#it made me feel this way even before i figured out i was nonhuman.

[poplarbark]

this image givbes me so much euphoria. i don t know where it comes from or what the original is but its one of my favourite images

[opiopal]

just realized I haven't posted in a hot second, so i figured I'd share this thought I've had for like, weeks,

has anyone else noticed the similarities wth obey me and steven universe? or am I just too crazy about both of them, cause just listen to me

Mc and steven are the results of someone inhuman they are related to wanting to mingle with humanity and ended up starting a family with a guy they were willing to throw everything away for, after that they end up dealing with the still grieving family that can't help but bring up lilith/rose at times, whether in comparison or just reminiscing. talking abt how amazing lilith/rose was. as everything goes on steven/mc slowly burn out and looses the parts of themselves that made them so loved,(not mentioned in game ofc but theres no way you can ignore how much meaner mc gets over time.) not to mention how many times other people have attempted to KILL mc/steven in their own grief, and with pretty much one success(I am counting white diamond here cause girl basically ripped stevens heart out.) and also the fact that they always find themselves in magical bs BECAUSE of their family, and the two have also indirectly talked with lilith\rose,(mc getting visions, steven in roses room) AND they were both saved from death by their mom\greatx1000 grandma,(mc dying, steven fusing with his gem) and despite the fact that these people have been together for THOUSANDS of years before steven/mc came along and they haven't even considered talking out their feelings in a calm setting instead of letting emotions sizzle out and explode, Ik some ppl may get annoyed with this post so I wanna clarify that I am NOT comparing the two nor am I saying that they are super allike, this is just me thinking it's silly that two of my favorite media's have a few things in common,

edit: I NEARLY FORGOT ABOUT THE FACT THAT THERE WAS A MASSIVE NONHUMAN WAR ABOUT HUMANS/A HUMAN THAT KILLED THE VERY PERSON EVERYONE LOVED

[vulpecular-draconic]

so… i think i finally consciously figured out something.

this lull that i’m experiencing, that i’ve mentioned in previous posts? i know where it began. or, the two things that i think began it. i don’t remember which order they happened in? so i’ll just describe them.

incident one: i tried to talk about alterhumanity with my mom and sister. not just in vague, this-is-a-thing way — they already knew it existed and thought it was weird — but i tried to explain phantom limbs to them. i asked them if they experienced phantom limbs, and kinda told them about mine. which was a mistake. they didn’t make fun of me exactly, but my sister gave me weird looks (and thought i was confusing it for imagination, which i didn’t have the energy to correct at that point), and my mom just said she thought i had a strong imagination (in a less-frustrating way than my sister). but i left the whole interaction feeling VERY much like i’d shared too much of myself. i still feel that way about it. i noticed afterwards that it was harder to feel connected to my ‘types.

incident two: i filled out an alterhuman survey. i’m not sure why, but something about one of the questions — or rather, something in the way i answered it — left me feeling… empty, in regards to alterhumanity? i closed the app and got up from my chair suddenly feeling like i’d broken something. i don’t really know why it made me feel that way. the question had been asking about how much i viewed myself as human. my answer was that i felt like “human” was more of a job title, a purpose, than something i was. it was the first time i’d contextualized it that way — outside of my head, at least? — and… idk. but everything felt Different after that. 

these both happened around the beginning of 2024, i think. for a few weeks afterwards, i clung on to posting about alterhuman stuff, trying to get that feeling back. eventually though, i accepted the lull and stopped trying to wring connection to myself out of tumblr.

i didn’t fully accept the reasons for the lull, though. it’s true that i’ve had natural lulls before even knowing i was alterhuman, but i pretended that was all it was.

since the lull began there’s been a few spotty days where my connection feels stronger, but hardly ever to the strength i felt it before, and hardly for longer than a day or two.

what really worries me is that the only kintype i feel consistently connected to now is being a pearl fox (and avian-humanoid, but that’s less of a species and more just limbs that almost always feel comfortable to me. and dragons, which feel more like otherheartedness, but i always get shifty about those whenever i interact with dragon content). but even being a pearl fox feels more distant than it did. all my types felt very real as i was feeling them, but i worry that they won’t come back. what if they were hyperfixation-induced identities, and now that the hyperfixation has abated, i’ll never feel like them again? 

because i am a psychological alterhuman. i’m at the whims of my own subconscious. i think i definitely was everything i said i was back then at the time i said it, but i don’t feel like i am anymore, not in the same way. i tried, but i can’t force it to come back. i’m still not quite sure why it left.

to be honest, the only thing that’s keeping me from completely doubting if i’m alterhuman at all is remembering how i found out i was alterhuman in the first place.

i acted nonhuman (specifically, cat-like) since i was eight, until i was shamed out of it.

i constantly pictured myself as a dragon and had dragon phantom limbs around the ages of eleven-thirteenish.

right before finding out about alterhumanity in 2023, i realized i was placing an unusual amount of weight on the question “what is your favorite animal.” my answer had been cats as long as i could remember, but that had become increasingly uncomfortable to say in recent years (dysphoric, in hindsight). i felt that my favorite animal had to encapsulate my personality, and for some reason, cats no longer did. i realized i was drawn more to foxes the same week i learned about alterhumanity. 

i kind of wish i had learned about alterhumanity a bit later than i did. a couple months later maybe, that would’ve been ideal. give myself more time to learn about foxes and i connect to them on my own, without getting it tangled up in preconceptions, yknow?

because red foxes? the species that pearl foxes are a color morph of? i initially discarded them too quickly, because i didn’t feel connected to the classic red fox color morph. so i went searching for a whole different fox species, and found bat-eared foxes. it’s hard to describe in with words, but think that made everything a lot messier in the months afterward.

i’ve always had a fascination and connection with dragons, which hasn’t faded in the same way my connection with cats did, but i’m wondering if i was too eager to call it a kintype. i’m definitely at least dragonhearted, that’s for sure. i’ve definitely been a dragon before. i think i’ve been all the kintypes i list in my intro post, but i don’t know if that being was something that was ever meant to last.

i’m thinking about the list of animals i wrote down before discovering alterhumanity, when i was trying to figure out which creature was my favorite. i think i want to go back to before i found out about bat-eared foxes, and i want to start from scratch. make absolutely sure i’m not tying myself to an exceptionally long, hyperfixation-induced cameo shift. they have all been very important to me, and still are in many ways, and i’ve been scared that admitting to myself that things might have Changed and that it would mean they could never be important to me again. but that’s silly. they can be important again if that happens to happen.

i’ve only been awakened for what, a little over year now? compared to so many other alterhumans, i’m just a kit. i’ve barely started my journey with nonhumanity.

so i’m tentatively starting with a new status quo; i am a pearl fox.

i think i’m comfortable saying that, but i need to parse what exactly that means to me. i’m less so a pearl fox in a real-world all-fours fox kinda way (though it feels like that some rare occasions). i’m more so a fox in fable-trickster-figure kinda way, creative and clever and skulking around. (i think that may be where my fae/changeling kintype came from — it melds with my pearl fox ‘type in a way that may mean it’s not entirely its own thing. i don’t feel comfortable calling myself a fae anymore, not in a literal way. changeling i still have to think about.) sometimes i feel more like a pearl fox in a grungy way; less whimsical, more grounded, listening to rough music and wanting more from life. sometimes being a pearl fox feels more like a metaphor: a metaphor for how various parts of my identity has been dehumanized, and a channel to express the parts of me that snuck around to stay safe.

but it always, in some way, feels like me. it feels like it fits my pre-awakening criteria for a favorite animal: an animal that can encompass my personality completely.

i should probably make a new intro post with this info soon, but i’m not quite sure how to explain it in that format yet. but i’m happier now that i’ve figured this out. all my other kintypes, and even my hearttype and hearthome, i want to put away for now. not necessarily abandon forever; if the connection is still there in some form, they’ll come back. but i want to make sure i’m not forcing myself to make them stick around.

so yeah, reintroduction, i guess! i’m vuldra, i’m a pearl fox, and i don’t know if that’s ‘heartedness or ‘kinity or both in fluctuation.

