#hi this is never getting finished or fixed

[rafesbangs]

soft!kook!reader and rafe do it on the beach 🤭

oh em gee this is perfect ty nonnie !

req! 𝜗𝜚 fwb!rafe asks soft!kook!reader out on the beach

c!w; mdni !! dom!rafe, soft!kook!reader, public (?) sex, fingering, hand job, oral (f. + m. receiving), 'unprotected' sex, p in v, creampie, bitta fluff too for once!

notes; two soft!kook!reader fic drops wowow. i really need to finish the 5 other fics in my drafts... i hate writers block ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

the truck rattled down the sandy path, headlights cutting through the thickening dusk. rafe sat behind the wheel, one hand loosely draped over it, the other tapping rhythmically against your thigh. you leaned back in the passenger seat, the ocean breeze tangling your hair as you glanced over at him. his jaw was set, his eyes fixed ahead, like he was on a mission.

“you’re being cryptic,” you teased, a half-smile tugging at your lips. “should i be worried?”

he shot you a quick glance, his mouth twitching into something almost resembling a smirk. “you’ll see,” he said, voice low, calm.

the beach came into view, the shoreline glowing faintly under the moonlight. you left your shoes and hopped out as soon as the car stopped, your feet sinking into the cool sand. but then you noticed it, a small glow farther down the shore, fairy lights twinkling softly. your brows knitted in confusion, but rafe was already pulling you by the hand, leading you toward it.

when you got closer, you stopped dead in your tracks. a kiddie pool sat nestled in the sand, lined with blankets and pillows, the string lights hanging around like something out of a dream. you blinked, taking it all in.

“rafe,” you started, your voice trailing off.

he rubbed the back of his neck, a rare moment of unease flickering across his face. “look, i’m not good at this,” he admitted, his words tumbling out quickly. “but i couldn’t... not anymore. i don’t want anyone else. i want you. just you. so... be mine?”

the air seemed to hang still between you, your heart hammering in your chest.

“yeah,” you said finally, a soft laugh escaping as you shook your head. “yeah, of course.”

and just like that, he pulled you into him, his lips crashing into yours, both of you sinking into the mountain of blankets. his hands slid up the sides of your body, you climbed into his lap, straddling him as your arms wrapped around his neck.

"you're so pretty" he breathed in between kisses as they grew more desperate, your bodies hotter and breathing more ragged. a hand slipped underneath your top, creeping up to one of your tits and he affectionately squeezed it. you could feel the mischievous grin on his lips through the kiss.

you groaned when he rolled your nipple between his fingers, "i want you rafe." he tore his lips away from yours and searched your eyes for a moment. "on the beach? you sure?" he rasped, his breathing still heavy and increasing at the thought of you screaming his name for the whole ocean to hear.

you grinned and began lining his neck with kisses, slowly rutting against him while one hand slid up his shirt, feeling his toned body. he groaned and planted his hands on your waist, grinding you against him harder.

"i'll never get tired of your dick rafe..." you whispered into the shell of his ear, if he wasn't so hard already he definitely would be now. his eyes rolled back as his mind split open from pleasure.

you unbuckled his belt, pulling down his pants so only his boxers were between you and his poor throbbing cock. you rolled your palm over his tip through the fabric, he sucked air in through his teeth and rolled his head back.

you chewed your bottom lip as you slowly pulled his cock out of his pants, his tip angry and leaking pre-cum, already swollen and begging. you grinned at him as he stared intensely at you, nothing but adoration in his eyes. your hand moved carefully up and down his shaft as another played with his tip while he squirmed under your touch, you'd never been so slow and painful about it before.

looking him in the eyes you moved backwards and lowered your lips down, pressing a sloppy kiss to his tip while still looking up at him through your lashes. he nearly came right then and there, the careful attention you were giving your new boyfriend drove him insane, he was whimpering under your touch as you continued to jerk him off while playing close attention to his tip with your mouth.

you only stopped when he grabbed your chin, stopping you from licking up his cock, "c'mere, your turn." he demanded, and you obliged with a smile. he switched positions with you, sitting you up against the edge of the kiddie pool as he slipped your shorts and panties down with a smirk.

his big hands ran over your thighs before he laced two fingers into your folds, playing around with your wetness and teasing your clit. you twitched at the feeling of his long fingers, begging him to slid them in with the way you were looking at him.

"so so wet baby... this all from getting me off?" he cooed, his fingers now teasing around your hole as his other hand held your leg to the side.

your gaze was pleading, "stop teasing me rafe... 'ts not fair." he only chuckled lightly before kissing your inner thigh and sliding two fingers into your weeping cunt slowly.

you whined when he began sliding his tongue between your folds, lapping at your clit as his fingers continued to slid in and out of you. rafe moaned into your pussy, the vibrations causing you to thread your fingers through his hair, cinching your eyebrows together from the pleasure.

you chewed your lip, trying not to moan too loud so out in the open, still letting small noises slip as rafe ate you like a man starved. "rafe..." you choked, your hand grabbing his wrist.

he lifted his head, the lower half of his face coated in your slick as he smiles up at you, still teasing your folds with his fingers, "yes baby?"

"please... i wanna cum on your cock" you beg, chest rising and falling as you breath heavily. rafe grinned, his smile wide as he crawled over you, sucking your juices off his fingers before pressing his lips to yours, making you taste yourself on his tongue.

"fuck you're so gorgeous" he rasped, tearing away from your lips before grinning down at you as he jerked himself off a little before lowering down to your sopping pussy.

rafe tapped the tip against your folds before then swiping through them, teasing you as you lay there in anticipation before sinking into your pussy with a low groan. you whine when he slowly pushes his cock to the hilt, your cunt tightening around him deliciously.

your hand grips his arm, "'ts so... nhghh, you're so big-" you whimper. no matter how many times the two of you have had sex before, you knew you would never get used to the sheer size of rafe.

he thrusts his hips back then forward again, you feel every inch as your pussy flutters around his cock. "don' worry baby, you can take it" he replies, throwing one of your legs onto his shoulder.

rafe groans as his speed increases, your muscles clenching around him, coaxing him into filling you up. his hand connects with your tit, kneading the fat and pinching your nipple, making you moan loudly. rafe grinned, thankful he chose a secluded beach and the fact that the sun had just set behind them.

he bit his lower lip at the plap-plap-plap coming from his pelvis hitting the wetness that had gathered between you. a thick ring around rafe's cock already along with a stringy mess every time your bodies met.

rafe's eyes raked your body, taking in every outline he could in the dim light provided by the fairy lights. he leans and kisses you as his hands explore your body, he just can't get enough of you.

his hips stutter as his thrusts slow down a little, the tightness of your pussy becoming too much for him to hold off anymore. "ah fuck, g'na cum baby.." rafe groans, his grip on your hips bruising.

"want you to fill me up rafey, cum inside me" you demand, eyes locked on his until they meet yours, wide and wild. as soon as the words left your lips rafe thought he was in heaven, he'd finished on you plenty of times but only inside of you with a condom. it was always a rule of yours that only a boyfriend would have the privilege.

he strained as his thrusts sped up, your cunt tightening unbearably around him, milking every last drop as his cum finally spurts inside of you. your hips twitch as your orgasm takes over and rafe continues fucking his release into you for a few more thrusts before collapsing beside you.

he pulls your face in, kissing you deeply, "fuck you're amazing. i love you baby." he sighs.

[taelophone]

Soft Feminine˚࿔ ⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆TWs: None! Its fluff of luigi fixing your childhood music box lol ˚｡⋆A/N: This was written as an allegory for something!! If you catch it please lmk id be so so happy <33

The slow silence filled the room, pardoned by the occasional shift of clothing or the clinks of Luigi sorting the things on your nightstand. It was a quiet night with your boyfriend, simply enjoying each other's presence while engaged in silent conversation.

His hands whirled around the slowly recovering nightstand, The lids to the foggy glass candle jars and the clutter slowly finding their native places as he worked his magic. Soon enough, your nightstand was clear, bothered only by your lamp, room spray, a mini succulent, and your flamingo-pink Laneige sleep mask. 

When Luigi finished bringing order to your nightstand, he glanced at you momentarily. No reason in particular, just to bask in your features as you scrolled on the cyber-white hue of your phone.

He smiled, overcome with warm and fiery sparks of affection. He wanted nothing in the world to ever raise a finger at you in challenge— if so, he’d gladly break it just to deem himself your hero. 

When he was done staring at you, he patted your head affectionately as you lay stationery in your bed, relishing in the warmth of your smile. He whisked away from your nightstand, making his way to your vanity as he began sorting that as well.

While you listened to the glass and metal clinking over by the far corner of your room, you turned off your phone to stare up at the ceiling. Today had been a long, long day. 

You longed to continue to lay down and embrace your boyfriend with rampant lovelorn. Maybe even accompanied by some soft and quiet…music!

Music! Your music box! Oh, he can fix it!

“Lui, babe?” You spoke, shattering the fragile silence. 

“Yes, my love?” He answered, tilting his head slightly in your direction but not taking his eyes off of the things he continued to put away.

“You’re an engineer, right?” You inquired, crunching your torso to bring your body up, sitting criss-cross on top of your soft comforter.

“Depends…what are you asking me to fix? I can’t do appliances” he joked with a light smile and a boyish giggle. Cute little cornball.

“Nothing too serious…I have a music box that I’ve had since I was like…a baby. Can you take a look? It broke sometime after I turned nine, but I never got it fixed” You murmured, shuffling over to the end of your bed and leaning over the foot of your bed frame.

With your brushes, blushes, and plushes sorted at your vanity, Luigi broke his structuring trance to take a look at the little music box you began to pull from under the depths of your bed. Aged with hospitality, pink with youth, and loved with adoration, the ballerina-esque porcelain wind-up contraption presented itself in your hands.

Gold embellishments, blush roses, and shimmery gloss drew attention to the little ballerina on the front of the design. Her figure was just like you, only donned with a white tutu and bodice as she sat with her ankles crossed.

“It’s really old so it might just be an age thing, but I really wanna see if it can be fixed. I loved it so much growing up I just don’t wanna let it go” you said with a nostalgic chuckle.

“It looks really pretty! Can I see?” He gently asked, walking over to the front of your bed and extending both of his hands to seek out permission for the piece.

You nodded, carefully and cautiously handing him your innocence with benign hands. He seemed to examine it, get a feel for the material under his fingertips before he carefully flipped open the little lid to reveal the swan and the woman standing atop a pink pedestal.

He gave it a few winds, listening for any potential clicks along the way as he was met with a suspicious amount of loosened compliance. Normally it would give some sort of pressure or noise if it was working properly, but he seemed to have already figured out the problem.

