#get in line behind bram stoker

[andy-clutterbuck]

[girlboybug]

Haunted

“my wicked tongue, where will it be, i know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me.”

or the one where it’s halloween at saltburn and you and farleigh ditch the party downstairs to celebrate with a little weed in your bedroom.

what’s playing 🎧: haunted by beyoncé

pairing : farleigh start x fem!reader (afab bodied)

*UNEDITED*

word count : 6k

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUT, virgin!reader, bi coded! reader, heavy petting, grinding and dry humping, oral f!receiving, mentions of fingering, mentions of blowjobs, little bit of tip sucking oops, handjobs, light hair pulling, boob worship, sub coded farleigh for two seconds, smidge of overstimulation

TRIGGER WARNINGS : both reader and farleigh are high when they engage in the sexual activity but it’s all consensual they’re both equally high, ummmmmmmm hints of slut shaming in the beginning by farleigh but it’s not fr fr bc his ass is mother slut let’s be honest

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY FROM ME TO YOU :3!

a/n : comments rlly motivate me so if you enjoyed this plz lmk down in the comments <3

venetia and felix are nowhere to be found amidst the neon mess of bodies that inhabit every orifice of what was once an almost eerily quiet and empty corridor just this morning.

leaving you to be doomed to a fate of enduring a poorly put together semblance of…you think frankenstein, having a one sided conversation with you. “can i get you another drink?” he asks over the booming music and for the first time in the entire interaction you smile a genuine smile, nodding with urgency. “god yes—please,” you respond eagerly, handing him back your cup. he takes it with an undeserving great sense of pride, and you exhale with relief once he disappears from your line of vision, hoping he loses you in the crowd.

“interesting costume choice,” a familiar, annoying, voice comments behind you. without even turning around yet, you find yourself rolling your eyes. you give him a once over and scoff. his fangs protrude from his smile, and you wish it looked cartoonish and stupid, but alas, he unfortunately looks good. really good. but over your dead body would you ever admit that.

fake blood is dribbled from the corners of his mouth and two neat dots rest near his pulse on the side of his neck. a brow rises and crinkles your forehead, aiding in the faux judgment you cast upon him.

“rich coming from the guy who’s wearing the most generic costume known to man.” you retort back, subconsciously withholding a level of snideness. you like the build of veiled insults you two toss back and forth, it’s never fun if you start off too strong. you enjoy the way you both ease into it. it’s a flow you’ve both unknowingly created for each other.

his head shifts to the side when he rolls his eyes and exhales under his breath, and your heart falters just a little lower within your ribcage when you see a bright red kiss stain on his jaw.

“it’s in reference to bram stoker’s dracula, a classic piece of literature, but you?” his eyes flicker over you, a little upward curve growing in the corner of his mouth. “i thought you’d be better than defaulting to a sexy version of marie antoinette.” he folds his arms over his chest, peering down at you, unbeknownst to the excitement that bubbles in the depths of his chest as he awaits whatever response you’re brewing in your head to bite back with.

heat plants itself like a seed in the pit of your stomach and extends its branches through your chest and fans over your cheeks at his observation. a hefty cloud of pride quickly replacing it when his words ring through your head again.

he thinks i look sexy?

“i’m not a sexy marie antoinette. i’m just the normal version of her.” you reply with a sense of smugness, seemingly stealing his. a panicked look of ‘oh fuck’ flashes across his face, and he tries to save face, to seem cool and collected. but you didn’t miss it for one second. and you’ll be damned if you let go of the one time farleigh let himself falter in front of you.

“i meant slutty.” he replies cooly, and you nod, a stupid grin on your face that he wishes he could wipe off. “you called me sexy.” your grin only grows and he’s already rolling

his eyes once more. “i know no one compliments you like you wish they would, so anything that remotely sounds like one is enough for you to latch onto, but i promise,” he steps forward and leans his neck downward towards you, not bothering to bend down to meet your height. “i meant slutty.”

a rush of something you don’t want to distinguish floods the shoreline of your lower stomach and trickles heat between your inner thighs at the way he speaks to you, but you hide it, barely allowing yourself to even acknowledge it. “the biggest slut i know calling someone else slutty, that’s rich,” you internally groan, knowing your reply wasn’t as witty as you’d intended.

before farleigh can verbally retaliate, your name is called out and you recognize who it belongs to; your charming frankenstein. you panic for a moment, dreading being back in conversation with him and you glance up at farleigh, hurriedly switching your bodies around, successfully shielding yourself with his stature.

he’s confused for a moment before realizing what you’re using him for. he laughs and you smack his back, hushing him. while you hide behind him you take the fleeting moments you have to outline his broad shoulders with your eyes, and how they trail into a slim little waist. his perfectly tailored suit hugs him just right, and it makes your throat get a little tight. you never took the time to notice farleigh’s physique, rather opting to semi-playfully belittle him. you find hints of regret in that.

he turns back around to face you and you snap back into the present, not the paused moment in which saltburn was empty and all that occupied it was you and farleigh and his broad back and small waist. “coast is clear.” he says, switching his weight onto one foot. “frankenstein? really?” he seems unimpressed, almost… irritated? you’re unsure.

you grumble and smooth down the invisible wrinkles in your corset. “don’t start.” but he does anyway.

“didn’t know that was your type.”

“what?”

“somewhat stupid looking, bumbling.”

“what’s it matter to you?” you ask, wondering how far he’ll go with his dissertation on why the guy he has zero knowledge on is an idiot. “it doesn’t. it’s just getting a bit sad seeing that the only people who are interested in you are so…lacking.”

you suck on your teeth and nod, shrugging before you reply. “least i’m not fucking my teachers.” he heartily laughs, sticking his tongue in the bottom corner of his lip. “and yet, they all still trump your sorry excuses of flings.”

you open your mouth to correct him but you shut yourself up before you embarrass yourself. instead you just shake your head dismissively.

you perk up when you remember a little secret pick me up you’ve been hiding. you reach into your cleavage, unaware of the way the sight stirs something inside of farleigh. you pull out the joint you tucked away for safe keeping, waving it with an offering smile. “wanna share?” you ask and he chuckles in shock at the proposition. “weed? you’re a pothead now?” you sigh annoyedly and glare up at him. “you wanna share or not? quick before i change my mind.” he smirks and nods, eyeing the joint then you. “i’ll oblige.”

he follows you to your room, holding your waist to wade through the pool of people, with you flush against him. you ignore the way his hands mold around your waist, his long fingers curled across your dress, and you especially ignore how you can feel his rings through the thin material of your dress. definitely not wondering how they’d feel on your bare skin.

no, definitely not.

—

you lean against the open window of your bedroom with the joint, not wanting to taint the air with the stench, knowing elspeth’s keen nose would immediately clock it the moment she walks into your room.

farleigh coughs a lot more than you would’ve expected him to and it makes you beam with a feeling of superiority. “you smoke like half a pack of cigarettes every day, how on earth is this making you cough so hard?” you snicker, handing him a water bottle you keep by your bed.

he glares at you, taking a hefty swig from your bottle, setting it down before extending his hand back out for the joint, determined to prove a point. “forgive me for not being used to smoking weed, unlike you, you addict,” he mutters through an exhale of smoke.

you actually guffaw at his snippy little reply, for once in shock of something he has to say. “me? an addict? weed is probably the most harmless drug like—ever, whereas you, keep a keychain of literal cocaine on you almost at all times.”

he hates that he happens to have exactly what you just said on his person in this very moment. he tucks it away into his pocket and huffs. “i just do it socially, you’re probably up here all the time smoking alone like a loser by the window,” he has an infuriating self satisfied smirk when he speaks to you and you laugh sardonically, nodding along.

“well,” you say, taking in a hit, and letting it gently fan over his face when you exhale. “no one’s forcing you to engage in something apparently so below you,” you motion towards the door with a lazy jab of your head. “doors that way if you’re not enjoying yourself.”

he remains unfaltered in your cloud of smoke, letting it envelope him. he breathes it in, leaning against the windowsill. “do you want me to leave?”

“i always do.” you don’t miss a beat, a look that tells him you don’t really mean it is thinly covered with a fake smile, eliciting a chuckle from him through pursed lips.

“i don’t believe you.” he murmurs when he inches back toward you, plucking the joint from your fingers. he takes another hit, it’s smoother, he’s more in control of it, and something flutters inside you seeing the way he closes his eyes as he exhales the smoke out the window.

“you’re insufferable,” you say hushedly, gently. he chuckles quietly, handing you the joint. “and yet you keep me around anyway.”

“not by choice.”

—

as the night rages on, the joint you both share dwindles down into a dull roach. you crush the bud into your porcelain ashtray, tucking it away and beneath your nightstand.

your legs feel a little wobbly, your body has significantly loosened up and your center of gravity feels a bit off, but you feel good, and it seems farleigh feels the same. his eyes are low and hooded, they look a little red — it’s cute, kind of endearing too but you keep that to yourself like a bashful secret. his face and overall demeanor seems to be relaxed as well, a lot more loosened up than he was just an hour prior.

you smile at him, and there’s nothing hidden under the action, there’s no cover up for anything. you’re just happy to be with him in a moment like this. and he returns it to you, full sentiment and all, filling you with a sense of contentment. “feel nice?” you ask breathily, collapsing onto your bed. he joins you, plopping down beside you when he replies. “mmhm. i like it,” he says, his voice sounding a bit rougher from the smoke, like he’s on the edge of a rasp.

you shuffle around to lay on your side, your palm supporting the weight of your head, settling into a comfortable position. he copies your actions, switching around on his side to properly face you.

he looks beautiful with the way the moon creeps in through your parted window, the pale light complements the highlights in his curls and makes them look golden; he looks golden. but when your eyes fall on the taunting red kiss splayed on his jaw, everything turns back to copper.

“who gave you this?” you question him quietly, sadly. like it physically hurts you to ask him. your fingers hover just above the lipstick stain, unable to get yourself to touch it. in your induced state you’ve convinced yourself that if you were to ever touch farleigh’s face, it won’t be in the spot someone else tarnished with their own touch first.

“why?” he answers your question with another question and you huff under your breath, your filter too worn out from the weed to hide your frustration behind a poker face. “why can’t i ask?” you push a little further and he snickers lazily. “why do you wanna know?” he counters and you roll your heavy eyes, letting yourself fall onto your back once more.

he scoots closer to you, angling his neck to look downward at you, and he pouts with faux concern. “you jealous?” he asks, perking up and leaning towards you with a beaming smirk. you scoff, swallowing the lump in your throat as you turn to look away. the proximity of your faces is too much to bear, but not for him, his index and thumb guide you right back by your chin to face him. he keeps your gaze on him in place, his wide palm cupping your cheek. your skin tingles under the coldness from his rings.

now you know what it feels like, you think to yourself.

“tell me which one it is,” he says through a hushed exhale, leaning on his elbow, his eyes still angled down at you challengingly. “are you jealous of me, because — why wouldn’t you be,” he hums, his fingers ghosting over your temple.

and when he speaks again, you find that he’s moved in a lot closer now. “or of whoever left it?” his gaze flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes, waiting expectantly for you to answer him.

your mouth goes even dryer than you thought it could, and you’re unsure of what to say, what to think, and between the lack of space between both of your lips and the questions he’s asking, you’re left frazzled. scrambling for something, anything to say.

you’re not sure how to reply, you’re shocked he even asked that to begin with, and now it’s your turn to visibly falter in front of him. he looks at you expectantly, and a little part of him feels as though he’s won some mini challenge in your ongoing battle to embarrass the other. but there’s a different type of smugness in his small victory, perhaps a confirmation on something he’d been wondering about for awhile.

“i’m not jealous of either of you,” your voice falls upon a faint breath and his brows push together, nodding patronizingly. “oh i’m sure.” he pushes a little harder on your buttons, waiting for when you finally do something about it.

“why would i be jealous of someone who gets with just anybody?” you add, sitting up on your elbows, unintentionally leaning in closer, engaging him in the push and pull. he follows your flow in motion, inching in closer, just a little, keeping the space between you both minimal. he laughs softly from the center of his belly, flicking a brow up. “versus what? someone who doesn’t get with anyone? sounds boring.” he adds, tilting his head, your noses brushing against each other’s. “boring is better than whatever you bring back home at night.” his chuckle falls across your lips at your response, and you find yourself parting your lips to breathe him in.

“are you admitting to having a non-existent sex life? i’d say i’m shocked but i’m not,” he replies, his voice at the tail-end of a whisper. a hazy, knowing smile begins to rise in the corner of his lips.

you take in a deep breath, smoothing out the duvet beneath your palms as you reply without a second thought to what you’re confessing to. “i’d rather get none than contract every std ever by fucking everyone who roams the halls at oxford,”

farleigh laughs initially, taking your playful jab before he pauses and looks at you a bit more seriously. a little too serious for your liking. it makes you burn up and inwardly panic. did you say something wrong? go too far?

“but you’ve had sex before…right?” he asks to clarify, sitting up a little straighter now. the burning sensation in your cheeks only heightens now. “um,” you’re once again left wondering how to reply but your pause acts as his answer alone. he sits all the way up now and you groan when you begin to hear the gears in his head shifting.

he says your name like he’s awestruck and you grab a pillow, pretending to suffocate yourself with it. he tosses it off of you and pulls you up to look at him. “you’ve really never…done it?” he asks again, unbelieving to this revelation. normally he’d find this to be a jackpot, chock full of new material to use against you. but right now he’s in too much disbelief to act on any of it.

“no,” you huff, avoiding his stare. “why not?” he asks, lowering his voice in a softer tone this time. “dunno,” you shrug. “no one really caught my eye enough to actually want to do it, and then you know college rolled around and i was just too busy for it.”

he half scoffs half laughs but it all stems from shock. “it’s impossible to be too busy for sex,” he opposes seriously, and you laugh dryly.

“yeah for you, but i actually care about my grades,” he shakes his head, shooing any topic of academics away. “yeah yeah whatever,” he waves you off, as if he’s clearing the air for his next round of questions. “you’ve at least kissed someone right—“ you’re shutting him up with a pillow thrown against his chest and he laughs, pushing it out of the way. ”of course i have farleigh, don’t be stupid,” you laugh, embarrassment still blooming in the depths of your chest.

“i had to check!” he says defensively and your embarrassment grows when you realize he really was genuinely asking, meaning it’s plausible that no one’s ever kissed you.

god.

you bury your face in the pillow that acted as your weapon just seconds ago, unable to face him.

his laughter rings pleasantly in your ears, his hands prying you away from the pillow, wanting to see you. “have you done…anything at all?” he asks, like it’s sensitive information he’s pulling from you. he’s gentler when he questions you, easing you into the topic. you nod, biting on your thumbnail as you recollect your sparse experiences.

“tell me about them,” he says, leaning back on both elbows, still turned to face you. you rest on your stomach, your forearms supporting your weight, situating yourself to share your run ins with fleeting intimacy. “well, it was freshman year back at oxford, some guy i think his name was theo—“

“theo wright?”

“uh yeah i think so—“

“well there’s your first mistake.” he says matter of factly, his words dying down towards the end when he sees your irritated expression.

“can i finish please?” you glare and he laughs, nodding. “is what you probably asked him right?” you stifle the laugh that almost slips out, opting to narrow your eyes at him annoyedly instead. “shush.” you huff.

“anyways, i’m not sure, i think it may have been at some dumb welcoming freshman’s party and we went upstairs and we kissed in some guy’s bed and he rubbed my inner thigh for like 5 minutes, completely under the impression he was touching my clit.” you can barely make it through the description of your time with theo without farleigh doubling over and laughing, nudging your arm with his head.

“oh my god that’s good,” he exhales at the end of his laughter, pretending to wipe a tear from the corners of his eyes. “you poor thing,” he sighs, patting your cheek. “and did you say anything? like…guide him to the right direction maybe?” you shake your head dejectedly. “no. i had to pretend to cum so he would stop.” you admit, the regret from that night pinging through you.

farleigh coos at you apologetically, stifling a laugh in the process, “poor baby,” he hums, patting your cheek. his ringed pinky casts away an imaginary strand of hair, finding any excuse there is to be near you, to touch you.

you melt under his touch, fighting the urge to lean into it. “that’s the closest thing you’ve had to a hook up?” he asks, fully focused on you, making you a bit nervous from all his attention being directed at you. there’s no audience to perform your shared act for, it’s just you and him, and you think you like this change of pace.

you shake your head, laying back against the headboard, resting your legs across farleigh’s, to which he welcomes without hesitation, throwing an arm over them casually.

“i had one more. it was with noa…” you trail off, a bit shyer expressing this particular experience. farleigh however is nowhere near shy, the word is nowhere near his vocabulary, instead his interest has been piqued and it’s visible in the way his ears just about perk. “wait, girl noa or boy noah—uh keaton or deacon?”

you’re silent for a moment, letting the muffled thrum of music fill the air before you speak again. “keaton.”

he laughs, shocked but impressed, his tongue poking the hollow curve of his cheek as he nods. “noa keaton, interesting...” he repeats back, mostly to himself, somewhat in awe.

“don’t be weird about it,” you groan and he shakes his head, rubbing your calf comfortingly. “no no i’m not i just wasn’t expecting that. good for you though,” he winks at you and you’re rolling your eyes.

“yeah. anyways she um…she fingered me in the library,” a fluttery feeling lines your stomach at the memory and farleigh catches onto your pauses, noticing a more positive physical reaction when you mention her. “yeah? was it good?” he asks lowly, his voice huskier than it was a moment ago and you nod, leaning your head against the cold wooden headboard. “it was—thankfully; she actually knew what to do, you know?” he nods, chuckling. “makes sense. did you get to finish that time?” he asks as if he’s actually concerned, and the way his hand keeps running up and down your legs makes you feel as if he just might be.

you’re not used to discussing such topics with farleigh, it’s unfamiliar and his bluntness and shamelessness in being open with how curious he is as to whether or not someone has made you cum is catching you off guard, but most concerningly, it’s making you ache. “no,” you finally answer, sighing sadly. “almost did. but we also almost got caught and then you know, she dropped out. haven’t heard from her since.”

you expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. he takes a moment of silence and it acts as yet another surprise tonight; farleigh is capable of being quiet.