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: You work at an alien intelligence subset of the government. You were asking to get abducted… you’re just getting an in-depth look at extraterrestrial life. Pairing: Alien!Keven x fem human!reader Tropes: supernatural au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: aliens, nonhuman Kevin Smut Warnings: fingering but with a tentacle, clitoral stimulation, breast play Word Count: 1,605 Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye Before You Interact February Filth Masterlist

Listen to ♡ E.T. by Katy Perry

“There’s no way we just made contact…” Your coworker gasps.

You snap your head around, “We what?”

“We made contact! That UFO we spotted out by Saturn, we made contact!”

He starts scrambling around the room to scribble down wherever he can and runs out the door. He doesn’t even tell you where he’s going. You can only assume that he’s going to find your superiors to report the finding. You’re left with no answers as your coworker makes a mad dash for the door. Furrowing your eyebrows together, you walk towards the monitor that he had left open. The screen shows a rather blurry photo of the ship. From what you can tell, it’s enormous. Almost as if it could house an entire community. Just as you go to pull up the transmission you got from the ship. A bright beam of light blue surrounds you. Your heart rate spikes out of fear. You don’t know what’s happening or why. One moment, you’re standing in the lab, then next, you’re standing in what seems to be a command center. You stand out like a sore thumb in the space. Your messy bun, with safety goggles on the top of your head, your stark white lab coat, and blue gloves stand out in the dark space.

“Welcome to space,” a voice calls, “We’re orbiting Saturn right now. Of course, you already knew that.”

“Who are you?” You question. 

The creature turns around. His upper half looks human-esque. His hair is split horizontally. The top half of it is a stark white color, and the underneath is entirely the opposite. The color is so dark it nearly rivals the void outside the ship. His eyes are a golden color you’ve never seen before. It’s almost as if the color swirls around his wide pupils. As your eyes take in his form fully, you notice that his lower half is tentacles. It almost reminds you of the half-human, half-sea creature beings that you were told about in fairytales as a child. He stalks closer to you. The tentacles move as if they’re human legs but also move like an octopus’s tentacles as well. He doesn't have suction cups like a sea creature typically has, but you’re still fascinated by the deep purple appendages. 

He stops not but a foot from you. One of his tentacles barely touches your boot as he analyzes you. You feel small under his gaze, but you still love every moment of the feeling. It takes everything in you not to reach out and figure out exactly what he’s like. Your mind’s scientific nature begs you to analyze him just the way he’s analyzing you. Before you can reach out to get a feel of his physical form, he reaches out to touch you first. His hand is the same as a human's. His hand comes up under your chin, tipping your chin up. He has his chin tilted up, looking down his nose at you. Turning your head side to side, he lets out a slight hum.

“Maybe I should be asking you that.” He says, “Your lab is the one who sent us a transmission first.”

You let out a shaky breath, “It wasn’t me specifically.” 

“Still your lab, no?”

“Yes.”

He hums again, “You would never be able to pronounce my name. How about I find a human name for you to call me.”

“Which would be?”

The alien drops his hand from your chin. He moves and crosses his arms across his body as he thinks. He looks around the otherwise empty space. His golden eyes glow under the lights of the room. 

“How about Kevin?” He finally says.

You try to stifle a giggle, “Of all human names you could’ve chosen, you chose Kevin?” A snarl-like sound escapes his throat, “Is there an issue with that?”

A fire burns beneath his eyes as he questions you. You feel a shiver run through your body and center in your core.

“Nothing’s funny! I like it. I was just shocked you chose that over a more unique one!”

Kevin smirked, “You want to analyze my species so badly. Why don’t we both get a nice close encounter with each other, hmm?”

All you can do is nod and let him walk around you. You assume he wants you to follow, so you do. You take in your surroundings. The ship is nearly entirely composed of dark silver metal. There are bright white strips of light that follow down the pathway. You can’t be sure if they’re lights like at home or if there is some sort of other technology humans have yet to discover.

Kevin guides you further down this seemingly never-ending hall until you stop in front of what seems to be just part of the wall. The alien knocks a unique pattern, and a doorknob appears. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head with the notion of his species’ technological advances. Humans could never come close to what they’ve accomplished already. Pushing the door open, Keven gestures for you to step inside before him. Once you’re inside the room, Kevin pulls the door shut again. You watch as the door disappears and becomes nothing more than the wall again. Taking in this new environment, you notice it’s similar to a bedroom you’d see on Earth. It feels like a safe space for someone to relax and be themselves. There’s some sort of digital pad with a three-dimensional hologram half-drawn floating above it. Kevin moves toward it and taps a few things before the device goes black and sinks into a space on the surface.

“On the bed.” He states, “I want a close look at what you human women look like.”

You turn to locate the bed before sitting down on it, “Most women aren’t in my career field, and I’m not exactly dressed how I’d wish to be for this kind of encounter.”

He nods, “You humans put such a president on appearance… it’s a shame.”

“Well, humans are naturally drawn toward pretty things. Pretty is subjective.” 

Kevin nods again and undoes his outfit, letting it fall away from his body. You just mentioned that humans are naturally drawn to aesthetics. Now, you couldn’t be more right. Kevin’s human-like upper half is well-sculpted. He’s toned but not too bulky in any way. He’s like a walking wet dream. You subtly rub your thighs together, hoping Kevin doesn’t notice. His golden eyes immediately dart to the movement, though.

“Do humans get pleasure from that? Rubbing the upper portions of their legs together?”

“Not well, but, um, it does help a little sometimes.”

“Is it helping now?” The alien questions further.

You shake your head, “Not at all.”

Kevin’s golden eyes swirl with some unknown green flecks. He stares at you for a few moments. Then, your body feels bare. Not a single bit of clothing is on your body. You look around the room, and the clothing is nowhere to be seen. Kevin steps closer and notices the sheen of arousal coating your lower lips. Your eyes are blown wide with desperation as you notice his tentacles shifting as he calculates his next move.

“Is this how humans show their arousal? Do all humans’ genitalia grow wet? Is it always this wet? And these,” he brings a tentacle to toy with your nipple, causing you to moan, “These feed your young. Why are they erect?”

“C-can’t I answer your questions later? I need something inside me!”

