#i never would have made a bright and colorful vamp

[igotsnothing]

Here's my entry for @hauntedtrait's Build-a-Vampire CAS Challenge

Color Scheme: Bright and Colorful

Hair Color: Ginger

Eye Color: Orange/Yellow

Theme: 1970s

[California Soul- Diplo Remix] ♫ Marlena Shaw ♫ 2:03 ──⚬──── 4:06 ◃◃ ıı ▹▹

[moonchildstyles]

jealous vamp h bestie?

wordcount: 3.5k+

—————

(Y/N) couldn't help the sigh she let out from where she stood on the terrace of Harry's Parisian penthouse. Her hands were hooked around the railing, keeping her from toppling over as she leant forward in a dreamy haze with her gaze attached to the Eiffel Tower bathed in morning light. Maybe she was trapped in her daydream, influenced by the ambiance of the city, but she swore she could smell the butter melting as croissants were baking in the shops below, sparkling water spritzing with sweet scents, and fresh baguettes being spread over with fancy cheeses and swirls of honey. 

"Not tired of this place, yet?" Harry asked with a gentle tone as he wrapped his cool arms around her waist from behind. The point of his chin settled into the curve of her neck, sighing into her scent. 

"Never," she smiled, settling her hands on his own as they folded over her middle. "What time is the showing?" 

The whole point of the trip out here instead of their usual time in Italy, had been so Harry could show her a chateau he was planning on potentially purchasing. He hadn't shown her too much of the listing online as he had declared he wanted it to be a surprise when he finally took her, but he had promised it was beautiful. Smaller than what he was used to, but he said it reminded him of her. Delicate and cozy, he'd described it as. A home. 

"Not until noon. We have time." Harry's murmured tone floated between them, joining the buttery warmth (Y/N) swore was wafting up to the terrace. 

"We have time for what?" She bit down on her bottom lip to stifle the grin that wanted to stretch wider on her lips. She knew exactly what he had in mind, exactly what he had made time for this morning. 

"Come back inside, and I'll show you, puppy." 

Spinning her in his arms, (Y/N) was greeted by the sight of Harry, bare-chested and warm after cuddling her through the night. Faint beams of sunlight dared to broach their daydream on the balcony, tracing the lines of his muscles in fans of a golden glaze. Having bit from her the night before after a decadent dinner at one of (Y/N)'s new favorite spots in the city, his cheeks were warm with a rosy color, skin tan, and eyes bright with curling strands of hair falling over his forehead. She could have melted under his gaze alone, the caress of his hands on her hips being the cherry on top. 

"Can we keep the balcony doors open?" she whispered, allowing him to lead her back into the mussed bedroom.

"Y'sure y'want everyone to hear you, puppy?" Harry dropped his head to press into the soft of her throat, the blooming bruise on the curve welcoming him as he remembered sinking his teeth in to the delicate skin.

"I'll try to be quiet," she got out, voice soft between them. 

Sucking in a deep breath of her scent, Harry could have swore his heart warmed and fluffed up just like the croissants he was trying to perfect for her. 

"Don't." 

—————

Harry couldn't keep the smug smile from spreading across his face as he caught his petal's reaction from the corner of his eye. When he started correspondence over getting a showing for this Parisian chateau, and seeing every photo of the estate, he had hoped her reaction would be something like this. The wonder in her gaze was something he would never grow tired of. 

"What do you think, m'petal?" he asked, pulling into the gravel drive of the home. 

"It—I—Harry," she floundered, her voice a sigh. 

"'S beautiful, isn't it? I thought you'd like the ivy," he murmured, finding a space to park beside the realtor's own car. 

While the chateau was gorgeous by anyone's standards, it was small to Harry. He'd grown very comfortable with sprawling estates full of rooms that he had no idea what to do with, multiples of every amenity, and more than enough space between himself and anyone who wiggled their way into his house. But, since (Y/N) entered his life and his heart, he felt no need for all of the cold space. There was no reason for him to be anywhere else other than close to her. This cottage was perfect for the existence he wanted with her. 

Even with the clouded sky, the charm of the chateau was not lost on him as Harry rounded the front of the car to help (Y/N) out of the passenger seat. Her warm palm in his was enough to get his smug smile melting into something genuine, the grin only stretching when she tucked herself into his side. 

"Harry, look!" she bubbled, bouncing in her spot, "There's roses!" 

Following the point of her finger, he saw the same rose bush that had been described in the listing that was emailed to him. Bright blooms stuck out against the forest green of the bush, thorns prickling down the stems, tipped in and inky black. The sight bordered on gothic compared to the hazy filter the sun left on the romantic view. "I know. They're gorgeous." 

"Do you know what kind they are?" she asked, floating closer to the rose studded bush with Harry in tow. 

He lent over her, peering around her shoulder to gauge the blooms with his own eyes instead of through the lens of photos. Noting the deep color of the blooms alongside how large the unfurled petals stretched, it didn't take him long to decipher the flora growing beside (Y/N)'s potential new home. He watched as she reached out to seemingly grab for one of the stems to bring the flower to her nose. Grabbing her just before she could cut herself on a thorn, Harry threaded his fingers between hers in a distracting squeeze. "I think 's a Lady In Red, my love." 

"How do you know?" she prodded, looking up at him with sparkling eyes as he lead her towards the front doors. 

Harry shrugged with a lopsided smile on his lips, reluctantly letting her hand go so he could twist the knob on the unlocked door. "I've had a lot of time to learn," he told her, looking down at where she stood at his side. His own little rose. 

Before (Y/N) could offer any response, he pushed the door open with a flourish. His relator, Charlana, should be around here somewhere, but he was sure she wouldn't mind if he allowed his love to take a look around the space before seeking her out. "After you, m'love." 

A twist panged in the pit of his stomach as got to watch the way she swept through the room. Even vacant from the sunny rays that filled every photograph on the listing, (Y/N) looked like a dream twirling through the space. She gazed around with those glittery eyes, taking in the small room filled with bouquets of flowers that had been pruned from the garden bordering the grounds, and cozy furniture that Harry would purchase alongside the chateau if she so wanted. 

He stayed back as she bubbled about the space, keeping an affectionate eye on her as she bounced into the kitchen and down the halls, exploring the place he would hopefully get to make her home. Harry listened in on the ramblings she let out, babbling about one thing before getting distracted with another. He knew she had been excited about being taken along to this showing, but he hadn't anticipated this level of enthusiasm.  

Allowing her to have her space and not feel like she needed to like the place just because he was there, Harry lingered in the staged living space, awaiting Charlana's presence. He could hear her heartbeat in the upper level, surely she'd heard them enter along with (Y/N)'s twirling. 

Soon enough a pair of feet started down the stairs, though the pattern sounded much heavier than what he recognized of Charlana's. With his arms folded across his chest, Harry leaned heavily against one of the walls, eyes fixed on the landing to the stairs. 

Just as he expected, someone who was not his relator appeared on the landing. Shiny blonde hair, navy suit, and a too big of a smile to be something of a natural expression was the first impression of this newcomer. While Harry was much harder to impress now that he'd become so accustomed to (Y/N)'s scent, he held a particular distain for this man's stink. 

As soon as the structure of his features could be seen around the megawatt smile on his lips, Harry had to put effort into keeping his features neutral. He was not expecting to be working with this realtor. He was someone Harry begrudgingly recognized, being apart of the same company as Charlana, but there was a reason he stuck to his typical contact. She never looked too hard at the paperwork and didn't ask questions that Harry wouldn't want to answer, and was decidedly less annoying that this man already was without saying a word. 

Bright blue eyes widened at the sight of his client, the man quickly schooling his features while Harry stayed stoney. "Mr. Styles! I'm so sorry, I didn't hear you come in," he beamed, striding through the space with a power that didn't match his presence, "I think we've met before, but I'm Rhys."

"Nice to meet you," Harry grumbled out, aware of the way his petal was wanting him to lessen on how bitter he was to anyone but her. It wasn't fun to be grumpy, she'd said, but it was hard to keep the distaste off his face at the touch of someone other than (Y/N) on his skin.

Though he tried to keep his expression in that neutral pleasantry, Harry was still able to catch the small wince he gave—from the temperature of his skin or depth of his grip, he didn't know. "Charlana wasn't able to make it out today—a last minute family emergency, she told me," he started after the small recovery, his hand going directly to his pocket, "but I will be forwarding her any decisions we make today and she'll be back to taking care of you after this." 

While he was sure he was overreacting only because of the change of plans he wasn't aware about, Harry still had to unclench his jaw to speak. "Okay. Thank you for coming to help."

Before any response could be offered, (Y/N) came twirling through the hallway, a bright smile on her face. "Harry, did you see the bathroom? There's an—Oh, sorry I didn't know anyone else was here." 

She deflated once she saw Rhys, looking nonchalant as if he were the one this space called around and not Harry himself. Rhys's eyes seemingly lit up the second he took in the sight of Harry's beloved, something in his grin angling differently in the light. He liked what he saw, that much Harry could tell. And, he hated it. 

Taking large strides towards her, Rhys offered her his tanned palm out for a shake. "It's alright, I wasn't aware we would be having a guest, either," he tried to soothe in a tone too strong, Harry watching the way his fingers wrapped too smoothly around (Y/N)'s. "I'm Rhys, filling in for Mr. Styles' regular realtor." 

He watched as she gingerly gave her hand, a polite smile on her face as she gave her own name only to be cut off when her hand was swept up by the tanned palm and brought up to Rhys's mouth for a kiss. 

For a split second, Harry saw red. If not for the fact he knew he wasn't in complete control, he would have lunged forward and shoved him out of her space, protecting her behind the broad of his back. But, with the way his mind went white blank, he knew that if he even attempted that, Rhys would most likely end up dead. His petal wouldn't like that. 

Instead, he focused on his beloved, gauging her reactions while he tempered himself down. She took the odd gesture with grace, offering a demure smile before slipping her hand out of his grip before much more contact could be made. He saw the way she peered over the man's shoulder, making eye contact with Harry with the smallest widening of her eyes. She tried to flit around Rhys blocking her, but before she could get much further, she was stopping by an offending hand on her bicep.

"You were talking about the master bath?" Rhys prompted, megawatt smile pasted to his face, "I can show you some of the extra amenities. Come with me." 

"I'm sorry—um—" Another glance over his shoulder had Harry striding towards them, decidedly forgoing his control in favor of pulling her away from this man, even if he left some broken bones in the wake. 

Rhys gave a dismissive wave over his shoulder, "Mr. Styles can come too, but he's already seen the listing. I want to show you some of the renovated features." 

Using that grip on her arm, Rhys twirled (Y/N) around, hand landing on the small of her back to lead her where he wanted. That had Harry reaching out to grab the offending arm, hopefully to break the bones underneath, but he was stopped by the look his bonded gave him. 

It was the curl of her brows and soft set of her mouth that told him he needed to calm down. As much as she would love to not have this man's hands on her, there was no reason for Harry to hurt someone so detrimentally. His hands fell into fists at his side, fuming as he fell into stride behind them, just barely realizing Rhys had been chattering away about what kind of tiles lined the shower. 

Taking a deep and unnecessary breath, Harry condemned himself to lean into the threshold as he saw (Y/N) being led into the bathroom, having successfully shook her arm out of Rhys's grip and out of his reach without him making it obvious he was trying to put his hands on her. She hummed and acknowledged whatever was coming out of the realtor's mouth while Harry made sure to gauge every minute detail of her reactions. More than anything, she looked bored. If for even a second he saw a tinge of panic or her comfort being taken, he was going to step in. He'd pay for whatever damage he made to the chateau. 

"What do you think? It's a little small than I'm used to working with, but it's very Parisian without dealing with the city," Rhys tried to sell to her, leaning a little too close into her space than Harry would have liked. 

"I—It's really nice," she told him, looking to Harry, "What do you th—" 

"Mr. Styles usually likes much bigger estates," Rhys interrupted, as if (Y/N) wouldn't know, "Besides, he's a very nice friend for gifting you the chateau, but its up to you and what you think." 

Maybe Harry should have stepped away for a moment. (Y/N) was more than capable of taking care of herself and putting a stop to this stupid conversation, but in that moment he could have sworn his feet were rooted to the floor. While Rhys's prodding could have been deemed innocent naivety, Harry knew better. He was prodding for information, wanting to know where he could wedge in next to (Y/N). 

"Oh, he's—uh—he's actually my—" 

"She's my wife." 

Harry's deadpan voice broke through the bathroom, causing Rhys to swivel around as if he didn't know there was a third in the room. Knowing he was caught, a flush rose to his skin, arms folding behind his back. Rhys shied away from Harry's eye contact, especially so as he stepped over the tiles towards (Y/N). 

"Oh, I didn't know. She's not wearing any ring, my—" 

"Does it matter?" Harry didn't have time to listen to floundering excuses. Of course, she wasn't wearing a ring, she was bonded to him by the soul. The technicality of a human marriage wasn't needed to make it clear they were entwined. A silly ring wasn't needed. (Unless she wanted one, of course, then he'd take her to his jeweler immediately). 

Rhys flicked his eyes between the two of them, finally acknowledging the way (Y/N) fit herself effortlessly into Harry's side once she could flit herself away from the space he'd wedged her into by the wall. Harry's arm fit perfectly around her waist, a gentle squeeze being given to the curve—a touch that reassured him more than her in the moment. 

Harry looked right into the pale blue eyes he decided he hated, feeling a little too smug seeing the way the man squirmed. ((Y/N) would have to wear that pastel hue again to get him to forgive it, but until then he vowed to hate it). "We've seen enough. Tell Charlana I would like another showing, and if she's not able to make it, to reschedule until she can. I would also like it to be very clear that this is the one and only time you will attempt to do business with us." 

With that, Harry led her out of the space with a flourish, reveling in the way (Y/N) cuddled into his side with ease. 

"Are you alright?" he asked once they were in the safety of his car, the gravel driveway crunching under the tires as he tore out of there. 

"Yeah, I'm okay. I didn't like how he was touching me, but he was just more annoying than anything." Her voice was quiet as she settled into the leather seat, a sigh pushing out her chest before she deflated into the folds of her sweater.

"I didn't like how he was touching you either," Harry grumbled, reaching across the center console and fitting his hand in hers. A delicate squeeze was given along with the brush of his thumb over the back, just where Rhys had dared to kiss. 

"Are you okay, H?" she peeped, twisting in her seat to give him the full of her glittery eyes, "I'm sorry I let him bother us—" 

"No, do not apologize," he grumbled, "You were only being kind, do not tell me you are sorry. I am alright, I just think I hate him." 

That had a peal of laughter falling from (Y/N)'s lips. "I can tell," she smiled, pulsing her hand around his, "I still really liked the chateau, though. I was hoping we could just explore it ourselves." 

"I know," he softened, relaxing into the fine leather of his seat with the distraction of driving easing him along with the touch of his love, "I am going to tell Charlana we want it." 

"Really?!" The way she bounced in her seat was well worth the annoyance he went through. 

"Yes," he said, reciprocating her smile, "And while what he said bothered me, he is right that this is your space. This is for you more than it is for me. I will only accompany you if you so invite me." 

"Wait," she sighed, sinking down with her mouth dropped into a small gape. Her heart had skipped a beat at his words. "Harry, you don't have to do that." 

"I want to, my petal," he cemented, "We have Italy and the manor together, but I realized you do not have a space all to your own. I want to give that to you." 

The soft of her lips pillowed against one another as she tried to find the words, a couple of moments passing as she opened her mouth only to close it once she didn't realize where she was going. 

"I'll always want you to come with me, though," she whispered, voice a small murmur between them and the hum of the engine. 

"You promise that?" he asked, a lopsided smile touching his features as he teased her. The more he heart the melody of her voice and concentrated on the baseline of her heartbeat, he lightened up. 

"Of course," she smiled, leaning closer to him as her own teasing smile bunched at her lips, "I'm your wife, aren't I?" 

He should have known she wasn't going to let that one go, even if she was attempting to feign it as a tease instead of something he could hear making her heart skip a beat. "And, I'm your husband. Formal ceremony or not, I believe our commitment warrants the title." 

"Me too," she agreed with a honey sweet smile, the bloom of her eyes warming him more than any bit of her neck could ever give. She softened some as she traced her gaze over his profile, feeling her linger over the angle of his nose. "Really, though. I don't want to be here if you're not with me. Thank you for wanting me to have my own space, but I want this to be our home. Wherever I go, I want you there, too." 

If his heart could squeeze and stutter, this would be the moment it would have pounded out of his chest in search of its lover. "Thank you, petal." 

As much as Harry was easily bothered by days like this, there was nothing that could soothe him like she did. All he needed was a quick glance in his passenger seat to see her gazing at him with adoration in her eyes, her hand in his, and his bite on her neck. 

He'd go wherever she wanted him.

—————

idk if hes all that jealous in this and its also significantly shorter than most of my stuff but I hope its alright!!! thank you sm for reading and to whoever requested this, sorry for any mistakes and if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in!

[seburath-aryes-ancunin]

Just something a little funny.

I thought it was funny seeing all the people write fanfics of Tavs and Astarion a d they call him Star or Stari. With Aryes she doesn't call him anything like that.

No she calls him Rio. Why?

Well when they met (pre-vamp Astarion mind you) Aryes was young, as in 6-7 and she had lost a few teeth (not spoiling how but it wasn't natural causes.....) she couldn't say his name properly. It would always come out as Azzarion or asarion.

So he gave her permission so call him Rio since that was the only part she could speak if she needed him.

In return, he called her Ashes which turned into Ash (he called her Ashes as a joke because as the time she was shedding her scales so her shed scales looked like ashes because they are ashen colored)

And they kept those names even after they were reunited.

Aryes never calls Astarion her little star or anything like that. She calls him Rio and her Silver haired prince.

Funny enough the others have nicknames for her too.

Karlach calls her Ari (a call back on my original/alt spelling of her name Aries).

Gale calls her Nightingale ('as dark as the night sky with eyes as bright as the moon' as he once told her)

Lae'zel calls her a dragon (she also told her she smells of home and wasnt immediately hostile to her on the first meeting).

Shart, Volo and Wyll usually call her by her name. Although Shart sometimes calls her Ari if she's around Karlach. Volo called her dragon a few times but she made a joke about it (something about 'dragon his ass out of the camp') and he stopped that and called her by her name from then on.

Halsin calls her Shadow because she's so sneaky. He adores her but sees her more like a sibling (she's not interested in him. She has a vampire and Rizzard)

But yeah just some interesting lore for Aryes.

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 15x08 Our Father, Who Aren’t in Heaven

“That’s a nice drink” “She’s got some shaky hands” “Oh I suppose that’s on purpose. Ok then” “Why don’t you ask for the drink separately but you want to be a cunt about it” Spouse paused the episode, went to the basement, and got a knife. “It’s the same fkn knife. Made in Boulder, Colorado” “Hers was re-profiled, but it looks similar. Eileen would have a bigger knife” “She’s the deaf one, and you didn’t hear that one coming?” “She went hunting without him? What’s up with these people going hunting alone?” “Is it a brownie recipe? Oh I see” “or flaccidness. They’ve been talking about dick the whole time” “that’s definitely how you greet someone at the door” “Can you imagine the Girl Scouts selling cookies, banging on your door, and saying they know you’re in there” “the whole colonel sanders vibe. Can they Not with that?” “is he dead now?” “what a fkn dick” laughter “that’s pretty good” “that’s bright. Jesus” “must be Hell. It’s all red and dark” “I don’t think the demons liked being called ladies” “Is that who I think it is? Hell yeah!” laughter “that’s awesome dude” “She’s the right amount of unhinged to make one helluva a character. God, I love it” “just going to leave that spell on the table huh?” “what are we adding? Looks like cedar chips, but I’m not sure’ “Easily the best throne they’ve had so far” “2nd time they’ve mentioned amazon. Were they trying to get picked up by amazon?” laughter

“Isn’t that kinda redundant?” “oh hey bitch” “what the fuck? It’s the same dude” “huh” “how’s they get back? Did we cover that?” “does he not trust Eileen?” “it’s so red. Why is it so fkn red?” “Michael just vaporized that lady” laughter “that’s funny” “ominous” “why is this camera view all creepy and behind the balcony fence?” “bro you need some chapstick” “they had it all planned out” “are they both wearing black? I can’t tell.” “Oh look twinsies. They color coordinated” “how does that work? So Michaels’ not a total asshole to Adam?” “what a complicated fink scenario?” “we’re just now tackling all this shit?” “peer pressured into it huh?” “well hey she brought back up at least” “haughty?” “what friend is that?” “I mean, Oak isa a pretty hard wood. It would make for a fairly stiff stick up your ass” “Are they going to just cook him this time?” “that didn’t look very healthy” laughter

“That can’t be good” “what? Are they going to use that selfishness against them?” “Are they surfer vamps or what?” “It’s a fkn trap” “fuck you bitch. Seriously” “passing notes?” “good fun. Back to the classics” “Oh hey easy” “what a weird arragenemnt. We’re also burning time on this 12hrs” “I’m all for talking about feelings and shit, but not on the clock, man. We gotta get this shit done” “I mean, you’d never really be lonely if you get possessed by an angel. But most angels are dicks”

[acreepqueen]

Naga Boyfriend (Part I)

A/N: This is the re-vamp of Servio's story, but the old one (1, 2) is still up if you prefer to read that one! I hope this is an adequate way of returning to posting after such a long time.

You ran barefooted through the treeline, laughing maniacally. Was this one of the most rejuvenating, awe-inspiring, joyous moments of your life? Quite possibly, even if that was a little sad. Sneakers--not your own--in hand you sprinted away from Fred's shouts. If he didn't want to have his shoes stolen and left in some long forgotten spot in the middle of the forest, he should not have called you a whore for kissing the cute new owner of the cafe near your house. Not only did he bring up one of your idiotic alcohol-fueled moments, he did so disparagingly and not for a laugh. Absolutely unforgivable!

You stumbled suddenly feeling dizzy. You hadn't had that much to drink. Probably. As you caught your bearings a wave of nausea hit you and you gagged. Trying not to throw up ultimately proved futile. At least you were deep in the woods where no one could see you or care. These woods...you were sure you'd been told something about them while at the bar. You felt like it was important, but if you couldn't remember it couldn't have been that important. You groaned as you threw up again, both nauseated and frustrated. How did those idiots manage to convince you to come all the way out here and go drinking with them? Fred was always an ass when drunk and shit drinking-buddy for that reason exactly, but you expected more from the other boys and Vivian who'd immediately ditched you for a cute girl she spotted dancing alone. You wiped your mouth with your sleeve, only to realize the coat you were wearing was very much not yours, oh well. You popped back up and dropped the shoes--not in your vomit, that felt too cruel.

"What the hell are you doing?" a sharp voice hissed out from somewhere behind you. Thinking that Fred or another friend had followed to retrieve his shoes--which you'd conned him for fair and square--you panicked and began to sprint away.

"Wait, you idiot! Do you want to die?" the voice threatened. Damn, this person really needs to clip their nails, you thought as a hand shot out and grabbed your wrist before you could make your grand escape. You groaned and turned around to face your captor.

"Fine! You got me! Your stupid shoes are over there, next to the pile of my-" your words failed you as locked eyes with a pair you weren't familiar with. Not that you really paid attention to eye color, but you were certain you'd never seen a person with such bright orange eyes. He sneered, rebooting your brain.

"You are not one of my friends," you stated blankly. Maybe this dude would be nice enough to carry you back to the bar? You were starting to feel a little less woozy and a lot more sleepy. Shit, were you actually drunk?

"Obviousssly not!" he shouted, slurring his S's in a way that made your face scrunch up slightly. It was weird, though you wouldn't expect anything less from a guy you met in the middle of the woods. You yawned and his pretty eyes narrowed.

"Why do you look like that?" he prodded, poking you in the stomach rather unkindly. You groaned and struggled to process his words. Actually, what had he even asked you? Something about a book?

"Hm?" you responded sleepily. Having someone read to you right now would be nice, or even someone just telling a story. If you were curled up in a fuzzy blanket it'd be even better. You yawned and shut your eyes, merely savoring the thought. You might be impulsive, but it wasn't like you'd just fall asleep in front of a stranger!

The next morning you woke begrudging the awful humans you called friends for letting you drink so much. Your head felt like you were pounding it into the cement and the sunlight filtering in through the window felt like a spotlight beaming down on you. Not only did your head hurt, but your back and neck were sore too. Your mattress didn't even feel comfy! It was like you were laying on the ground. You squeezed your eyes shut even tighter and grumbled. Couldn't you have like five more hours? Did the sun really need to rise?

"Oh, you're awake. I wassssstarting to think you died."

Who, in the name of last night's fuzzy memories and drunken bad choices, was currently talking to you? You shot straight up and opened your eyes. That did not help your current state of unease. From the looks of the stone floor and ceiling, you were definitely in a cave. This was certainly a new predicament. You almost wanted to believe that you were kidnapped rather than the alternative; you'd willingly spent the night in a cave. This guy had better be smoking hot... The guy!! You'd completely forgotten someone was speaking with you.

You turned from the entrance of the cave to peer into the spooky, dark depths. It smelt kind of like blood. Had you been kidnapped?? It was impossible to see anything more than a large shadowy mass maybe ten or so yards away. Said suspicious mass spoke to you again.

