#if there can be neon-wearing vampires that can stop time then there can be this!

[wanderxdusk]

Ooc: fite my were-cougar with stone spirit dog powers, nerds

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me #8

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You embark upon 'a Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Word count: 6,600

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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Ten days have passed since your home was blown to a million pieces. 

Ten days since you found out that there are multiple universes. 

Ten days since you learned that your universe—the world as you know it—has less than three months left before it implodes unless you can somehow find a way to save it… and yourself.

Despite the fantastical nature of those events, you find yourself returning back to your everyday life, just as mundane and ordinary as ever, cosmic murder attempts notwithstanding.

The helicopter crash was featured across the front page of The Times by morning, and apparently no one was hurt. The pilot had somehow been flung from the helicopter into a nearby window and miraculously survived without even a scratch. The only real casualty was your every worldly possession. 

After a personal calamity of that scale, you’d hoped you might be offered an extended leave from work. Unfortunately, corporate America stops for no tragedy. 

The only thing you're offered is a very sympathetic email the day after with a gift voucher for Dominos attached. Then Sally from HR had let you know that, given the severity of your situation, the company was generously granting you three whole personal days to sort out your affairs. After that you were requested to return to the office—the second quarter of the financial year was beginning soon after all. 

And so you find yourself back at work.

Back to 8+ hours a day spent sitting in your rickety office chair, killing your eyesight in front of your computer screen as you pore over excel sheets.  Back to the same old boring one-on-one meetings with your boss, who keeps harping on about Key Performance Indicators, as if they mean anything. You don’t understand what the point is. No matter how key your performance is, it never seems to be enough to net you a raise. 

“Our total revenue increased by 15% compared to last year, which is a significant achievement considering the challenges in the market, but I know we can do better if we just–”

You stifle a yawn, as you readjust yourself in your chair. It’s Monday morning, and you find yourself in one of the stale meeting rooms, with staler treats that you’re not even allowed to have because they are for external clients only. Your boss is right next to you, droning on and on about how she wants to see better results in the next fiscal quarter. All the while you’re trying to fight the losing odds of keeping your eyes open and the temptation of gravity that wants your head to lay down on the conference table for an impromptu nap.  

“We managed to improve our profit margin by 3% by reducing overhead costs, but we need to focus on further optimizing our operations in order to–”

Out of nowhere, the sound of her shrill nasal voice stops, and for a second you think that perhaps, sweet mercies of mercies, the meeting is finally over. But instead she points out the window and says the last thing you expect. 

“Hey, isn’t that Spiderman?” 

Huh?

You whip your head around to stare out the window so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, and the sight that greets you is nearly enough to give you a heart attack on the spot. 

Oh, it’s Spiderman alright. Your Spiderman. 

Your maybe-vampire-but-maybe-not (he hasn’t combusted in sunlight yet, but then again he wears a full-body spandex suit) Spiderman.

Your Spiderman is right there in front of you in plain sight on the outside of the building, plastered to the wide wall-to-wall meeting room window. That dark blue super suit with the angry red spider emblazoned on his chest like a neon sign screaming: ‘Here I am!’ 

Your boss skips closer to the window in giddy excitement, until the two of them are only about a feet away from each other separated by a half an inch of glass.

“Look, his suit is different! I wonder if it’s an upgrade?” she exclaims, tilting her head to study him from the window. “He sure is a lot bigger in person, isn’t he?” 

You feel the blood drain from your face, and the whole of your back breaks out in cold clammy sweat against your blouse. Doing your best to act normal, you force yourself to stay seated in your chair despite the shrill scream ringing in your head and the way your heart is threatening to leap right out of your throat. 

What the hell does he think he’s doing!?

Thank fuck your boss still has her back to you, too enthralled by the unexpected superhero sighting to pay attention to anything else. You take advantage of her distraction to gesture frantically at Miguel, waving him away with as covert of a shooing motion as you can manage and praying that he’ll take the hint.

You know he sees you because the triangular outlines of his eyes narrow into annoyed slits and then he turns his face away as if offended, refusing to look at you. But at least he finally moves, leaping into the air and disappearing out of the sight of the window. 

“Oh, shoot! There he goes again,” your boss says, letting out a long, loud sigh as if even she doesn’t want to go back to listening to her own voice for the rest of this meeting. “Well, back to work. Guess that was the excitement for the day.”

Scratch what you were saying before. There are no more completely mundane days. Not now that Miguel O’Hara has entered your life. 

Once upon a time, your biggest dilemma with him was that he was avoiding you, refusing all your attempts to force a face-to-face meeting. Now you find yourself in the strange position of having the opposite problem.

True to his promise, Miguel is always there to protect you. 

In fact, he’s just plain always there. 

Never more than 10 feet away, regardless of where you go. He’s the last thing you see… or rather, hear before you go to sleep, his incessant snoring reverberating off the walls of your shared hotel room. Then, when you wake, it’s to his big 6’9” frame draped across the tiny velvet sofa, his long legs sticking off the end and hanging out into the room. 

Miguel hovers over you when you eat, in case you get another piece of toast stuck in your throat and he needs to do the Heimlich maneuver on you again. Or, like that one time last week, in case you developed another hitherto completely undiscovered food allergy and have to be rushed to the ER. He is constantly on alert, eyes glued to you at all times.

Miguel comes with you when you go grocery shopping at the corner bodega. Sticking close to your back in the cramped aisles, lest one of the shelves fall over and bury you under crates of Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops… again.  He has a sneaky habit of covertly dropping the most nutritiously questionable grocery items in your basket: jellied donuts, sugar-frosted pop tarts, fun dip and jolly ranchers. He eats like a five year old who has too much pocket money and no understanding of the food pyramid. It’s worrying to watch and you definitely google diabetes risk for spiders at least once, but the internet has nothing helpful to offer on that front.

Even when you’re relaxing in the luxury hotel suite that’s become your home, flipping through Tik Tok-edits on your iPhone (the newest model, which Lyla snagged for you!) or catching up on Netflix, Miguel is always right there. Not two steps away from you, looking over your shoulder. 

Being the constant center of Miguel's attention is… disconcerting. You know it’s because he’s watching for the next random disaster to strike, but having his eyes on you nonstop leaves you feeling uncomfortably aware of him all the time. Especially when you’re trying to watch Bridgerton on your new macbook pro (also courtesy Lyla) and an R-rated scene comes on. You’ve resorted to having Lyla order books and magazines for him in an attempt to keep him occupied, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

It’s so bad that you can barely go to the bathroom without Miguel guarding the door like a zealous German Shepherd, his back plastered to the nearest wall when you emerge. You try not to let the lack of privacy bother you… or to think about the fact that his spidey-supersenses probably let him hear everything.

The only place Miguel doesn’t come with you is when you go to work, because he doesn’t have the clearance needed to get into the building—tourists and non-personnel aren’t allowed any further than the lobby. It doesn’t stop him from climbing the walls of the building and hanging around outside the 44th floor though. You know he’s there because, you see his shadow blurring at the window whenever you get up to get more coffee or unstick the paper jammed in the printer. 

It’s an adjustment, but for all the madness that comes with the package, having Miguel around does make you feel safe. 

Time always seems to pass too quickly when there’s a deadline approaching. 

The problem is that right now the due it’s not the date of a school assignment or some work project that you’re worrying about. And if you take too long, the consequences will be much worse than a lower grade or a slap on the wrist. If you fail to meet this deadline, it will be the end of the world—not just as you know it, but for everyone in your entire universe.

A week ago you had been dauntless, facing Miguel down across the table at Starbucks and announcing that you intended to fight cosmically impossible odds in order to live. Bold even, when you’d confidently declared that the only thing you needed was three months and his protection from the universe's murder attempts to make that happen.

In retrospect, you might have been less dauntless and more… delusional, because so far the only real progress you've made is drawing up a Master Plan, complete with a bullet point list and no idea if any of it is actually going to accomplish anything.

'A Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Step 1: Personal history:

Identify past wrongdoings

Determine if they could explain cosmic retaliation

Step 2: Analyze incident patterns:

Study recurring near death incidents

Identify commonalities and patterns

Determine strategies to stop or prevent future occurrences

Step 3: Research genealogy:

Explore family history

Investigate any ancestors who may have incurred celestial grudges

Determine if these grudges extend to descendants

Step 4: Examine past life wrongdoings:

Establish if reincarnation is real

Investigate potential past life transgressions

Assess if they correlate with current cosmic retaliation

Step 5: Seek cosmic expert assistance:

Consider approaching Dr. Strange for guidance

Request expertise in understanding cosmic phenomena

Things had started out okay. 

You completed Step 1 in less than a day, quickly compiling a list of all the people you’d wronged in your lifetime. Anything that might make the universe want to intervene on their behalf and dole out some karma against you.

So far, your life's most egregious crimes include:

That time when you wet the bed during a sleepover when you were six and blamed it on your friend Sally Jenkins.

The night you bailed out in the middle of a date with a dentist from Tinder who insisted on ordering for you and kept talking about Alpha and Betas. (It was only after a very confusing and awkward conversation that you realized he was not talking about the omegaverse). You’re pretty sure you did both of you a favor when you told him you were going to use the bathroom before dessert and took off without saying goodbye instead.

That summer you brought only chocolate with coconut back to share with your coworkers after your vacation in Canada so that Matt in accounting (who always steals your yogurt out of the office fridge) couldn’t have any because he's allergic to coconut.

Are those the actions of a good person? Probably not. 

Are they petty? Oh yeah. 

Are they bad enough to justify karmic retaliation from the universe in the form of death? You doubt it.

As for Step 2, despite all the near death experiences you've had recently, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern that could help you predict or prevent future incidents. After all it’s a bit difficult to predict that an impromptu mounted police parade would take place near your office, only for there to be a wild stampede of panicky horses that tried to mow you over. 

Step 3 of your plan? Another dud. 

Your family line is made up of uncles working blue-collar jobs at warehouses, aunties who pester you about being single, one grandfather who likes to talk about how things were better in the old days and a grandmother who likes to complain that you never call every time you call her (and another grandma you actually like because she feeds you sweets and cakes when you go visit).

There are no skeletons hidden in your family closet. Nothing interesting at all except maybe that one cousin who claims to have hooked up with Leonardo Di Caprio at Coachella (unverifiable and unlikely).

Your mission to try to figure out if all of this is caused by any past life connections in Step 4? 

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to look into, but how the heck do you go about doing that? You’ve put it on hold for now.

As for the final step? Your search to seek out cosmic expert assistance is still ongoing.

Contacting another Supe that has a magical expertise in the cosmic should be the most logical avenue. Doctor Strange is the superhero that famously deals with the magical cosmos stuff, so you figured maybe he could help in some way. That it wouldn't be hard for Miguel to reach out to him, one superhero to another.

It’s the one part of your plan you could actually take action on that seems like it might lead somewhere. Problem is, you've run into a big sassy roadblock named Miguel O'Hara. 

Miguel flatly refuses to have anything to do with Dr. Strange. 

His justification? 

"Hate that guy."

Repeatedly pestering him has gotten you nowhere, and it’s not like you, a random normie, can just rock up outside of Dr. Strange’s residence and ask for help because the universe is out to get you. That’s a good way to get yourself hauled away, like that guy from Colorado who was in the news last year for faking a UFO invasion with cheap props on YouTube and then camping out outside of Bruce Banner’s lab. Idiots like that show up from time to time, Superhero fanatics seeking the attention of the Avengers for some fake emergency.