“Okay…I think I know what the issue is. I’m gonna have to take this apart, baby” he stated, closing the little box with a satisfying click. “I know what I’m doing, I promise, I just don’t want you to panic. I have to take it apart to see its anatomy, and that’ll give me a better understanding of what’s wrong…is that alright with you?”

Your eyes widened with slight fear, ‘what ifs’ flooding the pipes in your mind while your heart rate spiked. This was his job, yes, and he spent a good portion of his life assembling things and putting them together. 

But there’s always a possibility, and there’s never a zero. It’s okay to be afraid of accidents, and it’s ok to keep an open mind, but where do you go if something goes wrong?

What if he breaks it further? Snaps the lid off with unmonitored strength, shatters the neck of the swan with a grip that went unchecked for too long, cracking the perfect porcelain.

Could you get it fixed then? Would your childhood pride be lost at the hands of the one you love the very most? How would you cope when the sound of shattered glass pierces your ears followed by a gasp of alarm?

“Love.”

You looked at him, half-aware of the grip you now had on your music box. The wrinkles in your knuckles as your fingers wrapped around the heavy relic. 

You hadn’t realized how hard you had been holding on, to both your breath and your childhood. There was nothing to fear as long as it was in his hands— he would treat every part of you with the same tender and merciful hands he had held you with time and time again.

“Yeah…okay,” you nodded, handing him the music box with a silent swallow of anxiety.

His eyes softened. An empathetic and understanding wiggle in his brows as he leaned over, and kissed the top of your head with a hand behind your neck. Brief and intimate.

“Thank you for trusting me” he promised.

You smiled, nodding your appreciation as you crossed your arms. 

“All of my tools and mechanical equipment should be in my closet in a white clear box. It should have blue painter's tape on the lid.”

“Awesome,” he said, placing the music box down on the empty vanity before he traversed into the depths of your closet. Rustling and jostling of clothes, shoes, perfume bottles, and unboxed accessories echoed through the silence, aches of impending doom and lingering hope gnawing at the side of your neck.

When he emerged with the clear box of tools, he sat them on the side of the white desk, flipping the music box upside down to see what type of screwdriver he’d need. When he had everything he needed, he took his time, hands cradling and supporting every inch of delicate glass.

Unscrewing each screw, tender love and hospitality possessed his hands as he took it apart. Piece by piece, little by little.

Everything was on display for him, unfiltered in its purest form. Now that he had seen each piece of the machine and what makes it turn, he quickly identified the problem and its solution. 

With expert hands carrying endless wisdom, he reconstructed the feminine melodic music like he was the very man who invented the machine. And in no time, he had the ballerina and her swan spinning on her pedestal of high confidence again.

He wound up the handle, the now familiar pressure and sounds of approval reaching his ears with smug approval. He knew what he was doing, and he’d always be there to prove it to you. 

“Done!” He smiled, flipping the music box closed and giving you a wave of nostalgia and gratitude.

When he approached your bed once more, he climbed on top of it and plopped himself down beside you. He kissed your forehead again, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you beamed with joy.

“No way, thank you so much! I literally love you,” you gasped, winding up the machine, the familiar melody of Swan Lake ringing through chimes and twinkles as the little ballerina began to spin slowly in the confines of her box. 

“Anything for you.”

[herobrinna]

Man i havent drawn anything in ages. Eh, might as well waste my time rambling about these guys.

Ok so i made these ocs like absolute ages ago, so mind their backstories being very cringe, but i also dont wanna change them, theres some kind of charm to having silly cringy ocs.

right, so, the yellow one is Bananaslug (bigender, she/he), and is a hive/rain hybrid (like duhh, u can clearly see that). her silly backstory was, starting with his parents (and mind that this made made up before arc 3 was finished), a hivewing, who like cricket(? was that her name? i havent reread the books in ages) wasnt effect by the shitfuck evil plant (for which basically, i hc that cricket wasnt the only one who wasnt injected with the plant, on a rare occasion queen Wasp would miss an egg or two, human error, er, dragon error and all that, usually this would be noticed in early childhood and they would be "fixed", but like with cricket, an occasional dragon gets unnoticed) managed to escape the hives as the plant takeover or whatever tf was happening happened, and followed behind the group of migrating silkwings. sadly they got swept in a storm which lead them astray to the rainwing jungle instead.

now i personally see the jungle as having an absolute shitload of little rainwing villages, some not even having contact with the main one! or even knowing anything about the outside world. this hivewing ends up in one of the villages that at most mightve traded bits and pieces with the main one, but has never seen non-rainwing dragons. the hivewing quickly gets accepted as a weird lil guy. and for once, this hivewing feels like theyre in a community where they belong, now being given freedom that they wouldve never had previously. they quickly adopt the hivewing way of life. Bananaslug then, the only dragonet they have, not for their lack in game, but more so due to pantalan and pyrhian dragons being genetically further apart, so having children with each other is extremely unlikely.

as Bananaslug got older, she lived through Queen Glory making an effort to actively contact all outter rainwing villages, and develing an in-tribe education system (the thingy mountain, forgot the name, that we follow the students of in the second arc, being presented as like one of the only schools is real stupid in my opinion), there, learning of other tribes she decides to go out and explore the world once hes come of age.

(oh and btw, Bananaslug, like, inherited nothing special from either parent, she doesnt have any hivewing powers, she doesnt have rainwing venom, and at most, he can slightly change the shade of his yellow scales, cant do anything with any other coloured scale tho)

-

the green dragon is Seaglass (agender, they/them) they are a sea/sand hybrid, no they do not have a tail barb.

they were born to 2 generals from the sandwing princess succession war, both the sandwing and seawing commanding over, urh man i can never remmeber army terms, fleets? groups of dragon soldiers. in most other cases, general/whatever leaders, of separate tribes would not get along, they might have had an allience, but that didnt change their internalised racism and all that, but these two got weirdly well along.

once, going out for drinks over celebration of a succecfull battle, lead to a drunken hookup and an accidental clutch of eggs. the seawing decided to leave them at the deep palace hatchery, paying good money to the caretakers there to not only take care of the eggs, but also be dragonetsitters when they hatched. sadly, all but one dragonet were born without gills (or partially formed/malformed once), never being even given the chance at a first breath. Seaglass was the only one hatched with functional gills, and even then, theirs are less developed that an average seawing, giving them the gill equivalent of asthma.

they rarely got to see their seawing parent, and didnt even know they were part sandwing till way after the war was over. as soon as they were old enough to be left mostly alone they escaped from the deep sea palace, wanting to start a new life somewhere where they wouldnt be seen as a freak.

(oh yes and, not sure where to put this, but Seaglass is missing some of the bioluminescent stripes (such as not having any on their belly scales) so they have always had communication issues. and of course, having grown up hidden away in the deep sea, they didnt properly learn spoken language (outside of the required theory for it in their schooling) untill they escaped.)

[redplanetlobster]

As I have finished reading CoO, I have spent even more time thinking about teeth. Here's the hcs that I currently have for the Batfamily.

Dick: To put it lightly his teeth are fucked. Not only are his teeth fucked, but his entire jaw is messed up. Getting teeth implants at like age 5 really messed with the structure of his jaw. After the events of The CoO Dick went to a new dentist (because the last one must have been a plant from the Court) and learned that his options were basically reconstructive surgery that may not actually fix the problem and getting a properly sized implant or just living with it. Dick decided to just live with it. Now though, he literally cannot eat food above or below a certain temperature. Any food that isn't basically room temperature will put him out of commission with a jaw ache for at least 2 hours. At least once a week he pops two ibuprofen and downs a bowl of ice cream. The ibuprofen does nothing.

Jason and Cass: Both are genetically missing teeth. Cass is missing 2 molars on the right side of her mouth and Jason is missing his wisdom teeth. Cass will constantly grumble about how unfair it is that he got that lucky. While Jason was gallivanting around the world learning how to be the Red Hood without a care in the world, Cass had to be ambushed and knocked out in order to get her into the surgeon's chair. While the rest of her teeth are grateful that the sideways growing wisdom teeth are gone, Cass has vowed to never go back. The implants for her missing teeth that Bruce has scheduled for her when she's 25 may put a damper in that plan.

Kate and Tim: They have perfect teeth. Like they have 32 teeth in their mouths, perfect teeth. Kate likes to hold this fact over Bruce's head and Tim likes to hold it over Damian's. Tim nearly got strangled by Steph once for truthfully stating that he's never had a cavity.

Bruce and Damian: They have very small mouths. This leads them both to almost constantly needing to have a tooth pulled for one reason or another. When Jason informs Damian that that means he'll probably have to have braces and then a retainer for the rest of his life, Damian immediately renounced Bruce's heritage like that would save the rest of his teeth. This leads to a good week-long endeavor where everyone (except for Jason and Dick) had to convince Damian that it wasn't the end of the world that he'll have braces. Jason's not allowed to help because he stated the whole thing and Damian currently tries to kill him on sight. Dick's not allowed to help because when informed that Damian was trying to find a dentist who would implant his pulled teeth back into his mouth, Dick sat him down as explained in detail why getting implants before your 21st birthday would be an extremely bad idea. It ends up being a tag team effort between Bruce and Steph that finally explains to him that 'no braces aren't the worst thing in the world' and 'yes, your mother knew I wore a retainer to bed. No, it did not affect how she saw me (I hope)'.

Duke: As a kid, Duke would refuse to touch any of his loose teeth and had to get nearly every one of them pulled. When he moved into the Manor he walked in on Jason, Steph, and Dick (with Tim looking on in horror) talking about all of the weird ways that they've lost their baby teeth. Duke makes a comment about having never lost a baby tooth under his own power that somehow convinces all of them that he has the wildest stories for losing teeth. Both Steph and Jason accept it silently and don't ask any follow up questions. Tim and Dick, however, are determined to get every story from Duke. Duke ends up asking Babs to hide his dental records from the both of them.

Steph: She doesn't know exactly what is up with her top second incisors and her top canines but her dentist's current theory is that they've just switched places. She also had braces to bring her widely spaced teeth together in order to make space for her wisdom teeth.

[blackjackkent]

Astarion doesn't hesitate once the fight is complete. Still covered in the blood of the werewolf he just finished killing, bare-chested and battered, he hurls himself at the stone coffin into which Cazador retreated.

"No, no!" he roars. "No healing sleep for you! WAKE UP!"

Grabbing Cazador by the collar, he hurls him out onto the stone floor.