"Well? Ssshouldn't you be offering me gratitude? I practically sssaved your life, foolisssh human," a voice said. His--you were pretty sure it was a him--pronunciation was quite cute. The words sounded almost foreign on his tongue and it seemed to be a struggle to pronounce his S's. Yeah, you could've very well followed him home with a voice like that while drunk, but to a cave? You could give yourself more credit than that. The way he claimed to have "practically" saved you also had your alarm bells ringing a bit. How does one "practically" save someone? It kind of felt like a bit of a stretch, even if you didn't have the memories to prove it.

"Thanks, I think?" you replied and he sneered. You heard a sound like a cloth was being dragged across the stone of the cave floor and the mass came nearer. Now just barely out of the sunlight, you could kind of make out his features. And honestly, you'd never in your life been more disappointed you couldn't recall the night prior. He had sharp, nearly androgynous features and dark long hair that you couldn't quite make out the color or length of. It stood out against his pale, porcelain skin. Yeah, you'd sleep in a cave for that. Hot damn!

"You think? I drag your sssorry asssss all the way to my home and thisss isss how you ressspond! I ssshouldn't have eck-eck-eck--" he started to snarl, only he stopped suddenly choking on his last word before growing silent. Did he have something stuck in his throat?

"Expected?" you supplied.

"Yesss! I ssshouldn't have--you know!" he exclaimed gesturing wildly with his hands, "...Any lessss from a human!"

He hadn't even tried to pronounce it this time. That was cute, absolutely adorable, even. Regardless of the sketch factor being rather high in this situation, you began to laugh. It made your head spin, but you couldn't help it.

"And now you insssult me!" he accused. You heard a genuine hiss leave him and watched as his dark, slender eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm sorry if I offended you," you said, not sounding remorseful at all as another chuckle slipped past your defenses. His scowl deepened and you grimaced. He crossed his arms and glared down at you. You did not concede until the silence continued to drag on to a point where it was almost physically painful.

"Look, to be honest with you, I don't remember much of what we ended up doing last night. This whole 'saving me' thing is a little fishy if you ask me. Last thing I remember is doing shots at the bar and tricking Fred out of his sneakers. I--"

"Wh-what we did?!" he shrieked, cutting off my next sentence entirely. The sound reverberated off the walls of the cave and made you wince. Sure his voice was nice, but you preferred it about thirty decibels quieter.

"Did we not, you know...?" you questioned, making a rather crude gesture with your hands. He actually snarled at that, something you were only able to see because he had rushed forward to shake you by the shoulders.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!?" he demanded. Orange eyes glinted ferociously in the sunlight, a color you were pretty sure people's eyes usually didn't come in. For the first time since you’d seen him this morning you glanced down at where his legs should’ve been. In there place was merely a giant ebony black mass of scales. It was a snake tail.

"Oh."

[seancekitsch]

Out of the Rain: a Marko x Reader fic

Warnings: bloodplay goes without saying bc vamp, rough sex, dirty talk, semi public sex, telepathy?? me projecting my music taste on this fic again. drug use, fast and loose use of vampire lore bc when i write i am god and u cannot stop me. also can u tell i have like…. v clear descriptions of the setting like i used to work at the place im describing but its not in california

No one had come in for hours. What's the point of staying open? You dim some of the lights in the store, which is one of three head shops in Santa Carla, but the only one open late. You're not really sure why this is the only store that stays open, why everyone else if worried about the three am walk back to their car on a weekend night. You've never seen anything of suspicion, just sometimes that biker gang watches people shuffle out. That was almost comforting, though. People didn't like those guys, so no one would make you use your switchblade if they were around.

The bright while fluorescent lights of your typical daytime ambiance faded away, and now green light bathes you in the “mood” lighting your boss thought was a good idea. The green lighting reflects off of the glass counters, shining it back at the ceiling and making everything that much more green. It fits, you think with the overall vibe of the store. The stale scent of weed, gently and miserably covered up by some nag champa incense, always burning in at least four different spots within the store. You'd long since gotten used to the smoke in your eyes. The music does everything to add to the ambiance. You always have full control of the music in the shop, usually because no one else is willing to take the night shift in Santa Carla. In fact, most of the boardwalk shops had a revolving door of night shift workers. You never got why, something clearly spooks them that does not spook you. Whether that makes you brave or stupid, you dont know. Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow pumps through the speakers in the store. But I suppose no one knows, you're my plastic fantastic lover.

The rain batters the boardwalk outside, a roar much different than the typical hustle and bustle of drunk teens, of the cliques and crews that come in and out; the few that sit and snicker in the doorway, never entering. Some too afraid to be associated with the implication of being spotted in the shop. We sell jewelry and vinyl too, you always say, when they balk at the idea of being in the same room as a bong or incense.

But then there's the other group that stands and idles in the threshold, also not entering. It's that biker gang. Four guys, a girl, a kid. Maybe he’s the brat of the girl and the one who takes himself too seriously, but maybe not. She looks too young for that. They'd been hovering around quite a bit lately, always after dark. You’d spoken to them, at least the ones that are talkative. The hair metal wannabe and the cute short one. Paul and Marko. You knew the dark haired one was Dwayne, but all he ever offered you was a curt nod and a tight lipped smile, respectful but indifferent. They're nice, not worth the spooky reputation they have. Any time it's not just you at the shop, your boss tries to spook them away. Good thing your boss isn't here tonight, because one of them is prowling around the storefront in the rain. That is, if it's not your spliff induced haze playing tricks on you.

No, one of them is out there. Without his little pack. The cute one. Marko.

You walk over to the door, which you haven't had propped open since the rain trickled in as a drizzle at the beginning of your shift. At least he had enough sense to be huddling under the awning. Fuck, he’s handsome even when he looks like a drowned rat.

“What are you doing out here?” You scrunch up your nose as you ask.

“Y’know, waiting for you to show up.” Wanted a look at that cute ass.

You blink at him. Did he really just say that?

“Okay… well, you know it's raining out there, right?”

“I might,” he offers noncommittally, eyeing the spliff still in the hand that's not holding the door. If it were anyone but him, you'd probably get fired for it.

Why is he just hanging around out here? That's hella weird. His curls are getting matted to his forehead, slick with rain, his jacket starting to look a little sad.

“C’mon in, Marko. It’s too wet out here. You’ll fuck up your jacket.” You nod towards the interior of the shop holding the door open as he passes you.

Wrong move, sweet cheeks.

“What did you say?” What did he mean, wrong move?

“I didn't say anything,” he offers nonchalantly as he thumbs at one of the tapestries on the wall. A garish mess that’s supposed to be the worm from Alice in Wonderland, but it’s distorted by a botched tie dye job of dark muddy colors. Every time you look at it, you assume one of the day workers did it.

“No, you said something.”

“Do you want me to say something?” there's both a threat and an innuendo in his tone. Maybe you do, but you just laugh, a sharp exhale through your nose, and bring the spliff to your lips again as he follows you deeper into the store.

You jump up onto the counter next to the ash tray, easy reach for each time you need to ash.

“So why are you really here?” your eyes narrow at him, kicking your sandal off on the floor where it lands a few inches from his boots. He looks uneasy in the space, like for all the wild shit you assume he’s into, he might not actually belong in it. He sways a little to the music, perfectly in tune with the rhythm. You sway along too, and suddenly he fills the space like he belongs. He just needed someone along for the ride with him.

“Do you ever come around during the day, or just at night because I’m so fun?” You’re teasing him, but it’s a nice easy feeling between you.

“Not really a sun guy,” bullshit, he would look beautiful with a tan, “but I do drag everyone here just to see you.”

“Awww, all for me? Do you have a crush, Marko?”

It’s more than that. You hear the words clearly, but his smile doesn’t move. You kick the other sandal off.

“I can hear you, I don’t know how, but I can. I bet you can hear me too.”

I can. You’re wrong about the tan thing.

You straighten up, mind clearing as you blurt out your next question. Something absolutely stupid.

“So what are you, a vampire or something?” he laughs at you, but his big toothy smile doesn't reach his eyes. No, there's something predatory, extremely dark in his eyes. Otherworldly.

How could you guess?  

“Well, that for one big fucking clue.” You ash the spliff for the final time, leaving the roach in the tray. You would think you’d be more surprised, more upset that you just found out vampires were real, and that you were in the same room as one. You have to say, weirder things are probably afoot in Santa Carla. Murder capital of the world can’t all be from some rowdy teens and a ten year old.

“You do those surf nazis?” is all that leaves your mouth. You kind of hope it was. They were the fucking worst. Racist, misogynistic, destructive. You’d had to threaten them a few times to leave your store on your shift.

“The—? Oh! Surf nazis. Yeah that was us. Ate a few of them.”

“Good for you. I mean— murder. bad. But they were nazis, and now they’re dead. so…” you trail off. Not really sure what to say next, but then you keep going. Remember everything you know about Marko.

“No, no I mean, it makes sense. Right? You and the guys only hang around at night. Aren’t vampires solitary hunters though? I don’t remember Dracula being in a frat.”

“They’re my pack. We take care of each other.” He says it with such fondness and devotion.

You feel a pang of jealousy run through you. You work alone for the most part, live alone, you’ve got friends but they’re all over the place. He belongs to something.

“And you're down with this?” he’s legitimately asking. You nod. You don't really have a choice, you're down or you get eaten, but like genuinely you are down with it. If he was going to eat you, he probably would have by now. There's probably a reason they've been hanging around the store, and in your sightline while you close up. You're putting things together.

“Like really?”

“Well, you haven't made me a kebab yet.”

He shrugs, frowns.

“Could still skewer you on something.”

Laughter erupts from your lips while you roll your eyes, music to Marko’s ears. This is why he took a shine to you, it's easy to get along with you, and you're not one of his brothers.

Something heavy falls in the room, and it's not the haze of the incense. He steps towards you, big blue eyes raking over your body, but always coming back to meet your gaze. He closes the space between you, easily fitting between your thighs; the rough patches of his jacket brushing against your bare skin where your shorts ride up. He leans in, like he's about to kiss you, and against all better judgement, you're going to let him.

You're going to let him.

The record skips. He holds out his hand, more like a gentleman than a biker gang killer, and helps you off the counter.

“Hold on, let me pick out a new record,” you turn without waiting for his confirmation, not at all surprised when Marko follows hot on your heels to the back room. Your boss’ office, the record room. Whatever you wanted to call it. His hands ghost over your arms as you push past the wooden bead curtain to enter the room. You can feel his presence close enough to touch. That's it, right where I want you. There’s his voice again.

He lets you actually pick out a new record. You slide it out of the sleeve and walk it over to the player. The static buzzes and pops as the needle finds the groove.

“Ocean Rain, you heard it?” No. He shakes his head, and you can feel it as he leans into your back.

“Echo and the Bunnymen. They've got a new album coming out this year.”

You turn to face him and his fingerless leather glove clad hands cover your cheeks.

He kisses you gently, tenderly. Not at all the way you’d expect. He’s eager, kissing like there’s something to prove. He licks his way into your mouth, tongue pushing your lips apart and you let him. His arms tighten around you as you kiss, tongues now greeting each other playfully. Your tongue explores his mouth, running along each and every tooth in his mouth. Huh, no fangs, you realize, and maybe he isn't actually a vampire. As if he reads your mind (maybe he does), he pulls away.

“They're, uh, hiding,’ he nods, almost to himself more than you. You nod as well, slow and uneasy, not quite believing him, but he pulls you back into a harsh kiss, more of what you expected. His hands roam your body as yours bury themselves in his curls. Still damp, but long and beautiful just as well. He shrugs the jacket off his shoulders, and his hands only briefly leave you to throw it and his gloves somewhere else, leaving him just in a thin white tank top. His mouth leaves yours to trail lower, kissing your neck. Your pulse point. Fucking irresistable. No, that's definitely his voice. Is this the end? Could be.

“I can smell you, hot stuff,” he moans into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You find yourself gripping onto his shoulders a little tighter, but he lets you sink. He guides you, again more gently than you thought he would; bare knees brushing the threadbare carpet floor before you plant yourself. You look up at him through your lashes and he all but bites back a groan.

“You gonna join me down here?” You lick your lips, waiting for something.

“Nah, I’m gonna let you have a head start,” there's a joke in his tone. You're learning that’s normal for him. He’s silent, or playing jester. It’ll be interesting when you let him fuck you. Shit, did he hear that?

“Quit thinkin’ so loud!” he runs an affectionate hand through your hair. “But yes, I heard you. Glad you're as eager as I am.”

That's encouraging. You take your time undoing his belt, connected to faded and soft leather chaps, not bothering to push them down his thighs before you move to the top of his jeans, teasing your fingers at the skin just above the waistline. He shudders under your touch, extremely reactive. Does he get touched like this often? Or is it just quick fucks? You don't want to think about who else he might be doing this with, focusing again on his body, and all of the offending clothing covering it. You unbutton them slowly, teasing. For a member of the undead, he seems to be out of breath under your movements. The zipper is pulled down just as slowly. You run your palms flat along the bottom of his stomach, to his hips before pushing his jeans down to around his ankles, hooking his boxers on your finger along with them. He’s beautiful, and you can help but stare. Hard, eager, and thick, greeting you with a small trimmed patch of golden blonde curls. You wrap your hand around the base.

You never expected a vampire to whimper, but that's exactly what happens when your tongue darts out of your mouth to lick the head of his cock. Quick, tentative little lick, testing the waters. Your tongue swipes across the slit at the tip of his thick member and his hands animate like you flipped a switch, rising up, going to your hair, rising up again, slamming down against the desk. Your boss’ desk. You lick a long stripe to the underside of his cock, paying close attention to the prominent vein there.

“So good, so good, oh you feel so-” he pants out, hands white knuckling the edge of the desk. Heat pools in your core, loving that he’s so vocal. Fuck, if he could just keep speaking. Your other hand moves to your shorts, sloppily and hastily undoing them and wiggling them down to your knees. You wrap your lips around the head of his cock and sink down on it, taking him as far as you can, until you couch when he hits the back of your throat.

“You look fucking beautiful like that. Please move, Please move, you’re so fucking good at this.”

You do, starting to bob your head up and down on the length of him, hollowing out your cheeks and flattening your tongue against him, cupping and massaging his balls in your hand. Your free finds itself between your legs, rubbing gently at your clit, stirred and encouraged by his praise.

“Does sucking me off get you hot and bothered?” Yesitdoes.

You keep bobbing your head, rubbing your clit, eyes trained on his until his eyes squeeze shut. His cock twitches in your mouth.

“Don't wanna- don't wanna finish in your mouth,” he’s urgent, grabbing you by the chin and pulling your mouth off of his cock. He pushes you back by your shoulders, letting you guide yourself back to lay on the rug. He pulls your loose shorts easily off your legs and settles himself between your legs, too eager to bother with removing his boots and everything.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long. Do you know how bad I wanted this?”

“Fuck me, Marko, dont say it. Just do it,” youre breathless under him, wanting nothing more than for him to be fucking you. He pauses.

“I dunno…” his thumb swipes up along your clit, drawing a whine from your throat, “For some reason I think you like it when I say things.”

You nod, knowing words will fail you. And he gives you what you want, lining himself up and sinking into you, groaning as he buries his head into the crook of your neck.

“Oh I knew your pussy would feel like fucking heaven,” he pants against your neck, pressing a harsh kiss to the underside of your jaw. He sets the pace quickly, unmerciful and fast, fucking hard and deep into you. His hands push up your thin tee shirt, and you can feel his sigh of relief when he gets a handful of bare breast. He doesn't have to deal with a bra tonight. You hike your knees up, opening yourself as much as you can to him, wanting him to fill you to the brim. He looks into your eyes while he fucks you, which comes as a surprise to you. Maybe it shouldn't. You wonder what it would be like to be a victim of his. Does he treat them well? Have fun with them like this? Or is he vicious? You don't know if you could picture him like that… vamped out.

“What does it feel like?”

“What?” he thrusts sharply, snapping his hips into you, making you yelp.

“To be fed on, but not to die.”

Are you serious? You hear him in your head.

YesIam. He thrusts like that again, earning an identical yelp, now coupled with your thighs squeezing him around the middle. You're close already, and he can tell.

He nods, a question; You nod, confirmation.

He pulls at the neckline of your shirt, already scooping so it doesn’t ruin, and exposes your shoulder. Somewhere non lethal. His other hand comes up to grip your jaw, covering your neck but being careful not to squeeze it. You hope he bruises your jaw, you realize. A physical way to feel him when dawn comes. He slows his pace to a rocking, grinding into you, staying deep.

Then he bites. Stars erupt behind your eyes, and it feels like your blood has turned to seltzer. Every nerve in your body is in overdrive as you moan and shake and come undone around his cock. You're the kind of girl that comes from the bite of a vampire, apparently. He doesn’t let up. You can faintly hear him moaning against the open wound in your shoulder, and you hope you taste good to him. He licks the wound a few times more, softly, carefully, like he’s trying to soothe you when he finally lets you come down from your high.

When he pulls back to let you see him, his features are gruesome, full vampire with sharp brows and cheekbones, pointed nose even that much more so almost birdlike. Fangs and bottom half of his face covered in blood.Your blood.  He’s panting like an animal after the kill. But he doesn't scare you. Maybe he should, but he doesn't.  It's just Marko, no matter what, and if he wanted to eat you he would have. Several times now. His hand finally releases your jaw, to wipe the blood from his face. He wipes his hand then on your face, covering you in your own blood, hot on his fingers and palm.

“Fuckin sexy,” he pants, voice deeper and distorted. His thrusts speed up, trying to find his own release as your nails dig into his back, maybe making him bleed as well. You feel the rug burn forming on your back, you feel tears in your eyes. It's never felt this good with other guys.

When he comes, he comes with a howl, buried deep inside you as he shouts and shivers then stills above you. Your chest is heaving, trying to regain yourself as his face slowly fades to normal, and he slumps down on top of you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, near the wound he tore open, now no longer bleeding. He mouths at any bare skin he can find, lazy half kisses as he spreads more mess and blood on you. Your fingers find his curls again, winding them around your digits as you stare up at the sickly green mood lighting bathing the walls of the room.

An hour later, Marko is helping you lock up early.

He makes sure to dump out all of the ashes from spliffs and incense, makes sure the vinyl is all in its right place while you make sure the register and inventory is all in its rightful place and order.

“You’re dangerous, you know.”

“Me?” you scoff, “That rich, coming from you.”

I’d do a lot of things I’m not supposed to for you. You kinda don't want to ask him what he means by that. For some reason that feels like a conversation you shouldn't have tonight. 

He leaves the store before you, holding the door open for you and letting you lock the doors. He slings an easy arm over your shoulder, not bothering to shield either of you from the rain as he steers you towards your car. You can feel the rain cleaning your face, the blood flowing away and saving you the shower you were going to take before collapsing into bed tonight.

“Where’s your bike?”

“I flew here,” he says with that devilish smile, and you're really not sure if he's joking or not. Your arm sneaks its way into his jacket and wraps around his waist, holding him close as he makes sure you get home same. Marko makes you feel calm, in a way you didn't feel before you moved to Santa Carla. How long had he been waiting to make his move? And does this mean he and his brothers would be coming around more often? Maybe being more friendly towards you. Each step towards your car feels heavy; You don't want to go home alone without him, but somehow you know he won't come with you. 

“Will I see you again?”

He grabs your car keys from your hand, and sticks them in the door handle. Of course you will.

Right. You just have to be near the beach at night. You know, where you work.

He kisses you full on the mouth, holding you close and tight, like you could slip away at any second. When he finally lets you go you pull away to be met with his face, full on grinning, his eyes still closed from the kiss. He doesn't look like a killer.

Marko watches you as you pull open the door to your car and more or less throw your ass into the seat.  He holds the door as he gives you one last smile, and says:

“You know, you should never invite a vampire into your life. Renders you powerless.”

And he winks. 

[peacefulapocalypse]

I Sexually Identify as an

Attack Helicopter

by ISABEL FALL

I sexually identify as an attack helicopter.

I lied. According to US Army Technical Manual 0, The Soldier as a System, “attack helicopter” is a

gender identity, not a biological sex. My dog tags and Form 3349 say my body is an XX-karyotope

somatic female.

But, really, I didn’t lie. My body is a component in my mission, subordinate to what I truly am. If I

say I am an attack helicopter, then my body, my sex, is too. I’ll prove it to you.

When I joined the Army I consented to tactical-role gender reassignment. It was mandatory for the

MOS I’d tested into. I was nervous. I’d never been anything but a woman before.

But I decided that I was done with womanhood, over what womanhood could do for me; I wanted to

be something furiously new.

To the people who say a woman would’ve refused to do what I do, I say—

Isn’t that the point?

I fly—

Red evening over the white Mojave, and I watch the sun set through a canopy of polycarbonate and

glass: clitoral bulge of cockpit on the helicopter’s nose. Lightning probes the burned wreck of an oil

refinery and the Santa Ana feeds a smoldering wildfire and pulls pine soot out southwest across the

Big Pacific. We are alone with each other, Axis and I, flying low.

We are traveling south to strike a high school.

Rotor wash flattens rings of desert creosote. Did you know that creosote bushes clone themselves?

The ten-thousand-year elders enforce dead zones where nothing can grow except more creosote.

Beetles and mice live among them, the way our cities had pigeons and mice. I guess the analogy

breaks down because the creosote’s lasted ten thousand years. You don’t need an attack helicopter

to tell you that our cities haven’t. The Army gave me gene therapy to make my blood toxic to

mosquitoes. Soon you will have that too, to fight malaria in the Hudson floodplain and on the banks

of the Greater Lake.

Now I cross Highway 40, southbound at two hundred knots. The Apache’s engine is electric and

silent. Decibel killers sop up the rotor noise. White-bright infrared vision shows me stripes of heat,

the tire tracks left by Pear Mesa school buses. Buried housing projects smolder under the dirt,

radiators curled until sunset. This is enemy territory. You can tell because, though this desert was

once Nevada and California, there are no American flags.

“Barb,” the Apache whispers, in a voice that Axis once identified, to my alarm, as my mother’s.

“Waypoint soon.”

“Axis.” I call out to my gunner, tucked into the nose ahead of me. I can see only gray helmet and

flight suit shoulders, but I know that body wholly, the hard knots of muscle, the ridge of pelvic

girdle, the shallow navel and flat hard chest. An attack helicopter has a crew of two. My gunner is

my marriage, my pillar, the completion of my gender.

“Axis.” The repeated call sign means, I hear you.

“Ten minutes to target.”

“Ready for target,” Axis says.

But there is again that roughness, like a fold in carbon fiber. I heard it when we reviewed our

fragment orders for the strike. I hear it again now. I cannot ignore it any more than I could ignore a

battery fire; it is a fault in a person and a system I trust with my life.

But I can choose to ignore it for now.

The target bumps up over the horizon. The low mounds of Kelso-Ventura District High burn warm

gray through a parfait coating of aerogel insulation and desert soil. We have crossed a third of the

continental US to strike a school built by Americans.

Axis cues up a missile: black eyes narrowed, telltales reflected against clear laser-washed cornea.

“Call the shot, Barb.”

“Stand by. Maneuvering.” I lift us above the desert floor, buying some room for the missile to run,

watching the probability-of-kill calculation change with each motion of the aircraft.

Before the Army my name was Seo Ji Hee. Now my call sign is Barb, which isn’t short for Barbara. I

share a rank (flight warrant officer), a gender, and a urinary system with my gunner Axis: we are

harnessed and catheterized into the narrow tandem cockpit of a Boeing AH-70 Apache Mystic.

America names its helicopters for the people it destroyed.

We are here to degrade and destroy strategic targets in the United States of America’s war against

the Pear Mesa Budget Committee. If you disagree with the war, so be it: I ask your empathy, not

your sympathy. Save your pity for the poor legislators who had to find some constitutional

framework for declaring war against a credit union.

The reasons for war don’t matter much to us. We want to fight the way a woman wants to be

gracious, the way a man wants to be firm. Our need is as vamp-fierce as the strutting queen and

dryly subtle as the dapper lesbian and comfortable as the soft resilience of the demiwoman. How

often do you analyze the reasons for your own gender? You might sigh at the necessity of morning

makeup, or hide your love for your friends behind beer and bravado. Maybe you even resent the

punishment for breaking these norms.

But how often—really—do you think about the grand strategy of gender? The mess of history and

sociology, biology and game theory that gave rise to your pants and your hair and your salary? The

casus belli?

Often, you might say. All the time. It haunts me.

Then you, more than anyone, helped make me.

When I was a woman I wanted to be good at woman. I wanted to darken my eyes and strut in heels.

I wanted to laugh from my throat when I was pleased, laugh so low that women would shiver in

contentment down the block.

And at the same time I resented it all. I wanted to be sharper, stronger, a new-made thing,

exquisite and formidable. Did I want that because I was taught to hate being a woman? Or because I

hated being taught anything at all?

Now I am jointed inside. Now I am geared and shafted, I am a being of opposing torques. The noise

I make is canceled by decibel killers so I am no louder than a woman laughing through two walls.

When I was a woman I wanted to have friends who would gasp at the precision and surprise of my

gifts. Now I show friendship by tracking the motions of your head, looking at what you look at, the

way one helicopter’s sensors can be slaved to the motions of another.

When I was a woman I wanted my skin to be as smooth and dark as the sintered stone countertop

in our kitchen.

