#have i missed anything?

[chronosdawn]

Delirium - Vampire!Scaramouche x GN!Reader

I’m in the mood for vampires what can I say?

Warnings: dark content, kidnapping and captivity, blood-drinking and biting, reader is very out of it and it’s reflected in the prose.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. Kept in this room where the thick velvet curtains are always drawn and the faintest hints of sunlight able to sneak through the gaps on the brightest of days are a fine luxury. The sheets underneath you are soft and silken, clearly of high quality—as is the set of manacles chaining your wrist to the bed frame. 

It is not those that make escape something of a far flung dream however, no, it is instead the arms of your captor that are often locked around you in a vice-like grip in your more conscious moments. He’s holding you now, the dark strands of his hair brushing against the side of your face as he leans down and buries his fangs in your neck.

You barely react to pain anymore, just an almost imperceptible flinch, too used to the sensation and too unfamiliar with your own limbs to do much more. This is all you know anymore, arms and fangs and cold—always so very cold, like every speck of heat has been drained from your body and you are incapable of generating any more. If only you could reach the curtains and pull them open to let the sunlight warm your skin just like—

Like when? Had you ever stood in the sunlight? You could recall the sensation, the lovely way it felt on your skin but any memory you might have had of it is gone, lost to the dust and the dark and the cold. It is so painfully cold in here.

Your captor draws back from your neck, peering at you with eyes that seem to glow violet in the dim light, a smear of your blood darkening the corner of his lips. A slender-fingered hand cradles your cheek with a little too much force to be called gentle. 

“Not long now,” he says, brushing his thumb over the skin of your cheek. “See, I told you you’d get through it just fine, didn’t I?”

Did he? You can’t recall. You think you knew him before the room on some days—on days where you even remember a time before the room at all. In your clearest moments you think you might have been fond of him once. Or maybe you were afraid? Perhaps it was both, before the cold had come and left your insides deadened. 

“You’ll feel better when it’s over, you’ll realize I was right all along.” He leans towards you and kisses you sweetly.

His lips are like ice and taste of blood.

No, you’d told him you didn’t want this. That you wanted him but not the cold and the never-ending night. You pull away with as much effort as you’re able when your muscles are all numb.

“S—Scara—” The rest of his name falls away from you as quickly as your moment of lucidity had come. 

“I’m right here,” he says, wiping away a tear that you do not remember falling down your cheek. “We’ll be together forever now, you’ll never need anyone else.”

He may say that but you feel like you do. Like there are people you want to see so badly your heart may burst from your chest, even if you can’t recall a single one of their faces.

“I—” you try but the cold has seeped into your tongue and your brain and you do not know whether to tell him to go away or come closer so that you may lose yourself in the scent of green tea on his clothes and dream of days gone by where he was not the feature of your very worst nightmares. 

Your chance to ask for either is lost as he pulls away, rolling up one of the sleeves of his fine shirt to reveal a skin so pale it can never have seen the sun at all. Without any sign of hesitation, he brings his wrist to his mouth and sinks his fangs into it while you watch on impassively. 

A drop of dark liquid—darker than the blood of a human had any right to be—runs over his wrist as he draws it away from his mouth and holds it out towards you.

“Drink,” he tells you. The wound looks raw and deep, blood welling up from it freely, yet there’s no trace of pain in his expression as stares at you expectantly. 

You don’t think it’s normal for you to drink blood, even if you have vague memories of going through this same ritual on a number of occasions. And it’s so dark, the same shade as the curtains. If you could just reach the curtains and pull them back to reveal the sunlight then—

“I told you to drink it—” he shoves the bleeding punctures in his skin towards your mouth, “—so hurry up before it starts to heal.”

“I…” What was it you wanted to say?

“What?” he snaps at you.

“Will it take away the cold?”

He freezes, eyes boring into you. “What do you mean?”

“I’m so cold Scara. I don’t want to be cold anymore.” You’ve started crying again, the rolling tears like icicles on your cheeks.

An expression flickers across his features, but in the dark room you can’t tell if it’s one of annoyance or remorse. Finally he looks away and says, “yes, it’ll take away the cold.”

That’s all you need to hear to bring the bloody wound to your mouth and start lapping at it with your tongue. The taste is bitter but you can’t bring yourself to care, not if there’s the slightest chance it could ward off the chill that has crawled so deep inside it might as well be a part of you. 