“so you haven’t had any experiences worth writing home about then, huh?” he verges on a whisper, his voice cradling the sides of your face, guiding your eyes back to his. you nod and he hums in tune to something similar of patronizing. “let alone any real ones,” he adds, his thumb swirling over your knee. you shrug lightly, anxiously fiddling with the ruffles at the skirt of your dress.

“do you want one?” he asks, his eyes keeping you still in place and you gasp silently, swallowing thickly. “want what?” you manage to reply, your nerves blanketing over you. “a good experience.” he answers lowly.

you stare at him for a second, unsure if he’s really just said what he said, but in the case that he did, you nod like you’ve been entranced by a siren song. but with the way farleigh looks at you when he speaks, with such an intensity and power that never allows you to look away, you feel as though you might as well have been.

he smiles at your agreement, sliding his hand down to your ankle and tugging you towards him. you gasp, yelping with low volume as you slide down your bed. he pulls you in close, climbing further into your bed until he’s on top of you.

his hooded eyes peer down at you, drinking you all in, so beautiful and pliable beneath him. he brings his thumb to your bottom lip, running along it and smearing your lipstick across your chin. he dips between your lips, smirking to himself when you kiss the pad of it.

he pulls away leaning downward until his nose nudges yours. “tell me i can kiss you,” he tells you, his words fanning out against your lips, and you nearly moan from the proximity itself. “i want you to kiss me.” you whisper back and you sweat you see a smile on his lips before they’re on yours.

you moan with relief, embarrassingly desperate to have farleigh on you. you’re chest to chest, lips interlocked with his cock pressed up against your clothed crotch, grinding lightly.

he groans in your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip as if it were secreting nectar. he’s starved from the weed consumption, and all those months of this incessant back and forth you two shared is all coming back full force. you can feel it in how hard he kisses you and the hunger that lies underneath it all.

his hand travels from the back of your knee, gliding over your leg and up your thigh, squeezing your hip when his hand finds purchase there. he ruts into you in waves, breaking apart from your lips, much to your dismay, to kiss and nip at your neck, rinsing you of the disappointment from the momentary lack of closeness.

“farleigh,” you breath out, your knees locking him in on either side of his hips, pushing up to meet his grinding motions. “what baby?” he mumbles, raspy and heavy and it makes your clit throb. “feels s’good,” you sigh lazily, arching your back into his chest. he chuckles, his ego rising with every little moan you give him.

“better than what theo did?” he asks, pushing his bulge right up against your clit, and you whimper, nodding stupidly. his signet ring tickles you through your thin panty hose when he inches closer between your thighs. your breath stops in the middle of your throat as he nears your cunt. “can i touch?” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. you moan under your breath, nodding. “please?” you beg, heavy eyes of yours gazing at him from beneath your eyelashes, lips pouted desperately.

he doesn’t make you ask again, he’ll save that for another endeavor he hopes you two will indulge in again. for now he’ll give you what you want without making you work for it. at least, too hard.

he rubs you through your panty hose, sucking in a sharp breath. “fuckin’ soaked through baby,” he groans, kissing you hard.

the wind in your lungs has abandoned you, the air in the room playing cat and mouse with you amid your struggle to keep up. farleigh’s touches making the feat all the more increasingly difficult. he sends you one last kiss on your lips, sponging one to your chin, then down your chest, nipping at the swell of your breasts.

“can i take this off?” he murmurs, his chin just beneath your sternum, fingers toying with the laces of your corset. you rest on your elbows, looking down at him, the way he peers up at you alone could convince you to commit the most heinous crimes. you nod, reaching down to untie them, but he’s quick to stop you. “let me do it,” he says, grasping your wrists. you swallow thickly, glancing at how his large hand easily holds both your wrists with ease.

he takes his time unlacing your corset, wanting to savor this juncture in time. he’s slower than you thought he’d be, treating you like a ribbon wrapped present, if he’s too rough it may all fall apart and honestly you fear that you might if he doesn’t move any faster.

“farleigh,” you whine, sitting back up. “hurry up or it stays on,” you nearly growl and he laughs, tugging everything undone with one harsh tug, opening your corset and baring your breasts. you gasp, instinctively covering yourself. he shakes his head, tsking you when he pulls your arms away. “thought you wanted me to hurry up?” he bites back just a little, playfully, pulling a glare from you. he doesn’t care, he’s already lowering himself back between your thighs, holding you by your calves to spread you open.

he grips your calf, the other squeezing your thigh, using them to keep you wide open for him. his hands are warm and firm around your flesh, and his tongue is wet and hot against your clothed cunt.

the small act alone propels you into hedonism, reminding you of how good pleasure can be, how all consuming it is, and in this moment it feels as though farleigh is the only one who can provide any relief for the burning engine grinding in the pit of your stomach, aching to be satiated.

“farleigh,” you whine, throwing your head back when he mouths at your cunt, his tongue burns through your thin layers but it’s not enough, you want his tongue to brand itself right up against your clit.

your desires and needs are caught through your drawn out breaths, tugging at the air in jagged gasps. he reads through all your little sounds, and without any coherent words needed, he digs a nail into your pale pantyhose, ripping them in the crotch and pushing your panties to the side, burying his tongue right where you need it to be, searing your soaked flesh with every broad flick of the wet muscle.

you gasp almost like it hurts, but it’s quite the opposite. he laps you up and devours your cunt like he’s trying to reach your heart, grappling around your legs and gripping your hips to keep you in place, starved for something sweet. his eyes that have held you inside silent conversations amidst a gathering of people are now shut, tucked away behind his eyelids and long lashes, too focused on the way you taste and how he can’t seem to get enough of you.

he’s never been this hungry before, and maybe it’s the weed or maybe it’s the simple fact he’s fantasized about this more often than he’d like to admit. on more than just a singular off handed occasion, his hand has slipped beneath his boxers, jaw clenched, eyebrows drawn together and teeth gritted, almost begrudgingly to the act itself.

but he always gives in.

the fantasy is always the same, it’s prompted by whatever stupid argument you two found yourselves in, and he shuts you up with his mouth latched onto your cunt, erasing any quips or snarkiness left in you and replacing them with the sounds of you struggling to barely even moan his name. and now that it’s real, he can’t just stop now, he wants to prolong this moment for as long as he can.

his nose swipes across your clit, pulling a drawn out moan from the depths of your chest, and you shudder, trying to find something to hold onto for security, but farleigh’s a step ahead of you, eagerly offering his hands for you to take. you do so, desperately, lacing your fingers together and whimpering when he takes in a dull quick breath before pouring himself into your cunt, flicking his tongue right there, and moaning to himself at the way you just melt into him.

you roll your hips into his mouth sporadically, with no real rhythm, your body reacting with violent jerks as if his tongue were electric, and he takes it all in stride, squeezing your hands lovingly.

and when he sucks on your clit, it’s too much, you can’t take it, it pulls you into a state of thick molasses, gleaming and aureate, only to settle into the center of your stomach, pushing inward and arching you forward into pure ember, sizzling through you until it reaches your fingertips.

you can hardly hear or feel yourself breathe, everything’s buzzing and muffled, honey coats your skin and encases you in its sweetness.

you can’t help the twitching in your hips and lower stomach, whimpering in pleasured agony when you come back to earth and feel farleigh’s mouth still on you, moaning to himself and toying with your clit between his lips.

you’re untangling your fingers, and he grunts when you try to squirm away from his mouth, but he’s not having it, gently smacking your hipbone, silently chastising you.

you whine, taking in hefty gasps, it’s starting to hurt but in a way you can’t say is bad. it’s just so overwhelming, it makes you burn from the inside out and you can’t stop the thin stream of tears that escape from your heavy eyes. your bare breasts heave in the thick air, your mouth is parted with a choppy flow of pleadings with farleigh.

he slowly relents, planting one last firm kiss against your clit, peppering smaller ones across your hips and lower tummy, making his way back up to you. “hi,” he smiles as if he wasn’t just tongue deep inside your cunt. he swipes away the streaks of mascara tinted tears from your eyes, laughing breathily at the sight of your lack of coherence. “hi,” you exhale, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. his eyes shut when he leans into you, taking your lips in his. the taste of you is heavy on his tongue, heat fanning across your cheeks when you realize that bittersweet taste in his mouth is you.

your hand rests on his chest, slowly slipping lower and lower until you reach his bulge, palming him with fervor but maintaining some form of sensuality, albeit fueled with a sense of rushed desperation. you break apart from his lips and his head tilts forward, chasing after your kiss. you sponge a kiss against the corner of his lips, angling a downcast tilt towards his cock, mouth agape and eager to take him in. but he’s holding your jaw, stopping you and bringing you back to meet his gaze.

your eyebrows knit together with almost a betrayed curiosity. “why not?” you ask, almost naively, and he shakes his head, his thumb gently swiping across your bottom lip. “you don’t have to do that baby,” he promises, his voice left as a rich rasp from the smoke, and god he sounds so sexy, you want nothing more than to have his cock down your throat.

“i know i don’t have to, i want to,” you just about cross your heart and hope to die, to emphasize the genuine desire you have to suck him off.

“another time, i don’t want you to rush into something you’re not ready for,” he says softly, unintentionally sounding patronizing. it rubs you the wrong way, letting in a flood of embarrassment into your chest.

you scoff, hiding your insecurity with annoyance, folding your arms with a quiet huff. “i can handle it farleigh, if you think i’ll be bad just be honest and don’t hide behind fake reasons.”

he rolls his eyes, a faint smile on his lips betrays his act of annoyance. “you and your pride,” he mutters under his breath, a veil of adoration lacing through it.

“don’t be a brat,” he murmurs with a luster of playfulness, “i just don’t want to overwhelm you with too much too soon,”

you frown, moving away strands of hair from his face, sighing. “is this okay then? too much?” you whisper hotly in his ear, leaning up into him. you reach beneath his dress pants and boxers, wrapping your hand around the thickness of him and hiding your surprise at how big he feels in your palm, and how you can barely wrap around him with your fingers.

he falters above you, groaning in the crook of your neck with whimpers of please’s. you take this opportunity to guide him a little further on his side, lightly pushing him onto his back. you tuck yourself into his side, his arm pulling you in and holding you close.

you shove his pants down just enough to fully free his cock. arousal thrums all along your cunt once he’s freed from his pants. a twinge of gratefulness is in your gaze when you look back at farleigh’s low eyes. taking him down your throat admittedly would’ve been a difficult feat and you’re relieved he stopped you from doing so.

however you won’t admit to that, instead you wrap your hand around him, dragging your thumb around his tip, giggling when he winces with pleasure, curling into you.

you rest your chin on the top of his head, whimpering above him when he takes one of your nipples between his lips, swirling his tongue around them as you jerk him off.

“fuck,” he bucks his hips into the warm curl of your palm, running his fingers across your ribs, tugging you in closer towards him. he moans your name like its a saving grace into the valley of your breasts, inhaling your sweet perfume deeply. “does that feel good?” you ask softly, genuinely, and he groans, nodding.

“j-just, squeeze me right there,” he swallows hard, wrapping his large hand around yours when you travel a little further up his cock. you nod attentively, taking note of everything he likes. “tell me what else makes you feel good,” you murmur through kisses, planting them across his cheekbone. he fucking whimpers into your dampening flesh and your clit throbs at the sound.

“i like when you touch me right here,” he admits breathlessly, guiding your thumb to his tip. you nod, taking longer strokes, tightening your slickened grip and glazing over his sensitive tip.

“just like that, fuck,” he groans, panting heavily at the rhythm you’ve developed together. “you’re so cute like this,” you giggle lightly in his ear, teeth grazing his ear teasingly. you pump your wrist a little faster, feeling cocky at the way he falls apart in your hold, completely and utterly at your mercy.

he can’t help the way he tries to fuck your hand, grinding his hips desperately, neck bared for you when he throws his head back. you slide your arm a little further underneath his neck, cradling him close to your side, using your free hand to scratch at his scalp. his hips jerk and he moans, leaning into your gentle touches.

your eyes fall onto the wretched kiss stain on his skin once again, clenching your jaw. you smear it off of him, the flare up of jealousy sanctioning something in you to start dragging your wrist up and down a little faster, squeezing him a little tighter. pride rises within you when you see how receptive he is to it, trembling in the confines of beneath your wings.

you kiss the top of his head as he defaults right back into the sanctuary of your chest. his stubble tickles your skin, and you grow fond of the sensation. your poor hole clenches around nothing when your eyes peer down to see his cock weep in your hand, precum leaking and dribbling down your knuckles, agonizing over the same desire you possess.

the wet sound eliciting from your hand and his cock makes you ache, and you wonder what the tip of his cock would feel like rubbing against your clit. skin to skin. with each drag of your hand over him, you start to feel the familiar throb of desire settle back inside you, wishing your hand was your cunt taking him in. feeling each vein you feel right now but inside you, feeling his fat tip prod and hit right where your fingers could never reach. your fantasizing shows through the way you continue to jerk him off, growing hungrier and hungrier with each stroke.

“baby,” he groans into the thick air, as he lays helplessly beside you. “i wanna see you cum,” you whisper in his ear, unintentionally cushioning his face with your breasts and the act alone almost has him cumming in your hand.

he grips your lower back, burying his face in your chest, his body going rigid and firm, his cock twitching in your hold. “shit i think i’m— fuck baby tell me i can cum,” he begs, pressing needy kisses across your chest. you nod, pulling at the back of his curls forcing him to look at you. “you can cum for me farleigh,” you coo softly, lips pressed to the shell of his ear, your warm breath tickling his skin, and it’s all he needs to let go.

he can’t stop his eyes from falling shut in a tight pinch. his body locks up, his mouth parts open to pant in the air, his neck still displayed for your teeth to sink into, hips sporadically fucking into your pumping wrist.

you quickly release him, ducking down to wrap your lips around the head of his cock. you fight against the smile that wavers in your lips, feeling cocky over being the reason why he’s gasping loudly, whining your name as his cock twitches in your mouth.

you shut your eyes when he cums on your tongue, pleasantly surprised at the taste. he cums more than you would’ve expected but you take it all, eager to please him.

you gently lap at his tip, pushing your forearm on his stomach when he convulses from the sensitivity. “f-fuck, baby,” he breathes out, pulling you back up to him. he brings you down to his lips, guiding you onto your back when he kisses you.

it’s his turn to taste himself on your tongue and the thought of his cum gracing your mouth has his softening cock giving one last twitch. his hands run up and down your sides, savoring your skin and praying his hands and fingers memorize each curve and indent. “you’re so hot,” he whispers against your lips. you peck him, feeling warm. “i know.” he smiles, pecking you back.

he collapses beside you, straightening out the charm from your necklace back to the center of your collarbones and despite everything that transpired between you two, the small action still makes you feel flushed.

“would it be okay if i slept with you in your bed tonight?” he asks quietly, anxiously. you nod, turning to look at him with a delicate smile that tells him you’re more than happy to have him stay with you. “i’d be upset if you didn’t.”

relief floods him, in return allowing him to abide by his instincts to scoot closer towards you. he curls into your side completely, long limbs overtaking you and intertwining you two until you feel like you’re one.

“night.” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your shoulder, unsure if he’s still allowed to plant a kiss there. you’re too sleepy to notice, content enough with being in his arms. “goodnight,” you repeat back softly, pulling the blankets over your bodies.

[jeridandridge]

Stained Glass Window

Young!Larissa Weems x fem!Reader. Pre Wednesday. My first attempt with these characters, please be kind.

In the late days of summer you drive your old blue pick up truck through Jericho with your hand out the window, the cool evening air dancing against your fingers. Driving towards the trail you discovered a couple weeks prior, you hum along with the radio making a mental note of the shops and cafes, everything so new to you.

Having lived with your mother your entire life, moving in with your father while you transferred to a college near by was another thing to adjust to. In the meantime you could retreat to the comfort and solitude of nature to unwind with your sketch book and inks. Driving down a winding dirt path underneath the lush green trees you park the rusty truck hopping out with your backpack slung over your shoulder hoping to find a peaceful spot for inspiration to strike.

Sneakers carrying you over soft dirt and twigs you find yourself alone in the trees, the dusk casting the area in a warm glow while the smell of a fire near by hits your nose. You don’t know where you’re going, but continuing down the path you stop in your tracks when you see a gorgeous building. Eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas you take in the sight of the gothic building, something beautiful and a little frightening, like it was right out of Bram stokers’ Dracula. Spotting a moss covered log, you slide the backpack from your shoulder eagerly rifling through the messy thing for your sketch book and the pens you carried everywhere.

Sat with the sketchbook in your lap and a pen between your fingers you glide the ink across the page noting every shade of grey, every withered brick, and every window in your memory completely blown away by the gem hidden away in the woods. Almost castle like, you wondered what it was. Perhaps it was a monastery or convent, or something else all together hoping that somehow you could get inside to admire the beauty. Moving your hand along the page you switch to another pen, this time adding thick lines and details to the building and the nature surrounding it.

Once your ink work was finished and you were satisfied with the result, you smile to yourself as you pack your tools away, looking around to see which way could lead you to an entrance. Moving around its brick walls you stop at a large rod iron gate, the name Nevermore Academy and its Ravens sit in the material blending in with its surroundings. As you reach out to touch the gate, twigs crunch and a car horn sounds behind you sending you bolting off to the side.