Now my skin is boron-carbide and Kevlar. Now I have a wrist callus where I press my hydration

sensor into my skin too hard and too often. Now I have bit-down nails from the claustrophobia of the

bus ride to the flight line. I paint them desert colors, compulsively.

When I was a woman I was always aware of surveillance. The threat of the eyes on me, the chance

that I would cross over some threshold of detection and become a target.

Now I do the exact same thing. But I am counting radars and lidars and pit viper thermal sensors,

waiting for a missile.

I am gas turbines. I am the way I never sit on the same side of the table as a stranger. I am most

comfortable in moonless dark, in low places between hills. I am always thirsty and always tense. I

tense my core and pace my breath even when coiled up in a briefing chair. As if my tail rotor must

cancel the spin of the main blades and the turbines must whirl and the plates flex against the pitch

links or I will go down spinning to my death.

An airplane wants in its very body to stay flying. A helicopter is propelled by its interior

near-disaster.

I speak the attack command to my gunner. “Normalize the target.”

Nothing happens.

“Axis. Comm check.”

“Barb, Axis. I hear you.” No explanation for the fault. There is nothing wrong with the weapon attack

parameters. Nothing wrong with any system at all, except the one without any telltales, my spouse,

my gunner.

“Normalize the target,” I repeat.

“Axis. Rifle one.”

The weapon falls off our wing, ignites, homes in on the hard invisible point of the laser designator.

Missiles are faster than you think, more like a bullet than a bird. If you’ve ever seen a bird.

The weapon penetrates the concrete shelter of Kelso-Ventura High School and fills the empty halls

with thermobaric aerosol. Then: ignition. The detonation hollows out the school like a hooked finger

scooping out an egg. There are not more than a few janitors in there. A few teachers working late.

They are bycatch.

What do I feel in that moment? Relief. Not sexual, not like eating or pissing, not like coming in from

the heat to the cool dry climate shelter. It’s a sense of passing . Walking down the street in the right

clothes, with the right partner, to the right job. That feeling. Have you felt it?

But there is also an itch of worry—why did Axis hesitate? How did Axis hesitate?

Kelso-Ventura High School collapses into its own basement. “Target normalized,” Axis reports,

without emotion, and my heart beats slow and worried.

I want you to understand that the way I feel about Axis is hard and impersonal and lovely. It is

exactly the way you would feel if a beautiful, silent turbine whirled beside you day and night,

protecting you, driving you on, coursing with current, fiercely bladed, devoted. God, it’s love. It’s

love I can’t explain. It’s cold and good.

“Barb,” I say, which means I understand . “Exiting north, zero three zero, cupids two.”

I adjust the collective—feel the swash plate push up against the pitch links, the links tilt the angle of

the rotors so they ease their bite on the air—and the Apache, my body, sinks toward the hot desert

floor. Warm updraft caresses the hull, sensual contrast with the Santa Ana wind. I shiver in delight.

Suddenly: warning receivers hiss in my ear, poke me in the sacral vertebrae, put a dark

thunderstorm note into my air. “Shit,” Axis hisses. “Air search radar active, bearing 192, angles

twenty, distance . . . eighty klicks. It’s a fast-mover. He must’ve heard the blast.”

A fighter. A combat jet. Pear Mesa’s mercenary defenders have an air force, and they are out on the

hunt. “A Werewolf.”

“Must be. Gown?”

“Gown up.” I cue the plasma-sheath stealth system that protects us from radar and laser hits. The

Apache glows with lines of arc-weld light, UFO light. Our rotor wash blasts the plasma into a bright

wedding train behind us. To the enemy’s sensors, that trail of plasma is as thick and soft as

insulating foam. To our eyes it’s cold aurora fire.

“Let’s get the fuck out.” I touch the cyclic and we sideslip through Mojave dust, watching the school

fall into itself. There is no reason to do this except that somehow I know Axis wants to see. Finally I

pull the nose around, aim us northeast, shedding light like a comet buzzing the desert on its way

into the sun.

“Werewolf at seventy klicks,” Axis reports. “Coming our way. Time to intercept . . . six minutes.”

The Werewolf Apostles are mercenaries, survivors from the militaries of climate-seared states. They

sell their training and their hardware to earn their refugee peoples a few degrees more distance from

the equator.

The heat of the broken world has chased them here to chase us.

Before my assignment neurosurgery, they made me sit through (I could bear to sit, back then) the

mandatory course on Applied Constructive Gender Theory. Slouched in a fungus-nibbled plastic chair

as transparencies slid across the cracked screen of a De-networked Briefing Element overhead

projector: how I learned the technology of gender.

Long before we had writing or farms or post-digital strike helicopters, we had each other. We lived

together and changed each other, and so we needed to say “this is who I am, this is what I do.”

So, in the same way that we attached sounds to meanings to make language, we began to attach

clusters of behavior to signal social roles. Those clusters were rich, and quick-changing, and so just

like language, we needed networks devoted to processing them. We needed a place in the brain to

construct and to analyze gender.

Generations of queer activists fought to make gender a self-determined choice, and to undo the

creeping determinism that said the way it is now is the way it always was and always must be.

Generations of scientists mapped the neural wiring that motivated and encoded the gender choice.

And the moment their work reached a usable stage—the moment society was ready to accept plastic

gender, and scientists were ready to manipulate it—the military found a new resource. Armed with

functional connectome mapping and neural plastics, the military can make gender tactical.

If gender has always been a construct, then why not construct new ones?

My gender networks have been reassigned to make me a better AH-70 Apache Mystic pilot. This is

better than conventional skill learning. I can show you why.

Look at a diagram of an attack helicopter’s airframe and components. Tell me how much of it you

grasp at once.

Now look at a person near you, their clothes, their hair, their makeup and expression, the way they

meet or avoid your eyes. Tell me which was richer with information about danger and capability. Tell

me which was easier to access and interpret.

The gender networks are old and well-connected. They work .

I remember being a woman. I remember it the way you remember that old, beloved hobby you left

behind. Woman felt like my prom dress, polyester satin smoothed between little hand and little hip.

Woman felt like a little tic of the lips when I was interrupted, or like teasing out the mood my

boyfriend wouldn’t explain. Like remembering his mom’s birthday for him, or giving him a list of

things to buy at the store, when he wanted to be better about groceries.

I was always aware of being small: aware that people could hurt me. I spent a lot of time thinking

about things that had happened right before something awful. I would look around me and ask

myself, are the same things happening now? Women live in cross-reference. It is harder work than

we know.

Now I think about being small as an advantage for nape-of-earth maneuvers and pop-up guided

missile attacks.

Now I yield to speed walkers in the hall like I need to avoid fouling my rotors.

Now walking beneath high-tension power lines makes me feel the way that a cis man would feel if he

strutted down the street in a miniskirt and heels.

I’m comfortable in open spaces but only if there’s terrain to break it up. I hate conversations I

haven’t started; I interrupt shamelessly so that I can make my point and leave.

People treat me like I’m dangerous, like I could hurt them if I wanted to. They want me protected

and watched over. They bring me water and ask how I’m doing.

People want me on their team. They want what I can do.

A fighter is hunting us, and I am afraid that my gunner has gender dysphoria.

Twenty thousand feet above us (still we use feet for altitude) the bathroom-tiled transceivers cupped

behind the nose cone of a Werewolf Apostle J-20S fighter broadcast fingers of radar light. Each beam

cast at a separate frequency, a fringed caress instead of a pointed prod. But we are jumpy, we are

hypervigilant—we feel that creeper touch.

I get the cold-rush skin-prickle feel of a stranger following you in the dark. Has he seen you? Is he

just going the same way? If he attacks, what will you do, could you get help, could you scream? Put

your keys between your fingers, like it will help. Glass branches of possibility grow from my skin,

waiting to be snapped off by the truth.

“Give me a warning before he’s in IRST range,” I order Axis. “We’re going north.”

“Axis.” The Werewolf’s infrared sensor will pick up the heat of us, our engine and plasma shield,

burning against the twilight desert. The same system that hides us from his radar makes us hot and

visible to his IRST.

I throttle up, running faster, and the Apache whispers alarm. “Gown overspeed.” We’re moving too

fast for the plasma stealth system, and the wind’s tearing it from our skin. We are not modest. I

want to duck behind a ridge to cover myself, but I push through the discomfort, feeling out the

tradeoff between stealth and distance. Like the morning check in the mirror, trading the confidence

of a good look against the threat of reaction.

When the women of Soviet Russia went to war against the Nazis, when they volunteered by the

thousands to serve as snipers and pilots and tank drivers and infantry and partisans, they fought

hard and they fought well. They ate frozen horse dung and hauled men twice their weight out of

burning tanks. They shot at their own mothers to kill the Nazis behind her.

But they did not lose their gender; they gave up the inhibition against killing but would not give up

flowers in their hair, polish for their shoes, a yearning for the young lieutenant, a kiss on his dead

lips.

And if that is not enough to convince you that gender grows deep enough to thrive in war: when the

war ended the Soviet women were punished. They went unmarried and unrespected. They were

excluded from the victory parades. They had violated their gender to fight for the state and the state

judged that violation worth punishment more than their heroism was worth reward.

Gender is stronger than war. It remains when all else flees.

When I was a woman I wanted to machine myself.

I loved nails cut like laser arcs and painted violent-bright in bathrooms that smelled like laboratories.

I wanted to grow thick legs with fat and muscle that made shapes under the skin like Nazca lines. I

loved my birth control, loved that I could turn my period off, loved the home beauty-feedback kits

that told you what to eat and dose to adjust your scent, your skin, your moods. I admired, wasn’t

sure if I wanted to be or wanted to fuck, the women in the build-your-own-shit videos I watched on

our local image of the old Internet. Women who made cyberattack kits and jewelry and

sterile-printed IUDs, made their own huge wedge heels and fitted bras and skin-thin chameleon

dresses. Women who talked about their implants the same way they talked about computers,

phones, tools: technologies of access, technologies of self-expression.

Something about their merciless self-possession and self-modification stirred me. The first time I

ever meant to masturbate I imagined one of those women coming into my house, picking the lock,

telling me exactly what to do, how to be like her. I told my first boyfriend about this, I showed him

pictures, and he said, girl, you bi as hell, which was true, but also wrong. Because I did not want

those dresses, those heels, those bodies in the way I wanted my boyfriend. I wanted to possess that

power. I wanted to have it and be it.

The Apache is my body now, and like most bodies it is sensual. Fabric armor that stiffens beneath

my probing fingers. Stub wings clustered with ordnance. Rotors so light and strong they do not even

droop: as artificial-looking, to an older pilot, as breast implants. And I brush at the black ring of a

sensor housing, like the tip of a nail lifting a stray lash from the white of your eye.

I don’t shave, which all the fast jet pilots do, down to the last curly scrotal hair. Nobody expects a

helicopter to be sleek. I have hairy armpits and thick black bush all the way to my ass crack. The

things that are taboo and arousing to me are the things taboo to helicopters. I like to be picked up,

moved, pressed, bent and folded, held down, made to shudder, made to abandon control.

Do these last details bother you? Does the topography of my pubic hair feel intrusive and

unnecessary? I like that. I like to intrude, inflict damage, withdraw. A year after you read this maybe

those paragraphs will be the only thing you remember: and you will know why the rules of gender

are worth recruitment.

But we cannot linger on the point of attack.

“He’s coming north. Time to intercept three minutes.”

“Shit. How long until he gets us on thermal?”

“Ninety seconds with the gown on.” Danger has swept away Axis’ hesitation.

“Shit.”

“He’s not quite on zero aspect—yeah, he’s coming up a few degrees off our heading. He’s not sure

exactly where we are. He’s hunting.”

“He’ll be sure soon enough. Can we kill him?”

“With sidewinders?” Axis pauses articulately: the target is twenty thousand feet above us, and he

has a laser that can blind our missiles. “We’d have more luck bailing out and hiking.”

“All right. I’m gonna fly us out of this.”

“Sure.”

“Just check the gun.”

“Ten times already, Barb.”

When climate and economy and pathology all went finally and totally critical along the Gulf Coast,

the federal government fled Cabo fever and VARD-2 to huddle behind New York’s flood barriers.

We left eleven hundred and six local disaster governments behind. One of them was the Pear Mesa

Budget Committee. The rest of them were doomed.

Pear Mesa was different because it had bought up and hardened its own hardware and power. So

Pear Mesa’s neural nets kept running, retrained from credit union portfolio management to the

emergency triage of hundreds of thousands of starving sick refugees.

Pear Mesa’s computers taught themselves to govern the forsaken southern seaboard. Now they

coordinate water distribution, re-express crop genomes, ration electricity for survival AC, manage all

the life support humans need to exist in our warmed-over hell.

But, like all advanced neural nets, these systems are black boxes. We have no idea how they work,

what they think. Why do Pear Mesa’s AIs order the planting of pear trees? Because pears were their

corporate icon, and the AIs associate pear trees with areas under their control. Why does no one

make the AIs stop? Because no one knows what else is tangled up with the “plant pear trees”

impulse. The AIs may have learned, through some rewarded fallacy or perverse founder effect, that

pear trees cause humans to have babies. They may believe that their only function is to build

support systems around pear trees.

When America declared war on Pear Mesa, their AIs identified a useful diagnostic criterion for hostile

territory: the posting of fifty-star American flags. Without ever knowing what a flag meant, without

any concept of nations or symbols, they ordered the destruction of the stars and stripes in Pear Mesa

territory.

That was convenient for propaganda. But the real reason for the war, sold to a hesitant Congress by

technocrats and strategic ecologists, was the ideology of scale atrocity . Pear Mesa’s AIs could not be

modified by humans, thus could not be joined with America’s own governing algorithms: thus must

be forced to yield all their control, or else remain forever separate.

And that separation was intolerable. By refusing the United States administration, our superior

resources and planning capability, Pear Mesa’s AIs condemned citizens who might otherwise be

saved to die—a genocide by neglect. Wasn’t that the unforgivable crime of fossil capitalism? The

creation of systems whose failure modes led to mass death?

Didn’t we have a moral imperative to intercede?

Pear Mesa cannot surrender, because the neural nets have a basic imperative to remain online. Pear

Mesa’s citizens cannot question the machines’ decisions. Everything the machines do is connected in

ways no human can comprehend. Disobey one order and you might as well disobey them all.

But none of this is why I kill.

I kill for the same reason men don’t wear short skirts, the same reason I used to pluck my brows,

the reason enby people are supposed to be (unfair and stupid, yes, but still) androgynous with short

hair. Are those good reasons to do something? If you say no, honestly no—can you tell me you

break these rules without fear or cost?

But killing isn’t a gender role, you might tell me. Killing isn’t a decision about how to present your

own autonomous self to the world. It is coercive and punitive. Killing is therefore not an act of

gender.

I wish that were true. Can you tell me honestly that killing is a genderless act? The method? The

motive? The victim?

When you imagine the innocent dead, who do you see?

“Barb,” Axis calls, softly. Your own voice always sounds wrong on recordings—too nasal. Axis’ voice

sounds wrong when it’s not coming straight into my skull through helmet mic.

“Barb.”

“How are we doing?”

“Exiting one hundred and fifty knots north. Still in his radar but he hasn’t locked us up.”

“How are you doing?”

I cringe in discomfort. The question is an indirect way for Axis to admit something’s wrong, and that

indirection is obscene. Like hiding a corroded tail rotor bearing from your maintenance guys.

“I’m good,” I say, with fake ease. “I’m in flow. Can’t you feel it?” I dip the nose to match a drop-off

below, provoking a whine from the terrain detector. I am teasing, striking a pose. “We’re gonna be

okay.”

“I feel it, Barb.” But Axis is tense, worried about our pursuer, and other things. Doesn’t laugh.

“How about you?”

“Nominal.”

Again the indirection, again the denial, and so I blurt it out. “Are you dysphoric?”

“What?” Axis says, calmly.

“You’ve been hesitating. Acting funny. Is your—” There is no way to ask someone if their militarized

gender conditioning is malfunctioning. “Are you good?”

“I . . . ” Hesitation. It makes me cringe again, in secondhand shame. Never hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“Do you need to go on report?”

Severe gender dysphoria can be a flight risk. If Axis hesitates over something that needs to be done

instantly, the mission could fail decisively. We could both die.

“I don’t want that,” Axis says.

“I don’t want that either,” I say, desperately. I want nothing less than that. “But, Axis, if—”

The warning receiver climbs to a steady crow call.

“He knows we’re here,” I say, to Axis’ tight inhalation. “He can’t get a lock through the gown but

he’s aware of our presence. Fuck. Blinder, blinder, he’s got his laser on us—”

The fighter’s lidar pod is trying to catch the glint of a reflection off us. “Shit,” Axis says. “We’re

gonna get shot.”

“The gown should defeat it. He’s not close enough for thermal yet.”

“He’s gonna launch anyway. He’s gonna shoot and then get a lock to steer it in.”

“I don’t know—missiles aren’t cheap these days—”

The ESM mast on the Apache’s rotor hub, mounted like a lamp on a post, contains a cluster of

electro-optical sensors that constantly scan the sky: the Distributed Aperture Sensor. When the DAS

detects the flash of a missile launch, it plays a warning tone and uses my vest to poke me in the

small of my back.

My vest pokes me in the small of my back.

“Barb. Missile launch south. Barb. Fox 3 inbound. Inbound. Inbound.”

“He fired,” Axis calls. “Barb?”

“Barb,” I acknowledge.

I fuck—

Oh, you want to know: many of you, at least. It’s all right. An attack helicopter isn’t a private way of

being. Your needs and capabilities must be maintained for the mission.

I don’t think becoming an attack helicopter changed who I wanted to fuck. I like butch assertive

people. I like talent and prestige, the status that comes of doing things well. I was never taught the

lie that I was wired for monogamy, but I was still careful with men, I was still wary, and I could

never tell him why: that I was afraid not because of him, but because of all the men who’d seemed

good like him, at first, and then turned into something else.

No one stalks an attack helicopter. No slack-eyed well-dressed drunk punches you for ignoring the

little rape he slurs at your neckline. No one even breaks your heart: with my dopamine system tied

up by the reassignment surgery, fully assigned to mission behavior, I can’t fall in love with anything

except my own purpose.

Are you aware of your body? Do you feel your spine when you stand, your hips when you walk, the

tightness and the mass in your core? When you look at yourself, whose eyes do you use? Your own?

I am always in myself. I never see myself through my partner’s eyes. I have weapons to use, of

course, ways of moving, moans and cries. But I measure those weapons by their effect, not by their

similarity to some idea of how I should be.

Flying is the loop of machinery and pilot, the sense of your motion on the controls translated into

torque and lift, the airframe’s reaction shaping your next motion until the loop closes and machine

and pilot are one. Awareness collapses to the moment. You are always doing the right thing exactly

as it needs to be done. Sex is the same: the search for everything in an instant.

Of course I fuck Axis. A few decades ago this would’ve been a crime. What a waste of perfectly

useful behavior. What a waste of that lean muscled form and those perfect killing hands that know

me millimeter-by-millimeter system-by-system so there is no mystique between us. No “secret

places” or “feminine mysteries,” only the tortuously exact technical exercise of nerves and pressure.

Oxytocin released, to flow between us, by the press of knuckles in my cunt.

When I come beneath Axis I cry out, I press my body close, I want that utter loss of control that I

feel nowhere else. Heartbeat in arched throat: nipple beneath straining tongue. And my mind is

hyper-activated, free-associating, and as Axis works in me I see the work we do together. I see puffs

of thirty-millimeter autocannon detonating on night-cold desert floor.

Violence doesn’t get me off. But getting off makes me revel in who I am: and I am violent, made for

violence, alive in the fight.

Does that surprise you? Does it bother you to mingle cold technical discipline with hot flesh and

sweat?

Let me ask you: why has the worst insult you can give a combat pilot always been weak dick?

Have you ever been exultant? Have you ever known that you are a triumph? Have you ever felt that

it was your whole life’s purpose to do something, and all that you needed to succeed was to be

entirely yourself?

To be yourself well is the wholest and best feeling that anything has ever felt.

It is what I feel when I am about to live or die.

The Werewolf’s missile arches down on us, motor burned out, falling like an arrow. He is trying a

Shoot On Prospect attack: he cannot find us exactly, so he fires a missile that will finish the search,

lock onto our heat or burn through our stealth with its onboard radar, or acquire us optically like a

staring human eye. Or at least make us react. Like the catcaller’s barked “Hey!” to evoke the flinch

or the huddle, the proof that he has power.

We are ringed in the vortex of a dilemma. If we switch off the stealth gown, the Werewolf fighter will

lock its radar onto us and guide the missile to the kill. If we keep the stealth system on, the missile’s

heat-seeker will home in on the blazing plasma.

I know what to do. Not in the way you learn how to fly a helicopter, but the way you know how to

hold your elbows when you gesture.

A helicopter is more than a hovering fan, see? The blades of the rotor tilt and swivel. When you turn

the aircraft left, the rotors deepen their bite into the air on one side of their spin, to make off-center

lift. You cannot force a helicopter or it will throw you to the earth. You must be gentle.

I caress the cyclic.

The Apache’s nose comes up smooth and fast. The Mojave horizon disappears under the chin. Axis’

gasp from the front seat passes through the microphone and into the bones of my face. The pitch

indicator climbs up toward sixty degrees, ass down, chin up. Our airspeed plummets from a hundred

and fifty knots to sixty.

We hang there for an instant like a dancer in an oversway. The missile is coming straight down at

us. We are not even running anymore.

And I lower the collective, flattening the blades of the rotor, so that they cannot cut the air at an

angle and we lose all lift.

We fall.

I toe the rudder. The tail rotor yields a little of its purpose, which is to counter the torque of the

main rotor: and that liberated torque spins the Apache clockwise, opposite the rotor’s turn, until we

are nose down sixty degrees, facing back the way we came, looking into the Mojave desert as it rises

up to take us.

I have pirouetted us in place. Plasma fire blows in wraith pennants as the stealth system tries to

keep us modest.

“Can you get it?” I ask.

“Axis.”

I raise the collective again and the rotors bite back into the air. We do not rise, but our fall slows

down. Cyclic stick answers to the barest twitch of wrist, and I remember, once, how that slim wrist

made me think of fragility, frailty, fear: I am remembering even as I pitch the helicopter back and

we climb again, nose up, tail down, scudding backward into the sky while aimed at our chasing killer.

Axis is on top now, above me in the front seat, and in front of Axis is the chin gun, pointed sixty

degrees up into heaven.

“Barb,” the helicopter whispers, like my mother in my ear. “Missile ten seconds. Music? Glare?”

No. No jamming. The Werewolf missile will home in on jamming like a wolf with a taste for pepper.

Our laser might dazzle the seeker, drive it off course—but if the missile turns then Axis cannot take

the shot.

It is not a choice. I trust Axis.

Axis steers the nose turret onto the target and I imagine strong fingers on my own chin, turning me

for a kiss, looking up into the red scorched sky—Axis chooses the weapon (30MM GUIDED PROX AP)

and aims and fires with all the idle don’t-have-to-try confidence of the first girl dribbling a soccer ball

who I ever for a moment loved—

The chin autocannon barks out ten rounds a second. It is effective out to one point five kilometers.

The missile is moving more than a hundred meters per second.

Axis has one second almost exactly, ten shots of thirty-millimeter smart grenade, to save us.

A mote of gray shadow rushes at us and intersects the line of cannon fire from the gun. It becomes

a spray of light. The Apache tings and rattles. The desert below us, behind us, stipples with tiny

plumes of dust that pick up in the wind and settle out like sift from a hand.

“Got it,” Axis says.

“I love you.”

“Axis.”

Many of you are veterans in the act of gender. You weigh the gaze and disposition of strangers in a

subway car and select where to stand, how often to look up, how to accept or reject conversation.

Like a frequency-hopping radar, you modulate your attention for the people in your context: do not

look too much, lest you seem interested, or alarming. You regulate your yawns, your appetite, your

toilet. You do it constantly and without failure.

You are aces.

What other way could be better? What other neural pathways are so available to constant

reprogramming, yet so deeply connected to judgment, behavior, reflex?

Some people say that there is no gender, that it is a postmodern construct, that in fact there are

only man and woman and a few marginal confusions. To those people I ask: if your body-fact is

enough to establish your gender, you would willingly wear bright dresses and cry at movies, wouldn’t

you? You would hold hands and compliment each other on your beauty, wouldn’t you? Because your

cock would be enough to make you a man.

Have you ever guarded anything so vigilantly as you protect yourself against the shame of

gender-wrong?

The same force that keeps you from gender-wrong is the force that keeps me from fucking up.

The missile is dead. The Werewolf Apostle is still up there.

“He’s turning off.” Axis has taken over defensive awareness while I fly. “Radar off. Laser off. He’s

letting us go.”

“Afraid of our fighters?” The mercenaries cannot replace a lost J-20S. And he probably has a

wingman, still hiding, who would die too if they stray into a trap.

“Yes,” Axis says.

“Keep the gown on.” In case he’s trying to bluff us into shutting down our stealth. “We’ll stick to the

terrain until he’s over the horizon.”

“Can you fly us out?”