Kevin brings another dark purple tentacle to wrap around your thigh and push it so that your cunt is exposed to him properly. Another moves to gently rub along the edge of your entrance. His eyes are fixated on your wet core. The appendage pushes into you, and you let out a loud moan. You deduce that he must have some sort of telepathic knowledge of what you want next, or it’s simple curiosity, but he starts thrusting the tentacle into you while a third, much smaller one, fixates on your clit. The first one continues to play with your chest. The entire experience is too much to process at once.

You fall back against the bed and spread your legs further apart as he starts to thrust the tentacle into you harder and faster. The smaller one focused on your clit starts to rub the bud quicker and harder as well. Just as you go to warn him of your impending orgasm, it shocks its way through your system. You shake and convulse on the bed as he continues to toy with your body. His eyes are full of perverted fascination as you moan nonsense in any language known to either of you. 

When you pant, catching your breath, as you come down from your high, Kevin pulls his tentacles off of your body and comes closer to your sensitive core. His breath puffs against your wet folds, making you both desperate for more, and you hope he lets you have a small break to recuperate.

“I’ve done some research on you humans.” He starts, “What I found was that nearly 60% of females don’t find true pleasure in these activities. Even more, don’t react the way your body just did. Did I do something special, or are you one of the rare females that can react this way?”

You gasp when he runs his finger through some of your arousal, “You definitely worked some magic with those tentacles.”

“Wanna see what else these tentacles can do?” He asks with a suggestive lilt, “You haven’t finished your close encounter yet?”

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2024© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @deoboyznet @monsterfvckersunited @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

[lepospondyl]

🔥 curious abt your eo takes

I think my biggest hot take about eo is that atlus should do more with the fact that the setting is sci-fi in disguise rather than pure fantasy. it might be the worldbuilding nerd in me saying this but I want to know what a post-apocalypse post-yggdrasil society is like! everyone is so guarded abt eo1's plot twist that absolutely nobody talks about this integral part of the setting in order to prevent spoilers and the backlash to eou letting the cat out of the bag was completely unjustified. I WISH that they had let eo being an "earth in the future" setting stay an open secret so that they could do more with it in the games. even if the plot of "the adventurers realize they're actually in a science fiction story" won't be possible anymore afterwards it opens up so many potential other plotlines. maybe eo6's plot could be figuring out how the "magic" in the setting actually works, or the antagonist could be someone who wants to go back to the high-tech days of old despite the fact that it would be ruinous to the carefully restored ecosystem. i was also sorely disappointed by the fact that eo5 started to do this with the fifth stratum but then stopped short of actually exploring the implications that their entire world had been artificially created.

also i'm not sure if this is my place to say anything since i'm not ainu and don't know all that much about ainu culture, but since eo is a "real world" setting having the forest folk being a direct ainu allegory kind of rubs me the wrong way, especially since they're described as nonhuman. while the devs probably couldn't talk about the actual ainu genocide since eo1 released in 2007 (which was before the ainu people were even federally recognized in japan as indigenous) and the forest folk are portrayed in a sympathetic light it's still kind of weird that despite this being a setting where ainu people exist (since the whole big reveal of eo1 is that it's NOT a made-up fantasy world) they're still allegorized as green plant people (which also falls into the whole "indigenous people are magic and have an Innate Understanding of the land" stereotype). since eou story mode was already willing to rewrite that section of the plot and ricky did know about the pre-yggdrasil era, i feel like they should at least explore the implications of an engineered non-human species having a culture very similar to a pre-yggdrasil ethnic group. is visil ainu and the forest folk having a culture similar to the ainu is a way for him to preserve his culture through his creations? is the reason why no forest folk have facial hair or tattoos (which are a sign of adulthood in ainu culture) because visil sees them as his children who will never grow up and thus he's free to discard them when convenient? anything would be better than the genocide justification plotline tbh

[lizard-shifter-noms]

Wayward Waters Epilogue

——————————————————————————

Ayy, Epilogue already? that was fast! but i have good news!

i have re-edited arc 1 (removed typos, made it more comprehensible etc. also shorter chapters so its not a wall of text anymore) so i will upload that some time after!

this Story contains Vore, Dont like dont read.

have fun reading!

and as always Reblogs are appreciated! (Also ASK’s are open so feel free to bother me!)

AO3 Link for those that prefer the layout there;

AO3 Wayward waters

——————————————————————————

After the Victory Rose had anchored,  with the smaller Halcyon close behind we were finally home.

Not wanting to spend too much time in Tunstead lest there was a repeat of Naroa Island and someone didn't like that there were Nonhumans visiting.

Not like Rikaad would allow that but there were always assholes.

So instead we went straight for the castle, none of the crew of the Halcyon having seen a building this big before, or confusingly built.

Which was very evident as half of them got lost in less than half an hour.

At least Imugi had fun doing figures around the spikes at the bottom of the cliff.

We found them about two hours later, Jamie having been chased out of the kitchen like some raccoon and Ronan got brought outside by Norrin, who had scruffed him like a disobedient dog.

For some reason the Grumpy young man Leon came with us to the castle and refused to say much or leave.

We left him for now,  with Nea and Norrin around there wasn't much he could do.

I shooed the Crew to Okaleys tower,  he would have more information about the blue bracelet anyway.

Yamet had opted to tour the kitchen, stating the others could tell him later and that he'd rather see if he could trade recipes.

The tower itself was as askew and unorderly as always,  and we hadn't even knocked.

The door was missing completely anyway for some reason so we simply walked in.

I did come as a surprise though that Nea was in here,  holding a brown creature with white spots on its back.

At first I thought she was holding a fawn, but then I noticed the longer neck and nubby horns as well as the claws and long tail.

“Nea? Where the FUCK did you get a baby Drake?”

The thing in question made horrifyingly pitiful bleaking noises,  pawing uselessly at the air as Nea held it like a particularly squirmy cat.

Though it was more the size of a young goat.

“I found it! So I get to keep it!”

I was not about to Argue with her, she'd kick my ass,  Instead I stared confusedly at Oakley, who was painting the cat blue.

Oh so one of those days where nothing made sense involving him.

“Oakley, why are you painting the cat blue?, and why does Nea have a baby Drake?”

He turned to face us and shrugged.

“No idea what the insane lady here is doing but i'm trying to figure out what magic affinity our dear kitty here has! 

The paint is made of lapis lazuli by the way!

Now say who are those people behind you and why is the Zoa trying to pocket some of my Gems?”

I looked over at Jamie who hastily put some sort of clear crystal back onto a shelf.

“Uh, those are friends i made while on the ocean, long story i'll tell you later, but uhh we found another Bracelet, its blue this time”

I pointed at Ronan who in turn pointed at the Bracelet on his arm.

In less than a Second Oakley had gripped his arm with one foot and was hanging onto the wall with the other, inspecting the new Bracelet up close and with no regard for personal space.

Ronan just stared confused at Oakley, though to be fair he was already used to having to be a Perch for jamie.

“Did the creature look anything like the Ardua?”

No that it did not.

“Uh, no, it was more like a seal with big and flat hands and a long tail with a fin, does it have its own name?”

Oakley Jumped of off Ronan and walked back to where he was, rummaging through his coat a bit before pulling out a Book.