“Morticia you could have hit her!” A soft voice rings out, the passenger side door of the sleek, black car out of a black and white movie opens revealing long legs and ruby painted lips.

“She shouldn’t be out here.” The other voice huffs.

Taken aback by the woman looking at you, you’re frozen for a moment not able to answer the question hitting your ears.

“Oh my you’re a pretty thing,” the driver gets out, long black hair cascading down her back.

Shaking yourself out of it you nod to the driver and turn your attention back to the woman on the other side of the car. “Sorry, I just came across this place and got lost in the beauty.”

“Not your fault that my companion here doesn’t abide by the traffic laws.” The taller woman shoots the other a look.

Still in awe of the statuesque beauty across from you, you slyly eye her up and down noting her nice clothes and her hands. You have to snap yourself out of it before your thoughts and eyes lingered too long.

“The pretty thing doesn’t speak much.” The brunette crosses her arms, chin held high. “Not used to seeing outcasts much?”

Getting ahold of yourself you come back with a witty response, and the truth. “I don’t know what you mean by that but no, your friend has my attention is all.” You glance at the woman, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips when you see ivory cheeks dusted in a shade of pink as she looks away.

The brunette scoffs getting back in the drivers seat, engine purring as the car glides down the path without one of its previous occupants.

“Did she really just do that?” You quirk a brow in disbelief.

“Yes,” the woman signs softly, “Morticias never liked people ignoring her. Especially normies.”

You chuckle keeping the strap of your backpack between your fingers meeting the woman’s blue eyes.

“Outcasts and normies. Sounds like a weird version of West Side Story.”

The woman with silver hair steps a little closer, eyeing you suspiciously. “You truly don’t know what Nevermore Academy is?”

Shaking your head you shrug. “I just moved here not even a month ago, I had no idea this place was here. Found it with luck.”

“Found it with luck.” The woman hums giving you a soft smile.

Holding your hand out, you offer your name in a friendly greeting feeling warm and fuzzy when the other woman shakes your hand.

“Larissa. Larissa Weems.”

“Well Larissa, may I walk you up to the school?” You ask nodding to the gate.

“I’d like that.”

That was almost three months ago. In the late weeks of October you drive through the town, two cups of coffee in the cup holder as you head for Nevermore Academy. When you see the Ravens in all their glory, you pull off to the side waiting for Larissa. Moving your backpack on the floor out of the way with your sketchbook in your lap you smile when you hear leaves crunching and that soft voice you’ve grown very fond of in person and over the phone.

“Room for one more?” That beautiful smile appears, Larissa opening the passenger side door.

“There’s always room for you,” you beam handing the coffee over to her. Taking a sip from your own cup you have to hide the flush in your cheeks when you hear her let out a delighted sigh.

“I needed this.” She tips her head back into the seat.

The wind outside the truck picks up, the smell of the now dying leaves wafting through the cool air.

“What’s going on?” You ask softly, hand moving to rest on hers.

Larissa smiles at the action. “It’s been a rough month is all. With graduation in the spring, the headmaster is already giving me references and letters for future employers, but.” She sighs. “I don’t think I want to go teach or counsel anywhere else. Nevermore is my home, has been since I was a teenager.”

“I know this place is important to you, but why not go somewhere else, even for a little while?” You shrug. At this Larissa goes quiet, not willing to look at you at the moment while the gears turn in her head.

“Hey, forget I asked okay?” You say softly, “you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” You assure her squeezing her hand.

“Thank you, darling.”

Smiling with her bottom lip between her teeth she reaches over plucking the sketchbook from your lap, the soft worn leather between her fingers as she opens it up.

“Hey cmon,” you laugh not really trying to take it back. “Okay, Weems. I can’t be held responsible for what you see in there.”

“Is that right?” She hums flicking through the pages, glancing at you with a playful glint in her eye. long fingers carefully run over the pages, admiring all the work of the ink seeped into its pages. The library in all its two hundred year old glory, the old movie theater that opens for the holiday season, Nevermore, then she stops only when she sees a portrait.

“And there it is.” You tease trying to gauge her reaction to the portrait you’d done not long ago. Realizing early on in your friendship you had a crush on Larissa didn’t come as a surprise to you, she was smart, witty, top of her class, and not to mention beautiful. You’d even told your father of your new friendship, receiving encouragement despite Larissa being an outcast.

“You drew me?” She asks in awe, looking at the page.

She’d worn her hair down in soft waves once shortly after you’d met her, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to run your fingers through silky locks. While your sketchbook was filled with architecture, it’s what you’re going to school for after all, other things sometimes made their way to the pages.

“I try to capture everything I find beautiful.” You say without apprehension, your voice sure and firm in what youre saying as you lean over a little closer.

“You truly think so,” she hums more as a fact than a question. Icy eyes search yours looking for any bit of fake sincerity but it never comes. The sketch book is put on the seat between you two as a pale hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin.

Crimson lips meet yours in a soft kiss, the hair on the back of your neck standing up. The smell and taste of coffee over takes your senses and you practically melt against her. Wrapping your arm around her waist you pull her closer, most definitely warming up on this cold autumn day.

From that day on you would go see Larissa at Nevermore or meet her in town after you were done with classes for the day. As your feelings blossomed into something more, you felt protective over her when you were in town. Strolling down the street one evening arms looped together you two were in your own little world, giggling and minding your business when you heard a group of grown men scoff and start to bother you as they sat outside a business.

“They let these kids do anything now a days. Those freaks should be locked up in that school.”

Larissa’s jaw clenches as she continues to walk but you, you’ve never been one to take shit from anybody. Pulling away from her you turn around on your heel putting your hands in your pockets with a grin that could only be described as wicked.

“Hey fellas, if you feel like being prejudice pricks feel free to hitch a ride back to the dark ages, k?”

The men on the bench shut up as you turn back to Larissa not giving them a second to say anything more. Arms looped together once more you keep your chin up and smile at your date.

“You didn’t have to do that, darling.”

“I’m not having gross old men ruin our date, Larissa.” You shake your head moving to wrap your arm around her waist.

“But they’re not wrong. Being a shape shifter is certainly freakish.”

Shape shifting. It’d taken months for her to tell you what her abilities were. She had never shared and you never pestered, never wanting to cross a boundary with her. She looked nervous, almost as if you’d act just like those men.

“Shape shifting huh?” You smile, “An ability like that must be just a bonus when you’re already so gorgeous.”

Larissa rolls her eyes reaching for your hand. “You are incredibly wonderful and ridiculous.”

“Thanks, honey.” You tease not wanting the moment to be too serious. “I really, really like you Larissa.”

“Does that mean if I asked you to accompany me to the yearly Nevermore dance you would?” She beams, her eyes crinkling.

Bringing her gloved hand to your lips you kiss her knuckles shivering from not only the chilly air but giddy excitement. “What’s the dress code?”

Larissa chuckles moving to wrap her arm around your shoulders. “This will be very exciting. Wear whatever you want, darling. It’s not strictly fancy attire, but most dress up.”

“I can do that.” You nod with a smile. “Now, back to business. Let’s pick some books out.”

Walking through town with Larissa made you walk a little taller, hold your chin up higher, and you were starting to realize you never wanted to lose that feeling. Not long later in the independent bookstore, you smile gliding your fingers across the book spines as you admire Larissa. You didn’t know what to call her really. You two could be considered a couple, and that sounded quite nice.

Finding a nice stack of books between the two of you, you jog ahead out the door to your truck opening her door for her. When Larissa gives you a beaming smile and a kiss to your cheek before climbing in. During the drive back to Nevermore Larissa’s hand stays on your thigh, her thumb rubbing the fabric of your jeans.

“So, my dad’s been asking about you,” you hum keeping your eyes on the dirt path, “he keeps saying ‘when am I gonna meet that girlfriend of yours?’ and I honestly haven’t felt like correcting him.”

The silver screen beauty looks over, the darkness of the truck and the woods not helping you see her expression clearly. Thinking you’d messed up, you open your mouth to speak but you’re cut off before you can say a word.

“Pull over.” Larissa instructs. Her voice is cool and even, not really helping what to think of the situation.

Stopping in the center of the path you put the gear shift near the wheel in park and hit the light on the ceiling. The light gives Larissa an orange glow, her eyes not giving you any hint of what she’s feeling.

“I’m sorry, honey I-“ you’re once again cut off, this time by soft lips in a feverish kiss that has your head spinning while your fingers flow through silver locks. Her tongue swipes across your bottom lip which you happily follow suit deepening the kiss. The taste of the hot chocolate you both had earlier still lingers, the sweetness somehow making the moment all the better.

Larissa breaks the kiss first not pulling back very far as she catches her breath in the still air of the truck. “Don’t apologize, darling. I’d been wondering if you were going to ask me. I’d thought maybe you wouldn’t want to after this evening.”

Shaking your head with a chuckle you loosely wrap your arms around her neck, lips meeting hers again in a soft kiss, staying in your own little part of the world for a little while longer.

When the night of the dance approaches, you stand in front of the mirror doing a once over of your black pantsuit and heels. Gold rings on your fingers you fluff your hair once more deciding you were happy with the ensemble. Your nerves got worse as you drove towards the academy, hoping Larissa liked what you wore and the single white rose you’d bought for her.

Pulling up to the school gate you take a breath realizing you’ll be actually going into the school this time, not just up to its corridors like you had to walk Larissa in months before. Parking your truck you look at the academy lit up, students out and about in fine attire. “You got this,” you hum to yourself. Getting out you carry the single white rose in between your fingers following a group of younger students. Going into the building you don’t make it far when you feel a hand on your arm.

“Darling,” Larissa’s red lips curl into a smile as she pulls you to the side, her fingers already playing with yours.

“Hi, babe. You look gorgeous.” You eye her up and down with a smile holding the flower out between you two, slender fingers taking the stem.

Larissa’s eyes flick down to the flower, her lips finding your cheek for a light kiss. “I don’t want my lipstick to stain you.” She chuckles lifting her hand to wipe the mark away.

“Oh come on, mark your territory.” You tease with a smirk, the sound of the other students and music around you drowning out as you and Larissa stand in your little corner, blue eyes shining at you.

“Perhaps I will. How about a dance first?”

Holding your hand out, you take Larissa’s in yours gently squeezing and enjoying the warmth. Weaving through the crowd of people dancing and talking you move with the beat of the song the band is playing, hips swaying until Larissa’s hands find their place sending a jolt through you.

Moving closer you loosely wrap your arms around her neck creating yet another comfortable bubble, just you two, the only people in the world. Looking at your girlfriend with a dreamy expression you tip your chin up meeting her eyes. You’re not sure how long you two dance, but eventually, you want to be alone with her.

“As nice as this is, there are too many teenage hormones around.” You nod to the door.

“Nineteen is still a teenager last time I checked, darling.” Larissa chuckles patting your hip. “Come, let’s get some air.”

Letting Larissa stand behind you guiding you to the doorway you rest your hands on top of hers shooting Morticia a wicked smile on the way out. The silver haired beauty catches the look, hiding her smirk as she leads you outside, jogging in the light rain to a secluded corridor of the courtyard. The cold rain is unforgiving as you two take shelter under the old stone, wrapped in each others arms.

“Now you’ve gotten me alone, what do you plan to do?” Larissa teases leaning down, lips only inches apart.

Arms wrapped around her frame you move up on your toes meeting red lips in a tender kiss. Warm hands cup your cheeks making your head tip back, turning you into putty in Larissa’s hands. Sighing into the kiss your hands glide up her back pulling her flush against you. The damp air doesn’t make you shiver, the warmth from Larissa engulfing you. Pulling back only slightly you admire icy blue eyes and kiss swollen lips.

“I think I took most of your lipstick.” You grin.

Larissa chuckles bringing her hand up, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I suppose I’ve claimed my territory.” She smiles repeating your words back from before. “Darling, I-“

Before she can say anything else, your brows knit together and your hands pat her hip as you hear grunts and clashing metal. “What the hell?” You ask moving out into the rain, a body falling to the ground as you do so making Larissa scream.

“Shit!” You jump back, wrapping your arm around your girlfriend. The body lays flat in the dirt, looking up you see a man holding a sword. “Larissa, come on.” You urge, tugging her hand.

Going through the closest corridor you end up in an empty hallway stopping for a moment to take a breath.

“I know that boy. Gomez, he and Morticia are an item.” She says quietly, almost irritated.

“Shocking, the entitled ego maniac is involved with a murder.” You hum thinking about the brunette. “Are you okay, honey?” You ask resting your hand atop hers.

“Yes, I’m fine, darling.” She sighs holding your hands. “Let us go back to the dance, I’m sure everyone will be alerted soon.”

Nodding you walk through the empty hall hand in hand, your heart thudding in your chest. You knew what this could mean for the school, how the small town will react to this news. You’re a ways away from the court yard, almost to the front of the school when you see flashing lights across the wooded area.

“You two!” A deep voice booms, footsteps coming towards you.

Looking down the hall you sigh spotting two police officers. Standing tall you hold Larissa’s hand gently squeezing. One officer is a small, stout man, the other tall and lean, although shorter than Larissa.

“You two, been in the courtyard tonight?” The tall one demands.

“My girlfriend was showing me around the school, we didn’t actually see what happened. Just- just the body.” You explain, the officers looking between you two.

“You,” the small officer points, “you’re not a student here.” He states taking out a pen and his notepad.

“She goes to school in town, the college.”

Larissa informs them.

“What’s a kid like you doing at this school? You can see this is dangerous.”The taller officer scolds.

“I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself thanks.” You all but scoff, tired of the insinuation that Nevermore students are dangerous. Sure, you were shaken by what you’d seen, but that didn’t change your mind about anything.

The officers look between you two, Larissa squeezing your hand once more. Fingers laced together you rub your thumb over the back of her hand not backing down.

“The school is on lockdown, you, you’ll have to leave like all the other guests, and you.” He looks up at Larissa, “we have more questions for you.”

Larissa looks at you giving you a tight smile of reassurance. “Go on, darling. I’ll be all right.”

Glancing at the cops for a second you sigh leaning up to kiss your girlfriend’s cheek. “Call me when you get back to your dorm, please.” You ask, the beauty nodding in response.

You don’t want to leave Larissa, but soon you find yourself shuffling out of the doors to the front of the school, fingers playing with the keyring in your pocket as you walk in the dark to your truck. Losing yourself in your thoughts, when you pull into your driveway you don’t remember driving home.

“Kid!” Your dad comes running to the driveway, pulling you into a hug as soon as you step out of the truck. “It’s all over the news some kid got killed at the school, I was worried.” He cradles the back of your head with his hand.

“I’m fine, dad. I think it was a crime of passion situation.” You shrug patting his shoulder, heading into the house.

“I don’t think I want you going there anymore.”

Hearing the words you knew would come, you sigh slipping your heels off as you step inside the house. The lights are dim, there’s a beer on the table, and the tv is turned to the news channel. Stepping closer to the tv set you see a reporter then Larissa in the background talking to the cops from before. Watching the screen, you sigh knowing you’re in for a heated discussion while you wait for Larissa to call.

“Dad,” you sigh plopping down on the couch, legs crossed. “I refuse to turn into these hateful people that say horrible things about that academy.” You start, “Did you know Larissa is already being asked to take over when the headmaster retires? She’s the same age as I am. She has a degree already. Just because those people are a little different genetically doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” You huff.

Still standing by the door, your dad stands with his hands on his hips shaking his head. “I don’t like it. Not one bit. I don’t want you around those people.” He points.

Standing up, before you can argue the phone in the kitchen rings. Bolting to the device, you pull it off the hook bringing it to your ear. “Hello?”

“Darling,” Larissa lets out in relief.

“What’s going on over there?” You ask tucking by the wall, seeing your dad sit down in front of the tv again.

“I don’t know, they carted Gomez off and Morticia is hysterical. The news reporters are not very forgiving either.”

Taking a shaky breath you nod holding onto the phone. “I know. People are already blaming all the students.”

Larissa’s end of the line goes quiet, a soft breath coming through the receiver. “Yes, I know already. I- I wanted to call and tell you that if this drives you away, I will understand.”

Her voice is so soft, broken, as it hits your ear. Seeing the school and a picture of the murdered boy on the tv screen along with your father looking at you with a stern brow, you sigh into the phone.

-

Larissa Weems knows how to run Nevermore Academy. With many years of experience with the school under her belt, not many things throw her for a loop. Homesick students, the usual pranks, she can handle. Come February when she learns Wednesday Addams, daughter of Gomez and Morticia Addams will be joining the students for the term, it makes her fumble. She has a few days to prepare and in doing so she hopes Wednesday is a better student than her mother had been.

The morning of Wednesday’s arrival is a normal one. Larissa gets up, does her usual routine of getting ready, stops at the local cafe, and enters her office at seven thirty on the dot. Her office is warm and cozy, it always has been, from the gorgeous fireplace, to the sketched portraits framed on the wall, and the pressed white rose encased on her desk.

The meeting with the Addams family goes as expected, full of snark and a feeling of irritation on both sides of the lavish desk.

“Larissa, dear. Is that a wedding band I see?” Morticia quirks a brow.

On a milky hand sits a gold band set and a pearl atop the gold, the engagement ring she loved so much.

“It is,” she smiles stating professional.

“I hadn’t heard. I had thought the students were enough for a woman like you.”

Before Larissa can respond, a light knock on the door and a head poking in catches her attention.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Larissa. I didn’t know you were in a meeting. I only wanted to drop these off.” You come in, blueprints rolled up in hand.

“Is that-“ Morticia starts,

“Long time no see.” You smile from where you stand next to Larissa’s desk, shoulders back and chin up high.

“Darling, I’ll sign off on these and bring them back to you before lunch.” Larissa smiles happily taking the papers. “These are plans for a new greenhouse, perks of being married to an architect.” She tells Gomez and Morticia.