Scaramouche watches you rapturously, his features softening in a way they never did for anyone other than you. It used to make you so very happy, when he looked at you like. Before he’d asked you to become something inhuman and you’d told him no—only to end up here. Where sunlight could no longer reach you and you were left in the dark and the cold.

Ah, it’s still so very cold.

[20tomlinson02]

Something about the Brits and chaotic Harry, being told he's getting head after the awards, that he might try with Denise Welch, missing his award because he's in the bathroom, wearing the same outfit as one of the twinks hosting the red carpet, setting Jack Whitehall up with neat tequila, spilling red wine everywhere, titties out, mentioning all of the boys in his speech, kissing Lewis Capaldi, just about making out with Steve Tucci as the others finish his speech

[laurenkmyers]

august 2023 is for the gays (me)

good omens (we’re stealing it, shh) heartstopper red white and royal blue only friends man suang

[taketheplanspinitsideways]

So do we think they were in competition to see how many negative stereotypes they could cram into one episode or...

[thisisyourdriverspeaking]

This weekend for motorsport has been nothing but bad vibes tbh

[closeted-goth]

spotify wrapped? nah I already know what that shit's gonna say.

finale B by the cast of the motion picture rent, 100+ plays; two coffins by against me, 100+ plays; I'm in love with you by the 1975, 100+ plays; get out of the car by aesop rock, 100+ plays.

[solidwater05]

Apparently this needs to be said so

Forgetting things is morally neutral! Memory issues are morally neutral!

You're not a bad person if you...

forget things quickly

forget people

can't remember entire stages of your life

can't remember important things

can remember some things very well and forget other things all the time

can't remember things (or anything!) about your interests

forget to eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, etc

forget to reply to texts

remember things and immediately forget them again

can't remember birthdays, events, etc

frequently answer 'I forgot' to questions

can't retain new information

forget things you used to know

only remember things when it's too late

have vague, distorted and/or unreliable memories

depend on others to know how an event you were in played out

have other symptoms that are worsened by memory issues and vice versa

... and anything else I might have missed!

[clarisse-doodles]

inspired by this post, in which Damian does not know what Vine is

[egophiliac]

last chance to guess what the new round of birthday outfits will be!

[watchingwisteria]

listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded mfer happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.

[chloesimaginationthings]

The secret good ending for FNAF ruin,,

[solarockk]

that one twitter trend

[lazylittledragon]

cringe culture needs to die because when i was 17 i printed out the entire player's handbook and monster manual with my unlimited school printing credit and also wore a black velvet cape the first time i ever DMed and somehow still thought i was too cool for dnd novels. who tf did i think i was fooling

[normalguyfrommandelacounty]

hmm...weaver's still at the house, isn't she? seems i won't be able to check on him :(

[bittsandpieces]

I don't have a caption for this one tbh

[inkskinned]

love when men cry about body hair bc "it's hygiene" and yet 15% of cis men leave the bathroom without washing their hands at all and an additional 35% only just wet their hands without using soap. that is nearly half of all men. that means statistically you have probably shaken hands with or been in direct contact with one of these people.

love when men say that women "only want money" when it turns out that even in equal-earning homes, women are actually adding caregiver burdens and housework from previous years, whereas men have been expanding leisure time and hobbies. in equal-earning households, men spend an average of 3.5 hours extra in leisure time per week, which is 182 hours per year - a little over a week of paid vacation time that the other partner does not receive. kinda sounds like he wants her money.

love that men have decided women are frail and weak and annoying when we scream in surprise but it turns out it's actually women who are more reliable in an emergency because men need to be convinced to actually take action and respond to the threat. like, actually, for-real: men experience such a strong sense of pride about their pre-supposed abilities that it gets them and their families killed. they are so used to dismissing women that it literally kills them.

love it. told my father this and he said there's lies, damned lies, and statistics. a year ago i tried to get him to evacuate the house during a flash flood. he ignored me and got injured. he has told me, laughing, that he never washes his hands. he has said in the last week that women are just happier when we're cooking or cleaning.

maybe i'm overly nostalgic. but it didn't used to feel so fucking bleak. it used to feel like at least a little shameful to consider women to be sheep. it just feels like the earth is round and we are still having conversations about it being flat - except these conversations are about the most obvious forms of patriarchy. like, we know about this stuff. we've known since well before the 50's.

recently andrew tate tried to justify cheating on his partner as being the "male prerogative." i don't know what the prerogative for the rest of us would be. just sitting at home, watching the slow erosion of our humanity.