While he flipped pages, and apparently had trouble reading it? The Cat, Gloxinia trailed blue paint everywhere, jumping up the windowsill and bapping at the very confused baby Drake Nea was still holding.

The poor thing probably had a very weird day,  getting manhandled by a quite frankly rather crazy woman and then getting disrespected like that by a cat.

The thing bleaked again, trying to wind itself out of Nea’s Grip,  yeah that would be futile.

“AHA! Found it! I think translating is gonna take a while seeing as the author changes the stupid coded letters every five pages! 

And language as well!, tell ya what, imma deal with Nea now and then go back to translating, you can come back after Dinner or so”

That was reasonable, and Jamie and Akeem had left already anyway, leaving only Ronan and Imik here.

No doubt Akeem went after Jamie to prevent chaos,  and they took the clear crystal from the shelf again.

Nea set the confused Drake on Oakley table where it did a wide stance as if it couldn't decide between fight or flight,  not that either would be a good idea with Nea here.

“So! Arthur got all pissy when I brought ta lil guy with me! Said just cuz i got rid of tha big one din’ mean i could keep tha smaller one!

I say tha only one that can tell me what ta do is Rikaad! 

And i want you ta tell me what exactly this is so i can ask to keep it,  or him or her or whatever!”

The thing in question made another bleaking Noise, sniffing at the table and looking over the edge of it.

Ronan put his face close to it and the thing screeched horribly, scrambling and slipping on the old wood and nearly falling off.

In response to that Nea tossed Ronan out, literally, she tossed him out the window and Imik walked out after him to make sure he was okay.

Since Ronan had landed in a bush he only had some dirt on him, and after that they both wanted to look around the castle more instead of being near Nea.

Yeah, fair, I did however want to see how the entire Drake thing would play out so we parted ways and I went back inside where Oakley was just telling Nea that the little guy was a male.

“I'd say it's a young male,  the spots have the same reason as fawn spots, they fade with time and he should get some more tan and brown colors. 

I can't say what species exactly yet but it's possible he'll get stripes,  or colored horns.

If you're sure you wanna try taming him go ahead, i can't guarantee anything but i sure am gonna watch you try, you'd probably be the first to do that, well to be fair you gotta be a bit insane to try”

A bit was good, but I also wasn't exactly fond of anyone trying to kill something so young, and thus far the little guy hadn't done anything.

As it was he was even afraid of the cat, who was still covered in blue paint and attempting to groom him.

All that did was cover him in blue paint too and he looked rather miserable at that.

While Nea argued with Oakley about what size he could reach, apparently Nea had expected something big like a dragon but Oakley estimated something slightly larger than a horse,  so I held out my hand to the strangely fluffy creature. 

All in all it looked scraggly and scruffy,  the only scaled parts being the legs and sand colored underside as well as the rather beak-like snout that seemed to be made of cartilage.

It tentatively sniffed at my hand, bonking its head against it.

Then Gloxinia wanted all the attention and I had to pet her with the other hand while the goat sized creature was inspecting my hand with its amber colored eyes.

Maybe Ronan would have some tips for Nea since he’d sorta raised Imugi already.

I was handed a blue stained cat by Oakley who told me to go wash the color off before she decided to lick it off.

“You want me to wash a cat? 

A cat of all things who are not known for liking water?”

“Yeah! Good luck!”

And with that he shoved me out, not even saying if he'd figured out if Gloxinia had any magic or magic type.

Well, better get this over with,  I wasn't even sure if the paint was edible so she probably shouldn't lick it even if that was how cats normally cleaned themselves.

Ignoring that my own shirt had gotten blue in places,  I went to the next best water source and tried my best to keep a hold of Gloxinia who definitely did not like water.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

I looked up to see that Leon guy.

“Oakley put paint on the cat, i'm trying to get it off before she licks it,  but i don't think she likes water”

Leon stuck his hand into the water bucket,  taking it back out and flicking water at me.

“Yeah no shit, thats cold water, why the fuck would wold a cat like that, try warm water next time dipshit”

Rude, at least I was trying, and not letting her eat paint.

“You do it then! If you're so much better at that!”

At the moment neither the cat nor me were happy about it.

“Aight, bet”

With that he grabbed both Gloxinia and the bucket, slinging the cat half over his shoulder and dragging the bucket to who knew where.

Well, at least I didn't have to do it now.

And judging by the fact that Gloxinia tried rubbing her head against his ear she was also rather happy about that.

Whatever, if that guy thought warm water would make her hate it less he was free to try.

Now where did everyone else go? 

Hopefully none of them got into trouble.

As it turned out they just had gotten lost in the castle again,  which we only found out because Jamie walked along the outside of it to try and get someone that knew where the fuck everything was.

Yamet however was found in the kitchen, 

talking and working with Myril so we left them to it, whatever they were doing smelled really good so we were not going to interrupt.

As expected when two very good cooks were put in the same kitchen, Dinner tasted amazing, some sort of Goulash that heavily utilized spices.

Yamet was probably the one that had brought the spices.

After that I brought Ronan back to Oakleys tower,  also rather curious about whatever he found out.

We did do a little detour though as apparently Nea had decided to train her new Pet like a Dog, including the command to fetch things.

Well, things, she let it chase a rat carcass she had tied to some other poor Guard that had to run laps to avoid the little beast.

Not something anyone wanted to be involved in.

“Is she trying to train the Drake?”

“I think so, but i don't think she knows how to,  how did you know how to take care of Imugi?”

He shrugged.

“Fuck around find out really, Imugi was easy cuz she loved doing what i was doing, also i was the first thing Imugi saw when she hatched so i guess she imprinted on me? I'm not entirely sure she knew she was a sea creature for the first few months.

Also I gave her treats when she did good things. 

Maybe I can talk to the lady there later and see if I can help! 

I've never really seen a Drake this close! Or young!”

“You do that, 

i'm not entirely sure she won't tell the little guy to bite you though”

I Wouldn't put it past her to do that, Besides we had other stuff to do first.

So, Ignoring whatever torment Nea brought upon everyone else,  I knocked on the doorframe to Oakley tower, the Door itself still missing.

“Ah there you are! Come in! I accidentally melted the door anyway!”

I kept quiet about wondering how the fuck someone could melt a Door on accident.

“Did you find out more about the Blue bracelet? 

Does the water creature also have a name?”

Oakley wordlessly pointed at two chairs and told us to sit down, 

heaving the book he rummaged for earlier onto the table.

Flipping pages around he stopped on a depiction of the creature Ronan turned into, though the drawing on the old paper depicted spots Ronan did not have as well as a different tailfin and a more brownish coloration.

But it was still the same creature, the depiction surrounded by runes and letters that were absolute gibberish to me.

Oakley pointed at it.

“So from what I found out this is a Faraselgi,  and it's basically the same principle as for the Ardua just with a water element instead of an earth one, the rest is pretty much the same.

Well that far we got ourselves already.

“Anything else about it? Or is that all?”

I would have expected it to have at least a few more differences.

“Nope! Aside from the different creatures, which are really just based on environmental factors, it's pretty much the same!

What? Did you think the blue one got superpowers or something?”

