #trigun fanfiction #trigunfanficappreciation #other people's writing

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unopenablebox · 1 month

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this is wading into discourse or whatever i guess technically but that post reminded me that while i do feel that dom/kel is the only non-alanna-and-jonathan halfway compelling canon ship in the entirely of tortall, it is in fact an 8ish-year age gap that meet when kel is 14 and dom is early 20s unspecified

anyway im very aware that the reason it's the best canonical tortall ship is because absolutely nothing ever happens for it onscreen. but somehow that only makes it more annoying that the author later decided to retroactively word-of-god declare that actually kel is aroace and decides she's "too busy with her career" to get married.

which like. first of all you sure did not write her as lacking internal desire for or enjoyment of sex or romance in that book series you wrote! second of all the bar for ~aroace representation~ cannot be "this female character didn't get married to her first or second-ever sex partner at age 18, therefore she must be intrinsically uninterested in romantic relationships". i can imagine a world where the character was actually written this way, including one in which she still had her canonical ~~~dalliances~~~~ but ever seemed even slightly conflicted or reluctant or like she was doing anything out of obligation or ever had any feeling foreshadowing any of it, as just one possible example of how it could have been played! but no. pierce was just like "i don't know what to do with kel because she's tall and didn't get married as a teenager so i guess she's going to be celibate forever??"

mostly i just think this is a pathetic and blatant attempt to retroactively assign some kind of immutable Nature to kel, alone of all protagonists, not being a teen bride; also i think it's both misogynist and an insulting misunderstanding of what "being aroace" would mean; also it makes me worry that im going to get Yelled At for ignoring the Important Representation if i request dom/kel in fic exchanges, and i would prefer not to think about that, bc i don't think we should be dignifying pierce's attempted ex cathedra declarations with a response

#and i don't want to be Yelled At. i don't like it and i don't like making people feel like i don't Respect Their Identity #i do think real life people can date and have sex as teenagers and like it and later decide they don't actually want those things!#but this is a book character. who was written with a third person limited narration.#and she's only the ostensibly asexual one because she didn't get married at 18. and that's just embarrassing.#box opener #i just spent a while trying and failing not to import these takes into my fffx letter but. i failed. and then i failed again to not write #this post. so here we are.

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idolatrybarbie · 1 year

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lust for a vampire

for my fifty follower celebration! @heareball asked: max phillips and prompt no. nine— "you look so pretty like this." title from the song. i am so sorry this ended up being like, gross. and long. thanks to @wannab-urs for the reassurance and beta. if you recognize the horror movies referenced in this fic i love you.

rating & word count: 4k words | explicit

warnings: very briefly mentioned drug use, sexually explicit content, more plot than porn, dubious consent question mark, supernatural stalking, blood and its consumption, pussy slapping (like once), orgasm denial, spit play ???, background sex work/stripping, physical altercation (not with max), vaginal fingering, pet names (sweet thing, honey, sweetheart), i changed how vampires work from bsb because my writing, my rules.

It’s late now. Another thirty minutes and you get to flick the switch to the overhead lights—on and off, on and off again. Closing time. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Then there’s bar cleanup, a little sweeping, some heavy mopping. Assuring that no one’s upchucked on the stone bust of sexy Dracula out front, or making one of your coworkers clean it up if they have.

You can’t say that this is exactly what you dreamed of doing for the rest of your life: living in the slimy suburbs of a tourist trap border city, doubling as a bartender and host at a vampire-themed titty bar. Whatever. You suppose there are worse things. The patrons are usually so distracted by the girls that are actually naked that they leave you alone. The most you get is a grunted drink order, sometimes with an accompanying snort if the man ordering has just spent a little time in a bathroom stall with a bump of Big C.

Usually. Tonight, there’s a man at the corner of the bar who seems to be paying you attention in particular. He’s eyeing you more than Kali, the dancer spinning half nude on the main stage pole as crimson-coloured corn syrup slides down her body in waves.

You noticed him right away. He looks nothing like your regulars; usually sex and death goth chicks and their annoying boyfriends, or black metal listeners who could use a good shower…or three. No, the man at the bar is unlike anyone you’ve ever seen walk in here before. A tailored suit jacket strains slightly against the breadth of his shoulders, waistcoat unbuttoned as he sits sipping at his third whiskey and coke. His hair is slicked yet stylishly tousled. The glint in his eye tells you that he knows he looks good. Cocky, then.