The mustachioed man stands up, reaching over to shake your hand. “Gomez Addams, Tish and I didn’t know Larissa got married.”

You give the man a kind smile shaking his hand firmly. “We got married not long after Larissa took over here. After that dance all those years ago I knew I couldn’t let her go.” You say knowing that night went down in Jericho history. “I’ll leave you all to it.” You nod making your way across the office once more, the little girl in the chair biting back a smirk at her mother’s reaction.

Feeling Larissa’s eyes on your back as you leave you turn closing the door with a wink to your wife.

[will80sbyers]

Do you still have the list of movies that inspired ST4? I had a picture of it but I lost it and I haven't been able to find it since. Please and thank you in advance.

Yep!

Long post warning lol

300

2001: A Space Odyssey

47 Meters Down: Uncaged

12 Monkeys

28 Days Later

13th Warrior

Ace Ventura: Pet Detective

Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls

Altered States

Amelie

American Sniper

Analyze This

Annihilation

Aristocats

Armageddon

Assassins Creed

Avengers: Age of Ultron

Arrival

Almost Famous

Batman Begins

Batman V. Superman

Basket Case

Battle at Big Rock

Beauty and the Beast

Beetlejuice

Behind Enemy Lines

Beverly Hills Cop

Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey

Billy Madison

Black Cauldron

Black Swan

Boondock Saints

Borat

Bram Stoker’s Dracula

Burn After Reading

Broken Arrow

Blade Runner

C.H.U.D

Con Air

Cast Away

Congo

Constantine

Children of Men

Cabin in the Woods

Crank

Casablanca

Carrie

Crimson Tide

Clueless

Dukes of Hazzard

Don’t Breathe

Death to Smoochy

Doom

Dark Knight

Dogma

Deep Blue Sea

Dreamcatcher

Drop Dead Fred

Die Hard

Die Hard 2

Die Hard 3

Don’s Plum

Dances with Wolves

Dumb and Dumber

Edward Scissorhands

Enter the Void

Ex Machina

Event Horizon

Emma (2020)

Forrest Gump

Fargo

Fisher King

Full Metal Jacket

Ferris Bueller

Fallen

Fugitive

Ghost

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Ghostbusters

Good Fellas

Girl Interrupted

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Get Out

Good Will Hunting

Hackers

High Fidelity

Hellraiser 1

Hellraiser 2

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Hidden

High School Musical

Hurt Locker

Heat

Hunger Games

Highlander

Hell or High Water

Home Alone

I am Legend

It’s a Wonderful Life

In Cold Blood

Inception

I am a Fugitive from Chain Gang

Inside Out

Island of Doctor Moreau

It Follows

Interview with a Vampire

Inner Space

Into the Spiderverse

Independence Day

Jupiter Ascending

John Carter of Mars

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

James Bond (All Movies)

Julie

Karate Kid

Knives Out

Kingsmen

Little Miss Sunshine

Labyrinth

Long Kiss Goodnight

Lost Boys

Leon: The Professional

Let the Right One In

Little Women (1994)

Mad Max: Fury Road

Magnolia

Men in Black

Mimic

Matrix

Misery

My Cousin Vinny

Mystic River

Minority Report

Mr. and Mrs. Smith

Neverending Story

Never Been Kissed

No Country for Old Men

Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors

North by Northwest

Open Water

Orange County

Oceans 8

Oceans 11

Oceans 12

One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest

Ordinary People

Paddington 2

Platoon

Pulp Fiction

Papillon

Pan’s Labyrinth

Pineapple Express

Peter Pan

Princess Bride

Paradise Lost

Primal Fear

Prisoners

Peter Jackson’s King Kong

Reservoir Dogs

Ravenous

Rushmore

Road Warrior

Rogue One

Reality Bites

Raider of the Lost Ark

Red Dragon

Robocop

Shooter

Sky High

Swingers

Sword in the Stone

Step Up 2

Spy Kids

Saving Private Ryan

Shape of Water

Swept Away

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

Superbad

Society

Swordfish

Stoker

Splice

Silence of the Lambs

Source Code

Sicario

Se7en

Starship Troopers

Scrooged

Splash

Silver Bullet

Speed

The Visit

The Italian Job

The Mask of Zorro

True Lies

The Blair Witch Project

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

Tangled

The Craft

The Guest

The Devil’s Advocate

The Graduate

The Prestige

The Rock

Titanic

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

The Fly

Tombstone

The Mummy

The Guardian

The Goofy Movie

The Peanut Butter Solution

Toy Story 4

The Ring

The Crazies

The Mist

The Revenant

The Perfect Storm

The Shining

Terminator 2

The Truman Show

Temple of Doom

The Cell

To Kill a Mockingbird

Timeline

The Good Son

The Orphan

The Birdcage

The Green Mile

The Raid

The Cider House Rules

The Lighthouse

The Book of Henry

The A-Team

The Crow

The Terminal

Thor Ragnarok

Twister

The Descent

The Birds

Total Recall

The Natural

The Fifth Element

True Romance

Terminator: Dark Fate

The Hobbit Trilogy

Unforgiven

Unbreakable

Unleashed

Very Bad Things

Wayne’s World

What Women Want

War Dogs

Wedding Crashers

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape

Welcome to the Dollhouse

Welcome to Marwen

Wet Hot American Summer

What Lies Beneath

What Dreams May Come

War Games

Who Framed Roger Rabbit

Weird Science

Willow

Wizard of Oz

Wanted

Young Sherlock Holmes

You’ve Got Mail

Zodiac

Zoolander

[see-arcane]

The most screwed up thing about this particular "sexual liberation via undead serial killer" cliche is that in this case main female character literally dies in the process of such "liberation". Which remake now clearly tries to frame not as her own heroic actions of bravery and kindness and unselfishness, but as her fullfilling some of her deathwish and dark desires for vampire and whatever and as something which is now good for her (!), hey look people she's actually happy now. Barf.

The hell of it is that, on the one hand, this kind of framework really can work well in the horror genre. All the most alarming and/or deplorable themes of a narrative are welcome under that umbrella. Horror needs no moral, no happy ending, no healthy relationships. I see all that and it delights me. If I were to take some fragments of Eggers' interview answers at face value, I could really get behind the concept of these characters as he's painting them.

A leading lady who even as she Knows what she's doing is Wrong, throws herself at it anyway.

I could get behind the Conqueror Undone by Fixation.

The Plotting Zealot who Sacrifices Others for the Greater Good.

Even the Sole Innocent Standing/Technical Final Girl being the grieving husband who wanted to protect a loved one even when he knew she did not want him, arriving too late to see she'd chosen mutual destruction with her problematic undead crush rather than staying to live as the good wife she knew she could never be.

On the surface? This is all really good classic gothic fucked up shit. I might even do cartwheels if this was an original film in the veins of The Witch or The Lighthouse, both of which are A+ depictions of corruption arcs steeped in the supernatural. This is Bobby Egg's jam!

The poison comes in when, once again, we see just whose names and plot Eggers has stapled onto these figures. It really is a Dracula adaptation in all but title, because he's following in the exact same bullshit footsteps as his predecessors. These characters are not his. For as closely cloned as they are from Bram Stoker's cast and story, Orlok, Ellen, Thomas and the rest are F.W. Murnau's creations, born in his original Nosferatu.

Werner Herzog could recognize that (even if he got weird about the Dracula cast renaming for ??reasons??) and kept the foundation of the story and characters intact even as he built on top of them. Herzog didn't hollow out the cast and stuff his OCs into their skins to play out his fanficified 2 goth 4 U versions of them. The Count's tragedy buried in his compulsions, the proactive nature and power of the female lead, the miserable tragic result of her husband's unchecked contamination leading to the blow of oh god, we did everything right and the nightmare will continue anyway...that's all from potential that Murnau left in his film and Herzog ran with it.

Eggers' version of Nosferatu is, by contrast, shaping up to be a more elaborate version of Francis' wet dream, just without all the fancy costumes and reincarnation BS. No, it's not Count Chadracula Gary Oldman, but Orlok is still the Dark and Powerful Other Man who the Girl One reeeally wants due to her Secret Gothdark Nature and Long Distance Horniness which meek and mincing little Jonathan Thomas simply cannot satisfy..!

Like. Bobby. You know how to make an original story. You do. This, here, is clearly your story. It has Black Phillip's hoof prints all over it. It has the Lighthouse's cosmic toxic radiance. Every hint and line and trailer so far is painting it all in your very recognizable colors. And I would be so ready to love it like I have your others.

If only I didn't know you had to wring the neck of one of my other favorite stories to empty out its carcass and graft the hide on to your 'reinvention' that is in every way just a goth-grimier cousin to Coppola's take. Fittingly, it's not unlike what Murnau did to Stoker's work. 'I want to do that too, but slightly to the left.' Well, you're doing it. One hundred percent.

And it makes me so deeply, sadly disappointed.

[watertribe-enya]

It's the anniversary of my most popular post on how people fail to recognize a vampire (in this case Silas from "The Graveyard Book") unless the story spells it out for them

And to this day I still get notes from people voicing their atonishment that they never noticed this

So I've created a comprehensive list of all vampiric traits and behaviors Silas shares with Dracula (since Dracula Daily has started again too) as well as with Bram Stoker's other vampires.

First I'll always give a quote/s from "Dracula" showing the behavior, and then one from "The Graveyard Book" to go along with it

Not consuming human food or drink

„It is strange that as yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must be a very peculiar man!“

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

„What‘s it taste like?“ „I‘ve absolutely no idea,“ said Silas, who consumed only one food, and it was not bananas.“

„Silas ordered a glass of water and a small salad for himself, which he pushed around the bowl with his fork but never actually put to his lips.“ (page 272)

Sleeping during the day

„I have not yet seen the Count by daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when others wake, that he may be awake when they sleep?“

„Yesterday I came here before sundown, for at sundown the Un-Dead can move.“

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

"He would be there waiting at sunset, just before Silas awakened."

“Football. Hmm. That’s usually a little early in the day for me” ,said Silas”

Sleeping inside a "box" filled with earth

"There, in one of the great boxes,of which there were fifty in all, on a pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was either dead or alseep."

„In soil barren of holy memories it (the vampire) cannot rest.“

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

Bod could see his guardian standing beside a large leather chest, of the kind they call a steamer trunk- big enough that a tall man could have curled up and slept inside it. (...) Bod put a hand into the empty trunk, touched the silk lining, touched dried earth.”

Not having a reflection

„It amazed me that I had not seen him, since the reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me. (...)This time there could be no error, for the man was close to me, and I could see him over my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in the mirror”

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

„The surface of the table-top was almost mirrored, and, had anyone cared to look, they might have observed that the tall man had no reflection.“

Sharp Nails

„The nails were sharp and fine, and cut to a sharp point.“

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

“Silas flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve with a fingernail as sharp as a blade.” ( page

Weird earshape, paleness and cold skin

"Holding out his hand he grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as ice - more like the hand of a dead than a living man."

”His ears were pale and at the tops extremely pointed (…) The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.“

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

"Why do you ask?" said his guardian, brushing the dust from his black suit with ivory fingers."

"Bod held out his hand, as he had when he was a small boy, and Silas took it, in a cold hand the colour of old ivory"

It’s not actually mentioned in-text that Silas has pointed ears, but you can see them on the Chris Riddell illustrations and in the graphic novel

Crawling down walls

„I saw the whole man slowly emerge from the window and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss, face down, with his cloak spreading around him like great wings."

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

„As twilight edged from gray to purple there was a noise in the spire, like a fluttering of heavy velvet, and Silas left his resting place in the belfry and clambered headfirst down the spire.“

Flight

„He can be as bat, as Madam Mina saw him on the window at Whitby; and as friend John saw him fly from this so near house“

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

Silas doesn't actually turn into a bat while flying, but the text compares his flight to a bat

"Something huge was flying through the air (...) Something man-sized that flickered and fluttered as it moved, like the strobing flight of a bat."

Causing fear and unease

„The eyes fell upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to paralyze me“

„I saw his eyes. They burned into me, and my strength became like water.“

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

„People who noticed the man Jack when he went about his business – and he did not like to be noticed - were troubled, or made uncomfortable, or found themselves unaccountably scared. The man Jack looked up at the stranger, and it was the man Jack who was troubled.“

Hypnosis and mind control

„There was something diabolically sweet in her tones (…) which rang through the brains even of us who heard the words adressed to another. As for Arthur, he seemed under a spell“

„A dark mass spread over the grass, coming on like the shape of a flame or fire; and then He moved the mist to the right and left, and I could see that there were thousands of rats with their eyes blazing red (…) And then a red cloud , like the colour of blood, seemed to close over my eyes; and before I knew what I was doing, I found myself opening the sash and saying to Him: „Come in, Lord and Master!“ The rats were all gone.”

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

“Now think carefully, and tell me you are certain that it was a child that you saw.“ The man Jack thought. The stranger unlocked the side gate. „A fox“, he said. „They make the most uncommon noises, not unlike a person crying. No, your visit to this graveyard was a misstep, sir. Somewhere the child you seek awaits you, but he is not here.“ And he let the thought sit there, in the man Jack‘s head for a moment“

“Don’t mind me. You don’t even have to remember this conversation.“„No,“ said the man Jack, agreeably. „I don‘t.“

"He couldn‘t push the minds of the dead as he could the living"

Durability

„Remember that he has the strength of twenty men, and that, though our necks and our windpipes are of the common kind- and therefore breakable or crushable- his are not amenable to mere strength."

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

"There are ways to kill people like me," he said. "But they don't involve cars. I am very old and very though."

Averse reaction to the day/sun

„His power ceases, as does that of all evil things, at the coming of the day.“

„Until it (the sun) sets tonight, that monster must retain whatever form he now has. He is confined within the limitations of his earthly envelope.“

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

"Silas, who had love for neither the rain or the remnants of the daylight, was standing inside, in the shadows."

"They will come back, Silas," Miss Lupescu whispered. "Too soon, the sun will rise."

Cursed to be undead

„I did not say she was alive, my child; I did not think it. I go no further than to say she might be Un-Dead.“

"But do you know what men say? Some of them, that I am dead and buried; others, that I am not only dead and buried, but that I am one of those unhappy beings that may not die the common death of man. Who live on a fearful life-in-death, whereby they are harmful to all. Those unhappy Un-dead whom men call Vampires--who live on the blood of the living, and bring eternal damnation as well as death with the poison of their dreadful kisses!“ (this one is from "The Lady of the shroud" another vampire story by Bram Stoker)

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

„I want to be like you,“ said Bod, pushing out his lower lip. „No,“ said Silas firmly „you do not.“

„I have been walking this earth at night for a very long time, but I do not know what is it like to dance the Macabray. You must be alive or you must be dead to dance it – and I am neither.“

[poisonously-alluring-sev]

Snape Preference ~ Books He Recommends

Severus Snape Masterlist

Context You ask him for something good to read and he gives you a pile of books he thinks you'll enjoy. (This is excluding the obvious amount of potions and herbology books he probably has)

The Secret History by Donna Harett Under the influence of a charismatic classics professor, a group of clever, eccentric misfits at a New England college discover a way of thought and life a world away from their banal contemporaries. But their search for the transcendent leads them down a dangerous path, beyond human constructs of morality.

The Resurrectionist: The Lost Work of Dr. Spencer Black by E. B. Hudspeth

Philadelphia, the late 1870s. A city of gas lamps, cobblestone streets, and horse-drawn carriages—and home to the controversial surgeon Dr. Spencer Black. The son of a grave robber, young Dr. Black studies at Philadelphia's esteemed Academy of Medicine, where he develops an unconventional hypothesis: that the mythological beasts of legend and lore—including mermaids, minotaurs, and satyrs—were in fact humanity's evolutionary ancestors. And beyond that, he wonders: what if there was a way for humanity to reach the fuller potential these ancestors implied?

Masters Of Death by Olivie Blake

There is a game that the immortals play. There is only one rule: Don't lose.

The Maidens by Alex Michalides Edward Fosca is a murderer. Of this Mariana is certain. But Fosca is untouchable. A handsome and charismatic Greek tragedy professor at Cambridge University, Fosca is adored by staff and students alike—particularly by the members of a secret society of female students known as The Maidens.

What Moves The Dead by T. Kingfisher When Alex Easton, a retired soldier, receives word that their childhood friend Madeline Usher is dying, they race to the ancestral home of the Ushers in the remote countryside of Ruritania.

What they find there is a nightmare of fungal growths and possessed wildlife, surrounding a dark, pulsing lake. Madeline sleepwalks and speaks in strange voices at night, and her brother Roderick is consumed with a mysterious malady of the nerves.

Murder Your Employer by Rupert Holmes Who hasn't wondered for a split second what the world would be like if a person who is the object of your affliction ceased to exist? But then you've probably never heard of The McMasters Conservatory, dedicated to the consummate execution of the homicidal arts. To gain admission, a student must have an ethical reason for erasing someone who deeply deserves a fate no worse (nor better) than death. The campus of this "Poison Ivy League" college—its location unknown to even those who study there—is where you might find yourself the practice target of a classmate...and where one's mandatory graduation thesis is getting away with the perfect murder of someone whose death will make the world a much better place to live.

Botanical Curses & Poisons: The Shadow-Lives of Plants By Liz Inkwright In both history and fiction, some of the most dramatic, notorious deaths have been through poisonings. Concealed and deliberate, it's a crime that requires advance planning and that for many centuries could go virtually undetected. And yet there is a fine line between healing and killing: the difference lies only in the dosage! In Botanical Curses and Poisons, Fez Inkwright returns to folkloric and historical archives to reveal the fascinating, untold stories behind a variety of lethal plants, witching herbs, and fungi. 