The Apache is fighting me. Fragments of the destroyed missile have pitted the rotors, damaged the

hub assembly, and jammed the control surfaces. I begin to crush the shrapnel with the Apache’s

hydraulics, pounding the metal free with careful control inputs. But the necessary motions also move

the aircraft. Half a second’s error will crash us into the desert. I have to calculate how to un-jam the

shrapnel while accounting for the effects of that shrapnel on my flight authority and keeping the

aircraft stable despite my constant control inputs while moving at a hundred and thirty knots across

the desert.

“Barb,” I say. “Not a problem.”

And for an hour I fly without thought, without any feeling except the smooth stone joy of doing

something that takes everything.

The night desert is black to the naked eye, soft gray to thermal. My attention flips between my left

eye, focused on the instruments, and my right eye, looking outside. I am a black box like the Pear

Mesa AIs. Information arrives—a throb of feedback in the cyclic, a shift of Axis’ weight, a dune crest

ahead—and my hands and feet move to hold us steady. If I focused on what I was doing it would all

fall apart. So I don’t.

“Are you happy?” Axis asks.

Good to talk now. Keep my conscious mind from interfering with the gearbox of reflexes below.

“Yeah,” I say, and I blow out a breath into my mask, “yeah, I am,” a lightness in my ribs, “yeah, I

feel good.”

“Why do you think we just blew up a school?”

Why did I text my best friend the appearance and license number of all my cab drivers, just in case?

Because those were the things that had to be done.

Listen: I exist in this context. To make war is part of my gender. I get what I need from the flight

line, from the ozone tang of charging stations and the shimmer of distant bodies warping in the

tarmac heat, from the twenty minutes of anxiety after we land when I cannot convince myself that I

am home, and safe, and that I am no longer keeping us alive with the constant adjustments of my

hands and feet.

“Deplete their skilled labor supply, I guess. Attack the demographic skill curve.”

“Kind of a long-term objective. Kind of makes you think it’s not gonna be over by election season.”

“We don’t get to know why the AIs pick the targets.” Maybe destroying this school was an accident.

A quirk of some otherwise successful network, coupled to the load-bearing elements of a vast

strategy.

“Hey,” I say, after a beat of silence. “You did good back there.”

“You thought I wouldn’t.”

“Barb.” A more honest yes than “yes,” because it is my name, and it acknowledges that I am the

one with the doubt.

“I didn’t know if I would either,” Axis says, which feels exactly like I don’t know if I love you

anymore . I lose control for a moment and the Apache rattles in bad air and the tail slews until I stop

thinking and bring everything back under control in a burst of rage.

“You’re done?” I whisper, into the helmet. I have never even thought about this before. I am cold,

sweat soaked, and shivering with adrenaline comedown, drawn out like a tendon in high heels, a

just-off-the-dance-floor feeling, post-voracious, satisfied. Why would we choose anything else? Why

would we give this up? When it feels so good to do it? When I love it so much?

“I just . . . have questions.” The tactical channel processes the sound of Axis swallowing into a dull

point of sound, like dropped plastic.

“We don’t need to wonder, Axis. We’re gendered for the mission—”

“We can’t do this forever,” Axis says, startling me. I raise the collective and hop us up a hundred

feet, so I do not plow us into the desert. “We’re not going to be like this forever. The world won’t be

like this forever. I can’t think of myself as . . . always this.”

Yes, we will be this way forever. We survived this mission as we survive everywhere on this hot and

hostile earth. By bending all of what we are to the task. And if we use less than all of ourselves to

survive, we die.

“Are you going to put me on report?” Axis whispers.

On report as a flight risk? As a faulty component in a mission-critical system? “You just intercepted

an air-to-air missile with the autocannon, Axis. Would I ever get rid of you?”

“Because I’m useful,” Axis says, softly. “Because I can still do what I’m supposed to do. That’s what

you love. But if I couldn’t . . . I’m distracting you. I’ll let you fly.”

I spare one glance for the gray helmet in the cockpit below mine. Politeness is a gendered protocol.

Who speaks and who listens. Who denies need and who claims it. As a woman, I would’ve pressed

Axis. As a woman, I would’ve unpacked the unease and the disquiet.

As an attack helicopter, whose problems are communicated in brief, clear datums, I should ignore

Axis.

But who was ever only one thing?

“If you want to be someone else,” I say, “someone who doesn’t do what we do, then . . . I don’t

want to be the thing that stops you.”

“Bird’s gotta land sometime,” Axis says. “Doesn’t it?”

In the Applied Constructive Gender briefing, they told us that there have always been liminal

genders, places that people passed through on their way to somewhere else. Who are we in those

moments when we break our own rules? The straight man who sleeps with men? The woman who

can’t decide if what she feels is intense admiration, or sexual attraction? Where do we go, who do we

become?

Did you know that instability is one of the most vital traits of a combat aircraft? Civilian planes are

built stable, hard to turn, inclined to run straight ahead on an even level. But a military aircraft is

built so it wants to tumble out of control, and it is held steady only by constant automatic feedback.

The way I am holding this Apache steady now.

Something that is unstable is ready to move, eager to change, it wants to turn, to dive, to tear away

from stillness and fly .

Dynamism requires instability. Instability requires the possibility of change.

“Voice recorder’s off, right?” Axis asks.

“Always.”

“I love doing this. I love doing it with you. I just don’t know if it’s . . . if it’s right.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Barb?”

“Thank you for thinking about whether it’s right. Someone needs to.”

Maybe what Axis feels is a necessary new queerness. One which pries the tool of gender back from

the hands of the state and the economy and the war. I like that idea. I cannot think of myself as a

failure, as something wrong, a perversion of a liberty that past generations fought to gain.

But Axis can. And maybe you can too. That skepticism is not what I need . . . but it is necessary

anyway.

I have tried to show you what I am. I have tried to do it without judgment. That I leave to you.

“Are we gonna make it?” Axis asks, quietly.

The airframe shudders in crosswind. I let the vibrations develop, settle into a rhythm, and then I

make my body play the opposite rhythm to cancel it out.

“I don’t know,” I say, which is an answer to both of Axis’ questions, both of the ways our lives are in

danger now. “Depends how well I fly, doesn’t it?”

“It’s all you, Barb,” Axis says, with absolute trust. “Take us home.”

A search radar brushes across us, scatters off the gown, turns away to look in likelier places. The

Apache’s engine growls, eating battery, turning charge into motion. The airframe shudders again,

harder, wind rising as cooling sky fights blazing ground. We are racing a hundred and fifty feet

above the Larger Mojave where we fight a war over some new kind of survival and the planet we

maimed grows that desert kilometer by kilometer. Our aircraft is wounded in its body and in its

crew. We are propelled by disaster. We are moving swiftly.

[inkandpen22]

Cuppa Tea, Cuppa Tea

Request: The first request is that the reader kinda is yawning a bit, but "oh, it's fine, I'm just studying a bit harder" but they're either lying and doing a bunch of work deep into the night (maybe translating old books or something) or it's insomnia, or actually studying til 4:00am or something (lots of "ors" I'm so sorry) and of course spike finds out and is like "I'm supposed to be the nocturnal one??" And I had a brief thought of somehow the reader being tricked to drink sleepy time tea or something that will make them sleep as much as they need, but idk if that would be weird 🤔 but anyway, I hope that made sense ^^;

Pairing: Spike x gender neutral reader 

Warnings: swearing 

Word Count: 1.3k 

Summary: Y/N is at Spike’s studying for a chemistry exam when Spike starts to worry for them. 

A/N: sorry for the delay!!! This was so easy to write because honestly it’s relatable. Enjoy X

Masterlist

The words on the page start to blend and nothing makes sense anymore. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to process the words I'm staring at here. I have to pass this chemistry exam. I'm not even a chem major, stupid general education classes. I hear Spike move about behind me while his Passions episode comes to an end. Being one of the token full-fledge humans in the Scooby Gang means I'm sometimes dropped off at Spike's for safekeeping. Lately, there's a water demon terrorizing Sunnydale, so I've been instructed to come straight here after classes. Yet, Spike insists on meeting me right after the lecture. He went about finding out my course schedule so he can be thereafter my last class. Since I finish when the sun is still out, he has to use the tunnels on campus. He's the definition of smothering.

"Y/N, you need to go to bed," he advises, appearing beside the crypt I'm set upon.

My notes and textbook are laid perfectly on the crypt to study.

"Five more minutes," I yawn.

The candlelight is starting to radiate enough heat to feel it. They've been going all afternoon and well into the evening. Its light is starting to burn my eyes.

"You said that twenty minutes ago," Spike sighs, kneeling next to me.

"Oh bet, I thought it was only ten," I check my watch for the time.

Spike huffs in annoyance and snatches my textbook away.

"Hey!" I reach for the pages, but he moves it away.

"I'm so supposed to be the nocturnal one! Not you!" He reminds me with a fuss.

"Ever heard of insomnia?" I sass.

"It's not healthy," he preaches, setting my textbook down.

"Nor is being undead. That's a little pot calling the kettle black," I shrug while I reopen my book to the proper page.

"The more tired you get the more annoying you are," he grumbles, tossing his head back dramatically with a sigh.

"Dope," I nod with narrowed eyes.

"I hate you," Spike growls.

"Love to hear it," I mutter subconsciously as I continue reading.

"Ugh, oh my g-"

Absentmindedly, I read the chapter on proper chemical mixing. I can't even read the periodic table, how am I supposed to remember all of this?  

I start to sing a familiar tune under my breath without much thought. "Oh say can you see by the dawn's-"

"Stop!" Suddenly, Spike's hand is covering my mouth. "Stop while you're ahead!"

"I was just getting started." My voice is muffled by his hand.

Spike slips his hand around and brings up the other to make me stare into his eyes.

"You're getting delusional!" He accuses.

"What's life without a little bad trip? Adds some spice," I dismiss carelessly.

"You're psychotic," he determines

"Says the serial killer," I shrug.

"You're! Losing! It!" He emphasizes.

"You! Eat! People!" I fire back mockingly.

"I need to so I can exist. You don't need to study to exist," he takes my textbook away again and strolls away.

"I need to so I can get a good job," I reason.

"Industrial America is overrated," he declares monotonously.

"You're also an old English man," I grumble.

"Yeah, so I know a few things," he smirks proudly.

"You never took school seriously?" I climb down from the crypt to fetch my book from him.

"Well... I went if that's what you mean. I had a rather expensive education," Spike describes vaguely.

I reach for my textbook and take it back civilly. "A White, upper-middle-class, during the Victorian Era, given a well-to-do private education? Well, color me shocked!"

"I can hardly stand you when you get in this mood. You need sleep," he rolls his eyes annoyedly.

"I hardly tolerate you every moment of every day. I need coffee," I correct.

"I will kill you," he threatens as per usual.

"Oh yes, bring me the sweet release," I grumble as I head back to my spot.

"You sicken me, you know that?" Spike questions sarcastically.

"Glad to hear it," I laugh humorlessly.

"Normally, people aren't so keen on being threatened," he reminds.

"Fair enough, granted I'm not 'normal,'" I form quotation marks with my fingers.

"Clearly," he mumbles.

"'Clearly,'" I mock his voice. "You even sound old!"

"I'm only one hundred and twenty-six!" He states, yet again, this week.

"Oh my goodness! You're right! My bad! You're practically a new spring chicken! Now get out there young one, and seize the day!" I tease.

"I'm going to make you a cup of tea," Spike declares, heading over to his make-shift kitchen. In reality, it's an electric kettle he plugs into an extension cord that's connected to somewhere outside.

"Coffee," I request, returning to my reading.

"Tea! You don't need any more coffee," he ridicules.

"You're depressing," I insult under my breath.

After a short time, Spike returns with a mug. I've managed to get through the last paragraph I've been struggling with.

"Here," he hands the white porcelain object to me.

The warmth of the mug contrasts the cold of my hands.

"What kind," I ask as I go to sip it.

"Green," he nods.

"Oo, so you are giving me caffeine," I wiggle my brows right as the liquid hits my lips.

"Only to shut you up," he sighs.

"Always the charmer," I wink.

After a moment of consideration and pondering, I can determine that this is good tea. Spike stands around waiting for my approval.

"This is nice, what brand is it?" I go in for another sip.

"An old one my mother used to use, been around for a while," he stammers.

"Lovely, thank you."

I compliment and he grumbles some response. ______________________ The sound of a distant lawnmower wakes me up in a jolt. I gasp for air, having been so deeply asleep that I hardly felt alive. I must've been more exhausted than I originally comprehended. My blurry vision adjusts to my surroundings and I'm tucked into a bed, but not my own. No, I know this bed. I've seen it before. The bright red sheets are hard to forget. Spike.

"What the-" I scream, "Spike!"

The bleach blonde vampy appears from behind a pillar across the room.

"Yes, Pet?" He says slyly, as though it's just any other morning.

"You asshole!" I curse at him as I hurry to get up.

"Feel refreshed?" He smirks.

"Did you drug me?" I come to the realization as I stand up that I don't remember falling asleep or getting into Spike's bed.

"Eh, somewhat," he explains vaguely. "I gave you camomile tea and maybe crushed up some melatonin in it."

My jaw drops, "you're insane!"

"Knocked you out like a bloody babe," he snickers, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"What time is it?!" I shake my wrist to my watch.

"Noon," Spike answers before I have the chance to check.

My eyes go wide as the harsh reality that I'm late to my class sinks in.

"Shit! Shit!" I rush to gather my things. "Fuck me! I have my test in thirty minutes!"

Spike strolls about casually around me, not giving two shits.

"You'll be fine," he assures calmly. "The sleep will help."

"It better!" I growl at the vamp.

"I'll pick you up after your class. We'll get coffee," he suggests with a smug expression.

"You don't drink coffee," I glare as I pack up my backpack.

"Damn straight, but you do. My treat," he offers.

"Oh, so kind!" I remark sarcastically as I struggle to slip my arms through my backpack and get my shoes on at the same time.

"Have fun!" He waves as I head to the door. "Good luck!"

"Fuck you!" I bid farewell as I slam the tomb door behind me.

"Coffee!" He shouts from inside as I stroll away. "Four o'clock! I'll pick you up!"

"Okay! Fine! Fine!" I yell in agreement, despite everything that just happened.

God, I hate to love him. 

__________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @mx-pibbles​

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

How would the guys handle a “girly girl” S/O? Either poly or individual is fine with me. Thanks!

"How would the boys act with a S/O who is a girly girl? Could they handle that?" -anon

I've said this once and I'll say it again!!! I don't think the boys have a type!! So if you're a girly girl?? Totally won't care. Here you go!! (Made this poly btw)

Poly!Lost Boys x Girly Girl S/O

The boys had spotted you on the boardwalk. Pastels, teased hair, manicured nails, and expertly done makeup to match. You were a prim little girly girl, and their complete opposite. For some reason, that only drew them to you

At first, they just wanted to mess with you. "Piss off the princess" as David had some eloquently put. And it was fun. So fun, actually. They flirted with you, of course, but David made sure to play with your hair, putting a strand out of place. He stroked your cheek, his gaze making you flustered as you tried your best to keep up with them. You could've sworn a second ago you had been surrounded by your friends, but they were nowhere to be found now. Marko had leaned in close, a wide smile on his face as he asked what perfume you used and blatantly took a whiff. You had squirmed at his closeness, and tried to give him a reply. He'd hummed, telling you that he liked it with a grin that made the compliment seem far too suggestive (even if it wasn't). Paul took your distraction as an opportunity to play with the edge of your skirt. You yelped and bat his hands away, but he was already leaning down. He whispered in your ear, "Nice heels. Though, I'm surprised your feet don't hurt. Maybe you wanna spend some time off them?" He flirted. Dwayne was the only one that didn't tease you as ruthlessly as the others, and he caught you before the blonde terror twins could make you trip backwards. You had pressed your back right up against his chest, and quickly looked up to see the handsome brunette. It was all a little much for you, the onslaught of teasing and flirting, and you had flushed bright red. Dwayne rubbed his knuckle against your cheek, quietly asking, "What's wrong, princess?" And that had been the final straw. You had broken away from the four, stomping off as you cursed the boys and their antics. They had jeered, calling for you and asking you to come back

They bothered you every night after that, and eventually they weren't such an unwelcome sight. Really...they could be quite charming when they wanted to be. Despite the warnings you'd recieved about "boys like them", you ended up dating them. All four of them.

Marko low-key likes that you're extremely girly. It makes him look more tough whenever you stand besides him, and he's definitely willing to fight anyone who bothers you. Marko would interlock his arm with yours, and ask you questions about the things you liked (even if they were things he had no interest in). He would even talk to you about makeup and fashion, and just saw your style as your own personal self-expression. He liked to hang out in your room and play with all the stuff you had on your walls. He's not big on wearing makeup himself, but he likes to watch you put it on. He'll hover just a little bit out of the sight of the mirror, tilting his head to the side as you focus on applying your eyeshadow and eyeliner. He likes to watch you make yourself "look pretty" and will argue that, "You're always pretty". He always smiles when you ask him what color you should use, and he grins a little bit more at the boardwalk that night. Will watch "girly" movies and shows with you, and actually likes some of them. Will even listen to some "girly" music with you. Likes to listen to gossip, and totally knows all the names of your friends. Is one of the only boys that can tolerate your friends. Will still tease you from time to time about how girly you are, but he never means it in a bad way. Was totally ko-ed that one time you were chewing bubblegum and blew a bubble while talking to him. Won't explain why, but he just thinks it was really hot. The two of you went into an alleyway, and he was the one chewing gum when you left.

Paul had been completely devastated when he heard that your favorite singers were Cyndi Lauper and Madonna, and had tried to convince you to come back to the cave with them just so he could show you some "real music". You had denied, as you were hesitant about getting on one of their death machines. Especially Paul's. The first time he had you listen to metal, you had just said, "this sounds very angry" and you swore that Paul looked like he was about to cry. Literally conditions you to like it, but will mostly put on soft rock/ballads as a "compromise". He listens to some of your music as well, and one time you caught him humming "Physical" by Olivia Newton John afterwards. He's the most willing to let you put some make-up on him, but only something that "rockstars" would wear. You end up finding out that Paul looks really good with some eyeliner. Let's you paint his nails, but the boy can barely sit still long enough for you to do one coat. And trying to wait for it to dry? Forget it. He even likes the painted nails, but, again, he cannot sit still. Paul loves the fact that you mostly wear skirts. Whistles every time he sees you, and is definitely the type to try to sneak his hands under your skirt to try to cop a feel. If you sit on his lap, his hand is going straight to your legs. You gotta hold them so he won't try anything. Likes to pick out your outfits, even if he usually aims to make it as skimpy as possible and most of his choices get vetoed.

Dwayne is the nicest to you, and he treats you like a little princess. He always tells you that you look pretty, and would let you talk about whatever you wanted. He just likes hearing you talk, even if he has no idea what you're saying. Listens to you talk so much that he starts to pick up some of your slang. In his deep voice, he just says, "That was totally bogus". Type to hold open doors for you and treat you like a lady, even if the others make fun of him for it. He's your giant bodyguard, and he basically makes sure no one tries to take advantage of you based on how non-intimidating you look. The type to buy steal you whatever you want, and may spoil you a bit. If you like a certain piece of jewelry, he's giving you it the next night. He was the one that helped you pick out your earrings when you and them decided to become more official. Let's you braid and brush his hair, but he never wears it out of the cave. If you wear sneakers one night, he'll tie your shoelaces for you so you don't have to bend down in your skirt. Low-key has a kink for when you put on lip-gloss. He just likes watching you apply it, and will pull you into a kiss as soon as your done. It's one of the rare instances where he'll do PDA, so you let it slide that when he pulls back and half of your lip gloss is on his lips instead. He just comments, "Bubblegum." And acts like nothing happened. You mostly want to ride with him because he's the safest, and he always helps you on/off of his bike

David could be a perfect gentleman at times, when he wasn't being an ass. He teases you the most out of all the boys. He likes how feminine you are, mainly because it makes him feel more manly and tough. His all black coat and punk/metal look really constrasts with your feminine style, and he loves watching how beach go-ers immediately back down when you tell them that he's your boyfriend. Yeah, they weren't expecting that. He enjoys pushing your boundaries and testing your knowledge on things outside the mainstream. He will even suggest books and movies to you, but it wasn't until you started dating that he actually got you to listen to him. This was mainly by literally giving you his copies or watching them with you at the cave. You two mainly have conversations about those things, or about the things going on in your life. He's really not the type to be interested in girly things, so rip- Loves and almost insists on having you ride with him, mainly because he loves the way you have to hike up your skirt and how tightly you grip onto him. Definitely teases you by calling you "little girl" along with his usual "kitten" and "sweetheart". Likes that you're a girly girl a little bit too much, especially the fact that you get your nails done. You scratched your nails down his back one (1) time in bed, and he had to keep himself from vamping out and biting you in retaliation. Likes to joke about how he and the boys are "corrupting" you, but secretly thinks it's kind of hot

The boys all call you "barbie" and it's a running joke in your relationship. If you ever start to annoy them, they'll say, "Okay, Barbie"

One of the boys favorite things is picking you up from the mall or the boardwalk when you're with all your friends. They live for the looks your friends give them, whether they're judging your choices or giggling at how cute they are. One of your friends comments about you not possibly being able to date all of them long term, and the boys roll their eyes. David just replies, "Long term is exactly what we had in mind", and ends up telling you about their vampirism soon after. It was a bit of a shock, but after some time to adjust they were able to convince you it wasn't as bad as you thought. But they knew convincing you to change would be a whole other battle...

Overall, none of the boys really mind that you're girly, but they'll definitely tease you for it

[ninjettey]

Boys and Aliens ch 2

I'm still new to posting on here. Second chapter is done. I might post it on Wattpad too.

Chapter 2

626 woke to the feeling of being nudged by a foot. He peaked out from under the covers to see Laddie sitting up and rubbing his eyes. 626 crawled out and perched next to the boy. Laddie felt something sit next to him, “626. You’re here.” Laddie shocked 626 when he lunged forward and hugged him. 626 squirmed out of Laddie’s hold and shook out his fur like a dog. The alien was not accustomed to physical touch. Laddie got out of bed and went over to his stash of coloring books, and worked on the page he started the night before. 626 ventured around the main room some more. The sun was starting to set, so the rest will be up soon.

Laddie broke 626 from his venturing, “Is 626 your name?” 626 sits on the floor with Laddie and nods his head. “Do you like it?” Laddie asked. 626 just stares at the boy. Laddie tilts his head and thinks, “I could give a better name.” Laddie sits up and pushes away the picture of Frankenstein he was coloring. The picture gave him an idea, “How about Frank?” 626 shook his head no. “Ok, Stein? No, not that one.” Laddie looks at the last part he colored in, it was the stitches across Frankenstein’s forehead. “What about Stitch?” The alien tilted his head from side to side slowly, then nodded, “Ih.”

Hearing voices of laughter and hollering, Laddie knew the boys were up and heading to the main room. Marko and Paul appeared first, shoving and punching each other while laughing. Then Dwayne followed shortly by David. Laddie got up and went to Dwayne, “Guess what?” “What buddy?” Dwayne picked the boy up. “I gave 626 a new name,” Laddie excitedly exclaimed. “Really?” Paul curiously wondered. Laddie nodded his head, “Uh-huh. His name is Stitch, and he likes it.”

They all turn to Stitch, who is a little uncomfortable with the attention. They watch as Stitch stuffed his feet in his mouth and rolled around the cave like a ball. Stitch bounced a few times over the uneven ground before unrolling to keep from smacking into the giant red toolbox. He could see a bunch of spare parts from their motorcycles and a bare frame. Dwayne and Marko join him since they are the ones that mostly work on the bikes. Marko gestures to the parts, “These are parts from our bikes. We don’t need them. You’re welcome to do what you want with them.” They were mostly curious to see what Stitch could come up with. David got the boys’ attention away from Stitch, “Come on boys, time to feed… Star, you and Laddie stay here.” And with that, the four vampires left to feed off some Surf Nazis.

Star waited for the sounds of the bikes to fade before heading towards the opening of the cave. Laddie stopped her, “Where are you going? You’re supposed to stay here with me.” Star just scoffed, “I’m meeting someone. You’ll be fine. You have Stitch.” Laddie shook his head, “David is going to be so mad.” Star just shrugged her shoulders and continued to climb out of the cave. She was going to meet Michael. She was sure he could help her get away from David and The Lost Boys.

A sound of a tool dropping back into the toolbox had Laddie turning towards Stitch. He gasped at what Stitch had built, “Whoa! You built a bike. Wait, it has three wheels.” Stitch stepped away to look at his creation. He had taken the bare frame, added an additional bar on the back end to support two small wheels from what looks like a go-kart. A decent-sized engine inside the frame with a seat big enough for a grown adult. The handles dropped low enough for Stitch to reach. Stitch had greased and gassed up this beast of a trike. He mounted it and kicked it to life. Satisfied with how it ran, Stitch shocked Laddie by lifting it with one arm and proceeded to carry it outside of the cave and up the cliffside, bypassing the stairs. Laddie followed him out. Stitch had Laddie sit on the seat, then he sat on Laddie’s lap. Stitch started the bike up and off they went.

(Forgive me. I’m not a mechanic so I’m describing what Stitch built as best I can. Looks kinda like this. Google helped.)