Cazador scrabbles backwards across the bloodstained platform, struggling to retain his disdainful expression around the fear suddenly in his eyes. "Get your hands off me, worm!" he spits.

Astarion towers over him, the master he has hated for so long finally brought low. "I'm not the one in the dirt," he snarls, like a kicked dog finally showing its teeth.

He reaches down, picks up a dagger that has fallen to the floor as Cazador was thrown across it. It's a strange blade, not like one Rakha has ever seen.

At its center, held within curving strips of polished metal, is a stake of wood. Wyll has told her of how vampires die; she can see the purpose of such a blade. That is not a weapon made for mortal men.

Astarion looks at it, then lifts it to point the tip at Cazador. It trembles almost imperceptibly in his grip. "One last thrust," he hisses - and his voice is trembling too. "And I'll be free of you. I'll never have to fear you again."

He swallows, then flicks his eyes to the staff on the ground at Cazador's side. "But if I finish the ritual you started... I'll never have to fear anyone. Ever." His eyes glow with manic, desperate hunger - and fear.

Cazador laughs hollowly. "You think me a fool?" he cries. "That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place?!" He leans forward a little, headless of the sharp tip of the dagger pointing at him. "The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual! Complete it, and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed - you included."

He pushes himself up on his knees, even now striking out against Astarion with word after word. "You are simply a means to an end! I made you to be consumed!"

Astarion's fingers tighten on the dagger's hilt. A muscle works violently in his jaw as he stares down at his unrepentant tormentor.

"I am so much more," he whispers, "than what you made me."

There's a long, strained pause. Then he looks up abruptly, fixing his eyes on Rakha. "Get over here," he snaps brusquely. "We can do this."

Rakha doesn't move, doesn't say anything for a long time.

She knows what Astarion wants her to do. She even, on some level, knows why he wants it. This ritual, whatever it fully entails, is the ultimate throwing off of the shackles that have held him for centuries. He wants to be free. He wants not to be afraid anymore.

He wants peace, just as Rakha wants it. But he wants to obtain it by accepting the darkest version of the monster that he has become.

The idea makes her skin crawl. She has stood on the same precipice as him, offered a gift that came with the selling of her soul. She wants to grab him by the shoulders, pull him away, out of reach, before it can swallow him.

"Didn't you hear him?" she asks hoarsely. "If you complete the ritual, you'll be consumed..."

Astarion barks a sharp laugh. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Perhaps he does. So many times before, her friends have faced choices of this magnitude, and she has trusted to their judgment rather than her own. Shadowheart with her spear, and Lae'zel's stand against Vlaakith, and Wyll's choice of his future, and Gale with the Crown of Karsus. She has never believed that she might know better than them, and this hardly seems the time to start.

This is Astarion's choice, not hers.

Isn't it?

"All right," she mutters haltingly, one hand rapidly flexing into a fist at her side. "What... do you need?"

"I need your eyes," he says. His voice sounds hollow and exhausted - but brittle with determination. "In a manner of speaking."

"What do you think you are doing?" Cazador hisses.

"Unmaking what you made me," Astarion growls, his eyes not leaving Rakha. "Use the parasite," he tells her. "Link your mind to mine. Through your eyes, I can see the scars on my back and copy them onto his."

Cazador's eyes widen, showing the whites at their edges. "You... would not dare."

"I would," Astarion murmurs. "And I will. You will be consumed. And all the power you've lusted after will be mine!"

"And what then, Astarion?" Jaheira asks flatly at Rakha's side. "You would use this power born of so much death for *good*, I suppose?"

Astarion ignores her. His eyes have not left Rakha's, not even to blink. "Help me do this. Please."

Rakha hesitates. She can feel Jaheira's sardonic disapproval, and Wyll's gaze digging into the back of her neck. She senses Minsc vibrating with barely-restrained anger. Even Lae'zel seems somewhat disquieted, her fingers tapping restlessly against the hilt of her sword.

But it is... Astarion's choice. Not hers. Not anyone's....

Mechanically she takes a step forward, and then another.

Enter Astarion's mind so he can proceed with the ritual.

Narrator: Your minds join and your two selves become one. You can feel the knife in your hand, see the scars on his back, and taste his hunger for power.

The bitter, brutal emotion pours through her like a waterfall, like a burning flame. Rakha grunts with sudden pain, clutching at her temple, but Astarion's eyes go wide with exhilaration.

"Yes. Yes - I see it!" he hisses.

In a quick, smooth, harsh set of motions, he steps behind Cazador and rips the robe off of him, baring his back and shoving him to the floor.

And Cazador screams as Astarion, over and over and over, sinks the knife into his flesh and begins to carve.

(A/N: This is a truly unpleasant little sequence and goes on for quite some time before eventually fading to black to indicate that it goes on even longer.)

All sense of time fades out. For a while Rakha is conscious only of the screaming, and the blood, and the overwhelming sense of delighted rage flowing into her from Astarion's mind. She doesn't know how long she's been standing there when the connection finally breaks.

She comes back to herself standing at Astarion's side. He and Cazador are both soaked in blood. The others look on with expressions ranging from appalled to enraged.

"There," Astarion hisses. "Perfect."

"Ungrateful child," Cazador chokes out. Tears are streaming down his face, cutting lines through the red painting his cheeks. "Wretched child!"

Astarion just smiles. "Time to take your place!"

He lifts the staff from the ground, and it glows with blood-red power in his hands. With a jerk, he lifts Cazador from the ground and hurls him into the socket where Astarion himself was held only minutes earlier.

Everything begins to happen at once. Astarion slams the staff into the sigil at the center of the platform, and around Rakha the Weave seems to explode with that same red, writhing light. All around them, the suspended spawn begin to scream, their voices echoing and rebounding on each other and mixing with other screams from below and behind, from the seven thousand other souls prepared to burn for this ascension.

Rakha staggers with the intensity of it, the overwhelming wall of sound and light and pain.

Behind her, barely audible through the chaos, she can hear her companions begin to shout, unable any longer to hold themselves back.

"No!" Wyll cries. "What are you doing?"

"Enough!" shouts Minsc. "We can still stop the nonsense words in his mouth!"

"This isn't the way!" shouts Lae'zel. The three of them break into a run towards Astarion - but the wall of power around him rises to meet them, slaps them back like a physical blow.(*)

At Rakha's side, Jaheira reaches out and seizes her forearm with a sudden fierce grip. "Are we truly to be party to this?" she asks, her voice low enough to cut underneath the screaming around them.

Rakha has gone completely still. The magic is pounding at her like a creature with fists and claws, and the screams echo in her mind, resonating with the memories of a thousand other deaths at her hands in a life she does not remember.

It is Astarion's choice. She is a broken thing, with no right to believe she knows better on this or anything else.

And yet...

I am so much more than what you made me, Astarion said.

An image flashes through her mind, painful as the edge of a knife, of the last moments before her death in the Temple of Bhaal, another moment soaked in red light and blood. Her father's rage as she rejected his 'gift'.

You refuse me? You are my spawn! Your veins course with my unholy blood. Your life is mine!

You were made to conquer! To devour! You reject my blood, and so I will reclaim it!

I will make another who is worthy...

She opens her eyes and stares at Astarion's body, writhing in the grip of the gift he has stolen from his own monstrous 'father,' on the precipice of the oblivion she rejected. And she knows, suddenly, that wrong or right, she cannot let this go on.

This ends here, I said. It ends... here...

We are more than what they made us.

Stop Astarion.

With more instinct than thought, she hurls herself across the platform, lifting the knife with the stake at its core from the place where Astarion discarded it.

Astarion's head swivels to face her, and for a single instant his eyes widen as he recognizes what she is trying to do.

"What are you doing?" he cries over the screams around them. "No - stop!"

She does not stop.

She hurls the knife like a javelin into Cazador's chest.

Silence, abrupt and complete. The swirling power fades. The screaming stops. Cazador, pouring blood from the wound in his heart, slithers to the floor and lays still.

Astarion staggers, then collapses to his knees, letting the staff clatter onto the stone beside him. "It's... it's gone... All that power..." he whispers.

Rakha releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She is trembling all over, her eyes fixed not on Astarion but on Cazador's bloodsoaked body. In the moment of her attack, she was striking not just at him but at Bhaal as well - but Bhaal is not here, just the vampire who dies along with Astarion's hope for ascension.

"You don't need it," she mutters. "You're more than strong enough as you are."

We... are so much more than what they made us. Come with me. We will live, and be damned to them all.

But Astarion's head lifts and he stands and rounds on her, and there is no gratitude in his eyes, no hope. They are like burning coals set in the paleness of his face.

"Don't you tell me what I needed!" he snarls. He looks hollowed out, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I was so close - I could have had it all," he says with desperate, furious grief, stepping closer to her. "But you took everything from me!"

His voice lifts to a sudden scream of violent despair, and he grabs her by the collar of her robes, jerking her forward.(*)

The rage in his eyes shows no understanding of why she did what she did, or the similarity she sees between them, or the terrible things that have been done to them both. He needs an enemy, and he no longer has Cazador, and she is the only target that remains.

"Cazador won after all," he says - and his voice is suddenly soft again, hollow and mournful. "I'll never escape the hell he built."

And then his face goes hard for the last time, until it is nothing but steel and rage. "And if I can't escape... then no one can. Not them--"

He drops suddenly, lifts the staff, and without hesitation snaps it across his knee. The power still within it - the power that would have released the seven thousand trapped spawn - bursts in a sudden supernova around his hands... and then fades to nothing.

Through the fading, dying ripples of the Weave, he stares into Rakha's eyes, and if there was ever friendship between them, it's gone now, gone forever to the same place as all that power.

"And certainly not you," he growls. The pieces of the broken staff clatter to the ground, and his fingers close around Rakha's throat.

-----

(*) Artistic license in this whole bit. Only one companion actually speaks up here (in-game it was Minsc), and none of them actually do anything but watch. But I wanted to give everyone a little more activity, so I dug all four characters' lines out of the dialogue files.

(*) Also artistic license obviously.

[karikitdemonrp]

Core watched Kohaku get dressed with a deep purr, sati swaying as he leaned on his arm and kept his gaze fixed on the demon slayer.

"Horny only for you, my love." He said with a purr still rumbling his chest. "You have a knack of getting me in the mood. But if you tell me no, I do my best to listen." He muttered kindly, making sure Kohaku knew that the kitsune would never try anything to activly distress the demon slayer.