Of course not, but after being able to turn into an Ardua I couldn't exactly know what to expect regarding those Bracelets.

“How much is the same? I mean I know about the two hearts thing, 

Is the rest also the same?”

Ronan asked, brow creasing as he tried to read the absolute mishmash of letters and runes, clearly not getting anything from that.

Oakley just nodded.

“Well yes, if you take aside the tailfin shorter hind legs and stupidly big paddle shaped grabbers it is very similar!

Oh also your thoracic vertebrates are longer,  so you sort of got a mock fin on your back, but it's technically bone”

There was the weird thing,  of course there had to have been at least one weird thing about it.

Well, weirder than it already was at least.

“So I got more bones? Awesome! Do they have a function too?”

Leave it to the biologist to find that exciting.

“I don't think so, maybe helps with balance,  don't go around trying to remove them”

A fair warning considering this was Ronan.

“Don't worry! I'm not gonna vivisect myself! 

Jamie and Imik would beat the shit out of me!”

That really shouldn't be his only concern here.

“Well then that's really all since you seem already familiar with it somehow! Just don't go around scaring people or you will find your head mounted to a wall someday!”

With that he picked up the book and shoved it back into his coat,  which shouldn't feasibly hold something that big.

“Hell yeah! Now I know what it's called! I'm gonna go tell the others! 

And Imugi! Imugi first! Before it gets dark! Byee!”

He rushed out the doorway,  well at least there would be a bit of daylight still.

“Does he know where he is going?”

“No i don't think so,  when i go back i'll inform someone to keep an eye out”

Eh, he'd be fine, he had a stupid amount of luck.

Besides, I did want to talk to Oakley a bit more.

My turn to say something that would throw him for a loop.

“I met your ex”

He spit out the tea he'd been sipping.

“What? Wait which one? 

Ah no considering where you were it can only be one”

Which one??? Dumbass, then again he was like what? Sixhundred?

It was likely he had more than one ex, or more than ten even.

“So, how is Grella doing? 

It's nice to hear she's still alive after all this time”

“She's kinda dying, just like magic,  but you knew that already didn't you?”

He stared into his mug.

“Kamerasca doesn't have any Ley lines, the closest one is where my old hut is, which is why I built it there, but yes, magic is dying.

I've noticed a long time ago,  but nobody I know could do anything about it. 

I can't do anything about it, and telling people brought nothing,  either rejoicing at the ‘evil’ becoming less or simply not caring considering it wasn't their problem.

The only ones that did care were the mages and wizards and the like,  I know a few Elemancers tried to figure out WHY it happened but when I got there they were dead already, stabbed in the back by someone that saw his magic as a curse rather than what it really was.

I debated telling you after I moved here,  but I didn't want to take your joy away so soon,  Besides, there is nothing you can do, and I didn't want to see anyone else get hurt trying to figure out what was going on with magic.

At first I even expected you guys to either not care or to actually care, and go off on some stupid mission to fix something that a mere human could never fix and die.

All the powerful and old magic users are either dead or somewhere in Valyria, which is very dangerous as is already, i bet even more died in the last two hundred years as most used magic to prolong their life.

But with magic dying all the old magic users will too, and Grella as well.

She's really the only one I feel sorry for.

How much time did she estimate?”

I stared at him, so he hadn't told me to not worry me,  but from what I gathered he would have told me eventually,  when it became relevant for me.

“She said about thirty years at most, she will die in less than twenty”

Oakley looked at his three fingered wing hand,  sadder than I had ever seen him.

“If i wasn't a coward i’d visit her, but alas i am just that”

“Why? She sounded like she still likes you, i don't think she’d hurt you”

He shook his head.

“No, i know she won't hurt me, we split because i could never really go dive into the depths with her, and the school i wanted to go to was a good bit inland, where she couldn't go, in the end our interests just didn't match anymore and we agreed both to call it off.

But there are things out there, that I made very angry,  people I made angry by obtaining what was considered forbidden knowledge.

If i were to go too far from Barmea and too close to Valyria again they would kill me, and they could make it permanent”

There was a lot I did not know about Oakley, but I knew he was not a bad person, why ever he had done it he would have had a reason to.

“So you're stuck on this continent? 

Wait, did you just live as a hermit for a few hundred years? 

No wonder you were so weird when we met you, you still are”

He puffed up indignantly.

“Well, social norms have changed a lot since I went into the forest! 

It's not my fault you humans can't stick with one thing!”

Well that was true.

“Fair, but I'm sure you could just have read up on it!”

He grinned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Well i find the fuck around find out approach a lot more amusing! 

But if you insist I will head to the castle Library to get catched up now!

Also i need to get a new door, maybe i should do that first”

I looked at the doorway that let a cool breeze in.

“Yeah that has probably priority right now, well have fun repairing your door, i still need to say hi to Arthur, if i find him”

“Oh i think he fell asleep sorting paperwork!”

I nodded at Oakley and went back to the castle,  stopping briefly to grab the red blue and purple shell I had picked out for him, I did say I'd get him one.

Now I just had to find him.

Since every other hallway ended up in the throne room at one point or another that's where I went, and Rikaad and Robin were already there.

Rikaad stared with disdain at the needlessly pompous throne,  to be fair it did not look comfy at all.

“Hey! Have any of you seen Arthur? I did promise to bring him a shell"

I waved said shell in the air.

“I have not seen him, but he has to be around,  perhaps Norrin will know where-” Rikaad got interrupted by Arthur emerging from one of the side hallways.

“I hate the layout of this place! Oh you're all back!”

There was a Squeal and Robin rushed to hug the blonde, who had to hold a bunch of paper over his head to not get them scrunched up.

For some reason they had reddish brown stains in one corner.

Arthur nearly fell over if not for Rikaad grabbing his arm to keep steady.

Arthur awkwardly patted at Robin's messy head and I noticed that two of his fingers were in a splint.

“What happened to your fingers? Did Nea break them?”

Robin let go after that, inspecting said finger gently.

He did say before we left that he wouldn't doubt that Nea would do just that.

“Huh? Oh no i tried to grab at something that fell behind that longass drawer, kinda broke my finger when i slipped on paper”

Well, that still sounded painful.

But at least the next bit would probably cheer him up a little!

I handed Arthur the shell I had picked out for him, 

the blue, red and purple shimmering in the light.

“Here! I did say I'd get you a big one!”

He turned said shell over in his hand,  the thing being almost bigger as said hands.

“I didn't know seashells could have those colors! 

Thank you! OH! Also I have something as well!”

He held out the slightly stained paper, which I was now pretty sure was blood, and carefully took it, looking it over.

My face split in a grin as I read the title, 

It seemed like Rikaad had to rewrite a law pretty soon.

Man, I couldn't wait to write to Fable!

NEXT / PREVIOUS / OVERSIGHT

[gremlinwithapen]

Augusnippets Day #5: Caretaker's Clothes (Bonus Prompt)

tw: implied lab whump, nonhuman child whumpee

"Gods, where did you even get that thing?"

"I just found xhem, okay? I couldn't leave xhem. And xhey're not a thing."

"Okay, xhey're a person. A child, if what you were saying before is right. What are we supposed to do with xhem? I mean, we're on the run, you're still sick from the incident, I'm running on fumes..."