The boys were leaning against their bikes just people watching when they heard what sounded like another bike coming closer. Their eyes widen as tourists and locals jump out of the way of what looks like a trike. Once it gets closer they can see it is Stitch and Laddie. Stitch drifts the trike to a halt next to the other bikes. Laddie’s hair is in his face, “Hi guys.” Stitch got up so Laddie could stand, giggling the whole time. The ride was so much fun. Stitch had modified the engine to go faster than it is supposed to and ride over sand with no problem.

Marko and Dwayne are circling the trike, impressed with what he was able to put together from all the parts inside the cave. Marko sat in the seat and it felt comfortable, “This is a sick-ass ride, little dude.” Dwayne nodded his head, “Yeah it is.” Dwayne then looked around for Star, “Where’s Star?” Stitch growled. Laddie patted his head to calm him down, “She left right after you guys. I think that’s why Stitch brought me here. I told her she was supposed to stay with me but she left anyways.” All four vampires growled in anger. David lit another cigarette, “As much as I hate to, we need to go let Max know. See if we can finally get rid of her.”

The group of six walked over to the video store. Opening the door making the dinger go off, Max looks up to see his boys and Laddie walk in. He didn’t notice Stitch at first, not until his Hellhound Thorn growled. “I told you not to come in here. What is that thing?” Thorn kept growling and getting closer to Stitch. The alien growled in response, stood up straighter to look the Hellhound in the eyes. Stitch’s eyes started to glow bright green, making Thorn cower and back away. The boys just smirked and walked out of the video store. They didn’t even bother talking to Max about Star. They were too smug that Stitch scared Thorn.

Stitch did not like Max one bit. Max was very rude to his new friends. David walked past Stitch and bent down to pat his head as he passed. The group went back to their bikes and hung out for a bit longer. Stitch would occasionally say words in his language. Dwayne being the closest to him asked what he was saying. Over the next hour, Stitch tried his best to teach the boys various phrases in his language. They were all laughing at the insults he taught them. The people passing by would just glance at them and walk faster thinking they were being talked about.

David had spotted Star talking to Michael. He was the kid Max had ordered to turn so Max could claim the kid’s mom. He dropped his spent cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. “Come on boys, let’s greet the lovebirds,” David said as he mounted his bike. They all surrounded Michael, even Stitch, and Laddie. Star looked at David scared before turning back to Michael. “You left Laddie alone again Star,” David told her coldly promising punishment once they got back to the cave.

Michael had hung out with the Lost Boys a couple of times already. Ever since the first time, Michael has felt different, more agitated, aggressive, and hungry no matter what he ate or drank. He glared at David, “We were going to get something to eat.” He held his hand out for Star but David cut her off, “Star.” As of giving a silent command, she mounted David’s bike behind him. “Why don’t you come with us? We were just going to get something to eat.” The boys laughed knowing it wasn’t food he was talking about. David could feel Michael’s hunger was getting worse. Time to show this half-vamp what he was. They drove to the cave and dropped off Star, Laddie, and Stitch first. Stitch has not been told they are vampires yet, so they did not want him to see them feed and freak out.

Following behind the guys, Michael was a little on edge. He was turning into something and he didn’t like it. His younger brother Sam told him he was turning into a vampire. Michael didn’t want to believe him but certain things that have happened to make him think Sam is right. Pulling up to a sand dune, the four vampires and half got off their bikes and climbed up a tree to watch a group of drunk Surf Nazis party. The Nazis were oblivious to what awaits them. Michael heard David talking, “Initiation is over Michael. Time to join the club.” Michael looks over the other guys to see their faces have transformed into something demonic.

David and his boys flew at the partiers and tore into them, pun intended. Michael watched as Marko snapped a guy's neck after drinking his blood. Paul ripped some guy’s arms off while his mouth was attached to his neck. Dwayne snapped a guy in half that he drained. It was what David was doing that scared him the most. David had bit the top of a guy’s head and then started to eat the back out of it while slurping up the blood. Michael could feel the urge to join them, and it freaked him out. Michael dropped out of the tree and rolled down the hill as the guys came over the top. They were panting and covered in blood.

“Now you know what we are. What you are. You will never grow old, get sick or die. But you must feed,” David wiped the blood off his cheek and laughed. Michael screamed, “NO!” He mounted his bike and rode off as fast as he could. The boys just continued to laugh at the punk. They knew Michael wasn’t made for the life of a vampire. They returned to the cave shortly thereafter where Stitch gave them all a once-over before laying down at Laddie’s feet.

David and his boys just gave each other a look and thought, ‘Maybe Stitch wouldn’t freak out.’ They decided to tell him the next night what they were. Of course, Stitch will find out before then.

[numbaoneflaya]

Can I get a list of all ur ocs?

Well anon youve done it, you made me make a list of all my major OCS in one place. I hope your happy with yourself. Under the cut for obvious reasons, may link in my blog desc later.

Modern/BTD verse!!

Jilly- Ferret beastkin little creature, was recently turned into a werewolf by vincent as well so she's running around on full moons in a wereferret wolf hybrid creature form. Chaotic and friendly and wants to be everyone's bestie. She has the most energy in the world and is very kind hearted. Banned from most Claires for stealing and from one Home Depot for climbing the shelves. Prone to living life with rose colored glasses on and seeing the best in everything/everything even when there's nothing there. Socialization is a must for her and is why being basemented/kidnapped broke her psych so quickly and developed severe stockholm. Sometimes overly talkative/enthusiastic and can scare people off. Even if she sees someone shes decided shes friends with be noticeably 'evil', will convince herself it must be for some reason/her fault and ignore it.

Ciggy- Undead punk still learning to harness his powers to interact with the world as a ghost. Was sacrificed by a cult he joined for free concert tickets and to get laid. Likes to cause problems on purpose both pre and prior death and he's not above possessing someone once he learns how to. Was called Rooster in high school before he dropped out because he's loud, obnoxious and always screaming. And also has bright red dyed hair. Looking 4 ways to become less ghosty bcs he wants to be able to help raise his infant daughter, whom he died before he could meet. Bit annoying and in your face, likes poking at bruises, his or others. Kind of a sad heart seeking attention through volume and persistence.

Mike: Vampire loser! Sells drugs and lives at raves. Was turned when she was attacked by a coked out vampire (whom she supplied the product to) and has major scarring on her face and chest. Needs a somewhat constant influx of blood so shell sometimes take victims back to her place and chain them up, slowly draining them over time. Feels bad (ish) about it tho so it is possible to survive her if you are nice and or interesting enough. Kind of desperate for a friend and for love. Is a stalker. If she likes you enough/finds you interesting, she might just appear in your house one night and start rummaging through your fridge like nothing is wrong and youve been besties for years. Its best to indulge her and be friendly, otherwise she could turn violent quickly if her feelings are hurt.

Kilaine- Regular human woman, but fucked up. Born and raised by an elite waspy society she had an interest in the human body and pain tolerance since she was young. Quickly learned that these traits were socially unacceptable in most professions, so she became a doctor. The only family she cared about was her younger sister who she lost in a car accident, where they were flipped over and trapped inside while it was afire. While her sister burned up in front of her Kilaine only lost her left arm and had major burns on her body. This tipped her descent into sadism and she is now madly obsessed with bringing her sister back no matter the cost. Rude and offstandish, clinical.

Dragon age verse!

Thurwen- My main Hero of Ferelden with a bad temper and a heart of gold. City elf from the Denerim Alienage, 18 at the start of origins. She's a reaver warrior with a lot of pent up rage which sometimes scares others when she lets it out in battle. Over the years she's grown less moody as she's had to take the role of Commander. Crude sense of humor and violent impulses, very sensitive to the plights of others and tries often to help. Never seen crying in public but only cries to herself at night- major martyr and hanged man complex.

Caz- My circle mage elf inquisitor who was an apostate before the conclave. Blood magic, but make it sneaky. Wary of strangers and new faces, always dealing with the impulse to flee/find a high vantage point. Endless curiosity about the unknown/ the forbidden/ naughty, was supposed to be made tranquil for it but she escaped. Kind of a little creature as well, lived on her own for a while as an apostate in the woods, filed her teeth down to sharp ends to make herself look more intimidating (shes 5 ft tall) and less cute (her elf ears are huge and expressive, which shes embarrassed about)

Dag and Thagna- Carta twins! Professional lyrium smugglers since birth pretty much. Raised casteless in dust town and had to work their way up the chain of command by themselves. Dag is the brother, Thagna the sister. Their father traded them to the carta for drinking money and their mom died in childbirth so they have somewhat of a codependent relationship. Both charismatic and calculating, friendly and agreeable but won't hesitate to put a dagger in your back. Hard to pin down morally or physically, squirrelly bastards.

Reila: Dalish elf who works for the inquisition/ is the inquisitor in some aus. She has an extreme fixation on elvhen history and rebuilding what they have lost. Not a people person, prefers solitude. Takes some time to warm up to shemhlen as she has a hard history with them. Good friends with Caz, who recruited her in the first place. Doesn't understand very many social cues and finds societal expectations limiting and frustrating. Fondness for halla and hooved animals, which she finds graceful.

Elder scrolls verse!

Valkya: Near seven foot nord woman whos over a thousand years old by the events of skyrim. Tall and buff, two handed warrior and compulsive hero there to bask in the spotlight save the day. She was killed at the start of the events of Elder scrolls online and had her soul ripped out and sent to coldharbor and she's just been a pain in the ass about it since then. Her body can physically die and will not regrow pieces. Her soul however will escape and teleport to the nearest source of power where her body will regrow from an aetherial plasm until its whole again. Loud and brash, friendly and jovial. Actually pretty keen especially after centuries of life but prefers to play dumb as it makes people underestimate her. Plus, she really does enjoy mud wrestling and drinking contests and acting generally like a rambunctious frat boy. Ha developed a bit of a substance problem and a problem with acting out, as after being alive so long she would turn to anything to dull the ache inside of her that never goes away.

Espira- My Dragonborn! Redguard from Hammerfell who was briefly in the Ash’abah due to killing undead while protecting her parents water farm as a child. Ran away from them after years and went to Cyrodille, then to Skyrim and was caught crossing the border. Reserved, kind and soft spoken, she's a sword and shield warrior who's committed herself to doing good in the world by helping others. Dislikes killing and anything messy but believes it is often necessary in order to protect the weak. She blacksmiths often to save money on the upkeep of her own equipment, and takes up metal jewelry working as a hobby with the excess material. Prone to trusting others too much and giving too many second chances, as shes always looking for ways to make even the most hardened criminal a second look at life.

Riley- Espiras little brother who she locked in the wardrobe during the event of the water farm attack. In preventing him from doing violence against the undead she kept him from being conscripted into the Ash’abah. He's way more chaotic than his sister, and suffers from a case of little sibling syndrome in which he will often pester/poke at people just to get a rise out of them. Still kind hearted as his sister, he tries to hide it because he believes that the world is a cruel place and the cruel survive. Despite that belief he is often still unable to force himself to be cruel/careless, only making a show of it so that others leave him alone and don't see that he's very sensitive and emotional. Deaf in one ear due to a magic mishap in his youth, he trained and enchanted his most beloved rats to live for years and sit on his shoulder, alerting him to noises he would not otherwise notice.

Felria: Evil vamp :/ chaotic evil dunmer necromancer. Small and devilish and likes dead bodies too much. Manipulative and cunning, she loves acting. She's a trained assassin for the dark brotherhood and is the speaker. Likes dressing up for missions and wearing disguises like its all a play. Loves toying with people more than she loves killing them, will act in ways that cause as much trauma as possible for other people just for fun and she finds the reactions interesting. Considers herself too far removed from most people's perception of morality and of her so it's hard for her to trust someone or see them as worthy of knowing her. Finds the psychology of grief and fear to be interesting and wants to study them first hand. The hero of kvatch.

Herren: Fifty something year old rat woman looking for something to keep her going. Ran away from her wealthy family in her youth when they wanted her to take charge of the household, instead became an infamous jewel thief and swashbuckler. Spent most of her life traveling and stealing and double dealing. She's smarmy and sarcastic, a serial romancer of the highest caliber. Bit of a show off and a hedonist, always looking for the next good party or new product to snort. Her family died off due to the hard times she wasn't there for and she keeps looking for bigger and bigger heists to fill her appetite as she's chronically bored and lonely, though wont accept intimacy and will scoff at it out of the belief she doesn't deserve it. Irresponsible and selfish, lonely and terrified of any sort of commitment. Fun to party with though!

[this-is-spn20]

Bruises and Wings

This was requested by my lovely girl @imaginestuffs over on Wattpad. 

This is a Supernatural BSM (Brother Sister Moments) Imagine.

Request: Maybe one about Sam and Dean having a younger sister and she gets injured on a hunt Jack heals her and suddenly she’s able to see his wings. They’re Like soulmates or something? I hope that makes sense!

---------

You’ve been living with your big brothers, Sam and Dean at the bunker for about two years. You were 16 when they found out about you while they were on a case involving the Carver Edlund books and invited you to live with them until you finished high school at 17. You planned on moving away from the brothers afterward but then you three found the bunker and decided to stay with them since you had no other place to be. You and Cas met shortly after you and the boys got cozy into the bunker and being the great friends you are when Jack came into the picture you and Cas took care of Jack. 

Soon after Jack came to the bunker you started developing feelings for him but ultimately pushed your feelings aside because Dean would never allow you and Jack to be together.

 You are 18 now and Sam and Dean have been training you to be a hunter for most of the year. A recent vampire hunt and your brothers don’t want you to go since you’re still training. But all the other hunters they knew were either on a hunt already or were just too busy with their daily life to help. Even Jody and Donna were too busy to help. Sam and Dean had no choice but to take you and Jack with them on the hunt. They were worried about you getting hurt but they figured they would be there to protect you and Jack.

You, Jack, and the brothers walked into the barn expecting to see two vampires. You were all instead greeted with about 12 vampires all alert and angry to have some unexpected visitors. All vampires immediately charged at you and TFW, Jack was fighting two vampires. The brothers were wrestling with three but holding their own. You and Cas were surrounded by five vampires. You and Cas looked at each other before cutting through the vamps like butter. You had just killed off the last of the five vamps but didn’t notice that Sam and Dean were unconscious and a vamp had snuck up behind you and stabbed you in your stomach two times while Cas was making sure Sam and Dean were okay. 

Jack turned just in time to see you drop to the floor and the brothers had just woken up to see you laying on the floor in a puddle of blood. The boys all ran to you as you began to cough up blood. The pain you felt was indescribable and the pain came in waves. One more intense and painful than the last. You saw a bright light come from Jack’s hands and for a moment the pain was ten times worse but then you felt no more pain and your eyes open with newfound energy.

Dean and Cas helped you up off the floor and held onto you until regained your balance as Sam and Jack asked if you were okay. You said you were fine and as you looked up at Jack you were stunned. You saw the most beautiful thing in the world. You saw a pair of wings behind Jack and as they seemed to be emitting their own light you noticed sparks of gold that seemed to pop off of his creamy white colored wings that had brown at the tips. You stood in awe as the men around you were worried and confused about what you seemed to be staring at until Jack asked, “Are you okay y/n? What are you staring at?” 

“You have beautiful wings, Jack. They’re big too!” You said as you slightly snapped back into reality but still looking at the wings.

Cas seemed as though someone had shocked him. “You can see his wings y/n?” 

“Yes I can, they’re right there.” You pointed at Jack’s wings. 

“Well what the hell does that mean Cas, you’re scaring us,” Dean said in his usual rough voice and Sam nodded in agreement with his brother.

“Jack and Y/n are soulmates, made especially for one another.”

“WHAT!?” You and Jack screamed at the same time. You then looked at each other and Jack put his hands on your shoulder and zapped you to a peaceful meadow. As you were about to ask what he was doing, Jack put his arms around your shoulder and you both sat in the grass and talked about what was possibly in store for the both of you.

And before you worry, Cas had assured the brothers to let the two of you sort things out by yourselves. So Dean and Sam hopped in the Impala with Cas in the backseat and drove back to the bunker as the stars stood out proudly against the night sky. 

[writemywaytoyourheart]

Onsra- Chapter 35: Kiss It Better

banner created by: @envity ♥️

pairing: vampire!jungkook x female reader (also vamp!tae x ga-in oc & vamp!jimin x yuri oc)

genre: E2L, romance, drama, angst, horror

warnings for this chapter: a little blood, panic attacks, some self hatred ;-; characters have a hard time with selflove, maybe I failed this chapter maybe not we don’t know. 

word count: 8.9k

Onsra: ML, Previous

I genuinely don't know how I feel about this one but, here it is ;-;

____________________________________

I told you she would be sweet.

Jungkook takes a deep breath, letting it out through his nose as he sucks your blood slowly. His mind is covered in nothing but darkness. All he can feel is anger and an insatiable hunger as he sinks his teeth further into your neck and sucks harder.

Everything is a fog, none of his memories are clear; all he can feel is a need for blood. Your blood.

See what you’ve been missing out on?

“Kookie, you broke your promise…you said you’d never hurt me…”

Jungkook opens his eyes at those words. With his mind starting to clear, he pulls away slowly. He blinks in confusion, then as you start sliding down the wall, the realization of what he just did hits him. Jungkook grabs you as you fall, his stomach lurching, “Y/n? What—”

The sound of the door opening echoes in the hall, but Jungkook doesn’t even notice it as his mind reels in a blind panic about what he just did to you.

“Jungkook…what did you do?”

He doesn’t answer.

Seokjin steps closer carefully, noticing the blood dripping slowly from the small wound in your neck. Jin’s heart is racing as he tries to assess the situation; your head is lolled to the side and your eyes are closed as Jungkook slides to the ground with you, holding your body gently.

“Y/n?” Jungkook whispers tearfully, not believing what he’s seeing and more so, that he did it to you. He doesn’t remember anything; he doesn’t know what happened to make him turn on the one person he loves the most in this world.

When Jin is a few steps away, Jungkook looks up at him, horror swimming in the youngest’s gaze. “It’s okay, Kook. Just stay calm.” Jin crouches down to the ground to be closer as he reaches out to touch Jungkook’s arm.

The young vampire flinches away. “I- I d-didn’t-…I didn’t m-mean t-to.” His voice is shaking uncontrollably as he looks back down at your unconscious state. In the next second, as Jin tries to touch him again and say something, Jungkook is on his feet and bolting out the front door, shoving passed everyone just coming inside.

“Kook!” Jimin calls after him, but his call goes unanswered.

Jin’s attention is on you now, though. He feels for a pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he feels a faint pounding through your wrist. “She’s still here. Tae! Please help me.”

The tall blonde hurries over after getting over his initial shock, scooping you up in his arms easily and carrying you to the couch, laying you down gently. Ga-In is right behind him, brushing your sweaty hair out of your face and caressing your cheeks, “Y/n? Can you hear me?” She wipes her tears and continues to gently pat your face when you don’t make any indication of hearing her words.

“Move, move, move.” Jin pushes past everyone gathered in the archway of the living room, grimacing at the pain in his side as he hurries to your side once again.

“Fuck.” He mumbles quietly, then he’s yelling for someone to get a cold rag and his first aid kit.

“Is she dying? Is she going to turn?” Ga-In is frantically wiping her tears, watching as Jin places the cold rag that Namjoon grabbed for him on your burning forehead.

“I don’t know, Ga-In.” Jin’s voice wavers as he reluctantly tells her the truth. Because he has no idea what’s going to happen to you. In all the times he’s seen a person be bitten, they turned, or they died.

No one notices Namjoon watching worriedly from the back before turning and leaving the house, making his way towards the woods.

~                      ~                    ~

By the time Hoseok has gotten Honey upstairs and away from the chaos, and Jimin has practically dragged Yuri out of the living room at Jin’s insistence for everyone but Ga-In and Tae to leave and give him space, you still haven’t regained consciousness. Jin keeps rewetting the rag to cool it down, then he places it on your forehead until it inevitably heats up and needs to be cooled again. He’s already cleaned and bandaged the wound on your neck, now all they can do is wait.

After a little while, Sooyoung comes into the room and walks over to Tae, wanting to tell him something. Taehyung moves to a side of the living room with her and Sooyoung whispers softly, “I’m not sure of anything, but I know it’s possible for her to be okay. She might not turn, and I don’t think she’s going to die at this point.” Tae furrows his brows in confusion.

“What do you mean? How do you know this?” He whispers back.

Sooyoung shifts awkwardly before pulling up the long sleeve of her shirt and showing him two puncture wounds on her wrist. Then, she pulls her long hair from her shoulder to uncover her neck, revealing two more puncture wounds. She wrings her hands, obviously not comfortable with talking about this.

“The vampires that captured me drank my blood a few times. They always made sure I knew that the only reason they kept me alive and from changing was for their fun. If they killed or changed me, their sport would be over.” Sooyoung looks back over at you, worry creasing her brow.

“They never took a lot of my blood, so I can’t be sure if Jungkook drank too much of y/n’s or if she’s going to change. But I thought I should let you know.” She finishes and tugs lightly at the cuffs of her sleeves in an almost anxious tick.

Taehyung’s heart soars at the knowledge that you really might be alright, as small a chance as it is considering you aren’t awake yet, and they aren’t sure how long Jungkook had you before they came in.

But it’s still a chance.

He thanks Sooyoung quietly and she gives a small nod before leaving the room. Then Tae walks over to relay the news to Ga-In and Jin.

Both are relieved that there is some hope, but no one can relax yet.

An hour passes, and no one has heard from Jungkook. Everyone is aware now that Namjoon is gone too, but no one has any idea where he’s gone to. Jin, Tae, and Ga-In all stay glued to your side, willing you to wake up and let them know you’re okay.

Taehyung paces the room while Ga-In sits on the floor by the couch with her head in her hands, unmoving. Seokjin sits in a chair that’s been placed next to the couch as he stares blankly at the mantel piece where Koko is swimming around in his little bowl, completely unaware of the dire situation.

“Where did he go?” Tae blurts out, clenched fist covering his mouth.

Seokjin doesn’t look away from the mantel as he snaps, “I don’t know. But right now, y/n is our priority…Namjoon probably went to find him.”

Tae frowns at that, but he can tell Jin is only being cold because he’s worried. He knows that Jin is probably dwelling on Jungkook’s absence as much as he is, but he’s feeling overwhelmed, and understandably so. Tae glances worriedly at you again, then he does a double take before hurrying over to the couch.

“She moved!” He breathes in disbelief, catching the attention of Ga-In and Jin, who both jump and turn their attention to you immediately.

You’re lying still as a rock while they stare at you, waiting with bated breath for you to move again. After a full minute of nothing, Tae sighs. “I saw her move, I swear.”  

Ga-in brushes a strand of hair off your forehead, then she gasps when your eyelids twitch. “She did move! Did you see that?”

Jin nods, “I saw it. She might be waking up.”

They all watch you anxiously for another five minutes, expecting you to open your eyes at any second.

But you never do.

Jin curses quietly under his breath and drops his head into his hands.

Then it takes all three of them by surprise when your arm twitches suddenly. Ga-In looks at you hopefully while Tae and Jin watch warily, not sure what to expect.

Your arm twitches again, then your whole body starts to move around almost aimlessly.

“Fucking shit.” Seokjin mutters anxiously a split second before you start convulsing. He pins your arms to your side as Tae rewets the towel to cool your flaming skin. Ga-In speaks in hushed tones to keep you calm, but the fear in her eyes is clear.

“What do we do?” Ga-In asks tearfully, not sure if she really expects an answer.

Needless to say, she doesn’t get one.

~                   ~                     ~

A bright light blinds you, making you squint your eyes in pain. You can’t see anything but walls that are so purely white, it’s too painful to look at. The ground underneath you the same color as the walls, and it wobbles unsteadily under you.

The sharp pain in your neck turns to a dull throbbing as you feel your useless legs give out underneath you, and you fall.

Then, everything goes black.

You reach out blindly, trying to touch anything that can give you a sense of where you are, but your hands meet nothing except air.

The panic starts to rise, and you push it down as best as you can. The throbbing in your neck feels like a flame starting from the one spot and spreading across your neck and left shoulder, licking and burning the untouched skin in its path.

You can hear someone crying, but it doesn’t sound like anyone you know.

The wails make you sick to your stomach, so you try to plug your ears, but the anguished cries won’t be silenced.

You curl into a ball, pulling your legs up to your chest in an attempt at calming yourself. You clench your eyes shut, whispering nonsense to yourself to drown out the loud voice in your head, whispering in glee.

Welcome to hell.

~                    ~                     ~

Jungkook stumbles through the forest, his mind reeling. He can’t process the fact that he hurt you.

You.

He loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone in his entire life.

And he hurt you.

It won’t click.

He promised you. He promised you he would never hurt you ever again, and now he’s done something so horrible that it makes him physically ill. As Jungkook pushes frantically through the branches of trees in his path, images of your unconscious face flash in his vision. The deep red color of the blood dripping down your neck from the wound that he gave you, seeps into his mind.

And you said you loved her.

Ha!

I’d like to see what she has to say about that when she wakes up.

If she wakes up.

“No! She’s okay.” Jungkook whimpers, finally letting his legs give out as he slumps to the ground. “She’s going to wake up.” Jungkook doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince at this point.

You’re right, she will wake up…

But she isn’t going to be the same.

The horror in Jungkook’s body causes him to shake as he scoots himself backward until his back is against a tree, screaming as he plugs his ears.

“No! No, no, no! She won’t turn, she won’t turn!!”