Dracula by Bram Stoker Irish author Bram Stoker introduced the character of Count Dracula and provided the basis of modern vampire fiction in his 1897 novel entitled Dracula. Written as a series of letters, newspaper clippings, diary entries, and ships' logs, the story begins with lawyer Jonathan Harker journeying to meet Dracula at his remote castle to complete a real estate transaction. Harker soon discovers that he is being held prisoner, and that Dracula has a rather disquieting nocturnal life. Touching on themes such as Victorian culture, immigration, and colonialism, among others, this timeless classic is sure to keep readers on the edge of their seats! Now available as part of the Word Cloud Classics series, Dracula is a must-have addition to the libraries of all classic literature lovers.

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik I decided that Orion Lake needed to die after the second time he saved my life.

Everyone loves Orion Lake. Everyone else, that is. Far as I'm concerned, he can keep his flashy combat magic to himself. I'm not joining his pack of adoring fans. I don't need help surviving the Scholomance, even if they do. Forget the hordes of monsters and cursed artifacts, I'm probably the most dangerous thing in the place. Just give me a chance and I'll level mountains and kill untold millions, make myself the dark queen of the world.

Hope you enjoyed this quick idea I had. Also, all of these books are amazing and I 100% recommend all of them!

[popentertainment-moviereviews]

MEGALOPOLIS (2024)

Starring Adam Driver, Giancarlo Esposito, Nathalie Emmanuel, Aubrey Plaza, Shia LaBeouf, Jon Voight, Laurence Fishburne, Kathryn Hunter, Dustin Hoffman, Talia Shire, Jason Schwartzman, Grace VanderWaal, Chloe Fineman, James Remar, D. B. Sweeney, Isabelle Kusman, Bailey Ives, Madeleine Gardella, Balthazar Getty, Romy Mars and Haley Sims.

Screenplay by Francis Ford Coppola.

Directed by Francis Ford Coppola.

Distributed by Lionsgate. 138 minutes. Rated R.

Legendary director Francis Ford Coppola’s passion project has been about 40 years in the making. Despite the fact that the guy has helmed some of the great films of all time – The Godfather, The Godfather Part II, Apocalypse Now, The Outsiders, Peggy Sue Got Married, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, etc. – no studio had been willing to put their support (and their money) behind Megalopolis.

Therefore, the filmmaker decided to make it himself, spending over $100 million of his own money so that he could have complete control of the film. And this is after he nearly destroyed his entire career and trashed his studio 42 years ago by sinking all of his money into the historic bomb One From the Heart and he swore he would never, ever do that again. In fairness, I always have kind of liked One From the Heart and it has gotten a better reputation over time. Also, Coppola has been mostly financing his films in recent years through sales from his popular vineyard, in fact he sold the vineyard to get the money to make Megalopolis.

He even uses the idea as the tag line for the movie poster: “If you can’t see a better future, build one.”

So, here is Coppola’s mega-opus – and quite probably his last film. Coppola decided to pull out all of the stops, and damned if he hasn’t. This film is completely Coppola’s baby, and he has complete control, for better or worse. He spent a ton of money and a ton of time on it, and he was going to make it his way. On the plus side, Megalopolis looks stunning. It is full of fascinating sets, props, effects and massive, epic scenes.

Too bad that the storyline makes little to no sense, that dialogue is stilted and hackneyed and some very talented actors make some very questionable acting choices. (I assume that they were directed that way by the auteur, but it doesn’t make it any less jarring to watch.)

Megalopolis is supposed to be – I think – Coppola’s expose of corporate greed and politics and his wish for a purer, more artistic and loving world. And those things are definitely there, front and center, but they are at service of such a complicated and honestly kind of ridiculous story that they become melodramatic and cartoonish.

The Megalopolis of the title is New Rome, which is basically supposed to be a magic version of modern New York in an odd alternative timeline where the old Roman Empire never fell.

The film basically revolves around three families (although it has a cast of dozens) who are fighting for control of New Rome.

The hero – or as close as this film comes to a hero – is Cesar Catalina (Adam Driver), a city planner who is trying to use magic to create his own Utopia. He can stop time and create things through pure will because… well I don’t know how, he just can. It’s not like Coppola has to come up with some kind of an explanation for his hero’s superpowers (although, yeah, really, he should).  

Because Caesar is pushing for pure change and beauty, he runs afoul of the slightly corrupt Mayor Franklyn Cicero of New Rome (Giancarlo Esposito), who doesn’t like the man’s fresh idealism, or the fact that he is sleeping with the Mayor’s daughter Julia (Nathalie Emmanuel).

And finally there is commerce, with elderly banker Hamilton Crassus III (Jon Voight), his scheming wife Wow Platinum (played by Aubrey Plaza, and yes, that really is the character name) and his trans, rabble-rousing wannabe street politician grandson Clodio Pulcher (Shia LaBeouf) trying to exert their will on the city.

Clodio and Cesar are also cousins, and Wow was Cesar’s former mistress, just to show how incestuous this all gets. (I won’t even get into Clodio and Wow’s affair… oh, wait, I guess I just did.)

All of this leads to some highly over the top melodrama over the fight for the city, with some spectacular brawl scenes and some truly insane (in a good and bad way) world building. And then, for no particular reason, a character will recite a whole Shakespearean soliloquy, just because they can.

Well, Megalopolis is finally here, and good for Coppola for getting it made after all these years. And good for him for not leaving a thing that he wanted to try undone, this truly, for better or worse, is a magnum opus. But I’m afraid Francis Ford Coppola is in for another critical and financial drubbing. I have to hope that this is not the film that this great director goes out on. However, if he does, then he goes out on his own terms.

Jay S. Jacobs

Copyright ©2024 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: September 27, 2024.

[webotixae]

Why Vampire Facials (PRP Treatments) Are Celebrities Favorite!

 Looks often compete with talent for attention, so it's no shock that celebrities eagerly hunt for the newest skincare secret. Enter: the vampire facial. It may sound like a gothic remedy straight out of a Bram Stoker work, but this procedure has swept through Hollywood. But what exactly does it entail, and why do the stars obsess over it? Let's explore the visually gruesome yet alluring world of this trendy beauty treatment!

What Exactly is a Vampire Facial?

The Vampire Facial, scientifically known as plasma rich platelet injection, involves drawing a small amount of your blood, spinning it at high speed to separate the plasma rich in platelets, and then injecting it back into your face. Think of it like a facial with a twist—of a tourniquet.

Kim Kardashian famously flaunted her post-facial face on Instagram, and since then, everyone from soccer moms to secret agents have been intrigued. But don’t let the gore scare you off; the results are anything but horrifying!

Anti-Aging Magic!

When it comes to aging, most of us would pound a pint of pickled bat wings if someone told us it worked. Fortunately, plasma rich platelets treatment are a bit more palatable and scientifically backed. The treatment catalyzes collagen production, which is the key to maintaining that fresh-faced glow we all crave.

The platelets in PRP stimulate the production of collagen and elastin, restoring the skin’s volume and reducing fine lines. Imagine looking in the mirror and realizing you’ve just cheated Father Time out of a decade. Now that’s a plot twist worthy of an Oscar!

Scars, Be Gone! 

Admit it: just like love handles and exes who slide into DMs, acne scars have an annoying way of sticking around. Fortunately, the regenerative properties of PRP( plasma rich platelets) can transform your skin’s texture.

Those platelet-healing factors can significantly improve scars and even out your complexion. It’s like hiring an A-list cleaning crew to scrub away those pesky reminders of past blemishes. So, kiss those scars goodbye, and get ready for your close-up!

Pore-fection Achieved

Large pores can make you feel like your face is a lunar landscape. Plasma rich protein treatment help by tightening your skin, which in turn reduces pore size. 

This magical pore-shrinkage is akin to getting a confirmation that shrink rays aren’t only for sci-fi movies. Hello, flawless complexion! No more hiding behind filters—your skin will be selfie-ready at all times.

Glow Baby, Glow

Radiance typically requires a few good night’s sleeps, a diet of organic fairies, and a sprinkle of unicorn dust. Or, you could just get a protein rich plasma treatment.

The plasma rich injection process boosts your skin’s hydration and enhances its tone, giving you that dewy, luminous glow. Look out, highlighters! There’s a new shimmering sheriff in town, and it’s all-natural.

Health Benefits Fit for Royalty

A plasma rich platelets treatment isn’t just about appearances—it’s also about overall skin health. PRP treatments can improve circulation and promote healing. So, while you’re flaunting that youthful glow, your skin is actually getting healthier from the inside out. Now, that’s a plot twist that M. Night Shyamalan would envy!

A Quick Morality Check 

It might sound like you’re enlisting in a horror franchise, but don’t worry, there’s no trans-species transformation here. The plasma rich protein treatment uses your own blood, which means there’s minimal risk of allergic reaction or rejection.

So, while ‘vampire’ might stir up thoughts of myth and fantasy, this facial is all about embracing your own body’s natural abilities. No dark curses or wooden stakes required, just good old-fashioned science!

The (Almost) Painless Process

Okay, let’s get real for a moment. We’re not suggesting this is a fluff-and-buff facial you get on your lunch break. There’s a little discomfort involved, but hey, beauty is pain, right? The minor pin-pricks are worth enduring for the stunning results.

While you might leave looking like you’ve had an unfortunate run-in with a rogue hairstylist, the redness and swelling typically subside quickly. And the best part? The process boasts minimal downtime, so you can book that premier party just days later.

Celebrity-Approved Results

If A-list celebs like Bar Refaeli, Gisele Bündchen, and Angelina Jolie endorse it, surely there’s something .Vampire Facials have garnered endorsements from a bevy of celebrities, who swear by the treatment's rejuvenating effects. 

[mycharacterdump]

𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐍

Open up your eyes, shut your mouth and see That I'm still the only one who's been in love with me I'm just happy getting you stuck in between my teeth And there's nothing I can do about it.

“But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one; men know him not - and to know not is to not care for.”

― Bram Stoker, Dracula

No one ever saw Dash for who he was, only who they perceived him as. He could blame only himself for this — because nothing seemed a worse fate than letting people see the most vulnerable and nonsensical things of which made you operate the way you did. Better off they remain in darkness, stumbling about until they found something they liked about you on accident. It’s why his parents didn’t entertain the idea of therapy despite the trouble he caused them as a child and pre-teen. He downright refused to be psychoanalyzed. Although that didn’t stop those closest to him from trying anyway. It seemed to be their favorite hobby, as a matter-of-fact. But he did his best to swerve from all expectations made of him, which made him ever difficult to pin into that lovely shadowbox wherein all Jensens inevitably lay on display for the world to see. 

Because of his evasive manner of living, he was sent away to boarding school at the ripe age of fourteen. In the heat of adolescence he was shipped off to Ermitage International School of France, where he would spend the next four years being taught by strict professors all the while enjoying the backdrop of Paris from his dorm room window. He would attend the occasional party held by his peers, however he never truly engaged with the rager scene. Secretly he feared that being caught would only motivate his parents to increase the restrictions already heavily enforced, and behind being read, being held back from experiencing life was what he despised most in the world. So, for a short time, he stuck to his books and advanced to the top of his class eventually.

He excelled in French and his history lessons, slacking off a bit where it concerned science and mathematics, but not enough to garner attention from his professors. His parents would call every other week just to check in and eventually the anger that had festered within him from the beginning of his stay at Ermitage had begun withering away. He had made friends that were much less concerned with who he actually was and moreso in what he could contribute to their circle — namely his knowledge in classes they were falling behind in, trading his secrets for precious euros. One novelty he afforded himself between studying was smoking weed, which he always acquired by taking the train to Amsterdam over the weekends and purchasing it from a dealer he came into contact with via one of the seniors that left too soon for Dash’s liking. 

One weekend, when he had just celebrated his sixteenth birthday and was sent a generous fifteen hundred euros from his parents, he embarked on yet another trip to the Netherlands in the hopes of stocking up on what he needed for the next few weeks as well as enjoy the nightlife that he normally didn’t indulge in during his short stints there prior. He drank in the French countryside, envisioning a relaxing life there once he finished his studies and earned his inheritance. He was thinking he’d buy one of those secluded villas and install a pool, maybe a jacuzzi while he was at it, and start his own vineyard. Put something meaningful to the Jensen name overseas. 

The doors buzzed open and he grabbed his backpack off the floor, skirting through the small crowds of people gathered in the aisle as he hopped off the train. He bypassed the stands that held maps, having known the city like the back of his hand at that point, and made a b-line for the first coffee shop he could remember existing outside the station. He bought a black coffee and smoked a cigarette outside the shop, people-watching and calculating the rest of his afternoon in peace. Once the cherry burned halfway through he disposed of the cigarette and downed the last of his coffee, beginning to explore the streets of Amsterdam while in search of his apartment he had rented out with some of his birthday money. 

The apartment was located on one of the main streets with a beautiful view of a canal. He found the key underneath the doormat and pushed himself inside, grinning as he walked inside and immediately rushed upstairs so he could unburden himself and change. Ripping his school uniform over his head and kicking it aside, he swapped it with his casual clothes he only ever wore on the weekends and left once more. He was hoping he could come into contact with his dealer before sunset, and admired the sights that surrounded his apartment as he ventured to the correct neighborhood nestled within the heart of Amsterdam. The sky was a soft blue that had begun to look like it was dipped in a golden honey and spread across the horizon, and there were pink petals that ebbed and flowed in the gentle spring breeze, which was almost as calming as the sound of the canal splashing against the brickwork that held up the city’s medieval architecture. Scratch that thought about a villa in the French countryside — he might’ve enjoyed the thought of purchasing a townhouse and growing weed from flowerboxes in his windowsill more.

His dealer, Johannes, was chainsmoking underneath a glowing streelight by the time Dash found him. His gangly figure was illuminated by the artificial lamp that hung overhead and the smoke somehow made him look even more emaciated, but Dash didn’t care how he looked, as long as he had what he needed on him, which he always did.

“Long time, no see, klootzak,” Johannes commented with a cheshire grin.

“Yeah, right?” Dash returned as he reached into his back pocket and fished out half of the birthday money he was given, flashing it in Johannes’ face with perked up brows. This attracted the older man’s attention immediately and he nearly coughed on the next puff of smoke he inhaled, lungs backpedaling as he stared blankly at the high schooler. 

“God, where’d you steal that from?” the dealer asked, reaching out so he could grab the cash and stuff it into his pocket without a second thought.

Dash snorted at the lack of hesitation. “Didn’t have to steal it. My birthday present,” he clarified. “Well?” he asked expectantly. 

Johannes buffered for a moment before he started rifling through the bag he always kept on him, eventually unearthing two baggies that would easily last Dash through the rest of the semester. Thank fucking God, he cursed to himself as he reached out so he could take the goods. Before he could get a grasp, however, Johannes held the baggies above his head.

“I got something even better, if you’re interested,” Johannes said, humming as he gave Dash a once over. He had grown a considerable amount since they first met and was certainly in better condition than Johannes himself. “You always buy the same shit. Might as well cross the border with something that’ll actually give you a rush.”

Dash’s dark brown eyes narrowed at him. “Who said I was looking for a rush?” “Never said you were looking for one, but that just proves you need it,” Johannes noted. He tossed the baggies over without another word, yet still reached into his bag so he could retrieve another plastic baggie that contained white pills. “You should be having a good time while you’re here, brother.”

He eyed the baggie for a moment and debated it heavily. He had never gone farther than experimenting with varieties of pot, what would this mean for him? Then, he thought about how good of a person he had managed to be while under the keen eyes of his professors, and decided: fuck it. He fished out another hundred euros and accepted the baggie.

For the remainder of his stay in Amsterdam he wouldn’t touch the pills given to him, he hadn’t even lit up the weed he bought, saving them all for when he returned to Paris. On the train ride back he couldn’t stare out the window wistfully at the countryside, preoccupied by thinking about what would come of the drugs he had safely stored at the bottom of his backpack beneath all his clothes; new and old, as he sort of went on a huge shopping spree his final day in the city, since he’d planned on traveling more over the summer rather than return to Boston. There was nothing there for him besides high expectations and the same boring lifestyle he had grown to be glad he was rid of. 

The first night back in his dorm, he waited until his roommate had escaped to study hall before fishing out the baggie that contained the white pills and cautiously taking one out — inspecting it in his palm before he threw it back into his mouth. He grimaced at the taste, quickly swallowing it and washing it down with some tap water. He started on some reading material for his AP History course that was wrapping up within the next month while waiting for the effects of the pills to manifest in his central nervous system.

Suddenly, as he read the extensive and intriguing history of Napoleon Bonaparte, he felt the room shift and his heartrate begin to pick up exponentially. As he glanced up he watched as his vision extended and his peripheral started to blur, blinking multiple times without any change. His impulse control seemed to shoot down within seconds and he had half a mind to toss his book aside and begin patrolling the hallways in search of something he had previously no inclination to find — a party.

On the third floor he could hear distant music. He was brushed aside by a small group of students that were giggling to themselves and chose to follow them, unbuttoning a few buttons on his shirt for better ventilation as he entered the hazy student lounge that normally went unnoticed by the counselors, whose office was located on the opposite side of the wing. He glanced around, his rapidly beating heart guiding him toward a table where multiple bottles of liquor could be spotted. He had a hankering for some type of alcohol and wound up choosing one of the more popular bottles, a golden handle of Triple sec that was half-emptied already. He poured some into a cup and sipped at it, ignoring the burning sensation on his tongue as he began wandering around the lounge.

He came to a stop in the middle of the chaos. A French pop song was blaring from above. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. Everything was amplified and he would’ve felt overwhelmed if he first hadn’t felt more alive than he ever had before in his life. What the fuck was he doing studying all that time, ignoring the parties taking place all around him just so he seemed more elusive and foreboding? Adjusting his glasses, he started swaying his hips along to the beat, a smile growing on his lips as he felt his organs buzz from within.