Worst comes to worst, you could probably just stand outside Doctor Strange’s house until something tries to kill you again and hope that he’ll notice, but you’re not sure the universe won’t thwart you on purpose. Probably not the best use of your limited time, especially since you’re out of PTO. 

For now, you’re hoping to change Miguel’s mind through sheer persistence, but given how stubborn the man is, that might be more of a lost cause than trying to thwart the universe itself. 

It’s payday today, and you’ve decided to take Miguel to dinner in Chinatown as thanks for the man’s continuous efforts in saving your life.

As touristy as that area can be, there are some good, cheap diners owned by grumpy Cantonese families that serve large enough portions to feed this horse of a man.

It’s not entirely selfless. You’re tired of being cooped up in the hotel room as soon as you get off work, and you want to stretch your legs. You’re also hoping that stuffing Miguel full of food will make him more receptive to the next round of your arguments in favor of Step 5 of your Cosmic Masterplan. 

But you’ve been here for two hours now, and you’re not sure Miguel knows the meaning of the word full. 

He’s ordered egg tarts by the dozen. Crispy fried seafood noodles drenched in sweet cornstarch slurry. Deep fried turnip cakes soaked in sweet soy sauce. Beef Ho Fun. Every other dish is deep fried and slathered in XO sauce, and you are starting to be genuinely concerned about his cardiovascular health as you watch him shovel it down his maw, barely pausing to chew as he goes.

At least he looks happy while eating? Endearingly so. It’s the only time you’ve seen him relaxed and finally drop his guard a little bit, though you’re sure he’s still aware of every minute detail in his surroundings. You decide it’s better not to say anything since scolding him about being a glutton would be like the pot name calling the kettle. Your wolfish food habits is a shared hobby you have with Miguel at this point. 

“What’s wrong with the egg tarts?” you ask, eyeing the plate that lies still untouched on the table, the only food to have escaped Miguel’s massacre. Given how sweet they are, you would have expected him to inhale them within seconds. 

“I ordered them for you,” he says, not slowing down as he spears more food onto his plate. “Your favorite, right?” 

You nod slowly and reach for one, touched by the gesture but not sure what to say. 

There’s a fleck of sauce smudged on his cheek, a stray rice grain on his nose. He looks like any other civilian as he scarfs down the food in quick succession.

Out of his super suit, he looks different. He’s partial to oversized clothes that makes him look oddly gangly even with his build. You’ve caught him with glasses on more than once, even though you’re pretty sure he’s mentioned that supersight is one of the things he’s gifted with. You can’t help but wonder if he wears them out of a sense of habit or if it’s a conscious fashion choice. Probably the former, given what you’ve seen him wear so far—fashion doesn’t seem to be one of his fortes. All in all, it makes him look like a much homelier person with a slightly nerdy vibe than the handsome superhero when he’s on the job.

He’s softer without the supersuit. Still scowling, but it’s less intimidating when he’s doing it wearing a big hoodie with dumb logos printed across his chest. 

It’s still odd seeing Rude Spiderman in these domestic settings, but you think you prefer him like this.

“How’s your plan coming along?” he asks, mouth full of fried rice as he’s already reaching for a piece of char siu. 

Of course, he has to ask you a question just as you bite into sweet and creamy egg custard. 

“I’m kind of stuck,” you admit, the words muffled slightly by the pastry in your mouth. “I think we need to talk about reaching out to Dr. Strange.”

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to stop eating, still chewing with a gusto as the word emerges.

Nothing more than that. No reasons or explanation given, just ‘No.’ 

Irritation brews in your chest at his unhelpfulness. He’s throwing a monkey wrench into your cosmic survival masterplan, and he won’t even tell you why. 

Too busy stuffing his face with crispy wontons. 

“But why? He’s the only Avenger with an expertise in cosmic magic!”

“Expertise, my ass,” he retorts. 

“Why do you hate him so much?”  You slide the plate of roasted duck across the table, away from him, and that finally makes him pay proper attention. 

Miguel is doing that scowling thing again, first at you and then dropping his gaze to glaring down at his rice and chopstick like he’s about to stab it. 

“Because he’s an idiot. “Doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. Gives terrible advice.” 

“He was one of the world’s leading brain surgeons,” you huff. “I don’t think he’s an idiot, Miguel.”

Miguel leans over the table, sliding the plate back closer to where he’s seated. 

“Being handy with a scalpel isn’t a transferable skill to the supernatural. And he wears a cape. Only idiots wear capes.”

“Wait, what? You don’t like him because he wears a cape!?” you spit out incredulously. You don’t understand this man’s logic sometimes.

“Capes are impractical. Get snagged everywhere. No superhero worth the name would wear one,” he explain as if this alone perfectly justifies hating someone. He stabs a piece of meat with his chopstick and brings it to his mouth. “I will never ask that man for help again.”

Then he inhales the rest of the plate of roasted duck. 

You leave the restaurant frustrated. 

Miguel’s stubbornness remains as immovable as stone, and this big red and blue boulder has left you stuck at a dead end roadblock in the middle of a street, one you don’t know how to get around. He won't agree to talk to Strange, and you don’t know what else to do.

You need divine inspiration, or failing that maybe just… a hint. Something to tell you what direction to go in. Some kind of a sign.

Deep in thought, you turn round a corner, barely noticing how the alley narrows as you keep walking forward.  It’s not until a pile of crates in front blocks your path, forcing you to stop dead in your tracks that you lift your head to survey your surroundings. 

You and Miguel are at a small alley that you don’t recognize, which is weird because you know this area like the back of your hand. Somewhere along the way you must’ve taken a wrong turn.

Just ahead of you, there's a red stall set up on the sidewalk surrounding a small rickety table with red cloth draped over it, a couple of folding chairs set up in front.

Above it is… a giant sign. Fortune Teller, it says. 

Not quite the metaphorical sign you were asking for a few minutes ago, but maybe the universe has given up on subtlety for today. Hey, at least it’s not trying to kill you… unless fortune teller assassins are a thing. Shit, is the universe resorting to baiting traps now? You really hope it doesn’t start setting out poisoned cookies on window sills, because then it will be game over for you and Miguel both. 

You look the stall over, noticing that there are no crystal balls. No tarot cards. No trinkets or ancient scrolls like the ones you see in the movies.

There’s just an old lady. Her head is cleanly shaven, shining slick under the sole street lamp in the alley. She’s wearing a thick robe with a blue shawl draped over her shoulders that seems much too warm for the current weather, and cheap oversized sunglasses perch on her small nose despite it being evening. That outfit is certainly a choice.

Maybe you should be more cautious, but what harm can it do at this point?

The fortune teller certainly looks harmless and frail with her big round cheeks, sitting on a small stool. Even though she looks nothing like her, she makes you think of your grandmother—the one you actually like to call. The grandma who always has cookies stashed away for you when you come to visit.

Maybe she can give you a reading of who you were in your past life.

Maybe she can give you a protection amulet to make the universe chill the fuck out for a while.

Maybe she can burn some incense that will make you relax and get rid of the migraine you've gotten since the universe decided to murder you.

"Miguel." You tug at the lapel of his jacket, and point in the direction of the sign.

He turns around, scanning the space and then his eyes narrow disapprovingly.

"Fortune… teller,” Miguel reads off the sign in a slow skeptic drawl. He doesn't need to say more to express his complete and utter disdain, but that doesn’t stop him.

"You know it's all a scam right? People like this can't actually tell the future. They have no supernatural powers. What they do is cold reading."

It’s entirely unsurprising Miguel doesn't like the idea. There are a lot of things Miguel doesn’t like.

"What else do you propose we do?"

"Ask someone with actual skills who can help us?"

"You were the one who shot down the idea of asking Doctor Strange for help," you remind him.

"I don’t want his help," Miguel shoots back, grimacing as though the mere mention of the name is enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me." You continue on to the stall, despite your companion's strong protests.

The sweet old lady greets you as you sit down at the table. She looks even weirder from up close, her bald head abnormally large for her small body. You try not to stare, not wanting to make her self-conscious, but you can’t help but wonder how gravity keeps her head upright. 

“Fifty dollars,” she announces the moment you take a seat. 

Fifty bucks to get your fortune read!? Talk about highway robbery! You could get seven overpriced Spiderman cookies for that. 

“That’s too much.” You shake your head, rising from your seat. 

“Okay, okay. I can do cheaper,” the woman immediately concedes, looking nervous at your sudden outburst, and you have to bite back a smile. 

That was easy. 

“How much cheaper?” you ask. You know how this game is played. 

“Twenty?”

If she’s willing to drop the price from fifty to twenty that easily, you can definitely get her to go lower. 

“Ten.” You cross your arms where you stand, making no move to sit down.

“Are you really haggling over this? You were the one who wanted to do this, and now you’re going to cheap out over ten bucks!?” Miguel says from behind you, but you ignore him. It’s enough to have him there looming over the lady as you stare her down, taking a note out of his intimidation tactic book. 

“Some of us aren’t made out of money, Miguel–” 

“Fine! Ten, I’ll do it for ten,” the lady says over the top of your arguing. 

She’s skittish in the sudden silence that follows, looking over her shoulder to her left and right, as if she’s checking if your loud outbursts have attracted any attention.

Seemingly reassured that there’s only the three of you here, she gestures for you to sit back down and then tilts her head towards you. 

From behind her sunglasses, you can see that her eyes are clouded white from glaucoma, but when she raises her gaze to give Miguel an appraising look from head to toe, it’s obvious that she’s still able to see.  

“Your husband is tall.”

You see Miguel go rigid out the corner of your eye and chance a quick glance up at him. His sour expression hasn’t changed but you can tell he’s uncomfortable from the way his fingers are gripping the fabric of his hoodie where the chain holding his ring is hiding underneath the layers of clothing.

"Can you do a past life reading?" you ask instead, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might inflict further painful reminders upon him. "I want to know if I could have attracted bad karma in my past lives."

“No such thing,” she says bluntly, shaking her head, "You have no past life. Reincarnation is not real."

That’s step 4 taken care of, you think to yourself, and you think you hear Miguel choke back a laugh behind you. You’re not thrilled that he’s having fun at your expense, but at least he’s not sad anymore. 

"Uh… okay…" You try to think of what else was on your list. "Then can I buy a protection amulet or something? I've had really bad luck lately."

The old granny looks you over appraisingly, eyes traveling from the top of your head as far down as she can see before the table top gets in the way, and her benign and friendly smile fades as she does. 

"No," she says, eyes wrinkling with worry. "An amulet is of no use to you. Just a waste of money."

Oh wow, grandma is really dissing you right now.

She gestures her hand in a come hither motion to get you to lean down, and then pulls out a paper and pen and starts to draw an uneven circle with thick, crude lines.

"See here?" she says as she loops the circle closed, "This is all of us, our world" 

Miguel is suddenly right next to you, hunching down and bent over the small table. You don’t know when he managed to sneak up on you, but he’s right there, so close his shoulder is brushing up against yours. 

The fortune teller moves her pen inside the circle to draw a much smaller one, then a forked line sticking out of it, and another line across the center of that one. It’s so crudely drawn it takes you a second to realize it’s a stick figure. 

"This is you," she points at it with a pen, seeming to admire her own creation.

Next to you, Miguel is staring down at the childish drawing with his hands crossed against his chest in irritation, his right eyelid is twitching. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Even though he’s not saying a word, you swear you can almost hear his inner monologue, protesting the lady’s poor handmanship and drawing skills. He doesn’t need to say it but even $10 is too much of a price to pay, even for a man with infinity dollars.