Look at you…you’re really a monster now.

Not only did you hurt the girl you claimed to love, but you doomed her to a fate worse than death.

“NO!” Jungkook is grabbing at his hair and tugging on it, after plugging his ears has proven to be futile. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Jungkook gasps and grabs at his chest, wishing more than anything that he had died when the vampire first bit him. He wishes he never found you.

A memory of you wiping deer blood from his hands pops into his head suddenly; your gentle touch on his hands as you ever so carefully clean him after knowing he had done something so vile.

Then an image of you resting your head on his shoulder and touching him gently when you were all crammed into the back of the minivan pushes its way to the front of his mind.

You following him around like a lost puppy, even when he was so cruel to you before.

Your eyes shining when you look at him, your cheeks tinted in a little blush when he makes you flustered.

You throwing yourself into his arms and kissing him when he was so sure that you would never trust him again.

“I love you.”

Your voice whispers in his mind, as soft as ever.

Jungkook’s cries are so gut wrenching that he finds himself hunched over and throwing up into a pile of leaves, gagging on his choked breaths.

He slumps forward to the ground when there’s nothing left in his stomach, his forehead laying on the cool grass as he breathes shakily. Each breath out is a strangled sob, choking him again and again.

Please just let me die.

“Jungkook.”

The vampire doesn’t move when he hears someone call his name, he just lies there and keeps wishing as hard as he can that none of this ever happened, that he had just died that day when he was bitten.

Namjoon sees the youngest curled in on himself at the base of a tree, coughing and choking tearfully. He walks over slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Jungkook.” He says again, but he doesn’t get a response.

Namjoon stops right next to Jungkook, then he sits next to the tree and takes Jungkook’s arm. He pulls him- quite easily- into his lap. Jungkook doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t fight him either. He just lies there and lets Namjoon wrap his arms around him, holding him tightly.

After a few minutes, Jungkook opens his eyes. Namjoon looks down and sees the deep red color covering the youngest’s irises. He would normally be worried that Jungkook is going to go on some violent rampage like he does when this happens, but this time, his heart hurts even worse.

Because Jungkook is calm.

Jungkook must sense Namjoon’s sadness, because he looks up at him and speaks in a choked whisper. “I know…I’m really a vampire now, aren’t I?”

Namjoon stays quiet, but that’s all Jungkook needs to know he’s right. He blinks, a few more tears sliding down his cheeks. “Please tell me y/n is okay.”

“She’s alive, but she hasn’t woken up yet. At least, not while I was there.” Namjoon says softly.

Jungkook buries his head in his hands, still curled in Namjoon’s lap. He’s beyond relieved that you’re alive, but nothing is certain about your state other than that. He doesn’t know how to process this. It feels like a horrible nightmare, and he’s going to wake up any minute, finding you sitting on his bed and nagging him to get up.

You want him to wake up so you can go and feed Koko, pick flowers, and explore the woods. You’re kind of afraid of the woods, but when Jungkook is with you, you aren’t scared of getting lost. Maybe you two can pack a lunch and have a picnic, like you wanted to do for so long. Or maybe he can teach you how to climb trees better, so you won’t have to be so afraid.

Jungkook hates seeing you so scared all the time. He wishes he could take away your fear and promise you he will always be there to protect you.

“Jungkook, will you listen to what I want to say?”

His older brother’s voice breaks through Jungkook’s cluttered and confused mind, yanking him back to reality as the horrible truth weighs down on his chest. He starts to shake again, reaching his hands up to plug his ears.

Namjoon watches him sadly, his heart aching at the sight of the broken boy in front of him.

Then he reaches over and gently takes his hands off his ears, holding them tightly in his own. Namjoon was never the overly affectionate one, although he’s always cared about his brothers immensely. He was never able to show it much.

Jungkook’s eyes are pinched shut as he tries desperately to conjure up the lie he’s convinced himself of. You’re okay and you’re trying to wake him up. You’re okay and you’re trying to wake him up.

“I gotta wake up. I gotta wake up.” Jungkook mutters anxiously, not caring that Namjoon has his hands, just keeping his eyes closed as he repeats the words over and over.

“Jungkook, look at me…look at me.” At the tone of Namjoon’s voice, Jungkook opens his eyes and looks at him. “I didn’t bite her. I didn’t hurt her…” He whispers faintly.

Namjoon purses his lips, trying to gather his thoughts.

“I would never hurt her.”

He looks down at Jungkook, who’s gaze is unfocused, tears brimming in his deep red eyes as he looks somewhere far away.

“I love her…”

“I know.” Namjoon sighs, brushing the hair out of Jungkook’s face that has gotten sticky with his tears and stuck to him. “Listen Jungkook, I think she’s going to be okay…but wouldn’t you like to be there to help her?”

Jungkook nods absentmindedly, and Namjoon knows he’s disassociating himself.

“Kook, you need to stay with me. You can’t help her if you don’t focus.” Namjoon’s voice is strict, but kind. He takes Jungkook’s shoulders and moves him to a sitting position, leaning him against the trunk of the tree.

“You said it was hopeless.” Jungkook speaks in an almost confused tone, his words breathy and unclear.

“What?” Namjoon asks.

“You said it was hopeless���you said we would never be humans again, hyung. You said that. You said that and you were right…you’re always right.”

“Kook-“

“Y/n needs a human…I can’t keep hurting her like this. It’s my fault she’s hurting, hyung.” Tears have started to brim in his eyes again. “Can you do it for me?” His head lolls to the side as he looks at his older brother.

Namjoon is beyond confused. He has no idea what Jungkook is asking of him. “Do what, Kook?”

“Kill me…please.”

Namjoon feels his heart lurch at the words coming from his littlest brother’s mouth. The youngest doesn’t even seem sad about his words, he’s just desperate.

“Just get rid of me, and y/n can be happy again.”

“Jungkook-“

“As long as I’m here she’s going to get hurt!!” Jungkook screams, then drops his head back onto the tree, clearly exhausted.

“Jungkook listen to me-“

“Just stop, hyung-“

“No! Now you have to listen to me!” Namjoon raises his voice, his patience finally gone.

Jungkook looks over at him, waiting for him to speak, but knowing he isn’t going to change his mind.

“Yes, you hurt her Jungkook. But why the fuck would you two be in that position anyway? Because no matter what has happened, she has stayed with you.”

Jungkook blinks back more tears, listening to Namjoon as the older vampire rants, having finally had enough of this.

“You did something wrong. That doesn’t mean you can run away and pretend it didn’t happen, though. No matter what you tell yourself, and eventually convince yourself of, y/n is hurt. Nothing is going to change that.”

Jungkook swallows thickly, knowing that Namjoon is right. He’s been trying to pretend like it’s all a terrible dream, because he can’t fathom himself hurting you like that. He still can’t believe it. He was so confused and horrified at his own actions, that he left you. After hurting you, he left.

First it’s one tear, then another. Soon, he’s crying softly, choking on his tears. “Hyung, I don’t know what to do.” Jungkook looks at Namjoon, his blood red eyes reflecting more pain and regret than the other vampire has ever seen.

“You go back to her…and you don’t give up.” Namjoon says seriously, not willing to watch his younger brother fade away into nothing.

“How can I? I fucked up. I don’t deserve her…she probably doesn’t want anything to do with me.” Jungkook’s breath quickens, the reality of the situation becoming clearer. “What do I do if she turns? Fuck…fuck, I can’t.” Jungkook sobs, his body shaking all over again.

“You get back there…and no matter what happened, you’re going to face the consequences of your actions.” Namjoon puts a hand on his shoulder, making sure he knows he’s there. “Y/n has stuck by you through thick and thin, and even now, I’m sure she is only worried about you. Would you rather leave her forever when she needs you the most?”

Jungkook stares into the forest blankly, his mind battling itself more than it ever has. The darkness looms overhead, threatening to choke out the tiny sliver of light that is left. And it could, in a split second it could take over his mind and leave him as nothing but the empty shell of who he used to be. He’d be no more than a despicable monster, hiding behind the face of his past self.

He doesn’t know why, but something urges him to reach into his pocket. So, he carefully pats them, feeling nothing. Jungkook reaches into his right pocket as Namjoon watches him curiously.

When he pulls out the tiny white flower, smooshed beyond repair, Jungkook’s throat closes. How long had that been in his pocket? He put it there after you had kissed him for the first time. It had fallen out of your hair…

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

I’m going to prove that I care about you. I’ll show you, Jeon Jungkook.

He opens his eyes, the tiny light still flickering in the back of his mind, not willing to be over shadowed.

Not yet.

Jungkook wipes his tears, shaking his head as he stands unsteadily before placing the little white flower back into his pocket. Namjoon sighs quietly in relief, thankful that his stern approach didn’t backfire.

Jungkook can’t believe how selfish it was for him to run out on you, as terrified as he was. The amount of times he scared you, and you never ran out on him… He doesn’t want to think about the hurt he’s put you through, but now isn’t the time to run away and pretend it didn’t happen. Jungkook moves to head back, but Namjoon stops him.

“Kook, wait.”

The vampire turns back, a question in his eyes. “What?”

“I was wrong.”

Jungkook looks at him in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Namjoon has never admitted to being wrong before. He was always the genius among them, and everyone usually took his word for things. But whenever someone would question him when they disagreed, he’d never say he made a mistake.

He wasn’t self-centered, but he could be a bit prideful and big-headed at times. Admitting he was wrong about something, is one thing none of them would ever think of hearing come from his mouth.

“I was wrong, when I said it was hopeless.” Namjoon looks away from Jungkook. “I was scared…and I shouldn’t have said it. I knew everyone was panicking because we had just turned, and we didn’t know what was going on. You all turned to me for answers, for hope that things would be alright. But I didn’t give that to you.”

Jungkook swallows, seeing Namjoon stand and still not meet his eyes.

“I always thought I was the brightest…I might be smart, but I’ve learned a lot about wisdom, from all of you. There’s a difference between them. There’s more to life than always being the top and always being perfect, and I’m sorry I failed to teach you that.” Namjoon wipes away a stray tear, “Don’t give up Kook, because there’s always hope. I see that now…and I’m sorry.”

Jungkook walks over to Namjoon and wraps his arms around him, startling the older vampire. “It’s okay hyung, you’ll turn back. I know you will.” He whispers, making Namjoon tear up again. The older of the two pulls away, wiping his face in embarrassment, “We’re in this together. Now, let’s get you back to y/n.”

Jungkook’s stomach flips over but he nods, turning to run back to you, and praying that he isn’t too late to let you know you’re never alone.

~                       ~                         ~

“Taehyung please get me some more cold water! And grab a glass of water, too!” Seokjin shouts, trying to keep you on the couch as your body writhes around. Ga-In has a hand on each of your arms, doing her best to pin you down without hurting you. “It’s okay, y/n. If you can hear me, just know that you’re alright.” Ga-In says tearfully.

Tae rushes in with the bowl of water and another glass of it. Seokjin has him go into his first aid kit and get some fever medicine.

“How do we give it to her?” Tae asks, his eyes wide in panic.

Seokjin shakes his head, “I don’t know, but she needs something for her fever now. I don’t want to give it to her when she’s like this, she’ll choke. We need to calm her down-”

“She’s opening her eyes!” Ga-In cries in relief as your body slows down to a twitch, your eyes moving under the lids.

Jin leans over you, putting the cold rag onto your forehead, “Y/n? Can you hear me?”

Your eyes flutter open, rolling to the back of your head as they all gasp in horror at the reddish color now covering your irises.

“Fuck.” Jin rasps, trying not to panic.

Ga-In starts sobbing uncontrollably while Tae tries his best to keep everyone calm. Then they hear the front door slam open, and footsteps running down the hall.

Jungkook appears in the doorway of the living room just as you start to convulse again. He runs in and stumbles to his knees at your side, grabbing your hands and holding them close to his chest. “Hey, hey. I’m here. You’re okay, baby.” Jungkook whispers, his voice thick with tears.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, please don’t give up.” Jungkook keeps his composure as best he can but wants nothing more than to crumple and disappear at the sight of seeing you struggle.

~                   ~                     ~

“Hey, hey. I’m here. You’re okay, baby...please don’t give up.”

Jungkook?

“Jungkook!” You shout and uncover your ears, sitting up in the darkness. The cold voice keeps taunting with a playful lilt, but you ignore it.

You get to your feet and take off.

Maniacal laughter bounces around you, but you keep running.

You’re running so fast, that when you slam into a door, you fly backwards and land on your butt, hard. You wince in pain, then quickly get to your feet and try the knob on the door.

Locked.

“Hey! Let me in!!” You pound on the door, noticing a tiny little window in it that’s covered with a black cloth.

The doorknob turns and you cry out in relief, opening the door and moving to get into the room where you can see light streaming from now.

Are you sure you want to do that?

You freeze, turning to see nothing in the inky blackness. The disembodied voice from before floats around you.

If you go in that door, you’re going to be miserable.

You’re going to be afraid, and for good reason.

You blink a few times, not sure if you should listen or just run while you can.

The world out there is cruel, and full of pain-

Before it gets the chance to finish, you make up your mind and throw yourself into the room, the bright light blinding you as you gasp in a breath of fresh air.

~                      ~                        ~

The sun filters in through the blinds, signaling that morning has come.

No one has moved from their positions. Ga-In is sitting on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face hiding. Tae sits next to her, doing all he can to stay positive. Jin sits in the chair next to the couch, his head in his hands. And Jungkook is kneeling by the couch, your hands clutched in his, his forehead gently pressing to yours as he whispers to you softly.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You can do this. You’ll be okay.” Jungkook says whatever goes through his head, fully believing that you can hear him.

He leans back to look at you, your eyes closed but fluttering a bit, like they have been all night. Several times through the night, his mind clouded over with darkness and he was tempted to run again, but he stayed put. He is never going to leave you again.

Then, everyone but Jungkook jumps in surprise when you shoot straight up, gasping. Your eyes are wide open, the red completely gone now, your normal color covering your irises, like nothing ever changed.

Ga-In starts screaming, jumping up from the floor and running to wrap you in her arms, holding you tighter than she ever has.

“Y/N!! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!” She’s sobbing her eyes out as you pat her on the back, not remembering anything or how you got where you are. The last thing you remember is asking Jungkook if he wanted to catch fireflies with you, and now you’re surrounded as you sit on the couch in confusion.  

“What happened?” You croak, your throat sore as if you’d been screaming for hours.  

“I bit you.” Jungkook speaks up, taking everyone by surprise with his forwardness. You gently push Ga-In away so you can see Jungkook, kneeling by the couch.

“What?”

“Last night, I bit you.” He says again, his eyes never leaving yours.

Jin immediately stands up and takes Tae and Ga-In, gently pulling them out of the room so the two of you can talk.

Your mind is racing, not having a single clue as to what he’s talking about. “W-what do you mean you bit me?”

“I don’t know how it happened.” Jungkook swallows thickly, “I suddenly couldn’t control myself. Then I left, because I was terrified…If it wasn’t for Jin hyung and the others, you’d probably be dead right now. I’m sorry.”

You look down and see Jungkook’s hands trembling. Your heart aches at the sight and you reach out to touch his shaking hands. At this point, you aren’t sure which one of you you’re trying to comfort.

Then it all comes rushing back to you.

Jungkook getting angry and pinning you to the wall, then biting you.

Your throat closes as you watch him struggle to contain his tears. “You came back.” You whisper, making him lift his head.

“Why did you come back?”

You watch him closely, wanting an honest answer. Jungkook wipes his eyes and takes your hand in his, “I’m sorry I left. It’s no excuse, but I was so scared…I couldn’t believe what I’d done, I still can’t believe it. I don’t want anything to do with myself anymore. I don’t know what happened to me, but I realized that no matter what, I couldn’t leave you. I love you.”

You smile weakly, a small tear slipping down your cheek. “Are you okay, Jungkook?”

“I hurt you, y/n! It’s a miracle that you’re not dead or turned right now! And you’re wondering if I’m okay?” Jungkook stutters in disbelief. You frown, other than a small headache and feeling weak, you’re fine.

“I’m okay-“

“Stop, y/n. Just let yourself be not okay!” Jungkook cries in frustration. “Please! Hit me, kick me, do something! I’m a piece of shit for hurting you, and you just say you’re okay! Please don’t push your feelings away anymore.”

Jungkook’s desperate words hit something in you and you finally start to cry. The fear from last night comes out in body wracking sobs as you try to catch your breath.

“I- I was so scared.” You whimper, stuffing your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking from the overwhelming emotions trying to escape you.

You hold your arms out and Jungkook pushes himself into your hold, wrapping his arms around you tightly. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck and rocks you side to side gently. “I know, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You cry into Jungkook’s shoulder for the next ten minutes, then you start to hiccup when your tears slow down. “P-please don’t hate yourself, Kookie.” You whisper brokenly. Jungkook bites his lip as you continue.

“It wasn’t you. The second you believe it was you, you’ll backtrack even more. I know you would never hurt me, Kookie.”

“I did, though.” He whispers.

“That wasn’t you. My beautiful Kook would never hurt me.” You pull back and smile at him tearfully, wiping his eyes. Jungkook sighs shakily, “Y/n, I need you to promise me something.” You keep your eyes on him, listening intently.

“You need to promise me that if I ever do something like that again, you’ll leave. You are worth more than you think you are, and I want you to see that. You don’t deserve to be treated horribly, even if you believe you do. You’re an amazing girl, and I love you. But that’s why I need you to promise that you’ll take care of yourself.” Jungkook says, looking into your eyes desperately, “If I ever lay a hand on you again, you leave.”

You nod slowly, finally understanding what he means. “Ok, I promise.”

“There are people in this world that will take advantage of your kindness, and you can’t let them do that. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but I swear if I feel like I might change again, I’ll leave. You’re worth more than that.” Jungkook presses his forehead to yours, breathing heavily, his mind racing with relief that you’re okay, and that you’ve finally promised to not let anyone walk all over you.

You pull away after a second when you realize something.

Something you should have noticed by now.

“Jungkook…”

His eyes are a dark red, like when he starts going crazy and blood hungry. But he’s being himself…that means…

…you’re too late.

“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” You ask quietly, another tear escaping. Jungkook shakes his head, “I won’t leave until I have to. You’re stuck with me, for now.” He gives you a weak smile, no doubt hiding his fear that he’s almost gone.

“I wanna be stuck with you forever.” You frown, letting him give you a quick kiss on the forehead. You will not cry again. You don’t want to upset him even more.

But it hurts so bad.

Jungkook calls the others in to see you, after they had been working their asses off all night to save you, and they hadn’t gotten to talk with you yet.

Ga-In won’t let go of you, sitting next to you and holding you in her arms while Tae gushes about how strong you were until Jin has to make the boy sit down and take a deep breath. You thank all of them until you’re out of breath, knowing you have them to thank for you being here.

They let Honey come in, and you pull her into your lap, cuddling her close. She pulls back and moves your hair to see the bandage on your neck. Then, she leans forward and gives it a little kiss, whispering, “I kissed it better.” Your heart melts and you hug her again, not noticing the way Jungkook watches you from the side of the room, a sad smile on his face.

When Jin ushers everyone out so you can get some rest while they whip up some food for you, you find yourself with just Jungkook once again. He has you lie down on the couch and he sits on the couch by your waist, playing with your hair.

Jungkook twirls your hair around his finger and gently brushes it out, trying to help you relax. You watch him sadly, noting the way he avoids your eyes, his own swimming with suppressed pain.

“Kookie.”

“Mm?”

“Please look at me?” You ask softly.

Jungkook turns his gaze from your hair up to your eyes, his dark red eyes shining with unfallen tears. “Yes?” He swallows the choked sob that almost slips out. You reach up and stroke his cheek with your thumb, “I’m alright, Kook.”

He nods, one little tear slipping out. You brush it away gently, “I hate it when you cry. But if it makes you feel better, please cry all you want.”

A broken sob leaves his throat.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, there isn’t any way for me to show you.” Jungkook cries quietly, his mind bombarding him again and the guilt overwhelming him. “I’m so fucking relieved that you’re okay. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had lost you.”

“You didn’t lose me. You’ll never lose me, Kook.” You coo and continue to wipe his tears.

“I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.” Jungkook leans down and buries his face into your shoulder, letting his tears fall. They tickle your neck as they drip onto it and slide down, hurting your heart even more. You wrap your arms around him and cradle his head, running your fingers through his hair to calm him.

His whimpers eventually fade away as he breathes deeply, inhaling your scent and calming himself. “I love you, Kookie…you know that.” He nods at your words, his head still tucked in your neck.

You can feel Jungkook’s body shaking, his emotions on overdrive after almost losing you. “Hey.” You tap his head until he lifts his tear-stained face to look at you.

“Tell me what’s going on in your head.” You whisper.

“I don’t know how to fix this.” His quiet voice is laced with thick tears and sorrow. You hum and pull him closer so you can kiss him on the forehead, your lips lingering there for a moment before pulling away.

“There.” You whisper with a smile. “I kissed it better.”

Jungkook finally gives you a small smile, letting your heart lift.

~                       ~                        ~

“I told you you’d turn back.”

Namjoon turns from inspecting himself closely in the mirror to see Jungkook leaning against the bathroom doorway, his arms crossed as he gives his older brother a small smile.

“Kook, hi.” Namjoon fidgets a little, guilt creeping into his mind even though he has no idea how he’s turned back into a human.

“You look good.” Jungkook says, still smiling.

“Oh, t-thanks.” Namjoon laughs nervously. “I honestly have no idea what happened. I wasn’t feeling well before I went to bed last night. When I woke up, I was like this.”

“Weird.” Jungkook muses, but he has an idea of what might have caused it. “Maybe you should ask Seokjin hyung about it.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

Jungkook nods and moves to leave, but a hand on his arm stops him.

“Hey, uh-“

He turns back to Namjoon, “Yeah?”

“Don’t-…this just-“

“It’s okay, hyung. I’m happy for you, and I understand.” Jungkook reassures him, then he turns to go back and check on you.

Namjoon watches him go, a sad smile on his face as he contemplates on how to help the youngest.

~                       ~                    ~

“Hey you.” Jungkook smiles at you from the entrance to the living room. You look up from your bowl of soup as he walks over to you. A huge smile spreads across your face at the sight of him, and you set your soup down on your lap carefully.

“Hey, Kookie.”

The smile on your face and the happy gleam in your eye makes his chest ache. He hates himself for what he did to you, and the fact that you aren’t even upset with him makes him hate himself even more.

It all seems like a horrible nightmare. The events of the night before don’t feel real to anyone in the house, the only evidence that it even happened is the bandage on your neck; and the sight of it makes Jungkook sick to his stomach, knowing he caused the damage underneath.

So far, you haven’t had any problems other than a small headache that went away after Jin gave you some medicine, and some weakness in your arms and legs.

Seokjin, Jungkook, and the girls have all been monitoring you closely the entire day; making sure that you’re eating and that no other symptoms come up. Ga-In, Tae, and Jin all question their sanity a few times after seeing your red eyes last night, then seeing it completely disappear when you woke up, as if nothing ever happened.

Taehyung had told the others what Sooyoung said, and everyone would have taken that as what happened because maybe Jungkook didn’t have you that long, but your momentary scarlet eyes make that hard to believe.

None of them told anyone else about them though, figuring that Jungkook would have a panic attack and the others wouldn’t know what to make of it anyway. Jin ended up telling you, but you didn’t have much to say on it.

All you know, is that you feel fine.

When Ga-In asked if you could hear them when they were talking to you, you told her about the weird vision you had while you were out, and how Jungkook had been the only one you could hear in the darkness.

“How’s the soup?” Jungkook asks sweetly, sitting on the chair next to the couch. He hasn’t had any changes since Namjoon and him spoke last night, the dark cloud hopefully staying clear for now.

“It’s good! I wish you could try it.” You look down at the bowl sadly.

Jungkook reaches over and bops your nose, smiling at you cutely as he laughs, “More for you.” Your heart clenches seeing his old smile back again. The days before, with his on and off behavior were really starting to weigh on you. Jungkook biting you was something you never imagined happening, but you know he didn’t have control over himself.

He’s trying his best, but it’s consuming him, you can tell.

“When can we catch fireflies?” You ask as you spoon another bite of soup into your mouth. Jungkook tries to keep from giggling at how cute you are as he moves a strand of hair out of your face. “The second you feel better. I promise.”

It turns out that would be the next day.

When you wake up the next morning, you rub your eyes, squinting tiredly at the sun slipping through the curtains. Jungkook is right by your side when you turn your head, sitting in the chair and reading a book. He doesn’t notice that you’re awake until you reach over and poke his thigh, making him jump.

Jungkook looks over at you and immediately closes his book, setting it on the ground and scooting closer to you, “Good morning.” He whispers, “How did you sleep?”

You fight the urge to cover your puffy morning eyes, moving your messy hair out of your face as he helps you to a sitting position. “I slept okay, I forgot I was on the couch.” You giggle sleepily and Jungkook’s eyes light up at the sound.

“I feel really good.” You say before yawning, “I don’t feel bad at all, actually.”

Relief swarms Jungkook’s entire body, washing over him in waves. He sighs and pets your head, “I’m glad. Are you hungry?”

“Always!” You laugh.

~                           ~                          ~

You never knew how much you took sitting down at the table and eating with everyone for granted, until now.