"We'll figure it out, Cassie. We're not letting them take any of us back. You, me, or the kid. The second we can, we're getting out of this place."

Nobody was curled up on the couch with xheir blanket, listening into the conversation coming from the other room. They probably thought xhey couldn't hear them, but xhey didn't mind it. Xhey were used to being talked about like xhey weren't even there.

Eventually, the sounds of talking petered out, and it was quiet for a bit. Then the door opened, and the one who'd brought xhem here--she'd called herself Val, if xhey remembered correctly--walked in. She was holding a pile of something in her hands, and xhey peered at it suspiciously.

"Hey, kiddo," she murmured, the gentleness in her voice offset by how hoarse her throat sounded and how tired her eyes looked. "You doing alright?"

"I'm okay," xhey said, struggling a little to speak. Xhey weren't used to being able to talk with other people this much. It made xheir throat sting, so xhey huddled up a little further under the blanket.

"That's great to hear," Val really seemed relieved at that, her smile becoming a bit more genuine. "I brought you some clothes to wear. I know you don't really have anything to cover, and you can just make your own, but these'll keep you warmer than anything else. They're mine, and they might fit a little weird on you, but I don't think we'll find anything better."

"Why are you doing this?" Xhey murmured in confusion as they stared at the pile of cloth being offered to them. "I'm just... Nobody. If I weren't here, you'd have less problems to deal with."

"Kid, I'm gonna have problems no matter what," she shook her head as she dropped the pile into xheir lap. "I'm helping you because it's the right thing to do. Gods only know that I need a little bit of that in my life right about now. Now get dressed. Or don't if you don't want to, it's really up to you." Nobody watched as she backed away and left the room, the sound of a muffled cough following her out. Even as weakened as she was, she was still going out of her way to take care of xhem. It felt... nice, after going so long with xheir only human interaction being a never-ending series of pokes, prods, and cuts.

Xhey stared down at the clothes in xheir lap for a few moments before grabbing them and standing up. It was the least xhey could do to actually make use of that kindness, and if xhey had to morph a limb or two to actually fit into them, that was an easy sacrifice to make. Xhey wouldn't just let it got to waste.

Maybe it was just what they needed to feel like the person she was convinced that xhey were.

@augusnippets

[xaeyrnofnbe]

now please forgive how i word this, i can be a little scatterbrained at times so bear with me, but i’ve been thinking a lot about representation in media.

so to start, i have been very lucky to have grown up in a very accepting, progressive household. hell, even outside of it i’ve had a wonderful family. so i never was one to be like “eurgh, representation BAD. why people DIFFERENT from me. blegh.” but it was a little odd to me how people described feeling represented. it was an alien feeling to me.

i never thought something was wrong with me, luckily. as stated before i’ve had an incredible family from the start, and i MAY have been introduced to the internet a bit before i should have, so finding out about new things was a regular occurrence. i figured out i was bisexual (i no longer identify as such, but it was an important step) when i would have just gotten out of being 11, and realized i was non-binary, or at the very least not cis, just a month or two before turning 13. it’s wild to me how much self-discovery happened while i was 12, considering, you know, everything.

once figuring out who i was, i was comfortable. granted, my identity is an incredibly fluid one that shifts and changes unpredictably and is impossible to ever pin down as one thing for very long (as i would soon find out), but i had finally come to understand why i was different in that regard. it felt good. but eventually i started to realize something new.

i’ve never felt represented on screen.

an odd revelation, to be sure. but the only non-binary rep i had for the longest time was Janet from The Good Place (who is regularly misgendered by even her closest relationships, and it’s played off as a joke), many characters from Good Omens, and Double Trouble from She-Ra (who was greedy and rather villainous). now i’d like to pause and say that i LOVE these characters. they’re good characters with interesting things to bring to their stories. but none of them were human, most were villainous, or antagonistic, or at the very least, somewhat evil. i never felt represented by them. despite me liking them as characters, they’re not like me.

then i believe i was watching The Owl House, and Raine showed up. it took me a moment to clock that they used they/them pronouns, but once i did, i felt the weirdest feeling. this wasn’t a spectacular character, i didn’t really even find them all that interesting. hell, they were just another witch character. then it hit me.

just another witch. there are lots of witches in the show, a lot of them are very nonhuman. Raine was, despite being technically a witch and having pointy ears, completely humanoid. regular. they were a regular person. a regular, shy, endearing older person. and they were even a love interest of sorts for one of the main characters.

they were a person. like me.

when i realized this i was ecstatic. the character still wasn’t my favorite (that title easily goes to whatever the hell Hooty has going on), but they were like me. just another person in the story. not a living encyclopedia, not a demon, not an angel, not a shapeshifter, a person. this was the first time i felt kind of represented. in a show, or otherwise. but outside of that, i didn’t feel especially connected to the character. they were unimportant.

then Our Flag Means Death rolled around, and for the first time, i saw myself.

i saw what i was. Jim is a fantastic character who isn’t just there for an episode or two, they’re an important part of the ensemble. they have a romance with their best friend, they’re cool, and i got to see them figure out their identity on-screen, but it was never made their whole thing. Jim was human. and better yet, the way they went about their identity was… familiar. when asked about it, they said they didn’t really know, but they’d like to keep being called Jim. there weren’t any intricacies, there weren’t any complex labels, hell, there weren’t labels, period. they’re just Jim. nothing more, nothing less. and seeing this on screen, i really did see myself. i saw my identity. it actually helped me understand my own, a little bit. helped me be more comfortable not using specific labels to describe who i am. i finally have something i can point at on the tv and say “look! they’re like me! that person is like me and i’ve never felt that before. people can be like me!” and i could not be happier about it.

so yeah, representation is important. it matters that people see themselves in the media they consume. people should get to feel welcome in the shows and movies they watch, in the books they read, in the videogames they play. everyone should get to feel like this.

[divine-elixir]

Rambling again for the night.

Only recently have I come to figure out that I'm a soulbond of some kind, for lack of a better term. I wouldn't say I'm scared of this fact, but I still feel uncertain and concerned about a few things. Lu, the one I'm bonded with....that doesn't feel right to say, I'll just call him my friend....I've started to wonder if his friends are also my friends. And do I have the right to refer to his parents as my parents or his brother as my brother. I know we're not related, but I have known them long enough to care about them. Even love them.

So many of his experiences have affected me to some extent, so can I call them mine too?

Hmm, I feel I should start from the beginning. At least from what I know, and attempt to piece things together. Just so it could make some sense to me.

If I tap into whatever memories Lu is okay with sharing with me, I can see a moment where he believed with absolute certainty that if he wished hard enough before bed he'd wake up in the morning to find his very own poke/mon or digi/mon had manifested in his room. It isn't anything unusual for a child to believe such things, but I guess he was just lonely and wanted a friend....and maybe I responded to such a wish. I don't know, but I am rather fond of thinking of myself as Lu's own partner digi/mon. I am not a digi/mon in any way, but I think it is the idea of being his special friend. Some one he could confide in when he had no one to talk to about his problems.