Seemingly oblivious to Miguel’s irritation, the fortune teller proceeds to draw angry darts from inside the circle aimed at the poor you stick figure. Pressing so hard with her pen that the ink bleeds into the paper and the darts are starting to look like daggers. You almost wince when you see a couple of them pierce through your stick figure. “Outside interference has brought bad luck to you. It will never go away; it will follow you forever.”

You peer down at the paper with a sense of unease. Aren’t scam fortune tellers supposed to tell you what you want to hear? Where are the reassuring lies? Shouldn’t she be telling you that you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger? Or that you were a princess in a past life? Since when do they tell you that you’re doomed to die over and over?

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask. 

“Keep moving,” she says with an unfaltering smile as if she hasn’t given you the most grim fortune telling of all time. 

You lean back in your seat deflated. Scam or not, the prognosis isn’t looking good for you right now. 

The lady ducks under her desk, and is sorting through a pile of junk paper, before she pops back up again. She shoves something into your hands, and leans over to you with a piercing gaze in her milky-white eyes. “The man who will help you lives here.”

Hope sparks bright in your chest at her words. Finally, a lead! Someone who can help you! You can’t believe your random decision to stop has given you the first clue that might actually lead somewhere!

You look down at what she’s given you. It's a pamphlet map of New York. Yellow and bright, the title reads: ‘Star Maps of Celebrity Homes.’ One of those cheap plastic ones they hand out with the tour buses. 

The hope that had been building in your chest deflates, popping like a cheap balloon. 

You make yourself scan the tacky star map for any clues as to who she means, but you you don’t see anything to lift you out of your disappointment. As much as you love Robert De Niro and Whoopi Goldberg and would love to get their autographs, you don’t think any of the people on this map are in any position to help you. 

You sigh. 

Ok, maybe Miguel was right. The fortune teller was a bust. What a waste of money. 

From behind you, you can already hear the rustle of movement from him, as he’s stepping away. 

“Come on, Cielito,” he says as he nods his head in the direction towards the exit of the alley.

The fortune teller grabs your hands in hers, as she leans in closer to your ear and whispers, as if trying to be out of earshot of Miguel. “Be careful with that one. He’s not from around here.”

Back at the hotel, you plop down on the ridiculously wide and fluffy bed, but not even the luxury of your surroundings can lift your spirits. You’re still uncomfortably full from dinner. The overload of delicious egg tarts sit like lead in your stomach, weighing you down. 

Wasn’t there a Swedish king at some point who ate too many sweet buns and died of a burst stomach? Wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all the calamity and disasters you’ve escaped, your gluttony was the thing that ended you? You don’t think anyone who knows you would be surprised to read ‘died from eating too many egg tarts’ in your obituary. It’s perfect. A stupid and meaningless death to match your stupid and meaningless life. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Miguel drag off his hoodie over his head. You squint your eyes, pretending not to look as the tan skin of his firm muscled back is revealed to you before he pulls on a tight-fitting white t-shirt that pulls taut against his chest.

The free peep show usually makes excitement and heat thrill through your spine, but tonight it does nothing. You feel… oddly numb. 

The lights go off with a gentle click, and then you are left by yourself in darkness with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

You don’t know what to do. The fortune teller had been as stupid and pointless as every other idea you’ve had. 

You grit your teeth, sighing as you turn restlessly onto your side in the bed, stretching out your leg to make yourself more comfortable, hoping sleep will claim you so that you can stop these thoughts from running on a constant loop on your brain like the world’s shittiest radio channel. 

God, you can’t believe you spent $10 dollars on that fortune teller, and got nothing to show for it except a crappy map meant for gullible tourists. 

What are you going to do if you’re too stupid to think of any other ideas? Your skin crawls at the thought, a tangle of worry sitting in the pit of your stomach, climbing upwards and trying to burst out of your chest. You roll over, but it only seems to get worse. 

Are you just going to wait out your time like a sitting duck? 

You twist your body, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts won’t stop. 

Are you just going to sit here doing nothing? 

Are you going to di–

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

The loud noise startles you, and you freeze, suddenly aware of just how vulnerable you are with only the sheets and comforter for protection. 

Oh god, what is trying to kill you this time? 

Your eyes are wide open with a strain, staring off into the darkness like a deer in the headlights as you listen to the sound of something sharp scraping against the wooden floor.

It’s coming closer. 

Fuck. Is it an assassin? Some kind of otherworldly monster that’s come to drag you to hell with it? 

And where is Miguel? Why isn’t he stopping it!? 

Maybe he’s gone, a cruel voice whispers in your head. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe he sees what you don’t want to—the futility of what you’re trying to do. Running around like a headless chicken trying to find a way out of the grand cosmic slaughterhouse that is set on ending your life. Maybe he’s given up on you. 

Maybe you need to give up too. 

You’re too scared to risk making noise, but you can’t not do anything. You turn as soundlessly as you can in bed, rolling towards Miguel—hoping with all your might that he’ll still be there to save you—only to be greeted by the sight of his back closer than you expect, hunched over the lounge chair as he drags it towards the bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor, making the very sound that had just scared you half to death. 

You dart upright in the bed, outraged.

“What are you doing!?”

Miguel looks back at you, then down at the chair he’s moving, and then back up at you with that blank expression on his face. 

“Moving this?” He sits down on the lounge chair that’s now next to your bed, “I heard you tossing and turning. Thought you couldn’t sleep.” 

There’s a pause as he peers at you in the darkness, then he rubs his hand at the back of his neck.

 “Shit, did the noise scare you? Sorry, Cielito.”

There’s that nickname again. You don’t remember when it started or where it came from, but it’s something he’s been calling you more and more often. He’s wearing a wrinkly oversized t-shirt and a sheepish expression as he’s eyeing you, making sure you’re okay. It’s almost, nearly endearing. 

“Why do you keep calling me Cielito?” you ask. “Is that what you used to call other me?”

“No, I didn’t call her that.” He shakes his head, the same aching longing in his eyes that’s always there at the mention of your other self. “I called her Nena.” 

“Then why Cielito?”

He tilts his head down at you as if the answer is obvious, and then he breaks out into a small smile. “Because you keep falling through the sky.”

You stare at him in silence for a second, at the goofy looking grin he’s wearing.  He looks so proud of himself and his silly dad joke that you can’t help but smile back, laughter bubbling up and out of your chest. His smile just gets bigger.

What a dork.

You lay back down in bed, still tittering with laughter, and there’s a comforting weight that rests on top of your head for a brief moment. It’s his hand. The touch is pleasant, his palm warm against your skin, and the comfort of it erases the last trace of residual alarm in your body. 

“Just go to sleep already." The words are impatient, but his voice is gentle, and it makes your chest warm as he continues, “It’s okay. You don't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to you.”

He hasn’t given up on you. 

His words drip through your insides and warms you from inside out. It’s comforting, the way a blanket feels wrapped around you in the winter when your heating is out. He sounds so confident when he says them. Like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll survive this, because he will personally see to it. The anxious chatter in your mind finally quiets, and you close your eyes, knowing he’s only an arm’s length away. 

Somehow, with Miguel here, the impossible odds you’re up against don’t seem quite so impossible, and hope buzzes pleasantly in your chest as you drift off to sleep. It's the best sleep you've had in a long time.

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedication: Love a thousand and million years for @thirstworldproblemss who had to finely comb over and beta-read and edit this chapter over and over and rubber duck i with me while I was fixing up the details. I hope that I get to write with her til I go old and grey and senile, because it is the most wonderful joy and experience and I love her so.

This chapter is also dedicated to the wonderful and talented @forwantofwill who was endlessly kind in doing this amazing, beautiful piece of art of Miguel eating cookies in the windowsill Thank you so so much for making this and gifting me not just with your immense talent but also your time!

For those of you who haven't yet please follow her! She's amazingly talented and have such a wonderful blog filled with gorgeous and amazing fanart!

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

[artemisravencourtney]

Klaroline WIP Wednesday: Mixing all the colors like we're making a Monet

I don't know what this one is, guys. I guess technically speaking it's a songfic because literally all of it was inspired by 'Violet Chemistry' by Miley Cyrus (including the title), which I then put on loop as I wrote it, but you don't have to listen to the song to enjoy it. But anyway yeah normally when I write a fic I have something of substance in it but this one is literally all for the vibes. And somehow it's currently sitting at 2.5k and I don't even think it's any good so, yay?

Plot: Klaroline run into each other at a club. That's it.

When he first sees her, Klaus thinks he must be dreaming.

She looks like a goddess, but she always does, commanding attention in any room she enters with the warmth of her presence and her otherworldly beauty. And otherworldly is exactly the word for her as she twirls with some bumbling human who is far too inebriated to match her steps. She’s wearing a dress made of tiny, white, satin, the hem stopping at her mid-thigh. The dress shifts color as it’s caressed by the strobe lights, going from neon green to inky blue to a brilliant, brilliant violet. Her golden curls are loose and wild, the humidity giving them more volume than he’s used to seeing on her. And then she twirls again, and he realizes that beautifully tempting dress is backless, with thin white straps crisscrossing over bare skin that he can still taste on his tongue from their last rendezvous.

She is an angel among mortals, and he must see her up close. He knows he promised to keep his distance after their time in the woods, but a chance encounter like this doesn’t count, does it?

Caroline spins away from her partner again, and Klaus realizes that she’s being strategic about it. Every time she stills, even for a second, the drunken oaf tries to put his hands lower than would be appropriate.

“Marcel,” he grits out, remembering that they were in Miami for a reason, “have our associate know that I was unable to make it this evening, but I will join you both for brunch tomorrow.” The other vampire starts to question him, but he walks away before he can finish getting the words out.

No, this time doesn’t count, he decides, making his way toward them.

[harpy-scout]

I’ve so badly wanted to do this forever now so I made my tf2 oc The Jammer into a freak so here’s her like… entire thing

FF2: Lollipop Chainsaw 🍭

Characteristics

Type - Freak

Alignment - Chaotic good

Attitude - Belligerent, erratic, nice if kind towards, hostile if mean or intimidating (or any other thing it finds to be offensive towards her), feral

Fighting style - Melee

Abilities - Shooting lasers out her eyes, Universe traveling, Time eating

Status - Alive

Allies - Ass Pancakes, Scoutit, Cristian Brutal Sniper, Painis Cupcake

Enemies - Nuclear Scout, Friendly Scout, *** Scout, Christian Pure Spy (sometimes)

Lollipop’s catchphrase - I WANNA KILL YOU!!!

Appearance -Lollipop appears similar to regular RED Jammer but without the tights under her shorts and the brown roller skates are replaced with neon pink glittery ones. Her usual long curly hair is replaced with short and choppily cut hair in messy pigtails like spikes. Instead of pink lipstick it wears dark black lipstick and her helmet actually appears as a jammers helmet in roller derby. The knee pads are still black but now with neon pink nuclear symbols and it now has sharp vampire teeth instead of bunny teeth.

Personality and behavior - Lollipop is similar to Ass Pancakes and Painis Cupcake in her behavior, only being nice to people when treated with kindness. If it thinks it’s being treated with rudeness it will take out her scythe and cut the person in half while screaming ‘I WANNA KILL YOU!!!’ But if nice to it will be moderately good (good as in will just stare at you, smile if it really likes you)

Powers and abilities - As put above, Lollipop uses a grim reaper style scythe to cut people in half it doesn’t like. It isn’t actually very strong similar to Jammer, it often struggles carrying around the weapon when not angry. It’s only able to cut people clean in half when they piss her off.