To be with everyone this morning is such a relief, and you feel a lot better just from the sight of you all together.

“We missed you kiddo, glad you’re okay.” Yoongi ruffles your hair after everyone else greets you with hugs, taking you by surprise with his affectionate gesture. He really is a softie.

You also never knew what good hugs Namjoon gave until today. He’s a human again, and you can’t wait to hear how it happened, when he’s ready to share it. When he hugs you tightly, you instantly feel comforted and safe, bringing a big smile to your face.

Jin makes your favorite breakfast in honor of you recovering.

No one has said anything about what happened, and you’re grateful, but Jungkook still avoids interactions with most of them, apart from you. You know he’s afraid that they’ll look at him differently, but you’re sure they understand that Jungkook would never intentionally hurt you. It’s going to take Jungkook a while to recover though, probably a lot longer than you.

After breakfast, you insist that you feel well enough to get outside for some fresh air, so you and Jungkook take a walk in the shady part of the forest, stopping every once in a while to pick flowers.

Jungkook never lets go of your hand the entire time, keeping you as close as he can. You wish you could let him know that everything is alright, and you aren’t upset with him, and you’re not scared of him either. But he still seems like he’s beating himself up constantly. The way he looks at you like he’s afraid you’ll break at any second, makes your heart hurt.

But you don’t know how to help him see that it’s okay.

When you get home, Jungkook has you sit on the couch as he pulls out Jin’s first aid kit. “Jin hyung said we need to change your bandage today.” He says a little nervously. You nod and give him a smile, “Do you want someone else to do it, Kookie?” You ask just in case.

He shakes his head and takes a deep breath, “It’s fine, I can do it. As long as you’re okay with it?” The hurt deep in his gaze that hasn’t left since the other night makes your throat close, but you nod and push your hair out of the way before you can cry.

“I’ll be gentle, please tell me if it hurts.” Jungkook says anxiously as he ever so gently removes the bandage. The sight of the two puncture wounds makes him close his eyes and breathe deeply. When he gathers himself, he makes quick work of cleaning the wound and bandaging it up again, only relaxing when he’s done.

“There you go.” He swallows and moves back to see you grinning.

“Thanks, Nurse Kookie!” You giggle.

He can’t believe that you don’t despise him right now, instead, you’re trying your best to make him feel better, when he should be the one bending over backwards for you.

He smiles at you sadly, “I don’t deserve you, y/n.”

You wave your hand in the air and brush off his words, “Stop saying nonsense. Most people don’t deserve the things they get. But you? You deserve the world, Kookie. I’m nothing compared to what you deserve-”

Jungkook shuts you up with a quick kiss, “Shush, or we’re going to get into an argument about who deserves what.”

“How about we just say we’re not perfect, but we’re perfect for each other?” You say, poking his cheek before pecking his lips.

Jungkook shakes his head and chuckles, “You’re lucky I love you, because that was terribly cheesy, and I might just gag.”

“Shut up, jerk.” You pull away, pretending to pout.

Jungkook grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks and pulling you close enough to kiss you three times, “I’m sorry.” He pouts at you until you smile again.

The color of his eyes might be proving that it’s getting worse, but the way he’s acting still gives you hope.

Your Jungkook is still in there.

~                      ~                         ~

“I know by now I sound like a broken record-…” Yoongi sighs as he takes a bite of mashed potatoes. “But I have some news.”

“Is it good or bad?” Jin asks, cutting up Honey’s meat into bite sized pieces, then handing the plate to Hoseok, who places it in front of the tiny girl sitting beside him. A stack of books is on her adult sized chair and she’s sitting on them to be able to reach the table. The sight is truly heart melting.  

“Neutral.” Yoongi states simply.

“Alright, let us have it.” The eldest says confidently, so tired of everything at this point that he doesn’t even care anymore.

“Remember we said that we were meeting the Hunters in three weeks before we infiltrated the vampire camp? Well, we’re supposed to meet them next week.”

A silence falls over the room, but you can’t tell if it’s an excited silence, or a stressed one. Jin is the first to speak up.

“Ok well, that’s not bad news. We’ll meet with them and figure things out from there.” Jin takes another bite, chewing and swallowing before speaking again, “I know I for one, am ready to be done with this.” Everyone nods, then Sooyoung speaks up quietly.

“So, um…” Her small voice fades away, then you notice Jin looking at her kindly, nodding for her to continue. “Do you guys, uh…know if the vampires are only here, or…?”

Namjoon answers her immediately, “We aren’t sure if there are more anywhere else in the world, but we do know that there are only a few groups in South Korea. The Hunters have spent months tracking them all, and they told us they estimated about four hundred real vampires in Korea. That isn’t counting the people they turn.”

You chew slowly, the food becoming a bit harder to swallow. Four hundred isn’t too many, but it isn’t a small number either, especially it being an estimate. Jungkook’s hand slips under the table, grasping yours and giving it a quick reassuring squeeze. You send him a smile, your heart aching when he scrunches his nose cutely at you.

After dinner- which had a lot of talk that you didn’t understand so you eventually stopped paying attention to- you and Jungkook are in the backyard. Jungkook watches you, your eyes shining as you chase fireflies and try to catch them. “Over there, y/n!” Jungkook calls out to you, pointing to a few fireflies buzzing around lazily.

You hurry over and hold the jar Jin gave you out, trying to snag one. You miss by a long shot, a pout forming on your face as Jungkook chuckles. “It’s okay, love. Come here.” He gestures for you to go to him, so you trudge back, a frown still on your face.

Jungkook cuddles you into his side before laying you both on the ground, then he points up; a few fireflies fly above your heads, and a million stars shine in the dark sky. “Ohh.” You look at all the shining lights in awe, your eyes widening considerably. Then you feel a gentle kiss on your cheek, and you turn to see Jungkook smiling at you so wide that his eyes are all squinted up cutely.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, causing your cheeks to burn and turn crimson. “No, I’m not.” You mumble and turn away. Jungkook tuts and takes your chin to pull you to look at him. “Stop being so mean to yourself.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it’s just an automatic thing, to not-…like me.” You mutter, not really wanting to get into it right now. You turn back to the sky, and Jungkook can tell the conversation is done. He sighs quietly and brushes his fingers through your hair. “You still need to read Beauty and the Beast to me, little flower.” Jungkook says in your ear quietly.

A little chill goes down your spine from the proximity, and you nod, a smile coming onto your face again. “Should I start when we go back in?”

“Please do. I’m dying for you to read to me.” Jungkook nuzzles his nose into your hair, breathing in your scent. “I could listen to you talk all day.”

“Eww, now who’s being cheesy?” You poke at him while you giggle. Jungkook groans, “Give me a break, I’m new at this.”

“So am I!”

You two start giggling like a couple of school kids, then Jungkook sighs and pulls you even closer. “You’re going to kill me, I think I love you too much.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You roll your eyes playfully, but inside, your heart and stomach feel like they’ve been swept up by a tornado.

You watch the stars for a little while longer, both of you trying to pick out different constellations and make up your own. When your eyes start to droop from exhaustion, Jungkook holds your smaller hand in his and kisses it gently as you whisper sleepily.

“We’ll be together forever, won’t we Koo?”

He bites his bottom lip hard, almost hard enough to draw blood. He wants nothing more than to be able to fulfill that promise, but he doesn’t know if he can. His time is running out, and he doesn’t know how to stop it…

But Jungkook nods anyway, brushing his thumb over your knuckles gently.

“Forever.”

____________________________________

a/n: i mean at this point, why do I bother having a 'schedule' ? I hope y'all like this one tho ;-;

Tag list: @jjungkook99 @ditttiii​ @rubinora​ @mygukandonly​ @xxxanimangxxx​ @elliegrace1999tvd​ @howbizarre​ @your-best-behaviour​ @krystle1990​ @karissassirak​ @hopeworld-baseline​ @lettersforjoon @squidyelmosquidbutt​ @jeonjungkookismyfuture​ @nikikookie​ @adelina1299​ @fekitza​

[curlyhairedbrock]

I Found a Girl - Colby Brock

Loosely based off of “I found a Girl” by The Vamps

Colby Brock X Bi F reader

ITALICS = FLASHBACK

Summary: When Colby falls head over heels in love for his best friend, it kills him to find out that she already is dating someone else

Warnings: Angst, some graphic scenes, some fluff, bi female reader

Word count: 3,411 (I got a bit carried away LOL)

THIS GIF IS NOT MINE

A/N: This one means a lot to me, as I recently have been struggling with my identity and it felt really good to write everything out. I had this in my drafts for almost a month now? I continuously debated between different plot points and how that would affect the outcome of the story. Basically what I’m trying to say is that, this fic is written from the bottom of my heart and I hope that you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 I love you bubs

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Today was the day; Colby was finally going to confess his love for his best friend, Y/N. After months of his constant pining, Colby had finally gotten the courage to spill his guts to her. The both of them have only known each other for a few months, yet Colby knew that she was the one for him. From the moment that they met, Colby had felt an instant connection between him and Y/N, and he was convinced that he had felt it too, yet his doubtful and anxious mind left him to spend months upon months yearning for the breathtaking girl.  

Colby had sent a text to her earlier in the day, asking her to come over for a movie night between just the both of them and hinting that he needed to tell her something important, in which she responded with a text, something along the lines of, “Ah, I’ve been meaning to tell you something too Colby!!”

Colby had spent the entire day working himself up to tell Y/N how he truly felt about her. He couldn’t help falling in love with her, from her silly attitude, her bad puns, her silky hair to her bright and shining eyes, she stole Colby’s breath away from the moment that he saw her. He thought that she was gorgeous, on the inside and out. Colby knew that she was special from the first moment that he saw her.

The trap house was filled with sweaty bodies from wall to wall due to one of their infamous parties. The constant commotion had quickly drained Colbys energy, so he had moved out into the backyard, taking small sips of his white claw while sitting on the blue sofas near the back door and looking up at the stars in the peace of the quiet night.  

There were a few people outside as well, lingering and lounging around the pool and basketball court, but the majority of the crowd was inside of the hot and sweaty house. The back doors and windows opened in attempt to lower the temperature of the inside of the house only resulting in the muffled music leaking out into the silence of the night.  

Colby had gone outside in an attempt to recharge his social battery. Sometimes, he would easily become too overwhelmed around the big crowds of tipsy strangers and simply needed an escape to quickly unwind. His friends had always made fun of him for this, constantly teasing him about leaving mid-way through every hangout and event, yet it was important to him; he called it his “Downtime”.  

Now, Y/N was wandering alone at this intense party. Her so-called “friends” had left her to do god-knows what and she was left all alone in a room full of strangers' sweaty bodies. Trudging through the unfamiliar, packed house, she sighs as she brings a cup of whatever alcoholic beverage her friends had made for her up to her mouth.  

Slightly intoxicated and in need of fresh air, Y/N stumbles through the house until she finds a door leading to the backyard. A cold breeze flows by, causing her to shiver and wrap her arms around her body, as she stands in the doorframe and looks around in awe at the Hawaiian-themed backyard, her eyes twinkling from a mixture of the amazement and fairy lights hung up on the patio ceiling.  

A small gasp from Y/N’s lips caught Colbys attention, and as he turned his head towards the back door, it was almost as if time stopped ticking. Colbys slightly widening eyes were met with a gorgeous girl as his mouth slowly fell open in awe. Colby was stunned; It was as if he was in a trance, seeing her hair flowing in the passing wind, the goosebumps on her arms and her body as the skin-tight dress she was currently wearing had her midriff exposed.  

Colbys eyes slowly raked over her body, his tongue running over his bottom lip before pulling his lip in between his teeth. The pure sight of Y/N already had Colbys heart thumping at a fast pace along with his breath caught in his chest.  

Y/N’s eyes continued to look around the backyard until her eyes landed on the indigo-haired boy sitting on the blue couches near her who, much to her surprise, was already staring back at her. Whether it was the intoxication or the loneliness, Y/N felt herself drawn towards the gorgeous boy in front of her.

“Hey there, pretty boy” She smiled at the boy, eyes slightly widening as she brought her bottom lip in between her teeth, “Mind if I keep you company? You look lonely, out here all by yourself.”  

“I uh,” The confidence emitted from the girl intimidated Colby, her words causing a light pink shade to cover Colbys cheeks and the bridge of his nose, “I would love that, uh...”

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N.” She softly smiled at him, walking towards the blue couches that he was sat at and plopped down next to him.  

Colby smiled down at her sitting beside him, his heart beating erratically in his chest, “That’s a really pretty name... Y/N...”  

“What are you doing out here, all by yourself?” She inquired, shivering yet again in response to another passing cold breeze. Colby saw her shivers and goosebumps and instantly took his hoodie off, offering it to her.

“Are you cold? Here, take this.”  

“Thank you, kind stranger,” Y/N tipsily giggling, still not knowing the name of the stunning boy sat right next to her. She quickly pulled the purple hoodie, which coincidentally matched the color of his hair, on her shivering frame, leaning into Colby's side.

“The name’s Colby,” He wrapped an arm around the trembling girl, causing her to pull her legs up to her chest and lean even further into his side, instantly warming her up.  

“So, why are you out here all alone? A pretty boy like you is usually the life of the party.”  She questioned once more, laying her head on his shoulder. Y/N couldn’t quite explain why she felt so safe in this strangers' arms. Almost as if there was a connection between the two of them; that they were meant to meet. She didn’t mean to come off as flirting, it was quite possibly the words rolling off her tongue as she slipped even further in comfort in the violet haired boy, along with the slight intoxication as well as the deep feeling of loneliness that caused Y/N to behave this way towards him.

“The party got a little too hectic for me,” Colby quietly chuckled, bringing the can of White Claw to his lips as he tilted his head back and finishing it, crushing the can with his hand and placing it on the ground next to the sofas where they were sat at. “What’s a beautiful girl like you doing all alone?” Colby inquired, his heart rate picking up at the small action of her shuffling closer into his side.  

“My friends abandoned me here- I don’t even know who hosted this party,” she grumbled quietly, sighing at the reminder of her friends that had left her all alone in a sea of people that she had never met, nor had she even heard of before.  

“You’re looking at the host right here, Y/N” Colby smiled, “And I could keep you company if you’d like?”  

“I’d love that, Colby,” she grinned up at him, their faces close to each other- almost touching in fact. She could feel his warm breath on her face as the pair stared intensely in each other's eyes. The both of them felt something that they hadn’t felt in a long time- adoration, fondness, yearning.

Colby broke the silence between them, whispering a small, “Your eyes look gorgeous right now, Y/N. You, uhh... you look absolutely, ahh-” Colby felt mesmerized in her stare, his dilated eyes repeatedly flickering down to her lips and quickly returning to hold her stare again.  

And for the thousandth time that night, Colbys heart rate increased as he lowered his head towards the stunning girl beside him. Y/N found herself leaning up into his presence, meeting gorgeous boy halfway, when their lips softly collided.  

As the stars twinkled in the sky and the music from inside only getting louder as the hours in the night went on, the perfect pair were submerged with the intense feelings towards each other. The dark night was filled with more soft, drunken kisses as the two of them were stuck in their own bubble- only paying attention to the breathtaking individual that sat in front of them.  

Y/N had a secret; She had kept a part of herself hidden from herself and from Californias judgmental eyes, not necessarily knowing how to tell her friends. She never quite knew how to explain to everyone that she was attracted to both guys and girls. She didn’t know how the primarily-straight friend group would take it, and despite being loving and accepting people, she was overall nervous. She, most of all, didn’t want to be judged for who she was; her genuine self.

It took her a long time to embrace herself; her secret, what made her, HER. Y/N had always felt some sort of attraction towards girls that she couldn’t quite explain, yet those feelings were always pushed to the back of her mind. With her religious family constantly judging her ever move and criticizing her career choice- her being a social influencer, that is- She never felt comfortable enough to sit down and accept herself. She had always felt afraid of what everyone in her life would think.

However, Y/N had started talking to this one girl; Juliette was her name and Y/N absolutely adored her. Juliette was everything that Y/N looked for in a person; a future partner; Someone that she could spend the rest of her life with, grow old with.  

Y/N had fallen head over heels in love with her. She was a big part of Y/N’s life; the two of them, recently having started dating, would constantly hang out with each other, go on dates and act like a couple. Juliette was quite possibly one of the best things in Y/Ns life. From Juliettes kind words to her loving and charismatic self, Y/N had fallen head over heels in love with her, yet none of Y/N’s friends had even heard of Juliette. Y/N decided that it had to change and that she would be coming out to her friends, primarily her best friend Colby, despite her nerves.  

Y/N enters the unlocked front door of the trap house 2.0, instantly going into the kitchen to grab a couple cans of white claw for Colby and her to enjoy for their movie night. She passes by Sam, mumbling a quick “Hey, what’s up?” before striding up the stairs with four cans of the different flavors of white claw in her hands. When she reaches the top, she knocks on Colby's bedroom door softly before creaking it open, sticking her head in and giggling when she sees Colby sprawled out on his bed surrounded by the many pillows and blankets, looking as comfy as ever.

Her laugh caught Colby by surprise, causing him to jump up from his sprawled state and sitting up, leaning his back against his headboard. He offered her a warm, welcoming smile with his arms wide open, insinuating a hug, to which she gladly ran towards him and jumped into his arms, the cans of white claw falling on the bed beside them. The both of them started laughing, his arms wrapping around her frame and squeezing a bit, to which she returned the hug, with her arms around his neck.  

She sighed, closing her eyes as she relaxed in his arms while nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck, mumbling a small, “I missed you, dork” with a soft smile on her face.

Her words caused Colby's heart-rate to spike. He tried to control his breathing as he didn’t want her to notice his nervousness around her- he didn’t want to ruin their close friendship, had his feelings not been mutual. Feeling flustered and with a light shade of pink falling across his cheeks and nose, Colby chuckled, muttering a small “I missed you too, bub”

They stayed still in that pose for a few seconds, the both of them melting in each other's presence as they basked in the warmth of the others body when Colby decided that he was finally going to confess his love for Y/N right then and there.  

Colby cleared his throat, starting to feel his heartbeat pick up as it usually did when around Y/N. Colby truly couldn’t help falling in love with anyone as precious as her, and it killed him to keep his feelings a secret for so long.  

“Y/N...” Colbys voice trailed in nervousness, “I love you” Colby mumbled under his breath as he closed his eyes in anticipation of her response.

Y/N giggles, assuming that his love for her was a platonic friendship type of love as she mumbles a small “I love you too, Colebear.” Her response causes Colby to slightly frown, feeling hopeless as he felt his heart drop at the attempt that flew over the clueless girls head.

“No, Y/N, I’m in love with you” Colby couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, followed by a string of profanities after he realized that the truth was now out in the open, and the only thing left to do was await Y/N’s response.

“Colebear, I uh...” She leaned back from their laid position, sitting on her knees as she gulped, her heart beating erratically in her chest as shock etched the features of her stunning face.

Colbys eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern, his heartstrings slightly pulling at the anticipation. His hands found her waist, slightly squeezing in reassurance as he sat up, waiting for her to continue.

“I uh... Fuck, why is this so hard to say...” Y/N huffed, not being able to take the immense pressure and quickly grabbing a can of white claw from the bed, opening it and chugging the contents of the can in one swig, needing some liquid courage to help her deal with the new information that had been thrust at her, along with her own confession to her best friend.

“Woah woah, slow down there Y/N...” Colby’s words trailed as he watched her with intense eyes, her eyes shutting tightly as she continued to try to work herself up. “What's going on in your mind right now? Talk to me bub” Colby brought his hand up and down her waist in an attempt to comfort her.

“I’m seeing someone” Y/N breathed out, her lips slightly parted as shock continued to run through her veins, “It’s part of what I’ve been meaning to tell you Cole...”  

Colbys eyebrows furrowed at her words, pulling his hands back from her waist as a slight tug at his heartstrings was prominent, fully absorbing her words. She's seeing someone, Colby thought, how could someone so gorgeous not be seeing someone. Feeling his heart break into even smaller pieces, Colby sighed as he lost all hope of Y/N reciprocating his love back to him.  

“Do I know him?” Colby softly uttered as he brought his head down to look at his hands which rested on his lap, not being able to look her in the eyes.

A shaky, yet nervous laugh left Y/N, her secret about to be out in the open in the next few minutes, “I think it’s just easier if I showed you...” Y/N mumbled under her breath, reaching into her pocket to pull out her phone. She went through her photo album, looking for the video lingering in her mind as her stomach grew heavy in anticipation of Colbys reaction.

Suddenly, Colbys eyes were met with a video that caused his heart to drop. It was a gorgeous scene, a side-view video of the two stunning girls cuddling on the couch that was caught by one of Juliettes friend, who just so happened to be visiting the girls at the time.  

The two were laying on the couch in Y/Ns apartment, with Y/Ns small frame laying on top of Juliette. Y/N straddling Juliette body as Y/Ns laid on Juliettes, her body covering Juliettes. Y/Ns face had been nuzzled in the crook of Juliettes neck when Juliettes hands traces down Y/Ns back and down to her ass and lightly squeezing.  

Juliettes actions caused Y/N to giggle, pressing a tender and loving kiss to Juliettes soft neck. A small involuntary moan erupted from Juliette, causing Y/N to lift her head from Juliettes neck and press a passionate kiss onto Juliettes soft, strawberry Chapstick tasting lips.  

“I love you” The vulnerable words came from Y/N, opening her eyes and staring intensely into Juliettes gorgeous hazel eyes. Y/N pressed a kiss to the tip of Juliettes nose, causing Juliette to chuckle.

“I love you too, sweetheart. You’re so adorable, you lovely, precious, wonderful girl” Juliette muttered, her hand moving up to Y/Ns hair as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, followed by her hand caressing Y/Ns face.

The video was cut short, as Y/N nervously awaited any type of response from Colby. When Colby lifted his head up from her phone to meet her gaze, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes were glossed over as his mind was trying to process and fully comprehend the video that he had just seen.

The few moments of silence had felt like decades to Y/N, her bottom lip in between her teeth in anticipation as she looked up at Colby, anticipating his response.

“You’re uh- dating a uh... girl?” Colbys face empty as he slowly blinks, his mind can't help but wander back to their intimate kiss when they had initially met.

“Yes Colbs” She felt breathless, as Colby still had not expressed any sign of his acceptance or opposition towards her coming out. Her mouth felt dry awaiting his response, when suddenly, Colbys hands covered his face as a small groan escaped his mouth.

“Why did you let me kiss you Y/N?” His hands left his face as guilt replaced his shock, the images of their first interaction playing in the heartbroken boys head as he did not want to have caused her harm in any way, shape or form.

A small laugh left Y/N, “Colby, I’m bi. I’m into girls AND guys” Y/N brought her hands to hold his, a small smile washed over her face as her grip tightened on his hands, “I just- I need to know- What are you thinking right now, Colby?”  

A tight smile formed on Colbys face, choking back the heartbreak he had been feeling in an attempt to conceal his true emotions, “I’m uhh, I’m really happy for you, Y/N”  

“Thank you” Y/N breathed out, a weight feeling as it had been lifted off of her shoulders. Finally, she was able to embrace her true self instead of constantly pushing it back as she had done these past few years. Not only was she able to be true to herself, she also had found a sweet and caring partner, Juliette, to cherish and love from the bottom of her heart.

Y/N finally felt happy, quite the opposite of what Colby was feeling. Inside, he felt shattered, broken beyond repair as the one girl who he had fallen head over heels in love with, was in love with another girl. Colby knew better than to be selfish, he knew that he should be happy for her, as she finally felt comfortable enough to share such an important part of her life and her identity with him, yet Colby couldn’t help the regret flowing through his veins. In Colbys mind,  had he only been able to confess his feelings sooner, the outcome could have possibly changed. Y/N could have possibly been dating Colby, instead of another person.  

Jealousy and heartbreak filled the void where Colbys heart once stood, full and beating erratically for the gorgeous girl sat in front of him. Yet, Colby couldn’t do anything but be supportive for his best friend. Of course, that was what they were and that was what they would ever be. Colby had been stuck in the friendzone as he had found a girl who was in love with another girl.

[connorandersons-blog]

Kinktober Day 1: Biting, Convin

Oh gosh, ok so I actually tried to do kinktober, I still have a few days to write and whatnot but I think I got most of them done.

Anyway, this is a Connor/Gavin fic, and a vampires and whatnot are real fic too.

Hope you enjoy!

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Connor swayed slightly and groaned to himself. This was the fifth week he was low on blood. Blood that kept him alive and able to pass as human. He had gotten away with licking things at crime scenes when no one was watching, but that wasn't nearly enough for him. 

He had also gotten away with drinking some of the blood from dead bodies but he hated the taste. It was like drinking tea that had been left out overnight-not good. 

Thankfully he kept his all of this a secret from everyone, not even his work partner-Hank-knew. Of course, there were others like him, but The Society was a perfectly kept secret. Absolutely no one outside knew and if they did then they'd have one of the fae help change the memory. Not that that happened too often thankfully. 

Yet it was hard to tell who was different and who was human. There were the signs of course, but The Society had gotten incredibly efficient at hiding all unique aspects. Faes often had pointer ears and oddly colored eyes. Very few had wings after so long, but they all had the markings on their backs. 

Wolves or weres typically had more hair on them and sharper nails, but both of those could easily be hidden with modern technology. 