Mercy saunters up to him with a sway in her hips, skin as pale as the moon outside. She bleaches her hair to white twice a month, keeping it shorter to handle the damage. The woman is a vampire in the flesh if you’ve ever seen one, clad in crimson lace as she lays a hand of finely manicured claws on his shoulder.

Mercy leans into him, whispering something softly into his ear. At first, you can’t gauge his reaction, watching the exchange out of the corner of your eye. You’re torn between him shaking his head and telling her to get lost, or happily obliging to let her take him for a private show.

He seems to be considering it, too, eventually nodding with a bright smile. You can’t look at his mouth as he does, teeth too bright for the low light. It looks like they almost glow. He and Mercy disappear to the back, finding one of the empty private rooms to take their business. You finish polishing another rack of glasses before a customer flags you down for a refill.

You don’t see the man when you announce last call, or again before you’re locking the doors behind the last couple of stragglers. The girls are in the back already, taking off their makeup and packing up to head home. You give the bar another good wipe down as Martin and Phil take the dirty glasses to the back. When the bar is adequate in its cleanliness, you get started on spraying down the tables. Louis is mopping both stages, the sudsy water of the industrial pale turning black from the sweat, spit, and fake blood.

Closing at three o’clock, the lot of you get out at almost four-thirty in the morning. The light of dawn hasn’t quite hit the horizon, the moon missing from the sky behind clouds of city smog. The streets are truly dark. You navigate through the alley behind the club, passing a twin pair of Dumpsters.

It must have rained while you were inside, the sidewalk wet with remnants of it. Puddles pool in the corners of the road. If you were anyone else, if you were anywhere else, this scene might be a little concerning. This is the part where the killer emerges, silent but deadly behind the wisp of a girl as she walks the streets alone. The situation isn’t exactly safe, per say. Definitely not ideal. It isn’t your fault that the closest lot with free parking is four blocks away.

You are no wisp, and this is no monster movie. This is a Saturday night like any other.

Or, well, it’s supposed to be. Turning another corner, you come upon Mercy standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Still clad in her outfit from the club, she notices you almost immediately. You stop yourself, processing what it is you’re looking at. Darkness stains half of her silky lingerie, and in this lighting you can’t tell if it’s real or fake.

Mercy sways where she stands, eyes narrowing the slightest before her face softens, an agreeable smile pulling at her lips. Her six inch heels clop against the concrete as she closes the short distance between the two of you.

“Mercy?” you ask. “What are you doing out here?”

“Hey baby,” she drawls.

“Is everything okay?”

“Much better now,” Mercy smiles. Her teeth are stained red. All of this blood…is it hers?

“What happened? Did someone do something to you?”

Your pulse is racing as you dart your eyes around the street. It remains empty spare you and her, your eyes telling you that the coast is clear. Still, the situation feels off. Mercy is still smiling as your stomach roils in your gut. When she sways a little too far to the right, you grab ahold of her arm, looping it around your shoulder.

“We’ll get you back to my car, okay?” you ask.

Mercy takes a couple of steps with you before the axis of the world changes. No, wait. Only the axis of you. The dancer has you pressed to the hard, clumpy brick of a building. Her arm sits over your neck, putting pressure on your windpipe. You claw at her arm, scratching at the milky white of her skin. It’s no use. Mercy is putting those self-defense classes to good use trying to choke you out right now.

She moves in closer to your face, nosing at your jaw down to the side of your neck.

“Smells so good. I just need…a little bit,” Mercy breathes into your ear.

“No,” is the only word you can press past your lips.

“It’ll only hurt a little, honey,” she continues, voice dripping with sweetness. It’s the one she uses with clients, a tone that’s pulled thousands of dollars of cash from the eager wallets of horny bastards. “Then, it’s going to feel so, so good.”

As your vision speckles, Mercy licks a long, wet stripe along the skin of your neck. Something about the action sets you off; the pre-emptive finality of it activates your survival instincts as you bring a knee up to her gut. The blow winds her. Mercy pushes herself off of you to clutch at her stomach, a frustrated growl ripping itself from her throat.

“That wasn’t very nice, bitch,” she mutters.

You take off down the street, praying to whatever god that Mercy’s newfound kink for street violence hasn’t instilled in her the ability to sprint in Pleasers. You’re so close now; the lot where your Chevy sedan has been parked and baking since dinnertime is finally in sight. Air isn’t quite reaching your lungs as fast as you need it, the world around you hazey as you continue to run to your car.