Lollipop Chainsaw is also known to ‘eat time’ the ability being to eat an hour out of the day which with fast forward time, doing it too much though could completely collapse the space time continuum and everything will disappear as everyone explodes, this has happened on numerous occasions and every time Lollipop just universe hops to another dimension where that didn’t happen. It’s on her eighth universe. Every time it does this it also gets weaker, it knows it’ll kill her eventually but it can’t stop.

Faults and weaknesses - While a hard opponent to beat when angry, it still has a few weaknesses that can be exploited to win:

* Without being pissed off enough it can’t use her scythe, it’s still good with her other less heavy weapons but not as great with the scythe

* It often thinks it can just win battles by eating time till you’re weak enough to lose, but this often just ends in another universe collapse

* Her own powers are really her weaknesses

Trivia

Unsurprisingly, its name is after the 2012 video game Lollipop Chainsaw. This is mainly because the original oc, The Jammer, was based off Juliet Starling.

Lollipops old theme song is Less Than Three instrumental by Disko Warp

Her new theme song is Chainsaw Whoops (also by Disko Warp)

After killing someone she either drinks their blood or makes ballon dogs out of their entrails

In an alternate universe there’s a version of Lollipop Chainsaw that couldn’t escape her universe collapse and was forced to stay in the dark where nothing but her existed, it’s still floating around there and it’s unknown what happened to her

In another version of her universe it died and went directly to hell, yet satan declared her so evil he didn’t even think it was worthy of hell so instead he made her immortal so it’d have to forever live in the true hell; earth

It’s also pretty inspired by Art the Clown cause it’s just silly like that

Okay that’s it I’ll be going now

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Hii

can I please request a fic for Weems and maybe Thornhill where reader gets a nosebleed in class or something idk.

Thank you.

Nosebleed

Pairings: Weems x reader (platonic)

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: You get a nosebleed in class and make a run for it.

TW: Blood, more blood, one swear word

A/n I am really projecting in this fic. Basically, all of it has happened to me expect you know, the whole nevermore part obviously (I wish tho)

Botany was one of your favourite classes by far but today you were exhausted. Enid had woken you up at the crack of dawn to tell you some gossip that “simply couldn’t wait.” You loved enid but that didn’t stop you threatening to give her a buzz cut in her sleep if she cut your sleep short again.

Ms Thornhill was stood at the front of the room talking about something our other. Based off the notes enid was taking in blinding neons gel pens it had something to do with inhibiting the ability of seers. Honestly you would photocopy her notes later, with the black and white printer of course this wasn’t your first rodeo.

You were staring off into space not really paying much attention to the real world when you felt your nose start to run. Dammit. You couldn’t get sick now. Electing to ignore it until the last possible minute still have wrapped up in your daydream you felt enid elbow you.

“Dude.” She said and you glared at her. “Your nose if bleeding.” She hissed in a loud whisper.

“Shit.” You said and brought the back of your wrist to the base of your nose. It came back with a bright red streak, and you immediately cupped a hand under your chin.

Ms Thornhill had paused for a second not really being able to see you past the plants.

“Ms L/n? Anything you’d like to share with the class?” She asked and you stood quickly staying out of sight.

“Nope all good. Be right back.” You said “hopefully” you added under your breath and the way Enid’s eyes widened told you she heard it. You turned on your heel and raced out of the classroom. Ignoring the calls from your botany teacher to return to the classroom. You hurried through the halls the red blood pooling in your cupped hands. You weren’t really paying much attention to the halls; everyone would be in class now anyway.

You had had plenty of nosebleeds in the past, so the start of the new year was always fun. New teachers who were unused to it often worried or tried to send you to the nurse making a big fuss. But by the end of the year, you would simply leave to take care of it in the bathrooms and return to class later with the simple question of “nosebleed?” To which you would say yes and return to your seat. Nosebleeds were just something you were used to.

So many different scenarios in the past. Being pulled out if school swimming lessons because you hadn’t noticed your nose was starting to bleed. That was awesome your hated swimming.

Of course, there were some less than ideal times for it. For example, waking up in the night and not being bothered to deal with it so you simply laid down some tissues on the pillow, sent a quick prayer to whatever god was awake at 2am so you wouldn’t drown in your own blood while you slept and rolled over and gone back to sleep.

In other words, you were simply desensitised at this point. You had had more nosebleeds than regular runny noses so much so if it ran your first thought was it was bleeding not running. But you guessed the less than adequate sleep from last night had contributed to the lack of awareness. You could often catch it before it dripped. Giving you enough time to grab a tissue. However, the idea of going in front of the class, which was partially made up of fledgling vampires wasn’t your idea of fun. So, you fled.

You were navigating your way to the nearest bathroom when you collided with someone, apologising profusely before carrying on.

Had you stopped you may have realised it was Principle weems. Principle weems who was wearing a white blazer which now had a red spot on it. She frowned before recognising it as blood and hurrying to follow you. She made note you weren’t going to the nurse or even remotely in the direction of the infirmary and decided to intervene. She shifted and removed the blood from her clothes and straightened her blazer before pushing open the door to the bathroom.

She peered in and gasped softly. You were stood trying not to touch anything with your bloody hands while your nose dripped onto the white porcelain. You seemed to be experienced in the matter which only made her more concerned.

“Ms L/n? Are you quite alright.” She asked coming and placing a hand on your shoulder.

You looked at her in the mirror and frowned.

“P-principle weems.” You said

“Yes darling.” She said and you connected the dots.

“Sorry for running into you. I was … preoccupied.”

“Multitasking in can see that.” She chuckled and walked over to the paper towel dispenser. She pulled out a few sheets and ran them under the tap next to the sink you were still hanging over.

She walked closer and gestured for you to give her your hand.

“But … it’s covered in blood?” You said.

“Yes, darling i know. That’s why I’m going to clean it.” She said softly and you let her wipe the blood off your hands before disposing of it and going to your other side to wipe it off the other hand.

Once your fingers were clean, she grabbed another sheet of paper towel and placed it on your upward facing palm which she used to hold your chin, her other hand coming to your cheek to guide your head to look at her.

She watched as it bled and surveyed the bleeding tilting your head back very slightly, she knew it was best to make sure you kept your head held forwards, but she wanted to check everything was ok. After a moment she guided you back over the sink and threw out the slightly bloodied paper towel. She washed her hands and came back to stand beside you.

“Darling the bleeding is slowing so we don’t have to take you to the infirmary.” She said and you scoffed, which made her raise an eyebrow.

“Based off your reaction and general demeanour towards…” she gestured to the sink, “this. I’d say this is a common occurrence, correct?” She asked and you nodded as best you could. You waited and after a few more seconds the bleeding had fully stopped.

You rinsed out the sink and the principle came with a wet paper towel to dab the blood from your top lip and cheek. Once she was done, she threw it in the bin along with the others.

Giving you a once over with her eyes she smiled.

“Well. I think you should get back to class. I’ll give you a note for Ms Thornhill.” She said and laughed at the expression on your face.

“How-?”

“Darling why do you think I was heading to your classroom?” She said and you nodded and chuckled to yourself.

“Well off you go. I’ll email Ms thornhill.” She said and ushered you back into the hall before setting off back to her office. You turned to leave, and the footsteps stopped making you turn back to check on her. She was facing you and chewing her lip slightly. When she caught your gaze, she sighed.

“Darling if you ever need anyone to help with this or the aftermath. Send someone or come get me love. Blood doesn’t bother me.” She said and you thanked her and went back to class.

MASTERLIST

[covenofthearticulate]

Fuck It I'm Putting All The Tag Games Together and You Can't Stop Me

Last Song: next semester by 21p

Favorite Color: love a good plum or maroon color which is unfortunate because those colors almost always clash with my neon hair so I rarely wear them but if I could surround myself with maroon I absolutely would

Currently Watching: bold of you to assume I have the attention span for watching anything these days. the last thing I watched on youtube was the last episode of the Trixie and Katya podcast

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: Savoryyyyyy

Relationship Status: a relationship? in this economy???

Current Obsession: idk if I have any outside of my Regular Hyperfixations! I mean, I've been listening to that new twenty one pilots song on repeat every day during my commute to work, so maybe that LOL. it's a 4 minute song and my commute is 50 minutes so doing the math, I've probably listened to this song...over 200 times over the last few weeks asdalkjsdfhljsdhfc like is it a good song? NO! Is it just nostalgic enough that it reminds me of early twenty one pilots music and for 4 minutes I get to experience the bittersweet nostalgia of what my life was like when their music was the only thing that made me feel less alone? YEP.

Last Google Search: "pleasure synonym" listen........i do not claim to be a good writer.....vampire smut is fucking hard

Last line of my WIP: And maybe some part of him knows that this, too, is part of the game. This waiting. This anticipation. They always like to make him wait for it, both Armand and Louis, as if the seconds in between the suffering and the bliss will somehow purify the longing, cauterize him into a lover worthy of that divine release. He never can tell if it works. It all feels the same to him; the minutes, the seconds, the hours leading to his release.

Tagged by: my beloved @hekateinhell <3 Tagging: as per fucking usual I'm so late to the game it feels pointless to even participate but listen i'm trying my darndest and that's what matters. idk. @madeofklay @wicked-felina @headfrst4halos???

[bearpillowmonster]

Garfield Movie Pitch

*sigh* seems like a lot of people didn't like this one so let me try and pitch a new one.

First of all, let's cast JSchlatt. I don't like Frank Welker as him (I like Frank just not as him), he sounds miserable but too monotone, more or less the same as Jon Barnard before him. Chris Pratt is different enough but it's just Chris Pratt. So I think there's a balance to strike.

I even want to change his color palette. I like the grunge look as it gets dirty like that picture but when it's not, I want it to be neon orange like he's wearing a safety vest.

I want his personality to be consistent. An introvert type that stays in all day, hisses at the sunlight like a vampire, peeks through blinds when someone walks by. He doesn't care for fans, he just wants to live a simple life in his swamp- I mean! Home.

We can keep our opening with Garfield's origins, I'm not personally a fan but I understand why it's there, baby Garfield and all, marketing.

John is basically his agent, taking phone calls, setting up pictures, etc (afterall he's based on Jim Davis) Garfield is already known by everyone, he's a superstar, he has merch. His own cups, plushes, even telephones. But his work has slowed down. Garfield's not "old news", he's still known and he's not looking to be relevant, he has other 'imitators' already doing that, Grumpy Cat for example. He didn't just have lasagna stacks, he had money stacks.

He's not really old news, he's still there and everyone knows him but he sort of has a trash factor about him. You see, he hasn't put any work into his fame or stardom, nobody's been buying new merch, he's just been the same old boring Garfield living his day to day. His merch gets raggy, it's so old, everyone's already had it in their basements for years. All this fame and he's still lonely.

It sets up John to get busier and busier, less time for Garfield as he makes his living. As time's gone on, Odie's appeared and Nermal and Jon gets married to Liz, some to keep him less lonely.

He's a tsundere and doesn't want to admit that he misses him but he awaits his return. When it comes Monday again, John has to leave again. Sometimes every day seems like Monday because he'll have to work weekends.