Warlocks, wizards, and witches were all typically tall, their skin often sparkled with their magic, but because of their magic, they could easily disguise themselves. 

Then there were the vamps, like Connor. His fangs were retractable so he didn't have to worry about those normally anyway. His eyes are typically black but colored contacts worked wonders, not to mention his extra strength and speed. Though, the strength and speed relied on his blood intake, as did his ability to be in the sun. The whole mirror thing was a complete hoax, though, everyone could see themselves. 

But The Society could only see their true selves in the mirror while everyone else saw how they were disguised. It made checking to see if they were probably hidden a bitch. 

Connor reached out and leaned against the wall, his nose sniffing the air. It came back with so much life, so much blood that it had him whining softly. He really needed to get some blood soon. He already felt weak as a normal human and his skin itched whenever the sun touched it. 

He couldn't wait too long either, if he did then he'd go on an accidental rampage and drink as much blood as he could without caring if the human lived. That or he'd die, which neither option was preferable in all honesty. 

"Son, you ok? You're looking a little pale, did you eat this morning?" Hank asked, reaching out to make sure Connor didn't fall over. 

He waved him off and stood back up, stretching slightly. He was getting far too old for this, not that anyone knew his actual age. "I'm fine, might be coming down with something." 

Hank hummed and patted him on the shoulder. "You barely get sick, so if you need time off I'm sure Fowler won't mind." Wasn't that the truth. As long as he had good clean blood he'd never get sick, not in the human sense of things. 

"Yeah, maybe. Let's focus on the scene though, gotta solve this first." This job was something he loved but it also gave him access to being able to help The Society and willing records of unnatural things, like Connor not aging, if need be. 

Hank squinted at him before nodding, "alright, so what do we know?" 

Connor went over the evidence, trying to hide the fact that all of his senses were heightened, that he was guesstimating for the most part. He'd gotten a few things a bit too right before when he had been less careless that had raised eyebrows. Now he knew better, now he purposely made small mistakes even if it drove him batty. 

Hank nodded along as Connor led them from room to room, giving a few suggestions as to what could have happened. But something about the scene was nagging at him. Fuck he really needed blood if his eyesight was this bad. 

They ended up going back to the station and Connor could help the small groan at it being so bright. Ok, so some things were accurate about vampires, but he hated that the whole light sensitivity was one. 

You know he used to be a normal human back say a few hundred years ago. Then he had to go and almost died, but a vampire (who he hadn't known was a vamp, obviously) had saved him. He had expected to live a normal, short life, blissfully unaware of The Society. Now his life was practically consumed by it. 

"Fucking hell, you look like shit!" 

Connor let out a low sigh, feeling his gums ache at the need to bring at his fangs. "Thank you, Gavin, I hadn't noticed." He brought a hand up and poked at his teeth, wincing slightly at the soreness. If he wasn't careful they could come out if he got too worked up, whether that be from anger or something else. 

"God, get a snack or something." Gavin crossed his arms but didn't seem interested in moving away from Connor's desk. Did this man have nothing better to do? God, and he smelled like heaven, that neck so perfect. He could just reach out, tilt his head to the side, and sink his teeth in. He'd make it feel good too, part of the whole biting thing. Didn't want the person to struggle while being bit so vamps had a way to calm, or… other methods. 

"I'd love to." He muttered under his breath, low enough that no one would be able to hear. No human, that is. "I am trying to get to work, so if you'd excuse me." 

Gavin squinted and huffed. "I can stand wherever the hell I want. You too good to talk to anyone now? Fuck you're a bitch." 

"And you're a dick, can we get this over with?" If Gavin stood there any longer he didn't know if he'd be able to help himself. There was just something about the way Gavin's blood smelled, so fresh and clean. He had a theory that it was because of the man's health and how well he took care of himself, his heart was in perfect condition. 

Gavin's eyes widened and he sputtered for a second before stomping away. Connor rubbed at his forehead and sent Hank a dirty look when the man started to chuckle. 

They worked comfortably for the rest of the day, going over the case and suspects as they waited for forensics to come back with anything. Connor ended up sending Hank home while he stayed behind. This wasn't uncommon, Connor only needed an hour of sleep a day and he often got that from taking a quick nap sometime before the day truly started. 

It was close to three am when he pushed away from his desk, rubbing his face. He made his way over to the bathroom and looked at his reflection. God, he really did look like shit. 

His hair was a curly mess, him having tugged it enough to come out of the styling he did every morning. The bags under his eyes were heavy and he was definitely far paler. He splashed some water on his face, knowing that wouldn't actually do anything, but it still felt nice. 

The door swung open again and Connor jumped, spinning around quickly. Gavin Reed walked in and scowled at Connor for a second before his face dropped, he looked as tired as Connor felt. 

"Hey, dipshit, long night huh." It wasn't the nicest thing but far more polite than Gavin often was. He walked over and splashed water on his face as well, giving it a few pats. 

"Yes, I seem to be low in energy." Maybe he could find some animal blood, but it always tasted dirty too, being dead for so long. He'd never actually killed any animals or humans for their blood and he wasn't going to start now. 

Gavin nodded and turned his back to the sink, leaning against the counter. His head fell back and Connor felt his stomach drop. Even if he wasn't a vamp he'd probably have the same reaction, it wasn't hard to admit that Gavin was attractive. That Connor was attracted to Gavin of all people. 

Connor stared at the neck, wanting to reach out and feel Gavin's pulse under his fingers. It would be so strong and welcoming, then he'd… no, fuck. He needed to stop thinking about that and stop staring at his god-damned neck like a creep.  

Gavin made a low whine and rolled his shoulders, eyes slipping closed. "Fuck, I need something to wake me up, you know? Coffee just isn't doing it." 

If he didn't know better Gavin sounded like he'd be part of The Society, but his blood smelled too human for that. One of the perks of being a vamp was smelling blood and being able to tell a lot from it. Not that it helped much if one from The Society had powerful enough magic on them. 

"Yes, I agree. Perhaps I can help in some way?" He wasn't sure how but he'd give it a go, especially if it got him closer to Gavin in any way.

Gavin cracked an eye open and a smirk slowly formed on his lips. He pushed away from the counter and moved over to Connor, getting into his personal space. "Oh really? Are you sure you want to help?" Gavin reached out and ran a hand up Connor's chest. 

Oh shit. He had not expected this at all, but he fucking loved it. "I-uh, yes. God yes." He let himself finally touch, his hands going down to Gavin's hips first. 

"Good, you better tell me to back down if you get uncomfortable though," was Gavin's only earning before he leaned up and brushed their lips together. Connor pushed forward, moving a hand up to hold Gavin by the back of his neck, eagerly kissing back. 

Tentatively, he sneaked his tongue out to feel the full, slightly chapped lips that he’d wanted to lick since the moment he’d laid eyes on them. Gavin released a small gasp and Connor used that opportunity to lick more boldly. He bit at Gavin's bottom lip gently, pulling at it. Gavin hummed and so Connor did it again before kissing him deeply. 

Their hands pushed and pulled at each other, finding soft warm skin. Gavin's hands went up and under Connor's shirt, gently scratching at his back.

Connor pulled back and trailed hot kisses down Gavin's jaw to his neck, loving each little sound it got out of Gavin. Fuck he's wanted this for so long, craved the feeling of Gavin under his lips.

Connor bit and sucked languidly at the skin above Gavin's collarbone, somehow radiating a sense of laziness and ease despite the harsh movements of his tongue and teeth. He pulled back just slightly and traced his handiwork with his finger. God his fangs ached to be pulled out. To bite deeply into the skin and suck. 

He lapped at the skin again, letting his hand travel down to cup Gavin through his pants. Connor quickly turned them and pushed Gavin up onto the counter, moving to stand between his legs. 

"God, fuck Connor." Gavin mumbled, running his hands through Connor curls, tugging softly. "You really do like using your mouth, huh." 

Connor growled and bit down on the soft skin, his eyes fluttering closed. 

"Ow!" Gavin cursed and Connor jumped back, eyes wide as he stared at the small bite marks. His teeth had slipped out. 

Fuck, oh shit. Shit, this wasn't good. God, he could smell the blood and his hands trembled with want and lust. He covered his mouth and couldn't seem to stop staring at the small pinprick of blood on Gavin's throat. 

"Jeeze, those are some sharp teeth, not that I'm complaining." Gavin chuckled and reached forward to Connor but he quickly stepped back. "Hey, it doesn't hurt. Seriously, I'm fine. I like it, a little blood won't kill anyone." 

But he didn't know. He couldn't know that Connor couldn't do anything. He couldn't seem to put his fangs back. There was no way he could kiss Gavin, do anything with his mouth, at this point. "Uh, I'm not sure…" 

"Dude, what the actual fuck? Why the hell did you stop and why are you covering your damn mouth?" Gavin jumped off the counter and grabbed Connor's hand, pulling it down. 

Connor kept his mouth shut, hoping it wouldn't be obvious, that his fangs wouldn't be obvious. 

"Fucking hell, if you didn't want to that's fine, just could have said something." Gavin huffed and let go of Connor's hand. The look in his eyes broke Connor, there was so much sadness and hurt that he couldn't just stand there. 

"No! I want to!" He said and saw Gavin's eyes widen. 

He stood completely still as Gavin's hands slowly moved up and took his jaw, pushing his mouth open. Connor stared at the floor, unable to resist as Gavin stared silently. 

Then he felt fingers gently push at the fangs, making them both gaps when it gently nicked Gavin's thumb. "Holy shit, these are real." 

Gavin pulled his thumb back and started at the small drop of blood. Connor's fangs weren't like knives, they were specifically made to go through human skin and tissue with ease and as little pain once in as possible. 

Connor nodded but kept his mouth open for Gavin's inspection. He couldn't help the startled chuckle when Gavin looked at the fangs from every angle he could, trying to see if it was somehow fake. "There's literally no way this is actually happening. I must be fucking dreaming." 

"Ah, you're not. Though I can have someone come and make you forget this, you won't remember anything from the moment you got into the bathroom." He knew for a fact at least two fae and probably a warlock worked at the DPD as well. They weren't necessarily friends but he knew he could call them if need be. 

"Um, no thanks. I'd like to remember the fact that you're a fucking vampire. Like the hell?" Gavin let go of Connor's face and crossed his arms. "Are there more of you?" 

What was he supposed to say? It wasn't like anyone had found out about his secret fully before. Sure, some had been suspicious but nothing like this. He never let it get this far. "Um, yeah? I don't know how many, though." 

Maybe he could just leave out the rest of The Society and hope Gavin didn't ask. "Vampires aren't too common but we aren't too rare either. I know a few others but I haven't talked to some in like a hundred years or so, I should probably reach out." He really needed to stop talking. 

Gavin's mouth dropped open and he stared blankly at Connor before blinking. "You're shitting me. You're over a hundred years old." 

"I um, I'm 722 years old." God, he felt old just saying that but compared to others in The Society he was actually young. The others in it all had tendencies to live very long lives from their natural magic. 

Gavin ran a hand over his face and groaned. "Of course you are. Damn, do you actually kill people? Wait, shit were you going to kill me?" 

"No!" Connor put his hands up quickly. "I swear we don't kill people. Or at least most of us don't, there's always the bad apple. But I swear I didn't even mean for them to come out, I uh got excited and you smell really good and I'm really fucking hungry. I'm so sorry." Great now he was rambling. He was going to have to wipe Gavin's memory at this point. No way in hell he could get around it. 

Gavin stared at him once again and Connor winced. His teeth still ached but he kept himself rooted in the spot. He'd never drink from an unwilling human, that was a major taboo and a line he would never cross. Bt fuck if Gavin didn't smell good. 

"It won't kill me?" Gavin finally asked. Connor frowned but shook his head. "And you're hungry, and I smell good? Like in the blood way or like nice cologne dude way?" 

"I am, I've been low for a bit, and both? I don't know why but you've always smelled really good. I'm so sorry, that's weird." It was genuinely impolite to talk about a person's blood, like how you don't point out if someone has a pimple. 

Gavin hummed and nodded his head before moving back and pushing himself back up onto the counter. He tilted his head to the side and smirked at Connor. "Then bite me." 

"Wait, what?" There was no way in hell he heard that right. There was absolutely no way Gavin Reed wanted him to actually bite and suck his blood. Connor hadn't even told him the benefits (or side effects depending on who you talked to) of being bitten. The problems that could come with. 

"I said, bite me. You're hungry, I'm willing and honestly, it's kinda hot. So just do it." The way Gavin stared him down left no room for questioning. He actually wanted this, and from the looks of it was very interested. 

Connor slowly moved forward, looking for any sign of unease or doubt, but Gavin only tilted his head farther to the side. "I should warn you about the effects." He mumbled, eyes now fully trained on the softness of Gavin's neck. 

He ran his fingers over the skin, feeling the strong and fast heartbeat, the blood flowing quickly. He leaned forward and let himself fully sniff, nuzzling into the skin slightly before panting. "It can cause calmness and uh… it can act as an aphrodisiac." He kissed the skin and felt Gavin shutter under him. 

He lapped at the skin for a second before dragging his fangs over the skin, not hard enough to draw blood yet. "I won't do this unless you tell me I absolutely can even knowing what it can do to you." It wasn't like they had contracts humans could fill as a consent form, but he kinda wishes there was. Maybe one day if The Society ever decided to stop hiding in plain sight. 

Gavin huffed and reached up, grabbing a fistful of Connor's hair and yanking. "I said, fucking bite me you bitch." 

Connor whined at the pain but his eyes fluttered shut for a second before he nodded. He gently took Gavin's neck in his hand, giving it a slow soft squeeze. He had him at such a good angle, so soft and pliant. 

He finally let his fangs drag over the spot where Gavin's heartbeat was the strongest then bit down in one fluid motion. 

Gavin gasped and his hips bucked forward into Connor, and it only caused him to bite deeper. The first taste of blood had Connor's mind reeling. It was as good as it smelled and he drank slowly, savoring every last drop. 

He could feel all of Gavin's muscles start to relax under his hands, and he quickly put his arms around him to keep him up. Yet Gavin seemed to be trying to get closer, and Connor growled deep in his throat. 

"Fuck yes, this feels so good." Gavin mumbled, and Connor couldn't help but agree. He could feel his strength slowly returning and his senses heightened to their peek yet he didn't release yet. "Keep going, please Con." 

He didn't have to be told twice. He made sure not to suck too much too fast, not needing Gavin to get light-headed, but the side effects of being bit would also help with that. It would make sure Gavin would quickly replenish his own blood naturally. Yay for evolution. 

Connor moved a hand down again and felt Gavin completely hard under his hand. He licked at the skin as much as he could as he drank. He'd never tasted anything this wonderful in his very long life. 

He slowly slid his fangs out once he had enough and was sure it wasn't too much for Gavin either. He licked at the wounds and watched as they slowly healed over only leaving what looked to be a normal hickey. "Thank you." 

Gavin whined and moved to crush their lips together. Connor didn't even have time to retract his fangs before Gavin's tongue was pushing into his mouth and dragging along the tips. 

Connor froze for a second before melting into it, letting Gavin explore and play all he wanted. He fumbled at Gavin supple for a second before gently picking him up with one hand and sliding Gavin's pants and underwear down. 

Gavin let out a squeak but his pupils were blown wide. "Holy shit, you did that like it was nothing. Like I didn't weigh anything!" 

"That's because to me you don't, you're as light as a feather." He smirked at the look of pure lust on Gavin's face. He had no idea the human would love this so much but fuck if he wasn't happy that he did. It was like his first feeding all over again with the amount of pure energy that raged inside him. 

"That's so unfair." Gavin sighed but quickly snapped his mouth closed as Connor took him in hand. "Ah! God that feels good." 

Connor chuckled and circled the head with his thumb before dragging his hand down then snapping it back up. He leaned forward and licked over and kissed every inch of Gavin's throat possible, letting his fangs scrape against the skin. 

Then he let go and crouched down, nipping at the insides of Gavin's thighs. "Oh fuck!" The man cursed hands going into Connor's hair again. "Shit, just like that Con." 

Connor looked up and grinned widely at him before sliding his teeth back in and licking his lips. 

He saw the look of absolute shock as Connor's lips wrapped around the head of his cock. Gavin's body arched and pushed himself deeper into Connor's mouth who took it without complaint. Connor sucked, swirling his tongue as he pulled off before enveloping Gavin's cock in the heat of his mouth again. 

He tastes so good even like this, he loved the way the man squirmed and pulled at Connor's hair. He loved the choked sounds he made and the moans and curses. Each little sound filling the bathroom and echoing around them. 

Connor sucked his cock all the way to the back of his throat in one fluid motion, sliding down on his cock until his lips touched Gavin's abdomen. 

"Fuck, I'm close!" Gavin hissed and Connor quickly pulled back with a wet pop. "Hey! Fuck why'd you stop, you ass?"

Connor hummed and pretended to think for a second. "Well, I wanted to see if you could come from me biting you, but I guess I can go back to this if you want." 

Gavin's eyes widened considerably and Connor had to hide his smirk. "Oh fuck you, get your pointy ass teeth back up here. I sure as hell can come from that." 

Connor gladly complied, moving back up before glancing down at himself. "Let me take this off so it doesn't get dirty." He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and slid his pants down, palming himself for a second. "You're so beautiful." He mumbled. 

Gavin whined and reached forward, hands moving over Connor's warm skin. "Fuck you, you're gorgeous. Is that part of being a vampire too?" 

"Ah, most of us are more…Attractive to lure people in but I was born like this. Most of us just look normal now from evolution." The hands on his chest were so distracting he struggled to get his words out. 

"Still not fair, now are you going to bite me or what?" Gavin asked, pulling Connor flush against him. 

Connor opened his mouth and let Gavin watched as his fangs came out. "I won't suck any more blood, though. Too much too fast can be dangerous and lead to passing out or other effects." It was like damn medication commercials, he felt like he needed to list every possible negative effect just in case. 

"I really couldn't give two shits right now." Connor nodded and tilted Gavin's head so he'd bite on the side he hasn't done before. The bite areas were always a bit sensitive afterward and he didn't want to push it too far. 

He grabbed Gavin again and quickly pumped his fist, not warning Gavin this time before biting down. Gavin jolted forward and let out a silent scream, fingers scrapping down Connor's back hard enough to leave angry red marks. 

Connor hissed and rocked his hips forward, but kept pumping his hand, not even caring that his hand and stomach was becoming a sticky mess. 

He kept there until Gavin went completely limp in his arms, panting against his neck. He once again licked over the area, just to make sure it would heal before pressing a gentle kiss to it. "So good, Gavin. Did so good for me." 

Gavin mumbled something Connor couldn't understand, but it didn't matter. He had Gavin in his arms and he hadn't run screaming when he saw his fangs. Oh my god, he'd made Gavin come, actually come, from biting him. 

"I think I have a new kink." Gavin sighed out before pulling back slightly to see Connor, a lazy smile on his face. "That felt way too good. If you… if you ever need to uh, drink?" Connor gave a small nod. "Ok, if you ever need to drink, I'm so fucking down." 

Connor's eyes widened at the offer. "Are you sure? I'll have to, well it's not like we have an actual government but no one can know. No humans are supposed to know. I'm supposed to wipe your memory." He hated the idea, he didn't want Gavin to forget. 

"I won't tell, I promise. Not like anyone would believe me anyway. But I'm sure. Though, I do believe I should return the favor." Gavin glanced down at Connor's still hard cock. "Would you like me to take care of that for you?" 

"God yes." Connor sighed out, sliding his teeth back in. 

"Don't put those away just yet, I like them out." Gavin said, tapping Connor's lips. "Who knows, I might just want to get bitten again."

[mhdiaries]

Freaky Fusion Hybrids Bonita Femur Diary

06/10

I have a sweater in my closet that I have never worn. It sits on the top shelf inside a box, and the tags are still on it. It’s multi-colored and as bright as a field of wild flowers in the spring. I leave it in the box because I know that if I wear it, I’ll chew it. Oh I won’t mean to I’ll just get nervous and before I know it – BAM! Hole. So I’m saving it for a special occasion when I absolutely want to look my beast. That’s assuming of course that the anticipation of the occasion doesn’t cause me to gnaw through the sweater on the way to said occasion. Who am I kidding? I’m never taking that sweater out of the box, might as well just chew it up now and get it over with… blah… there may not be anything in the monster world that can make me as miserable as me.

06/16

Okay – big surprise here, but filling out applications of any kind makes me nervous. I once applied to work in a second claw clothing store and even though I got the job I chewed through the equivalent of my first paycheck in sweaters before I finished with the section on contact information. So you can imagine the jitters I got when I had to fill out the application for Monster High. I think I could have eaten my way through all the wool in Boo Zealand if mom and dad hadn’t been there to calm me down and help me focus. They totes keep me from turning into a casket case on a regular basis. I guess that must be why when I got to the scaritage section on the application I wasn’t nervous at all. It just seemed natural for me to write about them. Mom’s a skeleton and an amazing seamstress, weaver and all round fabric artist. Her tapestries have a haunting quality about them and she has a waiting list that is centuries long for one of her originals. They’re almost good enough to eat which dad and I are forbidden to ever do. Dad is a flyway patrol monster who has always worked the frightshift but on his frights off he would provide security for art shows and special events. When mom was just starting out as an artist she had a small booth at this weekend swap meet/flea market. It happened to be in dad’s security area so he would always see her there and they struck up a friendship. Dad even reworked his shifts, without telling mom, so he could be there when she was. Mom would weave treats for him although she never let on that it was something she only did for him. Eventually their friendship turned into love. I know it might not sound like a scarytale romance but it worked for them then and still works for them now.

07/10

I had a scary good time at the movies tonight with Neighthan and Avea! I love Veronica von Vamp movies and popcorn, lots and lots of popcorn – especially if the movie is suspenseful which this one was. Neighthan didn’t seem like himself though and he was pretty distracted. He kept looking around for Sirena who didn’t make it to the movie at all which I think made him really disappointed for some reason. Avea and I practically had to drag him to the Die-ner. It’s not like this is the first time Sirena’s forgotten to show up for something and she did eventually meet us at the Die-ner so I might have been overly sensitive especially with all of us wondering if we’ll all be starting at Monster High in the fall. I’ve never said anything to the rest of the gang but sometimes I wonder if we’ve been our own worst enemies when it comes to the other schools we’ve attended. We always just assume that we’re going to be rejected by other monsters, sometimes for good reason, so we keep to ourselves and never give them a chance to prove us wrong. Maybe it will be different at Monster High, not there’s a thought to chew on.

07/14

I was going to wear my favorite flower print skirt today but forgot that the last time I wore it was the day Sirena and Avea got into an argument that started over where to eat lunch and ended with something else which I don’t remember mostly because I was nervously chewing through my skirt. The flowers now look like rabid aphids have attacked them. So it was off to the thrift store for a replacement. I like going to the thrift store. I think when monsters hear “thrift store” they think, well I’m not exactly sure what they think although I believe if thrift stores started calling themselves “Style Museums” or “Adopt a Fashion” shelters perhaps they would get more customers. So I fluttered down to the shop I always go to but it was closed for inventory. I would normally have just gone home but there was another store a few blocks over on another street so I glided over to that one. It wasn’t as large as the one that was closed but it was bright, airy and everything was neatly arranged. Besides the store lurk, there was only one other monster in the place, a werewolf ghoul who had pink hair with orange streaks and a look of desperation on her face. She was whipping through the hangers of clothes on the racks so quickly I thought I saw sparks flying, plus she was also carrying on an argument with herself and it sounded like she was losing. I started at the other end of the store, just to stay out of her way, and one of the first things I saw was a haunt couture dress that was fangtastically underpriced and out of place in this shop. It looked like it would fit and so rather than trying it on I took it to the lurk to hold for me while I continued shopping. When I held up the dress I heard this bone-curdling howl from behind me and I turned to see the werewolf ghoul sprinting toward me. I almost ran, and would have, but I really wanted that dress. She went straight to the lurk and said, “That’s the dress – you have to give it to me!” The lurk told her that she would do no such thing and she indicated in my direction, “She found it, it’s up to her to decide what she wants to do with it.” The ghoul turned toward me and I could see tears filling her eyes. “That dress belongs to my big sister and it’s uber special to her. I accidently put it in a bag that I thought my mom was taking for dry cleaning, but it was actually for a community clothing drive. I’ve been to every thrift and second claw store in town looking and hoping to find it. Please.” How could I say no to that? After she paid for the dress the ghoul gave me a monster hug and on the way out the door said, “I think you’re wings are totes rad – you’re lucky to have something like that to make you stand out from the crowd.” Then she was gone. My wings are “totes rad”? Well, who am I to argue with a “normal” monster.

07/30

Dad came in from work this morning with a letter in his claw. “Looks like somebody forgot to check the mail yesterday.” The letter was addressed to me and it had the Monster High crest on it. I already had one corner of the envelop in my mouth when mom said, “If you shred it before you open it, you’ll really be in a flutter.” I slowly opened the envelope, pulled out the letter and read it first to myself and then out loud. “Welcome to Monster High…” We were all laughing and crying when mom left the room for a moment. She quickly came back with a beautiful tapestry. “I started working on this last year in hopes for this outcome so dig in,” she said. I took the tapestry and folded it up instead. I was going to need something to replace the sweater on the top shelf in my closet since I think I have a special occasion all picked out to wear it.