Core's tail wagged when Kohaku finished getting dressed, a love striken expression plastered upon the kitsune's face as he watched his beloved walk back to bed. His tail sped up when Kohaku leaned in for a kiss, giving a slight whimper when the demon slayer parted. Then Kohaku challenged Core, causing the kitsune to chuckle, moving to carefully pull Kohaku close. "Oh, I will. You'll be ravaged and loved so much that you'll be begging for more through the whole night. But for now, you need to heal. I don't want you to feel sore for anyreason aside from what I do to you when that night comes." Core whispered passionatly to Kohaku, nuzzling into the demon slayer's neck and kissing it. Slowly the kisses moved up to Kohaku's earlobe, Core gave it a gentle nibble before moving to kiss along Kohaku's jaw and eventually pausing before he could meet with Kohaku's lips.

Core leaned his forehead gently onto Kohaku's forehead, giving a happy sigh paired with a genuinly loving grin. "Rest now, alright? The village is safe, you're safe, I'm safe. Everything is alright. My love, my brave warrior." With that, Core leaned in and gave Kohaku a loving kiss, gently toghtening his grip around Kohaku.

When he parted from the kiss, Core curled around Kohaku, nuzzling into the nape of the demon slayer's neck to get comfortable for the night, his tail draped over Kohaku gently so the demon slayer stayed warm throughout the night.

Kohaku couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rich as he shook his head. “You really are insatiable, you know that?” he teased, his amber eyes alight with amusement as he ran a hand through Core’s hair, tugging gently at the kitsune’s ear to get his attention. “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, pun intended,” he added with a sly grin.

Still, there was a faint flush creeping up his neck as Core’s possessive words echoed in his mind. Kohaku swallowed, trying to maintain his composure, though the way his lover nuzzled into his neck was definitely not helping. With a soft groan, he finally pushed himself up, his movements careful so as not to strain his healing wound.

“Alright, alright, you horny fox,” he muttered, shaking his head again as he reached for his clothes. “Let me get dressed so you can actually focus on taking care of me instead of…whatever it is your mind’s running wild with right now.” Kohaku smirked over his shoulder, slipping on his kosode slowly, clearly enjoying teasing Core just a bit more.

As he tied the sash around his waist, Kohaku turned back toward the kitsune, his expression softening. “But seriously, I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. And when I’m healed…” He leaned down to press a kiss to Core’s lips, lingering there for a moment before pulling back, his gaze holding a mix of affection and heat. “…you’d better be ready to back up those words.”

[yeonjunsvape]

vampire date: hoshi pt. 1

genre: angst (smut in pt. 2)

w/c: 2k

pairings: vampire!hoshi, female!reader

warnings: drinking, softporn

summary: vampire!hoshi meets someone for the first time who is disobedient to his orders and he wants to know her secret.

"i know i'm an hour late, my day hasn't gone great, i'll be there in 30." you hang up on your (with all the best intentions) overbearing, best friend.

not only did you wake up with a huge pimple on your face, but at work 2 people dine and dashed and you had to pay their bill. when your best friend suggested going to a new club in the city, all you wanted to do was deny and go to sleep, but then she started talking about getting plastered, which sounds amazing right now.

after finishing the final touches on your makeup, you grab your purse, and call an uber to the new club. (dont drink and drive 🔫).

"you're going to Le Chamber? i've been there once... bad energy." the uber driver spoke as he drove the car and you notice a crucifix around his neck. "bad energy?" you usually don't interact with strangers but since it's your first time going to the club, it peaked your interest.

"yeah, as soon as i stepped inside i felt something off, like an evil vibe." you end the conversation with a 'hum' and stare out the window to the mysterious club.

when you finally arrive, you pay the uber then head inside to meet your best friend, who is on the dance floor and already drunk.

she yells your name over the music and you run over, giving her a big hug. "here drink," she demands and hands you two shots of god knows what.

without hesitation you throw your head back, taking both of them down with a scrunched up face and start dancing with your best friend.

there was a cluster of rooms on the second floor of the club that people rented out for parties and as soon as you turn to get more shots, you see 4 strikingly handsome men walk down the spiral staircase.

you call out your order to the bartender but your eyes never leave the men as they walk with a synchronized stride, almost like they're floating. when they get closer, you can see their gothic attire and tattoos all over their bodies.

"8 shots of straight vodka." one of them with bleached blonde hair, says to the bartender who was currently making your drinks.

the bartender looks him in the eyes and without a word, drops your drink, making the mysterious man his instead. you scoff loudly, "hey, what about my drink?" you yell over the music and the bartender ignores you, eyes still fixed on making the 8 shots.

"thanks to this asshole, i guess chivalry really is dead." you mutter to yourself and the mystery man chuckles. "chivalry isn't dead, i can just be quite convincing when i want to be."

your eyebrow raised when him and his friends laugh at his stupid comeback but you were not only confused on how he heard you, but also on how you heard him so clearly over the music.

after a few hours and 10 shots in, you were on the dance floor with your best friend, dancing with random men you will never see again, yet you were having a blast.

the mans hands on your waist suddenly left and before you turn around to see what happened, you felt them back on your hips, moving your body to the music.

your eyes go to your best friend and see her now dancing with one of the guys from earlier and your head turns behind your shoulder to see the bleach blonde hair man.

"what are you doing here? where's the other guy?" you ask and pull away from his grasp. "well, you claim that i'm not chivalrous, but here i am, having a dance with you." you roll your eyes and cross your arms, "i'm done dancing, let's go [Y/B/F]."

the mysterious man grabs your arm in his big hand, staring straight into your eyes. "you will dance with me, then go upstairs later with my friends and i."

his eyes were a deep wine color which you thought was tacky and when he spoke you had a bored look on your face. "oh will i? because i don't think so."

he was stunned by your words and when you go to grab your friend she was clinging onto the other man. "[Y/N], i'm dancing with him, then going upstairs later."

your fight or flight kicked in and you grab her wrist so you could drag her away but the man held her tightly. "you will let her go with me, and you'll accompany hoshi later." again with the demanding with these guys, who do they think they are? at least you have a name to the bleach blonde hair man.

"i'm not accompanying anyone, and neither is she, we're leaving." your friend fights you off and gets closer to the man. "go home if you're going to be a downer [Y/N]."

you were offended your best friend trusted a stranger more than you, not knowing she was under a spell. "fine, i will, wear a condom perverts." (srsly guys, wear condoms: safe sex)

you storm out of the club, the music beat can only be heard from the outside and your steps were wobbly considering you were still drunk. "uber." you yell out to the air as if anyone could hear you.

hoshi follows close behind you and presses his lips together so he didn't laugh. "that's not how uber works, you actually have to use your phone." he reminds you and you nod, taking out the device in your pocket but everything was blurry.

"need a ride?" he finally asks after watching you struggle with your phone. "ew no, i know enough about you to know not to get in a vehicle with you." you were already a blunt person but it amplifies when you're drunk.

hoshi ignores your rudeness and steps infront of you, "can i see your eyes?" he asks and you look up at his wine eyes again. "let me take you home." he says in a serious manner and you start drunkingly giggling. "let me take you home." you mock then start walking down the street.

"why aren't you doing what i say?" hoshi was confused, no one in his many years on earth has ever disobeyed his commands. "because i'm a person with my own free will, sorry i don't fall for a handsome face like everyone else does."

he ponders scenarios in his head on how it could be possible for you to be immune to his orders, not realizing he's walking behind you. "can you stop following me?" you turn around, stopping him in his tracks.

"where do you live? you can't walk home this drunk." hoshi presses a button on his keys and a car alarm starts ringing. "my car is right there, let me take you."

you hum as you think and agree only because you lived 20 minutes away by car so if you walked it would take you about 7 hours to make it home.

his car looked like the batmobile from batman and when you got inside it, he drove off fast. it was such a thrill, especially with the windows down, "i feel like im flying." you yell and put your arms up. hoshi just laughed when he watched and his speed was so fast he made it to your home in 10 minutes.

you open the car door and hoshi grabs your wrist before you could get out. "i'm going to see you again, i hope." he gives you a smirk and you think about it. "perhaps... put your number in."

he does as you say, then let's go of your wrist. "see you around [Y/N], oh and i'll make sure your friend gets home safe."

"[Y/N], you're the most beautiful woman in this world." hoshi whispers in your ear, kissing your neck tenderly while he massages your breasts in his hands. "you're the most handsome man. i usually don't fall for men with faces like yours but there's something about you." you whisper back, unbuckling his belt buckle, and twirling your finger around his hard member under his boxers.

"fuck [Y/N]..." his moan sent electricity to your core, making your hips jolt up on him. "want me to fuck you?" he asks with a laugh and you nod, "yes please..."

your eyes shoot open when you hear a knock on your apartment door and realize hoshi in your bed was just a dream. "what a weird dream...." you whisper and fling yourself off the bed, opening your door to see your best friend standing there.

"you got home okay?" you ask and welcome her inside. "yes, minghao is so romantic, we spent the night together at my place last night." you cringe at the thought and put your hand up, "no details please. how are you up at 7 am with no hangover?" you raise an eyebrow, your head beating from drinking so much last night.

"minghao woke me up at 6 am and we got breakfast, i feel energized actually." you nod and plop on the couch, "i feel the opposite." she joins you and hands you a bag of donuts. "i brought you some."

you take it, grateful she thought of you, "i think i'm going to sleep more, i'll eat them later." your friend sits up and looks in your eyes, "come with me to minghao's house." she squints her eyes the same way hoshi did last night and you furrow your eyebrows. "i'm too tired, maybe later."

she sighed and pursed her lips, "he said that would work..."

"what would work?"

"oh-nothing, i can't say."

of course this enticed you more, knowing she was keeping a secret from you. "what would work?" you ask again and sit up, noticing her eyes darting away from you. "did you get contacts? they're the same shade as minghao and hoshi." you mumble and your friend bites her lip.

"can you keep a secret?" you scoff and take one of her hands, "of course you're my best friend.."

"they didn't say much... but minghao told me i was going to change from now on. also, he taught me a trick to get people to do whatever i want by looking into their eyes, but since it didn't work on you, i guess i cant do it."

you listen to her intently and stand, going to your bedroom to grab your phone.

[Y/N]: "come over... NOW!!"

you walk back in the livingroom and grab your friends hands, "we'll figure out what they did to you." you assure, giving her a hug.

5 minutes after you sent the text, hoshi knocks at the door and you answer with a hand on your hip. "you got here fast." he rubs the back of his neck and nervously laughs, "i was in the neighborhood."

you close the door after he walks in and lead him

to the couch, pushing him on it. "did minghao drug her last night?" hoshi looks at your friend and notices her eyes, putting his face in hands. "he's an idiot."