His journey is based around stopping those endless Mondays. Sounds sad but that's the point, Garfield has depression that's never been diagnosed. He goes to the vet after some weird stuff happening to him and the vet tells him that it's stress. They try to come to the root of that stress to which Garfield eventually realizes by flipping channels on tv and seeing a bunch of references "John Connor" "John Rambo" "John McClane", he can't escape it but there's nothing that they can do about it, Jon still has to work, he still has to pay bills, there's no lead way, he tries getting another job but can't, this is what he's known for now, he's too prolific.

They try hiring someone to do the job for them but the boat sinks because now Jon is depressed being home all the time, he doesn't know what to do with his time, he can't live like Garfield because he's not him. He just loves making cartoons, that's why he started, that's why he took on that role in the first place and got Garfield popularized. No other comic does it for him.

Garfield doesn't even know where exactly Jon works but Nermal suggests checking LinkedIN, but given that his corporation spans the globe, Garfield has to venture outside and find him. Jon will also become trapped at his job so he can't go home, like Severance, going through mazes and losing what day it is. The one coworker will read a book called "I didn't know I was burned out."

During Garfield's adventure, he sees people that he knows nothing about and apparently nobody knows anything about him, he's just a chosen icon to represent. I imagine him going to Mexico, dressed in hat and poncho, expecting a desert, only to realize that it's a lot more than that. It's a civilization and these people know him, speaking Spanish but he can't speak it. There's graffiti of him in places that he's never even heard of.

Garfield gives up a few places in and decides to go to the source to stop not just Jon's Mondays but America's. Washington D.C.

The villain tricks him into thinking he likes Mondays but he finds out it's actually a Tuesday, he just overslept.

Also everyone who works on this movie will work a 4 day work week to further drive the narrative.

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Afterlife

The steaming mug of coffee sits untouched on the table in front of Nico.

It’s not what his body wants.

Not anymore.

The waitress who set it down had a defined blue vein snaking across her jawline.

He wraps his hands around the mug and swallows a scalding gulp.

Rain ticks on the windows, each drop that slides down reflecting the pink and yellow neon of the sign that proclaims the establishment is open twenty-four hours a day. 

Grease hisses in a fryer in the kitchen. Dishes clatter and people chatter in a mixture of languages and a radio plays a scratchy, fading in and out pop song about a cheating lover. Cars outside splash by through the puddles, water trickles down the storm drains with strangely metallic, echoing plops, horns blare and sirens scream. 

The sounds are the worst.

He can sort of block out the smells. Apparently, having had your nose busted a decade ago on a hunt does in fact make a dent in even vamp super-senses. He can pick out the bacon grease and the yellow peppers and olives and sweat and perfume, but it’s almost a manageable level.

Sight isn’t really a problem. He’s been highly attuned to small movements for all of his adult life. It’s like being twenty again, able to catch a rat’s tail whipping around a corner.

But the sounds. 

The sounds are overwhelming.

He shouldn’t have come here.

It’s too soon. He’s not ready.

He shoves a few bills under the barely-touched coffee mug and bolts out the door, pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt as a protection against the driving rain, and against whoever might recognize him as the man who used to be a teammate.

He has to get this under control. 

This isn’t what he wanted.

But it wasn’t his choice.

His family was so desperate to have a little more time with him that they let him turn. 

And then he almost killed them.

Memories of his hands around Vanessa’s throat, Ricky screaming at him and trying futilely to pull him away, the hot, salty, iron-tangy blood gushing from his son’s arm when he caught it in his teeth pour down on him, colder and more brutal than the rain.

He’s not sure either of them want to see him again.

He’s not sure trying to get himself clean and get the hunger under control is worth it. They wanted him back in their lives then, but they might never again. Not after seeing what the monster he returned as is capable of. They have every right to bar him from their door forever. To cut him out of their lives like a cancer that would eventually destroy them. 

Maybe he should just stop running and hiding from the Sunrisers. Let one of his old friends stake him through the heart and end this.

But something in him wants to survive. Desperately, like a feral animal caught in a trap.

He’s not sure he should listen to it. Vampires who give in to their urges are the most dangerous predators in the world. He’s staked dozens of them. Captured countless more. 

And now, he is one.

A disaster waiting to happen.

A massacre with a ticking timer on it.

A bloodthirsty creature that can hurt even the people that meant the most to the dead man whose face he’s wearing. 

He can hear the heartbeats of every person who brushes past him.

He can smell the blood on the chin of the man who must have cut himself shaving, under the Avengers bandaid on the finger of a kid with a blue rain slicker. 

He turns aside into an alley, crouches behind a dumpster, and pulls his last packet of synth-blood from his pocket.

Four hours.

He made it four hours between feedings this time.

It’s not good enough.

He swallows down the cool, slightly bitter saltiness and squeezes every drop he can from the plastic before tossing it into the trash. 

He lowers his head into his hands, shoulders shaking, tears burning his eyes. This is what he’s become. This is all he has to look forward to. 

The scent of something earthy and not quite canine enough to be right drags him back to the present. His head snaps up, eyes scanning the alleyway.

There’s a man there who wasn’t a second ago. Not particularly tall, wearing a long coat and a flat wool cap that’s spilling rain down over slightly sharp-tipped ears.

Fae. A shifter. The closest thing to a real werewolf that really exists.

Nico snarls.

He may want to die, right here, right now, but the thing inside him will be damned if it goes down without a fight.

Truth be told, it’s damned already.

“Not sure who you are, but seems like you could use a little help,” the shifter says, his voice carrying the distinct sound of Bay Ridge born and raised, but a life spent in various slices of the city’s underbelly. Probably one of the unregistered fae making a living doing private detective work for cash.

“Why don’t you scram and leave me be.”

“Not really my thing.” 

Actually, he thinks he knows who this might be. At least as far as family affiliations. One of the Phelan pack. His Sunriser team crossed paths with them a few times. Sometimes, they had the same objectives. Sometimes, at odds. 

He’s not sure which this is going to turn out to be.

“Fae and vampires don’t mix.”

“You saved my dad’s life once on a hunt. The pack owes ya.” The wolf crouches on his heels in the alley, coming down to Nico’s level, clearly none too worried about being outmatched in a fight. “Word of advice. Get outta this borough, sooner rather than later. Sunrisers are plannin’ a huge dragnet operation. Too many people complainin’ about vamp activity.”

“Thanks.” 

The wolf turns away, disappearing into the wind-whipped rain.

Where he was standing, there’s a chipped slice of shale stone with a few numbers and letters scratched on its surface.

The calling card of an earth-fae.

An address.

Nico almost tosses it down the closest storm drain.

He tucks it into his pocket instead.

He can’t be sure these fae would actually trust a vampire. They’ve warned him he’s in danger. To them, that might mean their life-debt is cleared up, and that he has no favors left to cash in with them.

But if he gets desperate enough, maybe at least they’d kill him quickly.

He can’t say the same for the Sunrisers.

(You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter @whump-place @the-lovely-wren

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Give Me Your Teeth

here is my latest Armand/Daniel fic, this one set in the devil's minion era. shameless PWP. NSFW

The music is so loud that Daniel can feel the bass thumping through the wall he’s pressed against.  It’s a gay bar, so no one here cares if Armand pushes him against the wall and starts sucking on his neck.  There are men embracing in dark corners all over the club.  

Gay clubs are one of Armand’s favorite hunting grounds for the small drink.  Once, Armand told him a vampire of his age could get by with only doing the small drink.  Daniel has watched men bare their necks for him all night, has watched Armand slip off with them into the dark, out of sight.  

He wishes Armand would let him watch him feed.  But then, he doesn’t like the idea of Armand’s teeth in someone else’s throat.  Not if he isn’t going to kill them after.  It’s too intimate.  Armand is his.  He doesn’t want to share him with anyone else.

Except Louis.  Louis was there first, and he’ll be there after.  But Daniel doesn’t want to think of that.  Not now, when Armand has his fangs buried in his throat and is sucking at it so sweetly.  It feels amazing, the way it always does.  It makes Daniel feel like he’s floating, like his body is buzzing, but so relaxed at the same time.  It’s a good thing the wall is there to support his weight.

One of Armand’s hand’s is buried in his curls, holding his head back at just the angle he wants.  Daniel likes the tight grip on his hair, it’s grounding.  Armand’s other hand leaves his hip and slides into his pants.  The jeans he’s wearing are ones that Armand bought him.  They’re skintight, too tight for underwear beneath them.  Daniel gasps and Armand rubs his palm over Daniel’s erection.  Armand biting him always gets him hard. 

Sometimes Armand does something about it, and sometimes he doesn’t.  Usually, Armand bites him before they fuck or while they fuck.  If Daniel’s lucky, he can get him to bite him both.  

There are times though that Armand bites him with no intentions of fucking him.  Daniel still gets turned on, like it’s his fault that Armand basically trained his body to equate biting with sex.  Depending on where they are and what their plans are, Armand will take him in hand or suck him off after.  Sometimes.

Daniel spreads his legs wider and grinds against Armand’s hand.  It’s fairly dark here in this back corner of the club, only the flashing neon lights illuminating them every few seconds.  There’s no real privacy, but it’s enough that Daniel can pretend no one can see him back here moaning like a whore.  

Armand withdraws his fangs and Daniel whines and clutches at his hair, trying to hold him there.  Armand stops moving his hand and Daniel releases his grip.  The hand starts back up, and Armand’s fingers wrap around his length and begin to pump.  His other hand lets go of Daniel’s hair and moves down to squeeze his ass.  His mouth goes back to Daniel’s neck, licking and kissing.

“Give me your teeth,” Daniel begs shamelessly, to horny to care how he sounds.  Who cares if he sounds like he’s down bad?  He is.  He’s Armand’s and Armand is his.  

“I’ve already taken too much.”  The reply is inside his head, Armand’s voice cool and silky smooth.  Like a kiss to the brain.  

Armand twists his hand and rubs his thumb over Daniel’s slit.  Daniel cries out in pleasure.  Armand’s mouth covers his and he hears a laugh inside his head.  “You’re so loud, lover.  Perhaps I should give you something to occupy your mouth.”

Daniel loves him, but he’s not doing that here.  They can go into the bathroom or the alley behind the club.  Then Daniel will be happy to get on his knees for him.  He wants to.  He loves sucking Armand’s cock.  

But it’s what he wants right now.

“Give it to me; I need it, baby.”  He means the blood, of course.  He always wants it, but Armand doesn’t always give it.  Sometimes, he’ll make Daniel go weeks without it. Especially if Daniel has made him angry.  

“Not tonight,” Armand says easily, and Daniel wants to cry.  He’s been so good for Armand, letting him bite him here in front of everyone.  And he even said he’d blow him.  Well, he thought it and that’s basically the same thing with Armand.  

Armand’s hand quickens and Daniel tosses his head back, smacking it into the wall.  It’s concrete, so it hurts like a motherfucker.  “Ow, fuck.”

“Let me kiss it better,” Armand says and he presses his mouth to Daniel’s.  He slips his tongue inside and massages Daniel’s.  His tongue is bleeding and the rush hits him at once.  The pain in his head disappears.  Likely the reason Armand changed his mind.  He sucks greedily at Armand’s tongue then keeps kissing him hungrily, only breaking away to breathe.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Daniel thinks at Armand as his orgasm crashes over him and he nearly screams, Armand’s hand covering his mouth and muffling the sound.  

Armand pulls his hand away and kisses Daniel chastely, tucking him back into his pants and doing them up.  “I love you, my boy.”