As he closed his eyes and enjoyed the energy coursing through the lounge, he would find himself nearly pressed against a shorter girl who had an entire handle in her hand and a grin laced on her glossy lips. They danced together in total silence, syncing their movements and moving closer and closer, not exchanging a single word — and this is when Dash realized that he could have both worlds, in fact, ignorance and pleasure seemed to entwine quite well. He never knew her name, he couldn’t even place her face, and they despite their clear attraction they didn’t engage in useless small talk underneath the stars or on some rickety staircase. All they did was dance and he felt as if he were on top of the world.

At some point she became braver and reached up, sliding off his glasses and tucking them into her pocket. She grinned up at him and he mirrored the expression despite his blurry vision obscuring her face.

“Cute boy,” she finally spoke up. “My dorm?”

It was clear that she wasn’t fluent in English, but hell, he had forgotten half of his vocabulary thanks to whatever it was that he downed earlier, so it wasn’t a point of contention for him. He followed her through the lounge until they reached the hallway, then climbed up an obscene amount of stairs until they arrived at the girls’ dormitory. They stumbled into her room and exchanged a few sips of the alcohol they had stolen, eyeing one another’s movements the entire time, and Dash didn’t think to say anything that entire time.

For the first time, he had felt completely uninhibited. He would attribute it to the subsequent making out and then the loss of his virginity shortly thereafter, but in reality it had been the pills that unearthed a part of him he thought had died the day he was sent off to France so he wouldn’t be such a burden to his family.

He wondered, staring at her in the moonlight that cast through her thin curtains, how he could feel this way forever. Guiltless. Free. Infinite. Then, it occurred to him:

He wasn’t a Jensen to her, or to any of those people. Not even to Johannes. He was only a boy. And that’s how he would remain until someone pried the youth out of him, which he would have to prevent for as long as he could. 

No girlfriends, no best friends, no family. Only himself. That’s the one person who he could ever count on, truly. Himself and a few white pills to help alleviate the pressure of wearing a thousand different masks all at once.

[angolicious]

Tugging lightly on Poe's hair it HAS to pull the best whimpers from him. Do not pull too hard. Do not hurt the tall baby

((NSFW BELOW. WARNING.))

HES LITERALLY SO TALL THOUGH!!!! Like-

WHERE ALL THAT LEG GONNA GO WHEN YOU’RE HAVING SEX? WHERE DOES HE PUT ALL THAT LEG-

It’s always the tall sort of slender ones who have the biggest dicks too… i just know he’s packing.

I imagine pulling his hair absolutely pulls the sweetest sweetest little moans out of him. They’re breathy, whiney, and you can feel the little shutter in his chest when you do so. That’s if you’re gentle though- if you pull it hard he’ll yelp in pain and VERY much not like it.

If i had to headcanon anyone to have a super sensitive scalp it would be poe, and Bram stoker. I just feel it in my soul. Oh- shit- and Fyodor and sigma too.

Play with poes hair GENTLY. He especially loves when you gently pull on the longer parts towards the back of his neck. Thread your fingers into his hair and scratch your nails across his head.

He’s super embarrassed about it, but i imagine one time you did that, and he literally came RIGHT there. In his pants… in his seat- behind his desk. It was one of the first times ya’ll were doing anything intimate but he’s still SO SO SO embarrassed about it.

Like, you were sitting in his lap, thighs on either side of him, kissing him deeply. It was very quickly turning into a make out session. You had your hands cupping both of his cheeks as you kissed him, and his hands were nervously placed on your thighs, thumbs running back and forth across the skin.

You could feel him getting quickly hard below you, his length beginning to press up into your core, and to move things along, you let your fingers dive into his hair, nails running along his scalp from the front of his hair line all the way past his ears towards the base of his neck.

You were expecting it to feel good, sure. That was the point. You were NOT however, expecting him to suddenly jerk his hips against you, with a loud, gasped.

“O-OH MY GOD!!” Followed by a soft-

“Oh shit-“

Under his breath.

It only took you a second to realize what had happened, as you could literally feel his length twitching through his pants. He stood abruptly and stormed from the room- and locked himself in his room for hours, he felt so bad. You had to physically pick the lock and break in. And that’s where you found him, laying curled up on his bed with a look of shame on his face

You had to sit with him and coo to him about how it was okay, and perfectly normal. He only perked up when you told him you thought it was kinda hot how into it he was. He let you cuddle with him then.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EDGAR ALLAN POE!! SORRY FOR PUBLICLY DISGRACING YOUR SEX LIFE ON THIS JOYOUS DAY.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Beyond the Blood Tie - An Angel Reyes/Original Character Story.

So, besties! I’m throwing you all in at the deep end and presenting the first chapter of my rewritten story! For those who didn’t see my post yesterday, it’ll be a vampire Angel and EZ themed fic, set in a slightly dystopian world just under 100 years into the future. If that sounds like something you’re down for, well, come on in and read it! I’m going to forgo the chapter unlocking for the first couple of parts, just to ease you into the new world I’ve created (well, not really new as I wrote the original version of this over ten years ago) but as always, your feeback is hugely appreciated. I’m going to sit here chewing my nails to bits, waiting on comments, hahaha!

Oh, and just to note, you’ll notice that the timeline is slightly off in how it doesn’t line up with the period of time Mayans MC is actually set. I could have changed this, but it would have thrown a lot of the story out of whack, so I just left it as was. Suspend that disbelief, y’all! xD Also, I’ve borrowed a little vampire lore here and there, a bit from Bram Stoker, a bit from Charlaine Harris, as well as creating my own! 

So, without further ado, I’ll hand you over to Edie, our new OC. She’s very chatty...

Words - 5,960

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Edie's POV

Greetings! So, my name is Edie Bailey, I'm a twenty-eight-year-old resident of Las Vegas, Nevada and for this portion of the story at least, I shall be your narrator. So, sit back and get yourself comfortable, because I have a whole lot to explain. The year is 2101, and much has changed, while eerily remaining similar to how things were one year into the new millennium. Two large parts of the planet suffered a setback, if you will. Or more accurately, a completely catatonic disaster that wiped out an estimated two hundred million people from the face of the earth. I know, like something out of the movies, isn’t it? Humanity never thought it could happen, but, well, you know where that sort of thinking leads you to.  

What’s that about the last thing you ever think could happen, actually happening? Bingo. You’re with me now.  

We're steadily getting back on our feet again, we've only just in the last fifty years managed to construct and establish some kind of functioning civilization. A terroristic fraction, angry at the West was behind the massive and simultaneous biological warfare attack on all the major cities across Europe and the USA in 2001. There was apparently a covert operation on a massive scale, one which was ultimately behind the canisters of slow seeping gas that were secretly planted across any major public place you could think of, all with enough of the virus within to infect the hundreds and thousands of people passing through them per day. They were simultaneously detonated at the same time; July 11th, 2001 was when it started.  

Places such as airports, train stations and more importantly, areas housing people of political or royal importance - if direct clandestine access couldn't be gained to where they resided - all came under attack. Some terrorists were sleeper agents, and managed to successfully infiltrate these places of high importance and power. The queen of England was infected by one of her own ladies in waiting, a sleeper who'd been planted there over a year before, apparently.

Not that it mattered much, the exact locations the canisters were planted in, with the rate the D11X virus spread and the effect it had on people. Hospitals in every major city of the affected continents began seeing record numbers of patients admitted, all with the same symptoms. It has been recorded that they suffered what as akin to severe flu, eventually and quite quickly perishing from it, but yet hours later after being shut into the morgue, out they climbed again. People knew they had trouble on their hands when they began figuring these dead, yet alive again people had an unquenchable hunger for humans.

Oh yes, you got it. Zombies, or something like it. Whatever they are, they're the undead, and they'll eat you. We call them the reanimated. Well, not anymore since there's none left now. We have another group of undead to thank for that, said undead being the vampires who came and ate them. Okay, so not so much ate them as apparently, a vampire cannot drink the blood of the dead or they’ll die themselves (I think, at least, but don’t hold me to that as I’m not a wealth of knowledge where vampire lore is concerned) but they sure made fast work out of killing them. This had little to do with any feelings of kinship these former human, now immortal night hunters had towards us. They simply saw their life source being depleted drastically, and knew they needed to step forward out of the shadows and reveal themselves to the main part of society.

It turns out that vampires have existed literally in the shadows, within the darkest fringes of our world, seeped in myth for the most part, since time began. They did that by having secret keepers, humans who let them feed of their blood in return for protection offered by the vampire. These families were ancient and trusted, but as time moved on vampires found others, people who believed the myth to let them feed from.  

Of course, they also hunted ruthlessly and attacked other people for their life source, their precious blood without question or mercy. They are vampires, after all. Naturally, those people were dismissed as crazy, vampire fetish freaks and no one believed that they'd had an erotic or otherwise encounter with a vampire, who of course back then were just a thing of make believe. They were a horror character utilised by the likes of Bram Stoker, and nothing more. But yet after the infection of the Western population at large, they emerged, and like I say, they began to help us with the less amiable living dead. You can at least say 'no thank you' to most vampires if they ask to feed from you, and they'll respect your stance. Seriously, they're not all bad. However, a lot of them are dangerous and unhinged, and they don't like humans at all. I guess they have good reason not to.

After the virus broke, well, lawlessness abounded, with so many people wiped out. There was no one to answer to, there were suddenly no rules to obey. It was the law of the Wild West, literally. Over here, we had very few remaining police and military, and no government at all. Sleeper agents got them too, as I’m sure you can imagine. It was very much kill or be killed in some places as I gather, and learned at school... when I showed up there.  

Our world, it's really different to how it used to be according to law. That brings me round to why the vampires got pissed at humans. The new authority in place in the world as it is now is not one of jail time, community service or fines, but one of corporal punishment, and vampires are included in that with their own set of laws introduced by our new powers that be. Trying to tell a powerful, cunning and highly intelligent creature who could kill you within a blink of an eye how he or she must behave is like walking up to a lion, punching it in the face and expecting to keep your hand afterwards. It really isn't going to work well for you, and it didn't. Vampires objected greatly to it, until, that is, their own political movement came forward and negotiated with ours, agreeing to our terms in exchange for being allowed all the same other rights as humans. That was agreed, and that part of the deal is what pissed off the humans.

Yeah, everybody got pissed for a while back there!

At present, things are still a little frosty, but for the most part vampires and humans co-exist without too much incident, and if there is, well it's because some vampires are kinda crazy. Not just in the blood sucking way either. I've been told by my friend, Sasha that they're the most amazing lovers on earth, mind blowing, I believe she described the two she's had sex with as. Apparently, they fuck for hours on end. As much as the sexual longevity is appealing, I don't know. There's something about them that's very unnerving. You can feel the deadness in them, and it always makes my heart pound nervously. This happens especially when they look at me, which they often do as of course my accelerated heartbeat is audible to their bionic ears. Fear = vampire bait. Apparently, it’s quite thrilling for some of them, to feed from you when you’re terrified. Now do you understand my reservations? I’d like to think that you do.

It's like, I can pick up on this void inside them, this lifelessness that of course they have. I dunno, they're alright, but they freak me out a bit. I can't let them either, because of my job. I know I'm going to get one in my chamber sooner or later, to exact their designated punishment upon. That, folks, is exactly what I am. A punisher by trade, or punishment enforcer, the correct title is. I am someone who essentially tortures those who have committed violent crimes. Now, I think I need to just stop a second and explain this all to you. Back before the disaster, of course if you broke the law you were punished with community service, a jail sentence or the death penalty, depending on the nature and severity of your crime. Not anymore in the USA, the jail part, at least. We don't have enough criminals to fill a jail, let alone the economic resources to keep them all fed and housed.

When the country was just getting back onto its feet, most of our current authority was formed by last surviving military men, men who when the disaster first broke were the ones who began the defence against the reanimated, those who built shanty towns and the first communities to house those who weren't infected, and to look after people, make sure the kids were schooled by someone, that food and water were divided fairly and equally. It was such a different time, such a changed world, you have to understand. They fought against all the lawlessness too, the looters, those who wanted to capitalise for themselves upon the disaster, those who went wild. I remember the stories my grandfather told me as a child about the old days, the lost years of America, as they were known. It was absolute fucking carnage, to be blunt.

With no government, it was solely these military men to keep the peace, those who became the figureheads of their towns, the men everyone trusted and went to with a problem. They were the ones to decree that to end the madness, they had to mean business and so therefore chose punishments akin to the old saying of an eye for an eye. What you do, you get back suitably. You beat someone, you're beaten. You rape someone, it is made sure you will physically never rape anyone again, you rob someone and you're then forced to work off your debt doing whatever the person you robbed wants you to do, and so on. It works like that, and it's very successful. Crime is down on what it was when the disaster broke, and even what it was before then, too. Us punishers, we we're good at what we do, and I've personally been doing this for ten years now.

Before that I was just another street punk kid who wound up getting exactly what she deserved and being punished herself, but whose nerve, and also stupidity and bravery in fighting back against her punisher were noted. Apparently, I had balls to do that, to lash out when I was being given my sentenced punishment that I should have just taken without question. Eventually, I got bound at the legs too, so I couldn't do as I had been doing and swinging up on my wrist shackles to kick my punisher straight in the face. After I was released, they told me I needed a career to keep me on the straight and narrow and offered me the chance to go through training to do the job I do today.

It's not like I was some ultra-hard, tough little street fighter girl. I knew how to handle myself, I was a nomadic kid and that was about it. I got good with my fists after a neighbour of ours taught me to box and good with my feet when he also introduced me to kickboxing. He knew I was having a hard time at home, but he couldn't intervene out of fear over what'd happen to him. My parents weren't nice people, and they were racist people, too. Vic, the guy who taught me how to box, is black, so you can imagine how that would have gone down with Mr and Mrs Prejudiced. My parents never knew I hung out with him because they didn't much care about where I was. They were too busy getting caught up in their own drama. Anyway, enough about that, back to Vic, because he is one awesome man.

I'm still in touch with him, in the end he was more of a father to me than my own was before I left home. I'm not going into that, why I did. I'll leave it for later, you'll find out at some point. Anyway, Vic taught me a lot about life, certainly more than any classroom with the same teacher from four to seventeen years old (remember, the population did sink a lot so there were a lack of teachers, even though people are breeding like crazy to get it back up again, and so far so good) and as I mentioned, he also taught me the art of boxing. He made me fast on my feet and even quicker with my fists. It made up, and still makes up for the fact I missed most of school, and so don't have any qualifications. I don't consider myself as intelligent as I'd like to be, but I'm reasonably smart because I read and because I have very learned friends. People like Vic, Sasha and my fellow punishment enforcer colleague, Ahmed.

He's had one hell of a hard life, what with being from Arabic descent. That's what they call him here, the mad Arab, despite the fact he's from Michigan. He served in the military; or rather this day and age's form of it, and his main job of course apart from defence was to help eradicate the living dead problem. A lot of civilians didn't trust him, despite the accent telling them otherwise, that he was an American citizen. That's why he left and came to do this in the end, he got too pissed off at the constant stereotype that he was a terrorist, when he hated the Eastern extremists who did this to us all those years ago just as much as anyone else did. He's received the same all his life, purely because of his blood. When he was seventeen, someone stabbed him in the eye because of it, meaning he just has one now and a patch over the socket where the other used to be.

He's a formidable looking man, standing at six feet seven, and looking like he's been carved out of rock, a rough black beard that trails into a long point at his chin, and one brilliant green eye. His black hair touches his waist, and he looks a little like a long dead actor who was reasonably famous, pre-virus outbreak, called Jason Momoa. Well, like the Arabic version of him, at least. The darker skin he has with that one bright eye makes him very attractive, even though it took a while for him to see that. Before he learned how to handle himself, he got torn up pretty bad. His face is scared right down the right side where he lost his eye, and he's covered in a collection of scars all over the muscular body he now sports too. ‘I look like a fucking character from the old street fighter games, believe me, no one wants to fuck that.’ That's what he told me once, when we were sinking a few whiskies after work.

So, my reply to that was to take him back to my house, and fuck his brains out all night. Damn, he showed me one hell of a big reason why women would fall all over themselves to date him. He's hung like a beast, and fuck, that colossal cock of his made me cum so hard, I could barely close my legs afterwards. Ever since then, we've mentioned it here and there but always in a jokey way (him – ‘Edie, you can't lie to me girl, my tongue's been in your pussy’) but there's nothing there between us. We're great friends who enjoyed a great fuck once upon a time; it goes no further than that. Speaking of Ahmed…

"I'm going to get it, one day," he vouches, as we sit on the roof of Correctional Department (or CD for short) where we work. I love the way they try and make it sound civilized, what we do. To be fair though, it has one hell of a success rate as a deterrent. We see very, very few re-offenders after they've had the crap beaten out of them for their designated length of time.

"I still maintain you need a slingshot," I gesture, pointing at his hand before taking a bite of the large cheese baguette I'm holding. The building opposite, like many others, remains boarded up and desolate. Even after a hundred years, there still aren't enough people to necessitate as many facilities as there were available to the people pre-lost years. Because of the massive set back, our technology in this day and age is also one hundred years behind. We might as well be in 2001, because that's all we know before time stopped and survival took over. Apparently, after the disaster, it took fifteen years for America to regain power alone.

He picks up another brick and hurls it through the air, striking the chimney and taking a big chunk of it away. "Nah, no sling shot needed, look see I got another piece right there." Some people choose to seek sustenance on their break, and some people hurl bricks. I suppose he's doing the wreckers who will move in next week a favour, since the former hotel is about to be torn down. Needless to say, the need for hotels specifically still really isn't as big as it once was. A lot of people haven't really wanted to visit America over the last century, as you can imagine. I mean, it is getting better now, now we're actually rebuilding and life is carrying on almost like it was back in 2001, except with the differences you'll notice I've mentioned, and will keep mentioning.