Blinking, the parking lot is gone when you open your eyes again. Someone’s dropped a black curtain in front of you—or so you think. When you collide chest-first with a man on the sidewalk, you recontextualize. You were staring at the shoulder of his suit jacket.

Another moment passes as you realize just who the man is. Three-piece, from the club. The man who sat at the bar making eyes at you all night long. Tonight must be a cosmic punishment.

“Hey, whoa there.” He holds his hands out, almost in surrender. Concern blankets his features as he looks you over. “Everything alright?”

“Look, I really don’t have time—”

You stop yourself, sucking in frantic gasps of air. Grabbing onto the nearest wall, you brace yourself as you cough and choke on oxygen. The stranger watches you, then glances down the street the way you came. It seems his critical thinking skills have kicked in.

“Is someone following you?” he asks.

“My crazy fucking coworker…” you start, “has taken up casual street assault.”

“Let’s get you out of here, alright? Is your car nearby?”

You nod, pushing yourself up and off the wall. He guides you across the street to your car, standing with you as you sift through your bag for the keys. When you find them, you turn to the man.

“Well, thanks.”

“Not a problem at all,” he says. Slowly, he turns to walk away. Then you remember how many drinks you served him earlier.

“Hey, do you want a ride home?” Bad idea. Bad idea.

The man turns around and faces you once again. “I’m alright,” he says.

Three whiskey and cokes, a couple of shots, and whatever might have gone out to his private room that you hadn’t been able to keep track of.

“It’s not a hassle,” you shrug.

This is better. You would rather drive to a stranger’s house at dawn and drop him off than have him pass out somewhere in the street—or worse, let him try to drive home and end up hurting someone.

You tell him your name. He says his name is Max. The two of you get into your car. Buckling your seatbelt, you ask, “Maxwell? Or Maximillion?”

“Just Max.”

You hum. “Straight to the point.”

“I try to be.”

The car starts with minimal fanfare and you pull out of the parking lot. You scan the streets for any sign of Mercy, but come up empty in your search. You’re too tired to think about her or the odd encounter anymore.

“So what draws someone like you to a place like that?” you ask, referring to the club.

“Someone like me?” Max asks.

“Come on, look at you. The suit? You look like you’re fresh off the trading floor.”

“Not quite. Mergers and acquisitions,” he says.

“Point still stands,” you say. “What brings you to a gothic striptease?”

Max shrugs beside you. “Reminds me of college, I guess.”

You can’t help the laugh that falls from your mouth. The strange answer does nothing to satisfy your lingering curiosity, but you focus back on the road. Max tells you when to turn and which streets to take, leading you out of town. Twenty minutes into your drive, you realize he’s guiding you past the university and over the connecting bridge.

“Lewiston?” you ask, glancing at him. Max is already staring at you, eyes softening when they meet yours.

“It’s quaint,” he says.

And he’s right. When you pull into the driveway of his house, you momentarily wonder if you’ve arrived at the wrong address. Max doesn’t share the hesitance, getting out of the car and rounding the front to meet you at the driver’s side window. You roll it down, letting him duck his head in the slightest bit.

Max leans his forearms against the opening in the door. “Thanks for the ride,” he says. And then he’s offering to let you come inside, grab a coffee before you hit the road again.

You want to say no—should, considering how late (early?) it is. Glancing at the clock on your dashboard, you look up at Max to politely decline, but can’t summon the words. There’s something about his eyes, dark and wondrous as they stare. He doesn’t blink, waiting on your answer.

“A coffee couldn’t hurt,” you say. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

Max steps away from the door to let you get out. It closes with a solid thud, and then he’s leading you up to the front steps of his home. He doesn’t reach for any keys, simply turning the knob and pushing the door open. You barely make note of this, too distracted by his presence and the walls of his front hallway.

Everything in here seems perfect, the cutesy makings of a home somewhere in the countryside. And yet that’s what makes it totally out of place; the floral wallpaper, the simple wooden frames holding photos of faces you can’t quite parse in the dark. Maybe you’re letting outdated stereotypes get the better of you, but someone like Max would usually be living in a sleek, stainless steel cavern—not Little House on the Prairie.

Like he can read your mind, he says, “This isn’t my usual decor. It was my grandmother’s house.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Sorry for your loss.”

Max shakes his head, giving you a dismissive wave as he turns left and mills about a small yellow kitchen. “She was old. It happens. I’m in town to settle up some things, see what ends up happening to this place.”