Daniel wraps arms around his neck and grins up at him.  “Give me a minute to catch my breath, and I’ll take the alley outside and take care of you.”

Armand cups Daniel’s cheek and rubs his thumb over his skin.  “Or I could take you home and fuck you until you cry.  Your choice, my love.”

“The second one.  Definitely the second one.”

[breaddo]

Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

thank you @weidli for tagging me! :] i will also be posting my last 5 fics posted on ao3 + 5 wips of varying recent-cy. would have done this on my sideblog but i included other fandoms

published:

1. cambi di me, pensieri e forme (doctor who; eight wears a pretty dress and charley realizes she's not quite a woman)

"Do we have to?" "Oh, where's your sense of adventure, Charley?"

2. you're so cold, keep your hand in mine (tatort münchen; vampires au in the 90's)

The neon lights were blinding in the dark, and Ivo didn’t like having so many people so close around him like this.

3. your burning yearning need (polizeiruf 110; vincent finds out about a vulgar deal adam struck with ulysses during demokratie stirbt in finsternis)

They were in the middle of a difficult case. One murder became two, then three, something more coordinated than they originally believed.

4. è vietato morire (polizeiruf 110; adam dies, or so vincent thinks.)

It's just a normal case. It's a long, grueling case that has them spending a couple nights in another town thus far, but in the end it's just another damn case.

5. Good Night, Sweet Prince (polizeiruf 110; the lead actor in a hamlet production dies that same night, and vincent becomes a main suspect in the death of his friend.)

“Horatio.” It was the softest word he’d ever spoken, as if tailored just for him to say. “Horatio, if thou didst ever hold me in thy heart…” Hamlet slowly raised his reddened hand to cup his face, dampening his jaw. “Absent thee from felicity a while, and in this harsh world, draw thy breath in pain.”

wips:

6. Untitled (polizeiruf 110/4 gegen z crossover; a retelling of abgrund in which adam reunites with an old friend)

Adam's side of the investigation started with the inn and its owner.

7. Untitled (tatort münchen; in which carlo is dead and franz disappears. sorry i riffed too hard off a mutual's blorbo dream)

It's been two weeks. They've been working together long enough that Kalli can tell when there's something wrong with Batic and Leitmayr.

8. Untitled (4 gegen z; au where everything is the same but jona has a cat)

The Guardians practically materialized on Jona's boat, flooding through the doorway. "Jona, we−What's that?" Jona looked up from his lap. "What's what?" "That." Pinkas pointed at him, and Jona looked back down.  The little ball of orange fur in his lap stared at the kids with wide eyes.

9. Untitled (doctor who; post-seasons of fear, eight is exhausted after his recent adventures and shows up to a familiar doorstep in san francisco in search for something grounding)

Another patch in time stitched over. Well, that was an extremely simplified and basic explanation of what really happened to the timeline since they chased after Grayle, but it would have to do for now, because the Doctor didn't want to think about time at the moment.

10. No Satisfaction (metamoro; x-files au idea based on the no satisfaction music video and fueled by multiple years of really specific brainrot. this is my wildcard option, babey!)

1:27 A.M. It wouldn't have had to be such a long night for him if he could just make himself stop thinking for a minute.

i'll tag @bunny-banana, @occhi-verdi-come-il-mare, @tinypi, @egirlgarak, @carlomenzinger and anyone else who wants to do it 👍

[mediocre-eternity]

do you ever the desire to act again?

Hello, ghost.

Why would you believe I stopped? What greater stage do I have than eternal life? Ah, I suppose you mean to specifically ask me about the Théâtre des Vampires. No, that particular season of my immortality is done. But I still perform. Every single night I do. My survivability depends on it.

There hasn’t been a mortal that has known me as “Armand” with the exception of Daniel. And the lovely mysterious folk writing to me on their own computers, of course. Though, this is typically a name specifically for other immortals to call me. I simply cannot be Armand to humans who wish to form relationships with me. If another immortal were to call to their mind, their memory of me would not divulge my true self. But this is only the practicality to these personalities I can conjure. I can slip into almost any role I wish and maneuvering through a human society has never really been a challenge for me once I understand how they want to perceive me.

You may not believe it, but I did go back to that man who put the septum ring in me, who marveled at how completely the little hole had healed since the last time I had seen him. It always happens, I say. I guess I’m just lucky. After I leave, I meet some young people who’ve invited me to sushi but I have pretty awful food allergies and oh that’s why I’m so pale, too, but I can take tiny sips of this sake every so often so that it looks like I’m enjoying it. I can act silly and half-drunk. I can hold a marijuana cigarette and peer at them through heavy lids. I can follow in their conversations about rent caps and thrift stores and being queer. I already have all of the puzzle pieces in my head, I just need to string them together. Warp them. Fit them to modern times. The more the church imposes it’s limitations, the more outlandish the youth will become. Maybe I buzz-cut my hair and dyed it neon pink and green. Or perhaps I felt like trying out earrings and wearing that big, ridiculous coat with the Ying Yang pattern I mentioned before, with the yellow corduroy slacks to compliment it. Where am I from? Italy, but I spent summers growing up in France. How old am I? 25, I just look young. Can you explain this slang to me? We don’t hear it where I’m from. You love my nail polish? Why, thank you, my partner found it for me at Target.

So you see, I have never stopped performing for mortals and I have never stopped being good at it. Most of you don’t have a very bright eye to these types of performances anyway.

[feralmorty]

~Introducing~

🖤Monty L-420🖤

Alrighty SO this is Monty! He is the titular feral Morty of my blog.

Personality:

He loves the occult and wants to become a proficient wizard. Once he masters fire ball, he will be unstoppable. Ghosts, ghouls, and demons are incredibly interesting for him, and he often begs to visit dimensions where they exist. He enjoys high fantasy, and in one adventure, was bitten by a vampire. Rick healed him of the affliction but left him a few cool powers. The ability to summon bat wings has gotten him out of a few nasty situations.

Another passion of his is racing of any kind (cars, motorcycles, snowmobiles, horses, spaceships, etc). Growing up, he was forced to be highly competitive and it’s stayed with him. He often gets himself into bad situations given how eager he is to challenge people. Unfortunately Morty H-5112 is incredibly keen on supporting Monty and is often swept up in his dealings. This aggressive competitive nature can also bleed into other things, such as with bets or dares.

Monty is a hopeless lovesick romantic, which doesn’t fare well given he has no charisma and zero game. Being bisexual means he gets rejected twice as much. He is incredibly down bad, as a simp online for twitch women. He got into gaming as a way to meet and impress gamer girls. It doesn’t work and he isn’t good at any of them, but that won’t stop him from trying.

He likes pop music or EDM but his favourite kind of music is anything with a rage or sadness behind it. Mosh pits and heavy drinking at a sketchy concert is his version of a good time. As an avid juggalo he is frequently blowing out speakers in his room and car.

Style wise he enjoys dark colours and lots of accessories, but he is flexible in style. He is very fond of his hair and tends to keep it well maintained. He often reeks a little too much of cologne, but it’s not bad if you stand up wind. He enjoys the casual appearance of ripped jeans and a t shirt but doesn’t mind dressing up or down. His favourite colours are a dark red and neon green although he wont wear both at the same time. He has to hold his jeans up when he runs or else they’ll fall down. Additionally, when he runs he makes a jingling sound’s because of all his chains and jewelry.

Monty is incredibly kind hearted and understanding to the people he loves. He often gives thoughtful advice or lends a listening ear to his family members. Within his family he plays a support role, and is able to lend a hand wherever needed given how well rounded he is. In contrast, he has to actively remember to be nice to strangers or people he meets, as he can come off aggressive. Trying to unlearn his stand off behaviour is difficult for him and often leads to misunderstandings or being labeled rude.

Pre-found family:

Born as Morty Smith, he came from a more affluent family background, specifically old money as opposed to new money. None of his family members were particularly good people, and instead put immense pressure on him to excel in his studies as well as maintain a high well rounded social standing. His parents often pitted him against his sister, who they valued as the golden child and heiress to the family fortune. He started referring to his sister as Winter given how much of a frigid bitch she could be, and the nickname stuck. As he grew older, he was unable to compete with Winter and became increasingly desperate to please his family. Everything he did was to get in their good graces, and he fought hard for approval. Eventually the pressure caused him to snap, where he embarrassed himself at a massive party full of influential people connected to his family. In a rush to flee the situation he ended up falling down a massive flight of stairs, landing himself in the hospital. The Smiths berated him for bringing shame to the family and causing a scandal. His Rick suggested that he be brought to the Citadel for a sort of reprogramming, which Morty agreed too.

For the next while, he went through rehabilitation in the citadel and was loaned out to various other Ricks to serve as their Morty. Confused at the lack of clarity on when he could return home, as well as his frustration with the other Ricks, he decided to escape. When he returns home, he finds that Rick L-420 had replaced him. When confronted, he learned that the Smiths were also aware of the change. There was no reprogramming or good intentions from his family, they had simply lied to be rid of him. He had been given away, in favour of a new Morty.

At this point he was roughly 14 with severe trust issues, deep rooted self loathing, and intense rage. Having only ever lived to do whatever his family asked, this betrayal broke something inside him. Whenever he was placed with a new rick, he would fight, try to escape, or simply be apathetic enough to be returned. This cycle would go on for years, with occasional stints of hiding out in random dimensions to avoid capture by citadel guards. As time went on he tried to distance himself from being a Morty, so he started to change himself. For example, dying his hair black, wearing different clothes, and asking to be called Monty. Eventually having gone through 17 Ricks, he landed himself in a detention centre awaiting a new placement.

Post-found family:

When he was assigned to Rick B-1225, this was his last chance before he would be considered unfixable, and sentenced to termination. Having a deep mistrust of Ricks, he was uncooperative and stand offish, but made no attempts to leave given the severity of his situation. Eventually he grew to enjoy being around Rick B-1225 and Tiger, and he started to join them on adventures.

One day when Rick was given jury duty in the citadel, Monty decided to join him for the trip. One of the guards familiar with him mistook this visit for Monty being returned, so he was arrested and sent for processing before termination. Monty was able to send a distress message from his cell, but he was not confident anyone would come for him. He resigned himself to his fate and decided he wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of killing him. He managed to knock himself out by hitting his head off a wall.

Rick having gotten his message, rushed to retrieve Monty, before he was hurt. Upon entering the building and fighting off guards, he saw one guard carrying Montys unconscious body away and immediately shot him in the head. When home safe, Monty realized he could trust this Rick, and they verbally established a father/son relationship. This was an important moment for them, as Monty often doesn’t feel loved or cared for without a tangible example. This act of rescue was enough for him to fully trust his new family, and proved that he was wanted. Monty’s trust is hard to earn but once it’s there, he is loyal till the end. Given that jerry never really bothered with him as a kid, he gladly accepted Rick as a father figure.

Unfortunately when returning home, Tiger was nowhere to be found. The two would search for her for months, across dimensions. Monty started to heal from his trauma and grew to consider this family his home. This helped fuel his urgency to find Tiger as well, since he knew in the opposite situation, she wouldn’t stop till he was safe.

When Beta and Morty H-5112 came into the picture, it still took him some time to trust them. With Morty H-5112 though, they had a lot of similarities and grew to be incredibly close. They have a brotherly bond and are often referred to as the twins. Monty often asks Beta to train him to fight and it’s helped them become close as well. Monty eventually fully accepts Beta, Rick, and Tiger as his parental figures with Morty as his brother.