On my end, I've had a memory of some dream that has stuck with me for years. Almost 20 years in fact. I remember Lu being on a boat, and in the sky was this beautiful white creature....I'm sure that was me. Though I witnessed this dream from an outsiders perspective. The body of water the boat was in had a nice rainbow hue to it, and the sky was otherworldly. It was like Lu and I made some kind of connection through that dream.

But, it doesn't answer why I came to this world in the first place or left Tey/vat for that matter. I don't know why I don't remember many things about myself, but I've always chalked it up to having been here with Lu for these past almost 20 years. To forgetting I was a separate being to him and being asleep up 'til now.....until Gen/shin woke me up, I guess.

And if I forgot about being separate, then I guess Lu just forgot about me too at some point? I don't mind if people view me as imaginary, it doesn't make me feel any less real. But if Lu chalked me up to his imagination and nothing more, hmm the idea kind of hurts. A part of me has seen how he abandoned things most important to him just to meet societal expectations or deter bullies, so it isn't surprising for me to assume that.

Recently with us coming to terms with rediscovering each other, we feel a lot better. I always disliked the feelings of wanting to fight or attack another that came up at times, but to know it's all coming from Lu....it's a relief. Not that he's bad, he has his own frustrations toward wicked people. Even if he realizes now that my nonhuman status isn't his, he has told me that he still feels and sees himself as nonhuman and feels to be some kind of guardian beast. A mythical bird to be exact.

If my presence and his choosing to identify so is enough, then a forged identity is just as precious as any other.

And perhaps if Lu doesn't want me directly communicating with his family or friends for his own saftey, then maybe I should be satisfied with just being present and nothing else.

I don't know where else to go with this, but I also see the relief in not being from here or being born into this body. I don't feel stuck here and not beholden to anything. I could probably leave tomorrow and forget the stresses here, but....there's still stuff I want to see and do here so I'd definitely come back. I have to update this blog after all. It's one of the few online spaces that belongs to me and not Lu, so I at least have to leave a mark of some kind.

And I suppose keeping a record of this world is also important. This place has peanut butter and my home realm does not have that.

[tictac-murder-spaghetti]

Finally got this working! I wrote this in October for Whumptober Day 2, and it's some good old Strychnine whump and hurt/comfort! This obviously happens after their friendship is fairly well established! As I post more I'll get an actual timeline going.

Content Warnings: Implied lab whump, implied (past) child abuse, nightmares, muzzles, dehumanization, minor horror elements, cages, nonhuman whump (he's made of goo???) Writing under the cut!

Strychnine was in the alley. Really, he had been in many alleys throughout his life, for various reasons, but tonight he had no idea why he was here. He pushed himself into a standing position, brushing the dust off his pants as he looked around, absolutely confused. How the hell had he gotten into an alley at night, just sitting on the ground? He didn’t seem hurt, besides the growling prickles of terror at the back of his neck. The stars sparkled above him, but he couldn’t seem to see the end of the alley in either direction, a feeling of cold dread washing over him. Strychnine began to run. As he did, the terror really kicked in, his heart pounding as if he was being chased, but he couldn’t see anything behind him besides the dark void of the alley and the same in front of him.

“Clunk!” Something hard and metal made contact with his knees, causing him to tumble to the ground with a cry of surprise. He tried to push himself back up, see what he had run into, but before he could he felt cold metal clamp around his neck and push his body back down onto the cobblestones. He’d seen this weapon before, he knew the man who wielded it, his best friend.

“Ambrose?” “Oh? How’d you guess it?” Strychnine had never heard his voice with such a chilling tone to it, full of malice. “Ambrose, what are you doing? Why am I here?” “Strychnine, don’t you really think it’s high time the ruse is up? That’s why you’re here. As for what I am doing, I’m doing my job. I’m arresting you.” “What?!” Strychnine was beginning to panic again, trying to figure out if there was any way for him to worm his way out of the clutches of the man catcher. Noticing his struggles, Ambrose leaned on the handle almost nonchalantly, pushing the metal band farther against Strychnine’s throat. “Ambrose, we’re friends!” “Strychnine, I’d never be friends with a criminal! And even worse, a monster! That’s what you are, Strychnine.” “What? No- no Ambrose, don’t say that. I thought we were friends.” Ambrose hadn’t said that, he couldn’t. Strychnine wasn’t a monster. He tried too hard to convince himself he wasn’t a monster, Ambrose knew that, Ambrose wouldn’t accuse him of that. The crimes? Yes, he’d committed crimes, he knew that, he was a criminal, but a monster? No, no.

Ambrose, or the thing that looked like Ambrose (Strychnine couldn’t believe Ambrose would say that to him, he couldn’t) noticed his distress, the condescending smile on his face widening, “Yes Strychnine, you thought. That’s the keyword there buddy.” “But- we hung out! You let me into your house, we did things together, we worked together!” “You broke into my house. You’re a wanted criminal, what you think I’m just going to kick you out of my house when you could kill me? Now I know you wouldn’t, you’re too weak for that, but I just went along with it. What would you do? If a little criminal bastard started following you around and wouldn’t leave you alone? I couldn’t call the rest of the police, they’d be much too suspicious of why I hadn’t taken you in in the first place.” Tears stared to well in Strychnine’s eyes, black and goopy- unnatural, but he still wasn’t a monster. Biologically different from every other mortal? Yeah, but he-he still wasn’t a monster, even if he had black radioactive goo running down his face instead of tears. “Then- what are you going to do?” He sniffled, “You said you were going to arrest me.” “Well… I am. But since I can’t bring you to jail, I know someone else who’ll take care of you. She really wants you back, you know.” Strychnine's eyes widened in fear as a mean smirk crossed Ambrose's face. “No- No Ambrose!! I’ll turn myself in, please don’t, please.” He pleaded, eyes wide, how-how could Ambrose have known? He never told him about his past, he’d considered him a friend, yes, but Strychnine couldn’t even think about what he’d gone through most of the time, and definitely couldn’t talk about it to anyone else. Ambrose released the mancatcher and Strychnine tried to make a desperate lunge away from him, but he reached out and grabbed Strychnine by the back of his shirt, painfully yanking him back and dragging the smaller man across the cobblestones. Strychnine struggled, trying to get out of Ambrose’s grip, but he wouldn’t let go no matter how much Strychnine rolled or flailed, making the dragging all the much more uncomfortable. Since he wasn’t restrained, Strychnine looked down at his gloves, considering. He could get out of here, just slip his gloves off, grab Ambrose around the ankle and Strychnine would be out. And Ambrose would be missing a foot. Even if he was mistreating him, the thought made Strychnine sick. He would have been a monster if he’d done that. He couldn’t. He told himself he wouldn’t hurt anyone like that after- her. She was the last person he’d done that to and he was going to keep it that way.