“So you aren’t from around here,” you say.

Back turned to you, the laugh he lets out shakes his broad shoulders the slightest bit. “You caught me,” Max says.

“Between condolences and meetings with lawyers, you find solace watching naked women cover themselves in blood?”

He’s facing you again. The coffee has started to brew, steam rising from the machine as the warm smell of arabica greets your nose.

“Something like that,” he says. “What about you? The bartending life all that they say it is?”

“It’s alright.” You lean in the doorway, never quite stepping into the kitchen. “Not as terrible as other places.”

“But you aren’t fulfilled,” Max says for you.

“Things could be worse.”

“Hm,” is all he gives you.

Max gets two mugs out of his grandmother’s cupboards, filling them both when the coffee is done a few silent minutes later. He closes the distance between the counter and where you stand to hand one to you. Then he sits at the short table wedged in against the wall. The implication to sit down with him settles over you, but Max doesn’t say anything.

He’s waiting because he knows that you will. Deep down, you know it too.

When you cross over the threshold into the room, the world shifts. Only slightly, barely noticeable with the porcelain burning in your palm. You take the seat across from Max and set the coffee down.

“How is it?” he asks, nodding at it.

“Good,” you say. Neither of you have taken a sip of the stuff.

Max’s hand is on the table, resting on a doily next to his own mug. He asks, “What’s got a woman like you walking the streets at night all alone?”

“Free parking,” you say.

His lip twitches. “That all?”

“Fourteen dollars a night adds up when you work six times a week.”

“No, I mean,” Max says, “that can’t be it.”

His hand is closer to your own now. You aren’t sure when it moved. The proximity of his skin to yours sets your pulse racing again; instinct kicking in once more.

“Small town, lots of tourists. People from all over the world in and out of there all the time. You’re sure to come across some scary characters.”

“When you’re the one plying ‘em with alcohol, it’s a little different. Don’t wanna bite the hand that feeds,” you say. “I can handle myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” Max agrees. He uses his pointer finger to draw a line along the length of your thumb. His touch is ice cold. The contact makes you shiver.

“I don’t scare easy,” you continue, heart in your throat now.

“Is that right?” he asks.

You can’t tell what he means by that. You move to grab the mug before you, finally taking a sip to avoid answering the question. The brew is acrid. This close to your nose, it smells like lemons and bleach. Frowning into the mug, you look up at Max again. His chair sits empty.

Your brain can’t catch up with your eyes. Suddenly, something is pressing into your back, and for the second time tonight you find yourself pinned to an unfamiliar wall. Max is gentler than Mercy, a single hand at your shoulder to press you against the peeling paint behind you.

You open your mouth to say something, anything at all. Please don’t kill me. The coffee’s fine, I swear.

“Aw, don’t be scared,” he says, low and close to your ear. The words rumble in his chest, something like a purr against your ribcage.

“Don’t hurt me,” you whisper.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Max says. “You look so pretty like this.”

“What do you want?”

“What do you want?” he asks, turning the question around. “I’ve watched you… I know you, sweetheart. This isn’t the life you want, is it? Certainly not the life you deserve.”

Despite yourself, you start to lean a little into his body; aching cold against your broiling warmth. Your neck and forehead are damp with sweat.

“I can give you all you’ve ever wanted,” Max says. “Remake you and your life. Never grow old. Never die.”

It’s fun to be a vampire. Yeah, you’ve seen that nineties movie too.

All night, you’ve been missing the forest for the trees. Mercy and her frantic, violent behaviour; the stains that soaked her lingerie. Max sidling up to the bar again, out of place and yet perfectly suited to the grimey, bleeding environment.

“Max…” you breathe.

“All you have to do is say yes,” he says.

This man is overwhelming, breathing down your neck and nosing along your jaw. He’s not pinning you to the wall anymore. You’ve elected to stay here. Thoughts are hard to manage, everything covered in a thick fog. His presence is intoxicating, and you have a feeling that’s on purpose.

All girls don’t want bad boys, and yet you feel yourself caving. An answer sits on the tip of your tongue. If only you could spit out the goddamn words…

“Please,” you say.

“And she’s polite with it too. Sweet thing.” Max’s cool thumb drags across your cheek. “What do you need?”

“Anything. Everything, please.”