"either you tell me or i call the police." you threaten and hoshi stands up quickly, grabbing your phone. "the police won't help with this... we kind of control them."

"okay, then i'll call N.C.I.S." hoshi looks at you dumbfounded, "like the american tv show?" you clear your throat and nod, "i didn't think you knew that... i was trying to scare you."

"i'll talk to him about it, keep her inside, seriously, she can hurt someone." he mumbles and you scoff, "hurt someone???"

"fine... since she's changed, i might as well just tell you. she's a vampire." hoshi bluntly spills the truth and your jaw was on the floor. "i'm also a vampire."

[thegingerwrites]

Wip snippet

suddenly a sith wip

“Is there something I can help you with, General?” asks a Clone mech, Loose Screw.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Not at all, soldier. I’m just admiring the view.”

Anakin can feel his face flush even buried in the guts of the starfighter. There’s not even much of a view, just his legs sticking out from beneath the ship but this Obi-Wan needs to fluster him.

“If you can pardon my saying so, sir, is there any truth rumor that you aren’t feeling well? I only wonder if its safe for you to be up there like that. I would tell off any of my techs that I caught up there.”

“I feel fine, darling, rest assured. Besides, I have Anakin to catch me if I fall.”

Anakin hits his head on the compressor valve and curses under his breath.

“I’ve never had much interest in mechanics,” Obi-Wan muses. “But I’ve always wondered, is a certain level of mess necessary to getting any work done? The spare parts, the sweat, the grease. I can only speak to what I’ve seen, of course, but your men seem to keep a much tidier workshop than other mechanics I could mention.”

With his confusion and nerves feeding off of each other in a loop, Loose Screw begins talking about standard safety procedures on Republic vessels and how he goes about implementing regulation. Obi-Wan hums and nods along in all the right places but when Anakin finally emerges from beneath the starship—without hitting his head this time and yes, sweaty and greasy and shirtless, because his robes were just going to get caught anyway and surely risking a few burns is safer than being caught in the machinery���by the time he manages all of that, Obi-Wan is watching him.

“Did you finish, dear one?”

Anakin is going to bite through his tongue before they manage to fix Obi-Wan.

“All done, let’s go.”

“Certainly.” Obi-Wan leaps down from the starship with easy grace, landing at Anakin’s side with hardly a sound. “Shall we get you cleaned up? Loose Screw says that <i>this</i>—” The tips of Obi-Wan’s fingers graze the swell of Anakin’s chest, light but enough to make him shiver. “—is a safety hazard, by the way, but he’s hardly going to criticize a master mechanic like you.”

“I appreciate Loose Screw’s diligence in keeping his mouth shut.”

[theflyingfeeling]

conversations

~

just a plotless little Olli/Allu something I wanted to get out of my head because it's been keeping me up for several nights now. similar in style to this weird little fic, but not necessarily in the same universe (unless you want it to be)

~

i.

[by the fire]

The crack of the wood burning in front of them. The remains of a friends’ get-together, empty cans and half-finished bowls of crisps on the coffee table. A guitar resting in the corner because Tommi told them to call it a day already. Olli’s quiet breathing and his unreadable eyes, fixed on the fire, reflecting its warmth (or perhaps it was the other way around). 

“Do you ever…” Olli shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me.” 

Olli’s eyes close and open again, his lips part and close, the fire swallowing whatever he’s going to say, it seems. Aleksi wants to grab the poker and prod it down to mere embers.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if things were… different.”

Aleksi dares not to guess what it and things were.

(He fears he’s wrong, and what might happen if he isn’t.)

“You know, if you had made different decisions. Or if you had… met someone at a different time.” 

Olli’s voice is hardly louder than the wintery silence around them, but Aleksi clings on to every word. 

Drowns in them. 

(Wishes they’d mean what he needs them to mean.) 

Dark eyelashes rest on rosy cheeks. A hand moves closer to Aleksi’s on the downy rug. Almost rests over it, hesitates, then does it anyway. 

Aleksi’s walls cave in and it’s hard to breathe when wet eyes find his own. 

“Do you know what I’m trying to tell you at all?”

Can I say no but still expect you to see through my lies? That’s all you seem to do these days.

Can I say yes and still have you hold my hand in yours like this? I might crumble if you let go.

“Maybe.” 

They hold hands as the fire burns out. They hold hands and the silence mocks their cowardice. They hold hands and Olli’s t-shirt is soft against Aleksi’s cheek, his chin quivering on top of Aleksi’s head. 

(From the cold that has fallen into the room, Aleksi decides.)

ii. 

[in the tourbus] 

A drummer snoring in the bottom bunk. Someone tossing and turning and grunting in their sheets. A thick curtain staring back at Aleksi on the other side of the narrow aisle. 

His phone buzzing. 

I miss you.

Aleksi glances at the curtain. It’s motionless, expectant. 

I’m right here?

There’s a barely audible sigh.

No, you’re not. Been absent all day and I miss you. 

Aleksi could beg to differ, but he’d have nothing to defend himself with (knowing Olli is right). He could agree, but what if Olli asked him why (knowing he can’t tell him why)? 

A compromise, Aleksi later convinces himself, to choke off the sound of his guilt and shame screaming slander at him for not knowing better. 

Aleksi does know better, but acts against such wisdom nevertheless. 

Come over here then.

A quiet whoosh of a curtain being pulled aside, then another, then something warm and soft crawls to him in the dark and wraps around him. 

A comforting scent steals all the air from Aleksi’s lungs (how could he smell so good even when living off truckstop showers?). 

A nose roaming over Aleksi’s neck brings pathetic whimpers to Aleksi’s mouth (does he not remember where they are?). 

Fidgeting fingers at the hem of Aleksi’s shirt make him tremble until they settle on his waist (and melt into the skin there like butter even though they’re ice cold there are shivers running along Aleksi’s spine). 

Lips tracing unspoken words on Aleksi’s skin where his collar bones meet (the shivers pass). 

Want you, Aleksi reads from the lips (in comes the ache in his chest). 

You can’t, Aleksi writes on Olli’s hairline, above his temple (his favourite spot). 

But I do, is the soundless response. And you do too. 

(And Aleksi did too.)

iii.

[in the studio]

A forgotten project on a laptop screen. A finished bottle of merlot. A joke that was a little too funny (or not at all funny) for them to forget themselves like that.

A nose to a nose, a pair of lips almost touching another. 

Olli’s eyes are unfocused, drifting between Aleksi’s eyes and mouth. 

“Should we… go back upstairs soon?” 

I shall make my speciality, she had promised them. The twinge of remorse is not enough to move Aleksi from the couch. 

“We should,” he says just in case, so that later he can fool his conscience and say had tried. 

A scented candle flickering by the laptop, yet all Aleksi can smell is Olli’s cologne. All that wine, yet Aleksi is drunk on something else entirely. It’s shameful, and Aleksi does feel ashamed for it, does beat himself up for it, but when Olli is right there on his couch and softening his brain like booze, Aleksi drops all his weapons to fight against it. 

There is no sound judgement in what they’re doing, nor even an ounce of self-preservation by this point. The further they go each time, the closer they come to being caught red-handed, and in a way, maybe that’s what they’re both waiting for. 

For a bandmate to walk in and beat the shit out of them, so that they’d maybe come back to their senses.

For a girlfriend to suspect something, anything, and force the truth out of them, so that they can put an end to it all, either for good or for worse. 

A ping sounding from Aleksi’s phone informing them of dinner is all they get instead. It’s enough to startle them, but not enough to completely lead them away from temptation.

iv.

[in the studio, scene 2]

[[inside him]]

The wall feels cold and harsh against Aleksi’s back, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He can still taste his girlfriend’s praised curry off Olli’s lips, but even that’s not going to stop him from pushing Olli towards the couch. 

Olli below him is nothing like the cold and harsh floor, but instead velvety and radiating such heat that goes right through Aleksi’s bones. The taste of Olli is nothing like the spicy dish they had upstairs, but sweet and soothing, yet it leaves Aleksi hungrier than he was before dinner. 

They don’t talk. They don’t need to, not out loud. Instead, they have an entire conversation without ever making a sound, without speaking a word. 

Do you want this as much as I do? Aleksi’s fingers ask at the waistband of Olli’s trousers. 

Yes, Olli’s hips answer as they lift off the couch so Aleksi can take the trousers off. 

Am I hurting you? Aleksi’s thumb on Olli’s cheek asks. 

No, Olli’s tongue inside Aleksi’s mouth replies. 

Like this? Aleksi’s hardness moving inside Olli asks. 

Yes, like that, Olli’s entire body responds, arching, glowing, trembling.

They still don’t bother breaking the silence that fells in the room afterwards, when they’re all done and spent, lying in their own sweat and cum.

What are we going to do? Aleksi’s eyes ask.

What are we doing to do? Olli’s dark gaze echoes his question. 

Aleksi wishes he knew. 

Aleksi wishes he could find the answer in Olli’s mouth. 

v.

[under a birch tree]

The sky was white and blue and pink, and the last band of the day just got on the stage. Olli’s finger is still bleeding from when he scratched it on something during Balboa. It leaves a stain on Aleksi’s hand when Olli grabs it. Olli is drunk, but somehow his steps are anything but unsteady as he leads them behind the village of blue Bajamaja stalls. Maybe Aleksi is tipsy enough himself to not notice or care. 

“Olli, what–” and then he’s being pressed against a white tree trunk, deprived of his right to speak with his bottom lip in between Olli’s teeth. His teeth sunk in too deep, so that they’re both bleeding now.

Drowsy eyes stare up at him. Olli is drunk, but not in a tipsy way that makes him giggly and stupid, nor in the trashy way that has him scream-singing along to a song he doesn’t know in one moment and throwing up on Tommi’s shoes the next. He’s drunk in a gloomy way instead, one that sometimes had him sob against anyone’s shoulder, for no reason and for all the reasons at the same time. 

“Stay at mine tonight,” Olli begs him, his lips never leaving Aleksi’s, his eyeliner running down his cheeks. ‘Mine’ (‘yours and hers’) is just some five kilometres away, and Aleksi’s hotel purposely on the opposite side of the city. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

As if any of it had ever been. 

“She’s not home.” 

As if that somehow makes it any less wrong (but it does explain the regretful frown that’s been stuck on Olli’s face the whole day). 

“Still.”

“Then I’ll take you here.” 

The foolishness of it would make Aleksi laugh if he was sober enough to think that rationally, and if he didn’t feel as if they were running out of time, and if it wasn’t Olli.

“You can’t.”

The shakiness of his own voice would not have convinced himself either. 

“Aleksi, I want you.” A wet mouth is leaving its tracks all over Aleksi’s neck. 