"Does anyone know what'll be built there yet? There are no development signs displayed or anything, which is odd," I comment, while my friend finally tires of brick hurling and parks his bulk down next to me on the edge of the roof.

He scratches his beard, picking up his soda and taking a swig. "I think I heard Wilson say something about a big hypermarket, some Chinese company or something who brought up most of Vegas." Ahhh, yeah. That'd make sense. China saw it as a massive opportunity for them to become an exceedingly richer country by buying up a lot of land, helping us regain our currency and financial feet once more, and also having access to things too, like stores, banks, medical care and transport, you know, the very fundamentals that our people were without access to for over thirty years after the disaster. It took that long to wipe out the majority of the undead, same as in Europe. Things over there are a hell of a lot better now too, so much so that my friend Sasha and I have even spoken about visiting London or somewhere like that on vacation next year.

We're able to travel again because of the Chinese, who began to migrate over here around seventy years ago, seeing the mess that'd been left behind as a massive opportunity for them to flourish. We thank them for it, even though they've blatantly profiteered upon our misfortune, because they've helped rebuild our country into one that has begun to move forward again. We're still not as technologically advanced as they are, but it'll come to us in time. They're not about to make things that easy for us now and share their technology, are they? Profits can still be made, and until our system is strong enough to support itself, Chinese investment will continue to drive the economy.  

Of course, the disaster had massive knock-on effects all around the world. Obliterating America and Europe will do that, you'll tend to find. Because of the disaster, our world has only made limited progress. Sure, countries not affected by the disaster directly (i.e. the countries and continents who escaped the virus being released there) did continue to move along and progress more than we did, but it's still been limited. Even the East themselves suffered greatly without us, the very people that their fundamentalists wanted to infect out of existence.

When you take out Europe and America though, two places that were the pioneers and driving forces of so much (politics, the world economy, sciences, medicine, human rights, I could go on) the effects will be felt further afield. The only reason China are so ahead are because they've invested billions of dollars into the USA and reaped the financial rewards over the last couple of decades because of it. I suppose you're wondering why no other countries came to the aid of us and Europe at the time of the disaster, aren't you? They feared reprisal attacks, so that is why it was such a desolate wasteland here, and within Europe too, for so very long. China was massive enough not to be worried, and they were right not to be.  

Are you still with me, guys? I know, I know. It’s a whole lot to take in. Go make yourself a coffee, you’re doing great!  

"I can't wait until we finish, I swear. I'll come to the bar for one drink and that's it, I'm picking up some fried chicken and heading home to eat it in bed and then sleep for many, many hours. Fuck more decorating," I tell Ahmed, lighting a cigarette after finishing my food.

"So, your redecoration project is being handled with nothing less than mammoth gusto, then?" he asks, finishing his soda, flattening the can and hurling that towards the roof opposite, too. I guess he’s running low on bricks.  

"Indeed I am, big fella, I can't handle the paint fumes for longer than absolutely necessary. You know me, I don’t abide getting high." He snorts softly with laughter, reaching around me to grab my cigarettes and steal one. I swear, he never buys his own. He’s such a mooch.  

I live in a small bungalow here in Las Vegas, only four blocks away from where my large friend here lives, in fact. I decided to repaint every room, so that's the lounge, bathroom, kitchen and two bedrooms. I'm halfway done, and I started five days ago. Working the graveyard shift here at the CD between the hours of 9pm and 3am means I do have a little more in the way of spare time than most careers allow. We only work for six hours a day because the jobs we do are very physically draining, as you can no doubt guess. It is a little draining psychologically too though, but you harden yourself to it.

If you're like me and Ahmed in nature and believe that all bad people deserve painful punishments, you actually quite enjoy your job. I'm enjoying my current detainee in need of correction, very much so. He was convicted of torturing and then raping three thirteen-year-old girls, so for the last three hours I've been sticking hot pins in his genitals, which he will eventually loose. Our powers that be decreed it best to prevent a rapist from ever, ever living up to that name again. Quite plainly, if you stick your dick in a female who tells you that she doesn't want it, you lose your manhood to us in the end and pee through an implanted tube for the rest of your life. I don't do that bit, though. That part is left to a qualified doctor who will come and take him away once I'm done making sure he's been put through even more pain than he did those children. One hung herself, so I heard.

He tortured them for three days prior to raping them, and he earned himself that time back with me, which will end when my shift does. I'll be glad to see the back of him after the last three shifts I've had with him, and rest easy in my bed over a job well done. I only slept for five hours yesterday, since I got in from work at around 4am, slept until nine and then got up and painted until I had to go run some errands. I don’t sit still nearly as much as I should. Like I said to Ahmed, I'll be having one drink, getting me some chicken, eating it in bed and then going to sleep.

"Edie, time's up with him. I got Mack here to take him down to the surgical suite," Wilson, one of the guards here at the CD tells me after pounding on my chamber door a few hours later in the evening, our doctor with him.

"Would you look at that, time to lose your junk, you raping sack of shit, enjoy." I tell the beaten down waste of flesh in front of me as Wilson comes in and unties him, pushing his reluctant and scrambling form through the door. After that, I wash my hands and face in the small sink in the corner before leaving, shutting off the chamber lights and pulling the heavy door closed, just as Ahmed emerges from the chamber next door and does the same. We then head upstairs from here, up from the bowels of the building and out into the street after climbing the two flights of stairs. Ten minutes later and we're walking into our favourite all night bar.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Miss Abram?" I exclaim upon entering, seeing my closest friend Sasha turn around at the bar and beam.

"Waiting for you, is what! I had a date, it went really well but he had to leave early, so I figured I'd wait around until you inevitably showed up. Hey, Ahmed," she replies, moving to give the big man himself a hug. I like the fact they both get on. It’s nice to have that blend with my two friendship groups.  

"Sup?" he replies, winking at her before ordering me and him a drink. Sasha has some kind of crazy cocktail concoction in her hand already, and how she drinks it, I'll never know. I like my alcohol straight up, not mixed with another three different types, a handful of fruit and load of carbonated, sugary mixer. I'm fussy; literally all I drink is whiskey, coffee, water and milk. Oh, and fruit juice of a morning. Kiwi Crush wakes me up nicely while I'm waiting for my coffee to brew.

"So, tell me about the dude. Alive or dead?" I question, laughing a little when Ahmed snorts in an amused way at my side.

"Dead," she replies, folding her arms and pursing her lips. She's waiting for it.

"Such a fanger, Sasha.” Yep, he delivered exactly what we both expected, shaking his head. He teases her mercilessly about the fact she's trying out dating vampires. A fanger is the slang term for a person who likes being with vampires, basically. He earns himself a fist in the arm for that remark.

"Quiet at the back there, big fella," I warn playfully, giving his long braid a tug as he passes me my drink. "Alright, tell me about the vamp, then?" I then put to Sasha, parking myself on a bar stool and lighting a cigarette. "And why did he have to go early? The night is his daytime, and it doesn't get light for another two hours yet." I add, just as she opens her mouth to talk. I gotta work on this more, my desire to interrupt. It's a flaw of mine. I either talk too much and I interrupt, or I don't say enough. Yeah, I’m a fucking delight, aren’t I? Quick, answer now while I’m quiet!

"Because he needs two hours to travel back up to California before the sunrise, he's working up there a couple of days a week. He didn't elaborate upon what though, but that's a vampire for you. It takes time to get to know them," she informs me, reaching around me and slapping Ahmed on the arm to get his attention and offer him a cigarette.

"Cheers, babe. Hey, get your asses over here! What in the hell happened to you two?" he replies to Sasha, and then shouts to Wilson and Joe, two of our colleagues from the CD who come in looking a little worse for wear.

"Table," Joe grunts, pointing in the direction of where a group of people get up about to leave, Wilson giving me a playful punch in the arm in greeting before we amble over.  

"So, I reiterate. What in the hell happened to you and Wilson?" Ahmed asks, the eyebrow above his good eye arched highly as he takes in a battered looking Joe, who is holding an ice pack to his head.

"A fucking vampire, that's what happened to us. A psychotic vampire to put it correctly, and Edie all I gotta say is thus; I pity you, girl. You're the one who's got to deal with him.”  Oh. great. My time has come. I feel nervous enough around vampires as it is, and I’ve been quietly dreading this day, the day I receive one as a detainee. Now I learn he also happens to be psychotic. Awesome! I hope you can feel my sarcasm here. You should, because it’s dripping off of me.  

"For god’s sakes!" I groan, sinking my whiskey and shouting to Wilson to get me another. Looks like I’m staying for more than one tonight.

"What's he in for?" Ahmed asks, blowing a stream of smoke down his nose, and then wincing as we all do when Joe puts his hand to his nose and gives it a push, growling when the bone cracks and having Sasha being quick with a handful of paper napkins from the table to catch a gush of blood that exits his nostrils.

"Thanks toots, I knew it was broken. Fixed now though," he replies at first, taking the napkins from her and holding them himself, nodding gratefully when Wilson puts a beer down in front of him, swigging back a good, long glug before speaking again. "He's in for murder." Immediately, Ahmed and I share stunned expressions with one another.  

"I beg the hell out of your pardon?” I begin, perplexed. “He killed someone, and he's in the CD?” If you murder, whether you're human or vampire, then you die. End of. This has to be the murder of a human too, or the vampire authorities would have handled it themselves. The only time they don't is when it's a human involved, and then they leave it to us. We follow their guidelines on punishment though, and another vampire has to oversee the proceedings, just as another impartial human (not working for the CD, but for the government, or our version of it since we technically don't have one, we have an authority) has to when we have a human person detained.

"The technicality that the two people he murdered were trespassing on his property in order to try to capture and then drain him, oh and the fact that they shot two of his wolves. That’s what got him off on a correction rather than seeing the sunrise. Also, apparently his creator is a vampire of significance within their hierarchy, she's very ancient and wise, and she stood firm for him over what he did. I was reading the notes after we got him chained up, and she reminded them of the work in taking out the reanimated she'd personally done along with him, and another two vampires in her nest.  

“She also vouched for her word in being punished herself if he was ever to act like this again, and basically, she struck a deal for him. Apparently, creators see their offspring like children, so I suppose you can't blame her since she's technically fighting for her kid, but still, son of a bitch is crazy." Wilson explains thoroughly, flipping a beer mat in his fingers. Drainers, I've heard of those. They're people who acquire vampire blood by shady means, and then sell it on for the high black market price tag it attracts to thrill seekers. I'm unsure what it actually does to anyone who drinks it, though.

"It took six of us to get him moved from the van to the CD. Sorry, Edie. He's all chained up good now, though. We’ve got him bound in silver, so he can't move," Joe then adds, reaching out and giving my arm a squeeze when he sees the slightly daunted expression I must have upon my face. Okay, so I'm strong and I know how to give someone a damn good beating. But if this is a vampire who required six fully grown men to move him in silver graspers and shackles (that's what the police bind them in upon arrest) then what fucking chance do I stand against him if he gets loose?

"Listen, get to work at seven tomorrow and I'll go through everything with you, it'll give you time to read the protocol sheet, and if at any time while you're in there you don't feel up to doing it, well I think allowances can be made since this is your first time having a vampire detainee. We can just send the big fella in here," Wilson offers, while pointing at Ahmed. I know I have to do this, and I know they've probably specifically chosen me because I'm the only member of the eight punishment enforcers who hasn't yet had a vampire detainee, but still, I can't deny I'm a little nervous about this. I'm quite a hardened young woman, too, so that tells you everything.

Sipping his drink, he then continues. "Look, I think I can speak for the three of us when I say we all felt apprehensive before we went in with a vamp for the first time.” He looks to Joe and Ahmed, who both nod in confirmation. "But they're bound solid, they can't hurt you. Just don't get close enough for them to bite you, but if they give you enough grief, you can yank their fangs out anyway, takes a while for 'em to grow again too. You're allowed to do that. You just have to block your ears to anything they say, because they're perceptive and they pick up on things about you very easily on your body language alone, so give nothing away. You'll be fine, Edie. You've been doing this for ten years and you ain't had a vamp yet. It's about time that changed."  

On our evening, or rather early morning continues, with me leaving at somewhere around 4.30am and doing what I said I'd do. Except the takeout place has no chicken left, so instead I settle for a pizza which I then do take home to eat in bed. After finishing it and switching off the old film I was watching (which to me is a new film, since we don't have a film industry at present) I drink a few mouthfuls of water and then settle down to go to sleep.  

I'm usually out like a light in my ultra-dark bedroom (I have heavy drapes to block out the light so I can sleep during the day) after an exhausting evening at work, but this morning I feel restless and nervous. One might say I have good reason to be, too.

[serzhantkris]

Haunted- 6

Summary: He knew, from the moment he found her there, bathed in the glow of fire, that she would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Damon x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 1531

Taglist Open

1881

“‘How can I say what I owe to you? This paper is as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am dazed, I am dazzled, with so much light, and yet clouds roll in behind the light every time. But that you do not, cannot comprehend. Oh, but I am grateful to you, you so clever woman.’”

“Mina is very clever,” she said. Damon paused his reading, tilting his head to get a better look at the girl’s face. She was concentrating, brows pulled tightly together, her hand resting on top of his as he followed the words on the page as he’d been reading aloud. Her hand was so small, compared to his, even at ten years old, though Lilian’s physical size said very little about her brain. “They speak so highly of her, don’t they?”

“They do,” Damon said, leaning his head against the elm tree. “She’s very bright, and her heart is pure. She reminds me of a little girl I know.”

“Am I that girl?”

“Well,” Damon chuckled, smoothing the hair back from her forehead. “I don’t know of many little girls who can read so well. Or find Bram Stoker so titillating.”

“Titillating?”

“Exciting,” he explained. “Many little girls would be afraid of monsters like Dracula.”

Lilian hummed, pressing her temple into Damon’s shoulder. She was curled in his lap, sitting sideways so that her feet barely touched the grass beneath them. “He’s not a monster,” she concluded. “I think he’s misunderstood.”

“Do you now?”

“He didn’t ask to be a monster,” she said, looking especially thoughtful. “He just wants to be with the woman he loves, and he doesn’t think the way other people do. His choices make sense, to him.”

“Well, he did feed a baby to his minions. That seems awfully evil to me.”

Lilian frowned. “He does nice things, too.”

“Doing nice things doesn’t excuse the things we do that are bad,” Damon told her. She looked up at him, perhaps more focused on this lesson than any she had learned in her years at the convent. “Even bad people can be kind, Lilian. It’s people who try to change or make up for their mistakes who are truly good.”

Lilian nodded, understanding, perhaps more than Damon thought she would.

“‘Madame," he said this very solemnly, "if ever Abraham Van Helsing can do anything for you or yours, I trust you will let me know. It will be pleasure and delight if I may serve you as a friend, as a friend, but all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you and those you love.’”

“He loves her? Van Helsing?”

“They’re friends, aren’t they?”

Lilian nodded, and Damon could tell something was nagging at her. He waited, patiently, as she stared hard at the page. “Like you and I?”

“I suppose so, yes. Why?”

“Does that mean you love me?”

Damon kept his finger at its place on the wrinkled page, but adjusted Lilian so he could look at her face. “What’s this about?”

“I miss you when you’re gone. That’s all.” It was not all, Damon could tell, but he didn’t press. Lilian replaced her hand on his, ushering him to read further.

“‘There are darknesses in life, and there are lights. You are one of the lights. You will have a happy life and a good life, and your husband will be blessed in you."”

Lilian was quiet, though they knew the next line was hers to read, and after a moment she sat up rather suddenly. “Have you ever been in love? Like Dracula?”

Damon faltered. “What- I mean, why- do you think I’m a vampire? Is that it?”

“Don’t be silly,” Lilian laughed, her nose scrunching. “Vampires are all fairy tales. And they- they eat babies, I suppose. No, Damon, it’s just- you read like you really mean it, not like Father Lantom. He reads plainly, like he’s still learning the words, as I am. But not you. You read poems and love stories like you’re in love or you’re very sad.”

“I’m both,” Damon said, looking at her through his lashes, head tilted, like he was sharing a secret. “There is a woman. And you don’t read plainly.”

“There’s always a woman,” she said, giggling. “You really are a romantic. Sister Mary Eunace was right.”

“Was she now?”

“Who is she? The girl- the woman you love. What’s her name? Where is she? Can I meet her?”

Damon frowned, closing the book. Lilian’s smile fell, realizing she must have made some sort of mistake. “Never you mind, flower. She’s not around.”

Lilian turned away, picking at the grass. “Is she dead?”

The wind drifted through the courtyard, ruffling the grass and dragging Lilian’s hair into her face. He reached up, pushing it away, and smiled sadly at her. “No,” he said. “She’s.. Lost. I have to wait for her.”

“But she loves you,” she said. “So you’ll find her soon. Like Dracula, crossing oceans of time.”

“Something like that, I suppose. Yes. I would cross oceans of time for her.”

Lilian nodded, understanding but still so full of questions, and leaned back into Damon’s arms. He grabbed the well-worn book up again, thumbing at the frayed edges of the paper. He turned back to their place, the words suddenly a blur.

“Her name is Katherine,” he said after a moment.

“Is she a light? Like Mina?”

Damon exhaled, a clear picture of Katherine in his mind. “She is very little like Mina.”

“I suppose that’s all well,” Lilian said. “So long as she is a light. It’s a memaphor, isn’t it? Light means good, and darkness, that’s bad. It means there are bad things in life, but people who are light are good.”

“Metaphor. Very good, flower. Smart girl,” Damon said, amused. “Here. You’re turn.”