God, this is pathetic. In your right mind this scene would make you sick, but at this moment you can’t help it. You are a wound all over, easing into Max’s soothing touch. He can fix this—fix you, needy and wanting in this lovely little home. It’s all you want; all you’ve ever wanted.

Max kisses your neck once, twice before he pulls away. His right hand wraps around your ribs to support you, the other trailing up and over your stomach, your sternum. He splays his fingers across your clavicle, feeling the heat of your skin. His touch is bleak, sapping the warmth from your body.

You can’t tell if it’s his voice or your own echoing in your ears. What draws someone like you to a place like this? But what kind of place is this exactly?

Max shreds the front of your shirt, the sparkly white logo of the strip club torn in two as the fabric hangs limply off your body. With no bra underneath, he has free access to fondle your breast. His cold hand over your heart makes you shiver.

Kissing down your chest, he still holds your side, even as he crouches in front of you. Through bleary eyes, you watch as Max kisses at either of your hips before making quick work of the button and zipper of your jeans. You pull at his hair, needing him up here. Truly, you need him everywhere; to consume you and warp you beyond identification. Go ahead and make you something new.

“Max, please,” you whine.

He licks a line from your stomach to the dip between your neck and collarbones, cold air catching at the saliva in the absence of his tongue. Then he’s face to face with you again, smiling. Max slides his hands into your pants and tuts lightly. You’re wet, and he can feel it. Embarassment floods you, making you squirm.

“Oh honey, relax. It’s only natural,” he says.

Max rubs at you over your panties, lightly grazing your clit through the fabric with each pass. It’s gentle. It isn’t what you need.

You grip his arm harshly. No matter what he is, it hurts. A little bit of something flashes in his eyes, coming and going too quickly. Something you need.

“Give me what I want,” you demand softly.

“This what you want, huh?” Max asks.

He shoves his fingers past the band of your panties, the pads of his fingers brushing hard against you. Two of them find your clit, circling over it deliciously. Still, this isn’t enough. You whimper with a shake of your head.

“Oh no, sweetheart. That’s not it,” Max says knowingly. He’s teasing and it’s killing you. “Want these, huh?”

As he asks, Max bares his teeth at you; long and intimidating, the enamel looks sharp and pointy. Seeing them has you canting your hips up into his hand.

“Bite me,” you gasp. “Bite me, bite me, please.”

His fingers on you move impossibly faster, hedging you towards the edge at a lightning pace. Heat spreads from between your thighs outwards, creeping up through your stomach, your arms, your fingertips. It’s a struggle to keep yourself upright against the wall.

Max returns his mouth to your neck, sucking and licking at your skin. You close your eyes and wait, expecting the heavy hammer of pain to fall on you soon, orgasm just out of reach. Instead, he tugs your underwear down a little further in your jeans, cupping you in his hand. He slaps your cunt once, drawing your attention back to him.

“Look,” Max says. “Pay attention now.”

Then he continues his ministrations, fingers on your clit again. You open your mouth to groan. It’s then that he bites you, catching you off guard. The pain is searing, so hot that it’s cold underneath your skin. You can feel the length of his fangs where they dig deep into flesh.

Blood rushes from the punctures immediately, trailing in a thick stream down your body. Max gulps as he drinks it down, hand still working you over. Your orgasm drowns you, an unforgiving wave. It hurts, stomach clenching at the sensations that wrack your body. There is no air left in your lungs, all of it punched out by the pain. He’s holding your head underwater.

What kind of place is this? A very, very bad one. Strawberry Shortcake’s den of iniquity. You’re bleeding out surrounded by dainty floral wallpaper and a man—monster—that’s going to eat you alive.

You slump between the wall and Max’s chest as he withdraws his teeth from you. Blood pumps out of your carotid artery in a steady pace, another gush with each beat of your heart. It pools on the white tile of the floor. Everything is red and slippery.

Max bites into the flesh of his wrist and brings it to your lips. With the little strength you have left, you grip his arm and hold it against your mouth. You drink what slowly flows from his veins. Max’s blood is cold against your tongue, going down like a shot of cheap tequila.

“There you go, sweetheart. That feel better, hm?” he asks.

When he’s sure you’ve swallowed, he tips your head back gingerly. His face over yours, Max purses his lips. He lets spit gather between them before pushing it out of his mouth, pulling yours open with his thumb to catch it. The saliva, mixed with your own blood, slides coolly against your tongue.

You’re dying, probably. Maybe you’re already dead. Doesn’t matter, really.

Max is here. He has remade you.

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