“We’re in public,” Aleksi almost sobs and hates how the alternative to do it in private will tarnish yet another home. 

“Aleksi, mua panettaa.”

The worst thing is…

…Aleksi knew from the start he was gonna give in.

vi.

[in the studio, scene 3]

[[alone]]

A poorly-working radiator. Bottles of Pepsi that have been keeping him awake (and company) all evening. A pillow and a duvet on the couch in crumpled Moomin sheets, brought down from upstairs. 

Gonna be late ‘til I finish the project. Wouldn’t want to wake you up when I come back, he had explained.

Do as you please, she had said, never once lifting her gaze. Neither would Aleksi, if he was her. 

He could barely look at himself in the mirror these days. 

The radiator and the woolly socks he had found wrapped up under the Christmas tree were nowhere near enough to keep his blood circulating, nowhere near enough to comfort him so that he could fall asleep. 

He grabs the phone and hopes he’s not the only one still awake. 

Olli picks up within seconds. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping yet?” Olli asks him. He’s wearing a black hoodie and an ever blacker expression. 

“Why aren’t you?”

Olli looks down to hide whatever emotion he was almost about to reveal. 

“I was gonna call you. I wanted to ask you something.” 

Aleksi waits. 

“Do you… do you remember that one time in… I can’t remember actually. Somewhere in the Midwest maybe. That one time it was thundering real loud. 

And you woke me up to listen to it with you?

“Yeah, I think I do remember.”

“Do you remember how the rain was coming down in buckets?”

Yes, and your eyes were as dark as they are now.

“And do you remember that one morning in Colorado? When it had snowed overnight and the bus was freezing.” 

And you crawled in my bed again, slid your hands under my shirt again. 

“And that one freaky hotel in… was it Amsterdam? Where they had that strange shower thing.”

And where you fucked me for the first time (yes, even in that strange shower). 

“And… and do you remember when we were in Tokyo. It was so beautiful there.”

I only remember the early mornings and you biting my thighs to wake me up, and you riding me when we couldn’t sleep, and you showing me that vibrator you had bought. 

I only remember how shy you looked all of a sudden, and how the shade of your cheeks matched the shade of that toy when I pushed it in. 

“I wish we could go back.” 

The tear-choked confession brings Aleksi back to the present. 

“Back where?”

Olli shrugs. “Anywhere. Tokyo, maybe.” 

Kissing under an out-of-bloom cherry tree. 

“Me too,” Aleksi says. 

Maybe that’s what it would be like. 

If things were different.

~

authors note: the Finnish word panettaa is not the easiest to translate but it means that one is feeling horny. a more direct translation would be something along the lines of "I feel like fucking" or "I want/need to fuck"

[tf2occontest]

Trapper VS The Glider

(Full matchup list here)

Alright team, here's a recap: This is a contest to determine who amongst you will take the top of the leaderboards and be hired at TFI! Simply put, whoever gets the most votes gets to move on, and whoever doesn't... Well. They'll be put down swiftly and cleanly. :}

So, mann your stations, because here are your next contestants! Vote for your favorite mercenary who you want to win the TF2 OC Contest! - P

OC INFO UNDER THE CUT!

We highly encourage you to take a peek to make your decision!

Trapper

@meet-the-trapper-tf2

Image credit: @/transfrogwithcoolsocks

Trapper is a support class mercenary from Quebec, Canada. He works with bear traps, tripwires, pitfalls, motion sensors and similar to slow down his opponent, and then can finish them off with hatchets or a splitting axe, and a hunting rifle for ranged combat. He has an interest in bugs, both keeping and pinning them, as well as heavy metal music, Hunting animals, baking sweets, and sewing. He often can be found sitting around fixing up others clothes, or making his own creations with some loud music blaring. He’s a stoic and laid back character who keeps to himself a lot, but can be friendly and talkative when around people he likes. He tends to have anger issues and anxiety though, so it can be a hit or miss when talking to him.

The Glider

@ruthytwoshakes

Image credit: @/ruthytwoshakes

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a depressed middle-aged Italian with a flight suit! Please welcome the Glider from TEAMFORTRESS: SPECIAL FORCES, to the best opportunity of all: a job where you merk the exact same team in a different color.

The Glider takes a new approach to our gravel field; with his one-of-a-kind “Gliding Suit” and endless supply of ariel ammo, he’s a menace from a never before seen angle in Team Fortress 2. Above.

He's a bit outta his gourd, spending most of your life isolated in a forest studying "Italy's Shame," Leonardo Da Vinci will do that to you. But no worries! His good cooking and friendly-ish attitude will do more than enough to get you to look past his fre- OCCASIONAL!! Grazie tante! - "mad scientist" outbursts. About planes. Freak. Just whatever you do, DO NOT call it a “Flight Suit.” There’s a difference. He’s not called “The Flyer,” for pete sakes.

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter XXVII]

Word count: 4k

Warnings: gets a little brutal

Pairing: Dracula x reader

AO3 link | masterlist

A/N: Hello, lovelies! I watched the Robert Eggers Nosferatu, ran home and finished this chapter. I was stuck on it for I don't know how long. Hope you like it <3 Happy 2025 - it'll be 5 years since I started this, let's hope it doesn't take another 5 to finish the next 5 final chapters.

The cabbie swore under his breath when I slammed the door after me. I gave him my address, cracked the window open and breathed in the smell of rain on pavement and on the nearby Kensington Gardens in an attempt to cleanse my senses of Mallory’s bitter anger.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered to myself. Swearing fixed nothing but it was often relieving. 

It was all escaping my control. All of it. 

Months ago, I had thought myself so smart when proposing that deal to Count Dracula. I really thought I could win that, or was that my prideful ego poking its head out again? A latent deathwish, that’s what I had, and there came death prancing to my door and tempting me with a delicious form of self destruction. That’s what I had done, utterly destroyed my former self, not without struggle and not without loving my own destroyer, and yet, through it all, I never considered the safeguards of my deal would fail. When I proposed to Dracula that he would only turn me into a vampire when I told him to, that I would die on my terms, I fully thought I was in control. Handled. As easy as winning an argument in court. 

Of course, had I known all the variables, I would’ve thought of more safeguards. Not that they would have mattered. This slow withering of my human self was surely a blessing compared to utter obliteration of my humanity. This way I could at least ease myself into what being a vampire entailed. 

On the other hand, simply being turned must be like ripping a band-aid off. One day I could walk in the sun, and the next I was changing day for night and drinking blood. Easier perhaps.

Dracula threw it in my face how I had been taking note of my ever increasing heightened senses and ignored it all. My singular thirst for his blood had already started to translate to thirst for human blood — Julia’s scarlet blood spurting from her delicate neck right into my killer’s, lover’s, maw, for instance, and now Mallory’s pulse ringing in my ear like a church bell calling for mass. 

All of that, even the unbearable pain of growing fangs I could bear, perhaps, and could learn to control it. 

Dracula always did say that I had better self control than he did. The fact that I had lacked control in hypnotising Mallory, practically taking a backseat while the blossoming vampire took over control not only of myself but of her, was the scariest part. A desperate attempt to keep Mallory close, and I had no choice in it. 

The car came to a stop across the street from my house and I parted ways from the cabbie. Pulling my trenchcoat up to shield myself from the pitter patter of rain, I looked down the street, two houses after mine, and sure enough, the police car who had followed the cab all the way from V&A was now parked. I raised a hand in greeting to the two officers, even though I didn’t know their faces, and they waved back.

I fished my keys and phone from the bottom of my purse, and rang Dracula as I unlocked my door. I kicked the door shut behind me and went upstairs to my bedroom as I waited for him to pick up. 

Voicemail answered.

It was still daylight, so Dracula was most likely asleep, and he slept like the dead. If Renfield hadn’t arrived yet – an usual occurrence after dusk to carry out his services – the call would probably go unnoticed.

I called him again and put the phone on speaker as I threw my purse on the bed. The sound of raindrops hitting the window glass was muffled by the thickness of my curtains when I pulled them shut. Enclosed in darkness, I slipped out of my clothes until I was left in my underwear. 

The phone’s beep was cut short as the call was answered. “Yes, my darling?” Said Count Dracula in his velvety voice. “How was it?”

The familiar weight of his voice made me sit down on the bed, half naked and vulnerable as if he had spoken to me within the room. 

I almost wished I had gone back to his place instead of mine to feel some comfort. It was a silly thing to wish for. After last night, when Dracula had celebrated what my pain meant, disregarded my fear, my despair, all because I was finally a perfect bride to be, it would be stupid to think he would react any differently to what I had done to Mallory. 

“It was fine,” I replied, lying down on my bed. I put the phone to my ear. “No surprises. Mallory is still mad at me. She doesn’t want to see me again.”

“Well, nothing that can be done for that anymore, I suppose. Where are you now?”

“I came home. I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’ll try to get some rest in the afternoon.”

I counted three heartbeats before he replied.

“Will you come by later?” 

I knew him well enough at this point to know that he had fought his initial instinct to question me. He knew I was scared, and I knew he was scared that I would run out of fear. The fact that he hadn’t questioned me boded well in a way. Progress.

“Not tonight,” I said in a small voice, staring at my ceiling and noticing a spiderweb on the corner. The silky brightness of the web glimmered as if the spider could tailor webs made from light. By the size of it, the spider had made a home in my room for some time now. Only now did I have the eyes to notice it, and yet, in the darkness of the room, I shouldn’t have been able to see it. “I don’t think I can handle being close to another person tonight.” Realising how that sounded, I continued. “All I can think about is blood. It’s a wonder I didn’t make a victim out of the cabbie on my way here. I would rather not risk it again.” Dracula laughed on the phone. I winced. “At least you’re having fun.”

“Y/N, of course I am,” he said, a smile on his voice. “Nothing will make me happier than seeing you take your first victim.”

“This isn’t fun for me!” I jerked myself upright on the bed. “Can you try being understanding for once? For fuck’s sake!”

“Understanding?” The word was bitten out. “I have been nothing if not understanding so far.”

“Yes, it was very understanding how you almost killed Diana. So very kind of you to grant me a few more days after you used Mallory against m–”

“I’m not having this conversation again.”

“Then listen to this. I understand that you finally have confirmation that I’ll survive the change and that you’re happy about that. Great! At least I won’t be a shell of myself like your first brides. I think it’s fucking amazing, too, but it is not easy for me.” I inhaled deeply as if saying so much had stolen my breath. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”

“You had months to come to terms with it, Y/N. You asked me hundreds of questions. I showed you all that I could.”