She read, slowly, her finger trailing along. Damon listened as Lilian read, but his mind was somewhere else. Buried in a forgotten tomb some hundreds of miles away, with his heart. There was a pain in his chest that couldn’t be soothed, not even by Lilian’s soft voice or the weight of her in his lap, not by the gentle breeze or the calmness of the courtyard. He longed to be with Katherine, longed to hold her as tightly as he did the little girl who longed for him to stay. But it was almost time, yet again, for him to say his goodbyes, and unlike Katherine, he knew that Lilian would be waiting for him, alive and well, even if he never came back again. He believed, with all his heart and soul, that Katherine was waiting, locked away, perhaps counting the days as he was- but there was a seed, just a miniscule crumb, of him that thought perhaps he had been lied to. That maybe she wasn’t there at all. But he couldn’t let it grow, couldn’t submit to the idea that perhaps she was not waiting for him. Because if he did—

He listened until the page ended, and closed the book with a kiss atop Lilian’s head. He knew she would be sad, and his heart would be heavy for another year, but picked himself off the ground all the same. Lilian walked with him through the gate, her hand in his as though guiding him, though the halls had become so familiar he could navigate them just as easily as the tunnels beneath Mystic Falls. She stopped at the door and he handed her the book, which she clung to her chest. It was old, the warn cover peeling back and the spine crooked. He’d had it for quite some time, carrying it with him from town to town as he wandered the country, the way a child might carry a blanket.

“Take good care of that,” he said. “I expect you’ll be surprised by the end.”

“Is it a sad ending?”

“You’ll have to read it to find out.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, leaning forward on her toes. Damon made no promises to return, and gave no indication that he would see her again, just as always. He waited, as footsteps echoed behind her and the door opened wider. Sister Mary Eunace ushered her back inside, instructing her to find her way to her room. Only when she was gone did the Sister let her gaze fall on Damon.

“You break her heart, you know.”

Damon’s eyes fell closed. “Only through breaking my own,” he said.

“And yet you continue to do so.” Sister Mary Eunace frowned, as though expecting Damon to come back up the steps, to change his mind, to stay just a while longer or, Heaven forbid, attempt to take the girl with him. “Does she know what you are?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “If she does, she’s kept it to herself.”

“And what do I tell her, if she asks such questions?”

“The truth, I suppose. Tell her I’m… Misunderstood.” Damon’s smile fooled no one, not Sister Mary Eunace, not God and certainly not himself. She waited for him to move again, to disappear into the streets, before quietly closing the door.

@navs-bhat @suspiciousmuffin @allinhishands @lordofthunderthr

[strangerrthings]

All the movies that inspired Stranger Things 4 (According to the Stranger Things Writers)

1. 300 2. 12 Monkeys 3. 13th Warrior 4. 2001: a Space Odyssey 5. 28 Days Later 6. 47 Meters Down: Uncaged 7. Ace Ventura Pet Detective 8. Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls 9. Almost Famous 10. Altered States (Unavailable) 11. Amalie 12. American Sniper (TNT) 13. Analyze This 14. Annihilation 15. Aristocats 16. Armageddon 17. Arrival 18. Assassin’s Creed Movie 19. Avengers: Age of Ultron 20. Babe: Pig in the City 21. Back Draft (Peacock) 22. Basketcase 23. Batman Begins 24. Batman vs. Superman 25. Battle of Big Rock 26. Beauty and the Beast 27. Beetlejuice 28. Behind Enemy Lines 29. Beverly Hills Cop 30. Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey 31. Billy Madison 32. Black Cauldron 33. Black Swan 34. Blade Runner: 2049 35. Blair Witch Project 36. Boondock Saints 37. Borat 38. Bram Stoker’s Dracula 39. Broken Arrow 40. Burn After Reading 41. C.H.U.D. 42. Cabin in the Woods 43. Carrie 44. Casablanca 45. Castaway 46. Children of Men 47. Cider House Rules 48. Clueless 49. Con Air 50. Congo 51. Constantine 52. Crank 53. Crimson Tide 54. Dances With Wolves 55. Dark Knight 56. Death to Smoochy 57. Deep Blue Sea 58. Die Hard 1 2 & 3 59. Dogma (YouTube) 60. Don’s Plum 61. Don’t Breathe (Nope) 62. Doom 63. Dreamcatcher 64. Drop Dead Fred 65. Dukes of Hazzard 66. Dumb & Dumber 67. Edward Scissorhands 68. Emma 69. Enter the Void 70. Event Horizon 71. Ex Machina 72. Fallen 73. Fargo 74. Fast & Furious: Tokyo Drift 75. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off 76. Final Destination 77. Fisher King 78. Forrest Gump 79. Fugitive 80. Full Metal Jacket 81. Get Out 82. Ghost 83. Ghostbusters 84. Girl with the Dragon Tattoo 85. Girl, Interrupted 86. Gladiator (?) 87. Godzilla: King of the Monsters 88. Good Fellas 89. Good Will Hunting 90. Hackers 91. Harry Potter & the Chamber of Secrets 92. Heat 93. Hell or High Water 94. Hellraiser (I + II) 95. Hidden 96. High Fidelity 97. High School Musical 98. Highlander 99. Home Alone 100. Hunger Games 101. Hurt Locker 102. I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang 103. I Am Legend 104. In Cold Blood 105. Inception 106. Independence Day 107. Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark 108. Indiana Jones: Temple of Doom 109. Innerspace 110. Inside Out 111. Interview with a Vampire 112. Into the Spiderverse 113. Island of Dr. Moreau 114. It Follows 115. It’s a Wonderful Life 116. Italian Job 117. James Bond (all) 118. James Bond: Skyfall 119. John Carter of Mars 120. JP (= Jurassic Park?) 121. Jupiter Ascending 122. Jurassic World 2: Fallen Kingdom 123. Karate Kid 124. Kingsmen 125. Knives Out 126. Labyrinth 127. Leon: the Professional 128. Let The Right One In 129. Little Miss Sunshine 130. Long Kiss Goodnight 131. Lord of the Rings: Trilogy 132. Lord of the Rings: Two Towers 133. Lost Boys 134. Mad Max: Fury Road 135. Magnolia 136. Mask of Zorro 137. Men in Black 138. Mimic 139. Minority Report 140. Misery 141. Mr. & Mrs. Smith 142. My Cousin Vinny 143. Mystic River 144. Never Been Kissed 145. Nightmare 3: Dream Warriors 146. No Country for Old Men 147. North By Northwest 148. Ocean’s 11 + 12 149. Ocean’s 8 150. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest 151. Open Water 152. Orange County 153. Ordinary People 154. Paddington: 2 155. Pan’s Labyrinth 156. Papillon 157. Paradise Lost 158. Peter Jackson’s King Kong 159. Peter Pan 160. Pineapple Express 161. Platoon 162. Predator 163. Primal Fears 164. Princess Bride 165. Prisoners 166. Pulp Fiction 167. Ravenous 168. Reality Bites 169. Red Dragon 170. Reservoir Dogs 171. Robocop 172. Rushmore 173. Saving Private Ryan 174. Scrooged 175. Se7en 176. Shape of Water 177. Shooter 178. Sicario 179. Silence of the Lambs 180. Silver Bullet 181. Sky High 182. Society 183. Source Code 184. Speed 185. Splash! 186. Splice 187. Spy Kids 188. Star Wars 189. Star Wars: Rogue One 190. Starship Troopers 191. Step Up 2: Step Up 2 Tha Streets 192. Stoker 193. Superbad 194. Swept Away 195. Swingers 196. Sword in the Stone 197. Swordfish 198. Tangled 199. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 200. Terminator 2 201. Terminator: Dark Fate 202. The A-Team 203. The Birdcage 204. The Birds 205. The Book of Henry 206. The Cell 207. The Craft 208. The Crazies 209. The Crow 210. The Descent 211. The Devil’s Advocate 212. The Fifth Element 213. The Fly 214. The Good Son 215. The Goofy Movie 216. The Graduate 217. The Green Mile 218. The Guardian 219. The Guest 220. The Hobbit: I, II, II 221. The Lighthouse 222. The Matrix 223. The Mist 224. The Mummy 225. The Natural 226. The Neverending Story 227. The Orphan 228. The Peanut Butter Solution 229. The Perfect Storm 230. The Prestige 231. The Raid 232. The Revenant 233. The Ring 234. The Rock 235. The Shining 236. The Terminal 237. The Visit 238. Thor: Ragnarok 239. Timeline 240. Titanic 241. To Kill a Mockingbird 242. Tombstone 243. Total Recall 244. Toy Story 4 245. True Lies 246. True Romance 247. Truman Show 248. Twister 249. Unbreakable 250. Unforgiven 251. Unleashed 252. Very Bad Things 253. Wanted 254. War Dogs 255. War Games 256. Wayne’s World 257. Wedding Crashers 258. Weird Science 259. Welcome to Marwen 260. Welcome to the Dollhouse 261. Wet Hot American Summer 262. What Dreams May Come 263. What Lies Beneath 264. What Women Want 265. What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? 266. Who Framed Roger Rabbit 267. Willow 268. Wizard of Oz 269. You’ve Got Mail 270. Young Sherlock Holmes 271. Zodiac 272. Zoolander

[fantastic-rambles]

Random BSD Thoughts: “The Untold Origins” and The Decay of Angels

WARNING: Spoilers for “The Untold Origins of the Detective Agency” LN (Brief spoiler for Chapter 91 near the end.)

So I’m still plodding my way through the light novels and making notes on the various things that catch my interest. For those who have read the third novel, saying that I’m going to discuss the Decay of Angels in relation to it might seem odd, but there’s a method to my madness (in my own head, at least).

Right now, we’ve been introduced to the five members of the Decay of Angels in the manga, which seems to have rounded out the group. And the light novel, as the title suggests, refers to events that happen a long time before the events of the manga. But I think that the novel could be hinting toward the existence of the Decay of Angels even back then, with Ranpo and Fukuzawa briefly catching its tail.

(My thoughts/reasonings are pretty tenuous, so there’s a very good chance that I’m wrong/will be proved wrong since I’m no Ranpo who can solve a mystery by looking at it, but this is just where my brain went and I felt like sharing. xD) 

“V” and the Decay of Angels?

(I’ve learned how to use headers instead of having enormous walls of text, go me!)

The lines that caught my attention and sent me spiraling down this rabbit hole are these, which appear near the end of the light novel:

Behind it all was a domestic underground syndicate known as “V,” whose goal was to rid the country of skill users.

And the battle against them was only beginning.

Of course, it doesn’t name the Decay of Angels explicitly, but there are a few things just in the first line that caught my attention:

They are a domestic syndicate. Of course, the Decay of Angels (currently) has skill-users from several different countries, but their leader is very much Japanese. And maybe back then, they were primarily Japanese, with Fukuchi recruiting the others in the years since (more on this later).

“V”: the Roman numeral for 5, which could refer to the five “signs” of the impending death of an angel (one of which is the “lack of delight in their heavenly seat” or something along those lines that the ADA fulfilled--I think I’m mixing up the Mouryou no Hako description with the BSD description, but you get the point). It could also refer to the number of members, but I find that unlikely given that “V” does seem to have more than five people at this point in time.

Their goal, to rid the country of all skill users: isn’t that literally what Fyodor wants to do? Though on a slightly larger scale, as he apparently wants to rid the world of them altogether. But again, if he were recruited later, that would have provided him a strong incentive to lend his support to the DoA.

We also learn that this organization is willing to use any methods in order to achieve their goals, which is rather reminiscent of the methods of the DoA, especially Fukuchi orchestrating an enormous terrorist plot in order to gain control of an international, non-affiliated army and destroy all of the countries.

Plus, the member of the organization who is caught by Fukuzawa and Ranpo is a police officer, Jun Mitamura. Was he an early member of the DoA or the Hunting Dogs under Fukuchi? Yes, he doesn’t seem to be a skill user, as is the case with both organizations now, but it’s also established that back then, the knowledge of skill users wasn’t well-known, and the government seemed to be trying to collect them. So I don’t think it’s unreasonable that some of the earlier iterations of the groups might have had non-skill user members, and it would make most sense to recruit them from law enforcement and/or the army.

To prevent him from talking after he was captured, Mitamura was stabbed by a blade that disappeared (as was Kurahashi); I don’t know when Fukuchi obtained Amenogozen, but it certainly seems like something he could have done if he did have it then. Especially since he was also affiliated with the military (and maybe was starting to get a reputation?) and could probably walk around a police station/jail without raising suspicion.

Angels in the Light Novel (an aside, mostly)

Another interesting tidbit is that “angels” feature prominently in the story, most particularly in the play that is performed early on that has a minor mystery for Ranpo to solve, including the death threat that is received:

An angel shall bring death, in the truest sense of the word, to the performer. - V.

Although this is part of the plan to fake Murakami’s death, it seems clear that “V” and Murakami and/or Kurahashi were in contact in order for this note to be written. After all, it would be a wild coincidence for them to have randomly chosen “V” to be the anonymous sender of the letter and then for this organization “V” to show up later in the novel.

Of course, the “angels” in the play don’t actually have great bearing on the story (as far as I can tell), and the depictions of skill-users in the play are considered inaccurate/dramatized in general (again, since they’re not well-known about at this point), but it is noted that it’s very unusual to include them since they’re generally considered some sort of urban legend. But if “V” had a hand in writing the play through Kurahashi, they could have provided information about skill-users (possibly to pique Natsumi’s interest and get him to show up?) as well as influenced the theme of the angels.

Overall Timeline of Events

So with this information, I’ve organized a rough (theoretical) timeline of events for the development of the Decay of Angels. Starting from three facts:

14 years ago (prior to the present shown in the manga), Fukuchi joins the army and comes to hate war.

12 years ago, the ADA is founded.

8 years ago, Fukuchi defeats Bram Stoker and forces him to join the DoA.

Presumably, around those 14 years ago, that’s when Fukuzawa left the army/being a government assassin and found employment as a bodyguard instead. But Fukuchi did join the army and was caught up by the horrors of war, which led him to start forming plans to destroy all of the countries and establish world domination. So by the time Ranpo meets Fukuzawa two years later, possibly Fukuchi has formed a proto-Hunting Dogs/DoA organization that is called “V” with his charisma and growing fame.

Then, in the following years, he goes on being the world’s hero, fighting against highly skilled and dangerous skill-users. With his reputation and image of reliability, trust in him grows and he’s able to freely go almost anywhere, which would give him opportunities to meet and recruit people like Fyodor and Gogol. Gogol seems to be close friends with Fyodor, so they probably came as a package, while Fyodor may have agreed to the cooperative relationship so that he could get the Book and erase skill-users, while Fukuchi would be able to benefit from Fyodor’s malicious and thorough ability to devise complex plots to achieve their goals. Also:

MANGA CHAPTER 91 SPOILER: “One Order” is apparently an ability that “frees soldiers [people] from the yoke of sin”/takes away their guilt (over committing murder). Sound familiar??? This might just be a coincidence, though. But if Fyodor is also interested in this, it could further explain why he joined up with the DoA.

But not all of the collaborators are working with Fukuchi willingly, as is seen by Bram Stoker. But when he defeated Stoker, Fukuchi clearly thought that he would be useful (either his own idea, or possibly Fyodor’s if they’re working together by that point) and kept him secretly for 8 years. So this is a plan that’s been in the works for a very long time and only coming to a head now, since the ADA has grown enough to be able to realistically pin the terrorism accusation on them.

Miscellaneous Thoughts

How does Fukuzawa get his ability of “All Men Are Created Equal”? If he does have this ability, at the very least, he doesn’t recognize it at this point of his life. Possibly it’s again due to the dearth of knowledge/interactions with skill-users (especially any that would be under his leadership since he’s very much a lone wolf), but is it actually possible to develop a skill later in life as is mentioned in the play, and which Fukuzawa uses to convince Ranpo that he’s a skill-user? (I’m inclined to think not, and that it just becomes applicable after he establishes the ADA and skill-users join, but still curious.)

Little Oda! When the assassin with two pistols showed up, I hoped he was Oda, and he was! Which means that Ranpo and Oda met (ish) before Oda decided to stop killing, and again when Oda decided to start killing again. And Little Oda still likes curry. D:

[machinesandman]

PEOPLE I’D LIKE TO GET TO KNOW BETTER

Alias/name – Splat, Spoop, D, Al, Local Skeleton Cryptid

Birthday – Dec 25th

Zodiac sign – Sagittarius/Capricorn

Height – 6′2″

Hobbies – Writing, gaming, world building, mythology junkie, history nerd, D&D/DND

Favorite color – Purples, Blacks, Reds, Greens.

Favorite book – Frankenstein, Bram Stoker Dracula, The City Of Ember, Sherlock Holmes, Nancy Drew...

Favorite food – Steak, Sushi, noodles, ELDERBERRY JAM (that is the fault of a muse entirely)

Last film/show – Bumblebee, Infinite Darkness

Inspiration – If I get back into games, or media, that involves those fandoms, my brain go brrr. Sometimes I get nervous getting back into things, but after testing the waters, I often times fall head first in it. I’ve always loved video game universes and have many worlds and characters of many fandoms. But if it comes too certain writing styles, the descriptions style I have is poetic and vivid, much like stephen king styles or mary shelly. And I’ll admit, my writing has been heavily influenced by my friends here, on this blue hellsite, as well as my mom. The woman has told me many times to keep going, and put so much detail into my things, and never stop.

Story behind url – Considering the whole multimuse thing here, many of them are robots and reploids, machines, or data. And just a few humans, but mostly one human my main, thus machinesandman, as well as the way scientific robotics papers often compare the two. And have used the line ‘machines and mankind’ so on and so forth.

Tagged by: @bastardsunlight

Tagging: @magnetiix @bionicparrot @tres-fidelis @m3chanical-rhythm @goodoldstrength @bleedingedgehunter @red-made-the-choice @iiguess @xfactxr @indulgentia @endl3ss-blu3​ @diggydiggybot​ And who ever else see’s this, STEAL IT, THERE’S TOO MANY OF YOU.