[splittersplatter]

*dumps them onto a table*

OH BOY HERE WE GO

Height order from Shortest to Tallest:

Army, Mask, Aloha(he’s just barely taller than mask), Skull

ARMY (He/him, Demisexual)

A vampire squid, in this context meaning he has sharper fangs than the average inkling and has retractable claws on the ends of his fingers

Has freckles on either side of his face and crossing his nose bridge

His tentacles are also textured. They’re long and spiky

The mom friend of the S4, with Rider being a part-time dad friend

his left ear is chipped, likely from getting hurt from battle or something. Will possibly build on that later

A slim and kinda curvy body type

He has some burn scars on his arms from old curry spills he made when he was beginning as a cook

Autistic

Often accidentally overworks himself, runs on an average of 5-6 hours of sleep a day

It’s hard to get him to laugh, but once he does, he cackles as loud as a triumphant villain.

ALOHA (Any with a preference for He, Pansexual)

is a firefly squid(shocker) and can change his the color of his tentacle’s glow at will. Most of the time, he doesn’t put in the effort to, so it just stays a neon pink at the end.

The intensity said glow depends on his emotion.

Her fingertips glow as well.

This squid never gets cold, but they’ve got a naturally cold body temperature for some reason

He has multiple tattoos, stars on his left cheek and stars descending down his right leg

Still repeats slang that was used in the 1970’s, but makes it sound cool somehow

got some ADHD swag

He has a bunch of cutesy stickers on the case for his weapon

Has a slight overbite, visible in his smile

MASK (Doesn’t really care on what you refer to them as, Bisexual)

Is also a vampire squid, similar description to Army

His tentacles are pierced and choppy.

Both of her ears are chipped have a dark blue ink ombre

Eyes have nearly hypnotic swirls in them

Secretly has over 500+ hours on Animal Crossing

Very lanky, looks like they’re moving slowly when actually speedwalking

Has some long-ass eyelashes. Seriously they’re very long you might think she’s wearing mascara but nope

Has a guilty pleasure for the Squid Sisters

SKULL(He/Him, Asexual)

Silly giant squid. Very tall

Has a nice assortment of piercings on his face

kinda fluffy tentacles!!

Autistic

has only one of his Octo tee bracelets (He gave the other to Aviators)

His pupils significantly dilate when he sees something interesting

Has lots of tubs of ice cream at his apartment. Sometimes, Aloha stops by for a visit, not only for the ice cream, but also because Skull is a good listener and is willing to hear him ramble about cod knows what while they both scarf down some Neapolitan.

Secretly writes poetry. He just strikes me as the poetry type

Pspspps ask me about my cringe headcanons for the S4

[monin1ca]

Haloween Headcanons

Word count: 761 Warnings: Duelists being idiots, viper done with valorant protocol, cursing, brainrot, not proofread… It never is

Superduper excited about the event: Jett, Raze, Phoenix, Astra, Skye

It’s no surprise why I put these people… They (By ‘they’ I mean Jett, Raze, and Phoenix) have the most childish personality and really enjoy events like this. Astra and Skye are really avid enjoyers of the event mostly because they love the candy,,, I headcanon that all these people have a sweet tooth!! Fight with the wall if you disagree👊. They (again Jett, Raze, and Phoenix) also are the ones who force Brimstone to allow them to make a party and give some funds to buy a shit ton of candy. Poor Brimstone had to agree begrudgingly; the young duelists surely would’ve committed arson if he didn't

Costumes : Jett - Cat Costume (matching with Phoenix) Raze - Dressed as Alice from Alice in Wonderland Phoenix - Dog Costume (matching with Jett) Astra - Dressed up as Harley Quinn ( Jett thinks she fits the bill ) Skye - Though she’s not American, she dressed up as Rosie the Riveter (She does the pose alot btw.. Its canon Im riot/j)

Is excited but hides it: Neon, Yoru, Sage, Reyna

Neon reminisces about her Halloween experience back in the Philippines and smiles thinking about it. She stopped going out to celebrate Halloween with friends when she turned into college and believes now is the chance to relive her memories. Yoru tries to keep his cool demeanor but fails when he smiles softly, remembering his times with his buddies trashing neighboring houses in high school. Sage, on the other hand, has never really experienced Halloween; she was simply too busy when she was younger. I headcanon that she lived in a more rural part of China, so events like Halloween were quite rare. And for Reyna? Well, she celebrated it because of her younger sister; she too has many fond memories of Halloween. Though, it feels so bittersweet knowing that she may not celebrate Halloween again with her sister.

Costumes : Neon - Dressed up as The Flash as a joke Yoru - DID NOT WANT TO WEAR ANYTHING,,, Was forced into wearing a Bunny headband (was supposed to match with Jett and Phoenix) Sage - Dressed up as Mulan since she (somewhat) relates to her Reyna - Dressed up as a Queen, wearing a long red slightly puffy dress with bold red makeup

Indifferent about it, but supports the other agents: Brimstone, Sova, Cypher, Kay/O, Omen, Fade, Chamber.

These people probably have experienced it once or twice and never really had an opinion on it. Probably by-standers in the party, wearing a simple costume but never really stood out. They also helped decorate the headquarters and help set the mood for the rest. Nonetheless, I think their opinion on Halloween might change once they celebrate it with their newfound family.

Costumes:

Brimstone - Wore a simple Pirate Costume. Sova - Has a small wolf ear headband and small tail Cypher - Wears a Devil costume, and has the trident(??) thing too! Kay/O - His body IS the costume Omen - Has similar cat ears to Jett Fade - Two words. Witch Costume. Chamber - Evil Priest Costume with Blood all over his costume (may or may not be real), claims to punish the sinful people.

Hates the event/Simply too busy: Viper and Killjoy

Viper just hates the idea of mingling for the reason of dressing up, she thinks it’s pointless. But she does like scaring other people, so she kinda wanders around the party scaring people. For Killjoy, she again thinks it is kinda pointless, and she's simply too busy, but she still goes when she has time.

Costume: Viper - Not a costume but wears vampire teeth Killjoy - Probably dresses up as a character that has an inside joke in Germany, and no one understands

Is in jail: Breach

About this man, can u not stay out of jail my dude???… HE'S GODDAMN GREEDY!! STOLE 10KG WORTH OF CANDY ??? LIKE BRO U EARN MILLIONS OF DOLLARS AND STILL REFUSED TO BUY CANDY???. HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE FIRST CATEGORY BUT GOT MAD AT BRIMSTONE FOR BEING SO STINGY WITH THE MONEY; OUT OF SPITE, HE STOLE CANDY. Got beaten up by Brimstone when got released

Costume: Breach - Thief costume or a King Costume (ironic, I know)

Authors Note : LMAO I CAME BACK CAUSE I SAW ALL THE KINKTOBER THING START FEEL FREE TO SEND SOME REQUESTS AND HCS <33

[live-the-fangirl-life]

🦇Halloween Dialogue Prompts🎃

“Is that...written in blood?”

“Just shut up and hand out candy.”

“The power just went out, and it's a full moon outside.”

“Stop messing with the lights, it's not funny.”

“I'm never going to a haunted house with you again."

“Tell me your scariest ghost story. I don’t want to sleep tonight.”

“Why does every costume have to be sexy? I don’t want to be sexy, I want to be the reason why the night is feared, muhahahahaha!”

“Can too much candy corn actually rot your teeth or was my dentist just trying to drum up October business?”

“Theoretically, do you think brewing up a pot of special edition neon-green slime is honouring the season adequately, or would that breach workplace regulations if I tipped it over the boss?”

“Are you crazy?! I am not answering that door! That is exactly what happens at the start of all of those movies, right before the killer gets in and—”

“I can’t come in to work today. I’m a certified emergency ghost buster.” / “Well, I also can’t come in to work today. I’ve been bitten by a vampire.”

“It’s ALIVE! ...I mean, good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?”

“It’s a love potion! What could possibly go wrong?”

“The only family I would marry into is the Addams family.”

“I can pass as a goth.”

“The perfect day: pumpkin spice, pumpkin candles, pumpkin carving, and you.”

“I’d let you haunt me all night long.”

“Holy shit, why is there no reflection?”

“Can you wear that mask later? …Only the mask?”

“Halloween is my aesthetic.”

“I told you not to summon demons in the house!”

“Why do you have so many eggs and toilet paper—you know what? I don't want to know.”

“I’m not the only one with blood on my hands.” / “But you’re the only one with actual blood on their hands.”

“That costume looks great on you.” / “That’s nothing, you should see me without it.”

“YODO?” / “YODO: You Only Die Once.” / “…Please stop saying that.”

“You promised you’d go trick or treating with me.”

“Wow, nice costume! The blood looks really realistic.”

“Trick” *cocks gun and aims* “or treat.”

“What part of Do Not Resurrect The Dead do you not understand?!”

“You’re the kind of person who gives out carrots, aren’t you?”

✨💀🦇🕯️🔮🕷️🎃🪦🧛🏻‍♀️🕸️👻💀🦇🕯️🔮🕷️🎃🪦🧛🏻‍♀️🕸️👻✨

Answered Prompts

Trick or No Treat “We’re all out of candy.” / “What do you mean we’re all out of candy?!”

Divine Intervention “The Ouija board says you’re a little shit.” / “Oh, my gods, I think the crystal ball is working. The spirits are telling me you’re a dumbass.”

Costume Count “You can’t withhold candy from the little kids just because you think their costume is ugly.”

Scared, Sweetheart? “I may or may not have stayed up to watch a horror movie and now I can’t sleep - don’t laugh at me! - can you please come over?”

Tell Me S’more “The legend said it only goes after virgins…so sucks for you I guess.”

A Haunting Halloween “If I die because of your dumb idea, I will haunt you so hard!”

Trust Me, it’ll be Fun “It’s just a spooky clock chiming at the incorrect time while all the lights are off and strange footsteps are creeping up the stairs, in a house that won’t let us leave.”

Halloween Fic Collection

[crypt-hammer]

Welcome to Soho. Vampire Joe Quinn x Fem Reader

Summary: You’re dragged to a club after work on a Friday night with a group of friends. You catch the attention of a dark eyed man who thinks you’re nothing special to him, initially. Oh how that changes in later chapters.

A/N: I’ve completed this over on Ao3, Posting the first chapter here because I can. Plus I loved writing Joe as a Vampire. The song she recognises is In My Mind by Dynoro & Gigi D'Agostino. I hate using irrelevant tags but y’know. reach. TW: mention of rape, but it’s the reader panicking.

Joseph Anthony Francis Quinn, thank you for being the ultimate muse.

You’d never usually consider this type of club as the perfect night out, but your work friends wanted to blow off some steam and you followed. Maybe a change of scenery from your usual dive bars would be refreshing?

You’d expect people to stare at you, because of how out of place you look, but you realise you’re projecting your own insecurity, and the people around you? They don’t care, they’re there for the same reason you are. You let out a sigh of relief, body relaxing a little.

Welcome to Soho.

Your friends all get cocktails, you’d die for a pint of cider, but you decide to surrender to the moment.

“Uh, can I get Dirty martini?… Don’t worry about the olive.” Your hands clutching the side of the bar. You’re surprised to feel it’s not sticky due to all the spilled drinks from drunk students like the ones you’re so familiar with.