“It doesn’t make it any less scary!” My face fell to my hand as my hair fell around my face like a curtain. “I didn’t think I would have to try to control myself while still human.” Tears fell to my bed, synchronising with the rain outside. “Please, can you try finding some compassion in yourself? I have no one but you now.”

“I don’t understand, Y/N,” he said. He sounded calm, and sincere. “But I will make an effort to. If you allow me to, I would like to take some of your blood tonight and see for myself.”

Closing my eyes, I let my weight go and lied on my side with the phone pressed to my ear against the bed. The knot on my throat joined the ever growing pain on my head and jaw. Another migraine was coming.

“You have my permission.” I sighed. That was the best he could do at the moment, and I would take it. “And then we'll talk.”

“And then we’ll talk,” he repeated. “Darling, have a shower or a bath. Try to take yourself out of your body, if you can.”

“I’ll try to sleep, and dream, hopefully.”

“I’ll see you later.”

“Okay. Bye.” 

Two beeps indicated that the call disconnected. 

I rolled over on my back and stretched my arms at each side of me. What remained of my tears ran down my cheeks and dried on my hair. 

There was nothing to stop it now.

This was it. I was not dying on my terms, but Dracula’s. 

Food didn’t taste the same – from an old brew of reheated tea, to a simple strawberry scone becoming nauseatingly sweet and finally everything was starting to acquire a dry tastelessness. Migraines ensued after eating what my body could no longer accept. Perhaps the pain was the body trying to purge the unnecessary nutrition that food provided, while also begging for something else. It was happening now after trying, and failing, to eat my favourite sandwich from V&A Café. It had happened at the party as well, although the circumstances made it worse. And the very first time was the day after I had drunk deep mouthfuls of blood from Dracula’s wrist while overlooking the city from inside the London Eye.

I ran my tongue over my teeth to feel the small bumps on my gums, which throbbed in response to that prodding. Tiny fangs threatened to protrude from there as they had last night. After drinking Dracula’s blood they had virtually disappeared. Their insistence to make their presence known was a harsh, and painful, reminder of what I could have done to Mallory. 

And wanted to do. Still did.

I raised my arms in the air. The wounds were almost gone, leaving only pale outlines of where Dracula had bitten me two nights ago. 

His first bite had taken weeks to heal completely.

A chill coursed through me that made all the hairs on my body stand up straight. Only then did I realise how cold I was. I pulled my duvet around me, cocooning myself within it and closed my eyes, wishing I would be pulled away to somewhere else, or to another life where I had already dealt with everything and was living happily ever after. A nice fantasy.

In my dream, I was cocooned by wings which whisked me away, sending me floating into the comforting, soft clouds of dreamland. I breathed in and out to savour the sweetness in the air. In and out. In and out. Like teeth biting and releasing. In and out. Sharp teeth and red blood. Sweet, red and intoxicating. 

I don’t want these dreams.

Conscious in the back of my mind, I managed to push the thoughts out, and quickly my subconscious conjured Dracula’s presence to run his hands down my back, massaging, kneading and counting my bones as he had done once to put me in a trance. I counted each bone aloud. Would my bones change too? Become hard and unbreakable? Yes, darling, said death, you are wholly different down to the last bone. His hands, so rarely delicate, turned me gently and I stared up into the dark pits of his eyes. Smiling, he said he would like a taste of his beloved. 

His beloved – me. 

Say you love me. This is my dream, I can make you say it in my dream.

Anything for his beloved, he said, anything I wanted if only I allowed him a taste first. Obligingly, eager, I turned my head to the side to expose my neck in exchange for his love. 

And love poured on me. Cascading, washing over me, so warm, comforting, so red, all enveloping, filling my lungs, my throat, until I was made of love and could feel nothing else.

A pull near my navel jerked me awake. 

I stared at the ceiling as my brain finished waking up. Rolling on the bed I looked towards the window, and although the curtains were closed, the light escaping from the corner had to mean it was still daylight. 

The pit of my stomach jerked again and growled, begging for substance. My hands covered it automatically, as if trying to stifle the sound and soothe it.

Footsteps coming from the lower floor reached my ears. 

I lied there, in wait, processing that there was someone in my home and I had heard it walls and metres away.

For once in this life, I wondered who was more in danger – myself or the intruder? 

Something coiled behind my navel. I wondered if it was just hunger — and what sort of hunger was this? For food or something else? – or my new found instincts playing up as they often did when I was around Dracula.

Pushing myself out of bed, my toes pointing and landing, carefully as if I was a ballerina to not make any noise, I made my way to the corridor. As I hugged the bannister, the cold wood touched the naked skin on my stomach, and only then did I realise that all I wore was a bra and hot pants. Returning to my room, I grabbed my robe, a navy blue silk that somehow always disguised the fact that I had just woken up.

On the first landing of the stairs, trying to keep as silent as possible, I crouched to peek around the bannister to catch a glimpse of my living room, populated only by my library and a coat thrown over the couch.

A meow echoed up, coming from the kitchen, and a woman’s voice cooed back, “I know, baby, let’s see if aunt Y/N has anything for you.”

“Di?” I called. 

“Oh, Y/N!” She exclaimed from downstairs, unseen. “I didn’t expect you to be home. I’m sorry to barge in.”

“No worries. I’ll be down in a second.”

Diana, cradling one of her cats like a baby, smiled at me when I turned the corner on the kitchen. Another one of her babies, a tuxedo cat, twirled between her legs, meowing non stop. 

“I swear I’m not usually this nosy– hey, stop squirming, I know you’re hungry.” She adjusted the calico cat on her lap, Hedy Lamarr, and the other one at her feet was Liz Taylor. She had Laurence Olivier as a cat, as well as Clark Gable, the Hollywood cats, but they were nowhere to be seen now. “I ran out of cat food and tuna so I came to see if you had any left in your pantry,” Di explained, looking apologetic. “I’ve been between meetings all day and couldn’t find the time to run to the store.”

“I think I have some of their food, from when you were in Scotland,” I said, uncrossing my arms and stepping around the kitchen island towards the pantry. Hedy jumped from Diana’s arms to the island, tail swinging in expectation. 

“Are you feeling sick?” Diana asked from behind me. 

Rummaging through shelves in the pantry, I barely spared her a glance as I continued my search for cat food. “I’m fine,” I said, putting more strength in my voice to make me believe it too. “Why do you ask?”

“Well. It’s Monday 3pm and you’re home in your robe.” At her words, my hand hovered over the box of pasta I was about to move. “And you look dreadful, to be honest.”

“Do I?” I asked, absently.

My mind was torn on wondering how awful I looked and how it could be Monday when I had gone to sleep on a Saturday after brunch with Mallory. Had I lost a day? Slept all through it, or simply did not have any recollection of it? 

Neither of those options boded well.

“You look sickly pale, Y/N,” Diana said. “Have you been eating lately?”

“Food poisoning,” I muttered as I closed my hand around a can of cat food. “Here, I found it.” I spun around to give it to Diana and found her too close for comfort. At this distance, I could see the specks of gold and green in her eyes and the fine lines around her eyes that she spent so much money to get rid of. I could smell her breath from here. And yet, she was still at an arm’s distance away. “I need to go back to bed.”

Bed, in the safety of my room, where I could cage myself until night came and so did Dracula.

Pushing the food to Diana, I dodged past her, breath held deep inside my chest, and made way to the hall. Feeling as if my head had disconnected from my neck, I steadied myself against the doorframe as my knees started to go weak. My vision went white. 

“Oh love!” Diana exclaimed behind me. A clatter followed by a meow and quick steps echoed in the kitchen before arms encircled my waist, pulling me up. “Gosh, Y/N, you’re heavier than I thought. No matter. Come on, let’s rest in the sitting room.”

“I’m fine,” I grumbled, pushing my forehead against the wall as if that could help me stabilize.

“You don’t look fine. Straighten those legs, come on, can’t do this without you. Hells, I’m getting old, Y/N.” Commanding my brain to focus on one sense, I did as she told me. “Atta girl. Now to the sitting room.” She hugged me close, arms squeezing below my ribs and expelling all the breath I was trying to hold. I gasped for air. Diana’s breath filled my nostrils with the smell of tea, blueberries and yoghurt – her last meal. Concealed beneath that lay a subtle scent, discernible for its lively sweetness.

“Di– I need you to go.” I barely recognised my voice as my own. The thread of consciousness keeping me alert identified a searing pain in my jaw that spiked up to my head. 

“Nonsense. One foot in front of the other. Come on,” she huffed, nudging the back of my knees with her legs. She chuckled, the sound so foreign and happy that for a moment I held onto it and the pain of hunger dulled for a second. “Remember when you got home so drunk you couldn’t climb up the stairs? I found you asleep in front of the stairs, covered in all the coats you could find. You looked like a nestled kitten.”

“The day you ordered McDonalds for lunch instead of cooking us lunch on Saturday,” I murmured. 

“Sacrilege but yes. First and last time, but you needed a good hangover cure, to be fair, and nothing better than that.”

“You carried me to the sitting room.” 

“Pushed you, more like it.” At that, she pushed me a little harder to make my legs move, and my hands flew up to steady myself, finding nothing but air to grasp at. Diana’s shoulder pressed under mine and her hip nudged mine to distribute my weight towards her. My head swivelled, quickly finding a comfortable spot on Di’s arm when my neck proved a little too feeble to carry it. Eyes adjusting through white blotches in my vision, the bite on Diana’s neck peaked back at me between her silver hair. Two punctures glowing at me as a wolf’s glare in the dark. A fat tear formed on the corner of my eye. I closed my eyes in shame, knowing that tear came from desperate hunger and not fear. Deep, ravenous, gut wrenching hunger unlike any I had ever felt. “Y/N, don’t pass out please. Almost to the sofa now. If you fall, you’ll take me down with you.”

Yes, yes, I would.

I bit my lip, and felt a distinct sharpness that should not be there.

“Di, I’m so sorry,” I uttered, hardly believing the words as tears spilled from shut eyes. Wrapping my hand around her arm, telling myself I needed to push her away – please, please, away , AWAY – and instead, it pulled her as in the inescapable grasp of vine that squeezes a tree and constricts its bark, never letting go unless plied off. Unwillingly, my body shifted closer, angling towards Diana. “So so sorry,” I whispered, voice nearing a hiss as my eyes opened again.

I nuzzled closer. 

I felt Diana tense up. My grip grew tighter on her instinctively. She could bolt now. Deep in me, just as I knew there was something wrong with me, Diana knew it too. Her fragrance kicked up as her heart spiked with adrenaline.

“You’re scaring me, Y/N.”

“I know. I’m scared too,” I confessed. “Be very still. Very still,” I asked. “I’ll let you go.”

“Let me go,” she echoed. “Y/N, I don’t know what you’re playing at–”

“Disbelief. I’ve been there,” I said, oddly finding empathy while hunger burned hot. “Just be still. It’ll make it easier.” My gaze shot up to Diana’s profile. Her lip quivered as she peered at me from the corner of her eye, as if looking at me straight on would be too much. Somewhere in the house, a drumming started. So loud it startled me and my body jolted.

Diana moved.

But I moved with her as she tried to push me off. 

Our arms and legs tangled as this body unexpectedly gained a strength unbeknownst to me. It pinned her arms to her side as it locked around her. She spasmed, trying to fight this body that no longer belonged to me. Hunger was its own entity, and it screamed for sustenance. In the throes of pushing against me, she kicked at my feet and lost balance. We both went down to the floor, all my weight on top of her as if I was the rock tied to her feet that dragged her to the bottom of a lake. 

Silver hair spilled on the rug. Revealed, my gaze zeroed in on the crook of her neck where a vein pulsed. I think I heard her scream but the drumming was so loud it was easy to ignore. My unseeing eyes barely registered my friend’s expression before leaning down and biting on the vein that Dracula had shown me.

Blood inundated my mouth, entrancing me completely. A hollow sound escaped from her as her blood slid down my throat like hot honey. Her hands pushed at me and I held them to the ground. Nothing could perturb this feeling. I was gulping light. My skin felt so hot it might have blistered. I lapped up the blood that spurted from those tiny cuts I had made. Too little. A fountain of blood is what I needed. So I bit, ripped with teeth and syrupy blood bubbled up to be savoured. It pulsed in streams with every desperate beat of her heart.

I swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed.

I filled myself up until her hands, intertwined with mine, slowly gave up. Distantly, I heard her gurgling a breath. And with it, the river of blood streaming down my throat slowed to a trickle to match the dying pace of her heart. 

My tongue poked at the wounds I had done, pressing them as before in search for the even flow of blood of only moments ago, and this time, I felt the texture of torn skin, ripped to ribbons, the awful rubbery muscles of Diana’s neck touched my tongue back, and I recoiled. I sat back, eyes focusing on the scene beneath me, and I kicked away. The hole I made on her neck seemed to stare at me as if the wound I made had life to accuse me. It gaped, like a second, gory mouth, open in shock. 

The stairs poked my spine as I pushed myself back, stopping me in my tracks. What remained of blood pooled under Diana. Scarlet entwined with the silver of her hair, contrasting with the waxy tone she had acquired. She could just as easily be confused with a broken doll, limbs askance, parted lips, and the broken porcelain of her neck.

An awful gasping sound came from her, making me gasp in return and scurrying to her side. Her hands spasmed as I came closer. Somehow still alive and yet when I looked in her eyes, there was barely any light there.

“I am so sorry, Diana. I didn’t mean to. I-I don’t know what to do. Di? Do you hear me? Are you there?”

Her eyes rolled to meet me. Maybe she could survive this - I thought for a second - but her eyes lost the determination as she stared at me, a teardrop running down her cheek, and went empty. 

“No- no…” the single word from my lips dragged out in the chilling silence of the hallway.

Knelt before her, my tears poured onto the corpse of my friend. 

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

@5thelement @jar-of-moondust @festering-queen @deborahlazaroff​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @girlonfireice @saint-hardy @xoxodracula @princessayveke @dreamer2381 @25ocurer @vampirescurse @blue-serendipity @iwasjustablur @sunscreenfeverdream @daydreaming136 @bittenlove @newyorkrican922 @feralstare @soph3228 @jmor25 @clussysposts @werwulfy @rainbowgoblinfan @soulofsalt @mistandmoss @lddracula @skelior @cesspitoflove @mymindpalaceismywonderland @candleslut @sweet-delila @jackbootedfucks​ @tilldeathripsusapart​ @recklessgiraffelife @isayweallgetdrunk

[tennessoui]

wip wednesday

this fic WILL get finished in january, both hands to god this time

But the coughing fits are not getting better, despite Anakin’s love, and it doesn’t make any sort of sense at all. 

Anakin, who has never known when or how to leave things be, thinks this means that something is wrong and he thinks that this means that there is a solution. Obi-Wan thinks differently. That there is something wrong, and that this is the way it will continue to be. 

The love he had for Anakin has always been of the hopeless variety. Perhaps—for a brief moment, right at the confession, right at the brink of his death, in the moment of their first kiss—there had been a flash of hope of a new and addictive kind.

But the coughing fits are not getting better, and even if they are not getting worse, the human body is not made to weather a garden growing in its lungs. 

Obi-Wan’s love has always been of the hopeless variety. He knew, as he fell into it, that Anakin was married. That nothing would come of it. That there was nothing to be done anyway but love him despite the ache it gave him in his chest, the flowers that eventually grew from it.

The hopelessness of this love is something he has resigned himself to, something that Anakin doesn’t seem to understand yet. He thinks there will be a solution, a fix, a bug in the code that he can work through given enough hours and motivation.

Obi-Wan would rather enjoy the gift of the time he has. Enjoy the feeling of kissing Anakin in the privacy of their quarters, map out every part of him that he never thought he’d be able to discover. Why waste time on hope? The cure has already been administered, and it has failed to do more than forestall the inevitable. 

Surprisingly, there is peace in that. Tentative joy as well, that he can wake in the middle of the night and turn in Anakin’s arms, watch the flickers of sleep and moonlight play over his face. If he knew that it was not ripping deep clawmarks into Anakin, to watch him suffer, to wtch him die, then Obi-Wan would even admit to feeling contentment. Having Anakin as he does now is more than he ever thought he’d get. More than he ever hoped for.

[mustardd]

Qiu has had enough

[xxplastic-cubexx]

secret wars secret love you will ALWAYS be famous

bonus:

[tallykale]

a bit of my postcanon vision

i heart people arguing

[psychomusic]

oc time again! + her town & culture (heavily inspired by pre-roman italic populations)

she is suri sauthon. her story is linked to my swtor imperial agent, tar'x, but most of her life except for the one year away where she meets him, is spent in a town in the mountains of mirial.

despite mirial being cold and desert, and many cities developing underground, her town flourishes thanks to a force nexus, venerated in the form of an ancient, sacred, alive crystal. the ecosystem of that mountain depended on what "the horned crystal" was capable of giving them, but mirialans couldn't live off of that alone, so they developed trade and some rudimental technology, even if oftentimes it was bought thanks to the highly profitable trade of a plant used to make medicines that slowed down aging and had overall healing properties.

note: everything that's generated by this nexus has these healing properties BUT they have to be processed, except for those who bathed in the waters of the cavity under the crystal - the "real" nexus, but not the worshipped one. the waters were sacred but they were not thought to be miraculous, unlike the crystal, who instead was thought of as the keystone of the ecosystem: without it, everything would fall apart (and that is partially true: the cavity was the "real" nexus but thanks to the crystal, also strong in the force, the properties were spread all over the mountains). those who bathed in the cavity's waters - so, all of the town, who had a sort of baptism there - could eat the plant, make whatever food with it, and not only that plant, but everything generated by the nexus, that, again, had similar properties. this allowed people to live up to normal life-spans without advanced medicines or, much, really. to those who didn't live there, though, after the processing, had incredible effects, slowing down aging - for those who took it regularly - and making people able to live up to half a century more than the average]

originally, there were four tribes of nomads that lived thanks to horned farm animals that decided to settle down into one bigger town and other smaller settlements, to live off of transhumance. this division of the tribes stayed into the political and social organization: every person belonged to one tribe specifically, and had slightly different rituals and culture. for examples, each tribe had their own priests and healers, with different techniques and traditions. the town, tho, was guided by a group of people in the high priesthood, a position you could reach only by having earned the trust of all tribes. those high priests had many roles: they guided the people into sacred processions common to all the tribes, they managed the trading with outsiders, they did the maintenance of the temple of the summit (the one that functioned as casket to the crystal) and created a special liquid to offer the crystal that helps it grow.

this particular temple was important because 1. it was very visible, from every angle of the town, and it became an important identity symbol; 2. it stored the venerated horned crystal; 3. it had the altar where sacrifices were made for the crystals. that altar had a hole connected to the cavity, that allowed the liquids to reach the underground; 4. it had various symbols: statues representing each tribe + the high priesthood, and typical mirialan tattoos carved into the wood of the trees that served as columns for the temple, symbolizing 8 values that who dared to enter HAD to have; 5. it was on the way to an important lake (called "mother lake" because the lake the town was built around to depended on the waters of that other lake) where they traveled to in important processions; 6. it was said that a the wizard who unified the tribes made it with its magic, making the plant grow to hold the temple's roof. this wizard was, actually, a force user, obv.

BACK TO HER THOUGH: she's daughter of one of the high priests, who was in charge of managing the trades with outsiders, and lives in a house on the mountains with her mother and him. her parents are from different tribes (that's one of the things that earned him trust from the 4 tribes): when a child is born from two different tribes, they don't pick one to allign to, but they're usually linked automatically to the one with more relatives in it (in her case, the father's tribe: she had many uncles and aunts on his side while her mom only had one sister).

later, though, she got quite tied to her mother's tribe due to a mysterious illness that only her mother's tribe healer was able to cure. she spent 4 years (from 10 to 14 years old) living with the healer and learned her secrets. to better study, she wrote them down. when she returned home, she studied to become a priestess with her father. at 22 (the average age: you can't become priest before your 20s), she was supposed to take a test and become a priestess, but the healer of her mother's tribe died and the tribe asked her to take her place. she couldn't technically do that, but both tribes estimated both her and her parents and she was allowed to become both. she then decided to try to become a high priestess, and became one at 25 (a quite young age). being part of the council, she tried to convince the various tribe healers to unite their knowledges and write them down, and eventually made it. healers still remained tribe based but they now had an "upper, inter-tribe level" similar to high priesthood.

years later, the sacred horned crystal is stolen from the temple by some Hutt mercenaries looking for a profit. given the trust she has earned from all the tribes and the fact that her father is the high priest that deals with outsiders (and she's been hearing stories and advice about it since she was little), she is the one tasked with getting it back. without the growing crystal, the keystone to their ecosystem, the village would have lasted only a few years. in hrr quest, she meets imperial intelligence agent tar'x laran and, as they "solve the mystery" and fight to have it back, they get closer. they'll get married and have a daughter, Vegoia (who's the only one who actually will get to the plot of my story. this was all background)