Turning to look at those around you, men in perfectly ironed shirts, women in short dresses and high heels, hair impeccably curled and teased. You look down at your stacked Docs, and black skinnies. The cut off sleeves from your shirt exposing the side of your ribcage. Maybe the doorman felt pity on you. Jesus, stop with the self deprecation, you’re here, and you’re determined to have a good time.

The bar woman passes your drink and you pay. Great. There’s an olive. You’re about to take a sip when a hand comes out of nowhere and takes the end of the toothpick the olive was impaled on. Following the gracious way it moved up to soft pink lips and perfect natural teeth. He put the olive in his mouth, dragging his teeth along the wood, slowly chewing the salty orb, before fiddling with the tooth pick as his eyes dart up and down your frame.

“What if I wanted that?” You say deadpan.

“You specifically asked for no olive.” He smiled, his chewing slowing before he swallows.

How he heard you over the thumping music you can’t comprehend. He wasn’t anywhere near you.

Taking moment to judge this olive thief, he was about six foot, broad shoulders, his skin pale in contrast to the dark suit and shirt he was wearing, is it navy? Black? Bordeaux? You can’t tell under these lights it keeps changing. His suit pants were slim, as they skimmed his thighs down to his Chanel boots. A single chain hung from his waist to his back pocket.

At least you have good style, Mr Olive Thief.

“You…Don’t usually come here, do you?” He leans closer so his mouth is by your ear.

You gesture to your outfit with a sarcastic smile. His aura was calm, non threatening. You’re used to people grabbing and twisting your arm to get a better look of your tattoos, but he admired them with his eyes, not his hands. Hands which were clutching a thick red looking liquid garnished with celery, he takes a sip, his tongue clicking as he continues to stare at you. Had he even blinked?

He removes his right hand from his pocket and outstretches it to you. Formal.

“I’m Joe.. By the way…”

Olive thief has a name.

You knock back the martini in one and shake his hand. It was cool, not the warmth you’d expect for someone underground in a neon lit club.

“Same again?” He smiles.

The night went on, you and Joe didn’t move from the bar, talking, drinking bloody Mary’s and Martinis. You completely forgot you were here with work friends. There was something about him that drew you in, his eyes looked black under the low light of the bar, but they crinkled in the corners when he laughed.

A little worse for wear you lean over the bar and ask for shots, you didn’t care what they were you just wanted to feel your throat burn. Sambucca. Excellent.

Joe grimaces, as he takes the tiny glass between his finger and thumb.

“Sambucca, really? How old are you?” He laughs, his open mouthed smile remaining long after his chuckling fades.

“Okay lightweight. I’ll do yours if you’re too pussy.” Your words are starting to slur, realising you’re flirting with him you feel a flush of heat in your cheeks.

Joes face turns faux stern, as he throws his head back with the syrup like liquid. Smacking his tongue and furrowing his brows, he doesn’t like Sambucca.

You laugh and down the shot, the heat from the alcohol spreading down your throat and warming your stomach. Licking the remaining trace of the aniseed flavour off your lips you notice a silver chain around his neck, delicately draping his collarbones. Fuelled by alcohol induced confidence you reach out, hooking a finger under it, lightly pulling him closer. He turns his ear to you.

“Silver looks really good on you!”

“Oh it’s not silver. It’s white gold, love.” He smirks, his eyes dark, like his pupils have taken over any colour of his iris. He still hasn’t blinked. Jesus.. Had you forgotten to breathe?

A repetitive voice snaps you out of your trance, bass boosted, fuck a song you recognised.

And in my mind, in my head.. This is where we all came from

“AH!” You shriek, taking Olive Thief by the hand and dragging him toward the mass of bodies on the strobe lit dance floor.

The dreams we have, the love we share This is what we're waiting for

He laughs while happily being dragged, quickly finishing his drink and setting it on a passing table.

The same four sentences repeating, they’d turned the bass up so it thumps through your chest.

The bright flashes of light illuminate him better. Velvet. His suit was black velvet. His hair a mess of auburn curls. His shirt black crisp cotton with two or three buttons undone, the shadows cast by his collarbone on his throat sending you.

He places a hand at your waist to steady your feet.

“You okay?” He mouths, a flurry of bodies dancing and waving drinks in the air all around you. But you just continue to dance to the bassey thumps. He doesn’t move, the only still body amongst a sea of people, almost like he’s trying to control himself. His jaw is clenched and his eyes intense.

You dance close to him, almost grinding into him in an attempt to get him to loosen up. He doesn’t, odd because he seemed so happy to be, let’s face it, forced to the dance floor.

You turn to face him, the bass pounding through you as you reach to grab his hand, you’ve no idea what’s caused his demeanour to change. Before your fingers touch he grips your wrist, pulls you closer to him, his left hand snug around your waist. He wasn’t being gentle.

He craned his neck down as he gently swayed you. His lips parallel to your ear, “You’ve made this so easy for me, you know?”

Shit, has he drugged you? Were you about to black out. Fuck. Was he threatening to rape you?

“Huh?” You try to turn your head but he blocks it with his cheek, his whole body reigns dominion over yours. He moistens his lips with his tongue, and you feel him take in a deep breath at your neck.

“Joe?” Your voice wobbling, worry kicking in causing you to tremble. “Joe…Please don’t.. please don’t rape me. Please… just let me go. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

He pulls his head back looking you in the eyes, disgusted.

“You really think that’s what I want?… Look, if we were to fuck, I wouldn’t lay a finger on you unless it were consensual.”

His skin still feels cold despite the dance floor sweltering, your hands clammy as they flex while his are tightly around your wrist. A strobe light flashes across his mouth, his canines are pointed. It’s been staring you in the face all along.

“What are you?” Alarm bells ringing, you’re trapped. Surely, he wouldn’t dare do anything surrounded by so many people.

His lips close and curl into a smile. “Nosferatu… Dracula… Incubus..” he bobs his head “Vampyr” he rolls the R on his tongue. “Bloodsucker…..”

He brings the hand that is clutching your wrist up to his chest. Still swaying you. “Vampire, love… A vampire.”

You’re taken aback by his reluctance to hide what he was. It’s like he flaunts it.

“Don’t tell me… My blood sings to you, I’m your lover from a thousand years ago reincarnated? All that cliché nonsense.”

He scoffs. “No. You’re just in…. The right place at the right time.”

Your heart skips in your chest. You’re nothing but a nightcap to him. A midnight snack. He runs his nose over the side of your cheek, nudging you, exposing your throat as he lowers his mouth to the throbbing in your neck.

His lips meet your skin first then his tongue, lapping at the fine layer of salty perspiration that had coated your skin. Then his teeth, sharp pain fading into a full throb, as you felt white hot heat pour into him. He groans into your skin as he drinks from you.

You’re clinging to his shirt trying to keep your eyes open to get the attention of someone. Anyone around you. From afar you just look like lovers in a passionate embrace. His hand that was on your waist moves to your lower back holding you up and close to him.

Black spots start to appear in your vision. Shit, this is it isn’t it. The edges of your vision become hazy, as everything starts sounding like it’s in the next room. You let out a tiny gasp before turning limp in his arms. He had you by the throat like a lion and prey.

Joe releases you, cradling you before shrugging off his jacket and wrapping you in it. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows. The people around you just thinking you fainted from the heat, awww he’s being a good boyfriend by bridal carrying you away from the dance floor.

Squeezing past a group of Hens at the bar with multiple inflatable cocks waving around.

“Hey, can I get a coke? Make sure it’s extra syrupy… Low blood sugar. Bring it outside? Back of the smoking area, you know my spot.” He smiles… not before sucking any trace of your blood from his teeth.

Pushing the door to the closed off garden open with his boot, he gently sets you down on the bench, ensuring your head is resting on a pillow. He keeps his eye on your chest like a hawk, ensuring it rises and falls with each breath.

Confident he hasn’t killed you, he pulls a pack of menthol cigarettes from his pocket, dragging one out with his mouth. Shit. His lighter was in the suit jacket.

“Sorry, love.”

He reaches over, fumbling with both pockets until he finds it tucked away in one of the inside concealed pockets. Taking the white gold zippo he flicks it and lights his cigarette. You mumble and come to, awoken by his frantic patting, and prying fingers.

Just as you try to sit up, to a waitress brings the thick black carbonated drink with a straw. Joe winks as he thanks her, fuck… This guy has done this before.

“Wh… How much did you take from me?”

He takes a drag, talking before exhaling a cloud of smoke. “About half a pint.”

“That all?”

He laughs, the smoke dissipating as he flicks the ash into the awaiting ashtray.

“Even with alcohol thinning your blood, it just didn’t want to spurt out. Your blood pressure is far too low. You need to eat more salt.”

“Oh so you’re a fucking doctor too?” You sit up, slightly woozy, clutching the velvet suit jacket around you.

“No I’ve just been around a long time… Hey, careful. Take it slow okay?” His hand hovered in the space between you.

Your neck had stopped throbbing, it was more a dull burn now. The encounter sure had sobered you up, your mouth dry, yet sticky. As your eyes land on the glass of coke in front you, he notices and passes it to you, taking the straw in your mouth before clutching the glass.

“Uhgh, I should’ve asked if you’d poisoned this before drinking it shouldn’t I?”

“I can assure you I haven’t tampered with it. It’s just extra sweet, I thought you could use the sugar.”

You take several large gulps, the sugar hitting your stomach as the realisation of what the fuck just happened sinks in.

“Joe, you bit me.”

“Yeah.”

“In the middle of a crowd of people.”

“Yeah?”

“… Wh…. Why me? An attractive man like you could woo any of the women here?”

“Who’s to say I haven’t?…. And, attractive? Well you know how to make a man blush.”

“Don’t avoid my question.”

He sighs, looking down as he stubs his cigarette out. “Look… I have…”

He waves his hand around

“Willing donors shall we say. I was pretty well fed when I got here, you have to be when there are so many warm bodies around you… Anyway… You walked in and smelt so fucking good, I wanted to taste what was flowing through you… just a taste” he narrows his eyes and pinches his fingers together as he leans closer to you.

“So it wasn’t wrong place wrong time, for me… then? It was my blood?”

Joe stares off, jutting his bottom lip out and raising his eyebrows.

“When I’m out, I drink for pleasure not sustenance.” His eyes dart to you without turning his head as he smirks. The smile making your heart beat that little bit faster.

“Excuse me…?”

He glanced down at your chest, then back at your face. For once a man wasn’t staring at your chest because of your tits.

“Mm.. I kinda wish I hadn’t tasted you now though, because I want more. I tried to hold off….”

“The weird Jasper Hale, creepy tense looking stance on the dance floor?”

“Jasper who?”

“Never mind…”

“But yeah.. I tired. But you, god.. You came closer and I could almost feel your pulse throb on my tongue.” His fists clench.

“You were close to a speaker….”

He stares at you, unimpressed. “Love, what I felt was a lot faster than that song.”

That shut you up.

“Uh… so… What now. Are you going to chain me up in your basement, as a living blood bag?”

“Do you want me to?” He leans in smirking

“I…uh…” flustered. This fucking guy.

He takes a deep breath, his chest puffing out, buttons on his black shirt straining.

“Um…I would like to see you again…. Not to drink from you.. Although, that would be nice.” He chews his bottom lip. “We could do something in the week? Maybe?” His huge dark eyes turn and hold your gaze.

You stare at him trying to believe what you’re hearing. This.. Vampire, is essentially asking you out on a date? How could you say no to those eyes?

“This isn’t a plan to bite me again is it?”

He places both hands on his chest in sincerity “Stake my heart, hope to die. I promise.”