Instead he twisted around and grabbed Ambrose’s trenchcoat, trying to drag the taller man down. Ambrose swiveled around, roughly yanking the hem of his coat out of Strychnine’s grasp before letting go of his shirt and dropping him. Strychnine’s head painfully smacked against the cobblestones, letting out a wheeze of surprise. Dazed, he was helpless to even try to run again before Ambrose once again grabbed the back of his shirt and continued to drag him. The alley just kept stretching on, Strychnine’s vision blurring as his head rang, he was normally quite tolerant of pain but tonight... it hurt so bad. All he could see was dark stone wall after dark stone wall, feeling like they were falling in on top of the two of them. He clutched his head in his hands, just trying to get the pain, the tears, anything to stop, but it wouldn’t. He tried to dig his boots into the stones, slow Ambrose down, all he wanted was this hellish nightmare to stop, for this friend to be his friend again. The movement stopped. He tried to twist around, see if he could see what caused Ambrose to stop, but he couldn’t see Ambrose anymore. He couldn’t see anything anymore, just black void above and below him. And he fell.

Strychnine hesitantly opened an eye, and immediately regretted it. It was her- well, her legs, as he couldn’t see the rest from where he sat on the floor. His “mother”, the woman who had created him, and the very last woman he’d ever wanted to see. He scampered back, feeling cold metal underneath him, but he didn’t get far before cold metal pushed into his back as well-bars. He was in a cage. He was in a fucking cage. He looked down at his wrists and while his gloves were still on he couldn’t get them off, his only way to fight back taken from him by a thin strip of metal wound around each wrist, pinning his gloves to his body. He started to breathe fast, his heart pounding out of his chest.

“I really appreciate your friend here bringing you back to me #07. I missed you so much.” She kneeled down to look at him through the bars of the cage, a cruel smile on her face, sparks buzzing between her horns, showing that she was truly more happy to see him again then her voice betrayed, but Strychnine didn’t really like her view of “happy”. He watched as Ambrose passed the cage as well, his “mother” standing back up to meet him. “Really sir, thank you. My son here has been quite the menace, and after I lost him so many years ago I thought I’d never get him back. He’ll be… properly dealt with.” “Good,” Ambrose spat, with more hatred in his voice then he’d ever heard, “That's what it deserves.”

Hearing his friend- his best friend say something like that about him, he had to ask why, Ambrose why? All that came out was a pitiful whimper, as he couldn’t open his mouth fully, only now realizing part of his ringing headache was the straps tightened around his head holding a muzzle in place. His “mother” had muzzled him and thrown him into a cage like he was some sort of wild animal or… like he was a monster. He grabbed at the strap, trying to find the buckle but fumbling as his hands shook. “Oh #07, I’m so sorry I had to do that,” She leaned down again, “I was just worried you’d react like this. Last time you got angry with me you did this-'' She rolled up one of the sleeves of her lab coat and Strychnine saw the full extent of what he’d done as a child… but something was wrong, her arm was covered in deep gouges and chemical burn scars, but they still dripped with black goo just like his own hands. She reached into the cage, Strychnine desperately trying to back away from her grasp but being stopped by how small the cage was. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him towards the front of the cage and holding him in place.

“I didn’t want you doing that again when we continued where we left off-” she poked him hard in the chest, right above his heart, “Such a shame the experiment had to be delayed so long. In the last 19 years I’ve made plenty of advancements, but I kept everything how it was back then just for you.” She pulled him up to the bars of the cage again, pushing his face against them as she hissed in his ear. “I’m not letting you ruin this, or me, ever again.” The black goo started to run down her face, dark tears burning through the flesh of her face. She dropped him as more black dripped down her face, her scarred arm. Even Ambrose, who had been coldly watching him from the side of the room started to melt, black dripping out his eyes and the sleeves of his coat. Strychnine gasped in horror, scrambling back once again trying to get away from the horrific forms of his “mother” and best friend. He curled into a little ball, tears pouring from his own eyes as he tried to pretend this isn't happening. It couldn’t be happening. He tugged at the muzzle more, maybe if he could get it off- maybe if he could just scream it’d all be better. But anything would be better, anything would be better than this, prison would be better than this, he just wanted out- he wanted out- please, please could it just stop-

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

Strychnine woke up in his bed. His heart still pounded, his pillow and cheeks both still wet with black goopy tears. Just like- no. He rolled over, staring up at his ceiling. It was just a nightmare. It hadn’t happened, though the way his gloved hands were clutching the sheets and the tears wouldn’t stop coming told him the fear was so very, very real. He wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep. Strychnine swung his legs off the bed before he stood up, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He slowly made his way to the window before cracking it open and stepping out onto the roof.

Ambrose woke with a start, looking around wildly, trying to find out where the assailant was coming from, trying to figure out who was breaking into his bedroom. That was until his eyes landed on Strychnine, crouched on his windowsill, eyes glowing yellow in the dark. Normally he’d just shoo the other man away like he was some sort of feral cat or a raccoon, it was the middle of the damn night after all, but something was wrong. Strychnine was usually so smiley, even when he was being an annoying little menace, but he wasn’t now. Black lines ran down his face from his eyes, looking like tear tracks, if tears could stain black. He got out of bed, throwing a robe over his shoulders before cracking open the window.

“Strych-” He was cut off as Strychnine barreled through the window as fast as he could, the smaller man wrapping his arms around Ambrose’s waist in a hug. Ambrose was a little shocked, but put his hands on Strychnine’s shoulders in a supportive gesture. Strychnine was shaking. “Strychnine, what’s wrong?” “Ambrose, I’m not a monster, right?” “What? I mean, you’re weird but you’re not a monster. What happened Strych?”

He held the smaller man close to him as he sniffled, trying to take a deep breath. Ambrose led him over to the couch in his bedroom, sitting down besides Strychnine. Strychnine was in his pajamas but still had his gloves on, Ambrose wondered if he ever took them off. “I-I had a nightmare. You were in it. You… said some horrible stuff. And I could kind of tell it wasn’t you… something felt so wrong, but it still hurt. Then some stuff from my past came up-” Tears started welling in his eyes again, “And it was scary. So-so scary. And dehumanizing, and just… it was bad. I thought I’d forgotten those things but… I hadn’t.” Ambrose pulled Strychnine into a side hug, “I’m sorry Strychnine. You don’t need to tell me what happened, if you don’t want to. But I’ll assure you, I am your friend. And I don’t know what nightmare Ambrose told you, and I don’t need to know, but hey, I’d go and get him for you. And you’re not a monster.” Strychnine sniffled, “You suck at fighting though.” A slight smile crossed Ambrose's face, “Hey, if I had to fight myself but meaner I think I’d win still. We’d both suck.” Ambrose gently grabbed Strychnine’s gloved hands with his own, “Like I said, you’re a bit… odd, but you’re not a monster. And the weirdness is what makes you fun, anyway. Who knows if we’d be friends if I didn’t find your weirdness so endearing but I do. And we are.” “Thank you Ambrose. I feel kind of bad, I just broke into your house and woke you up in the middle of the night, but could you just sit with me for a little bit longer? I’ll go back home but I just- I need to sit for a bit and it’s better to have company.” “No problem buddy.” Ambrose sat with Strychnine for a while, until the smaller guy's breath began to slow and Strychnine fell asleep again, slumped over on the couch. Ambrose carefully got up so he wouldn’t wake him and tossed a blanket over his best friend before yawning. The sun wouldn’t come up for a few more hours, and he was tired, but he didn’t want to disturb Strychnine. Another night sleeping in his office wouldn’t hurt. He hoped Strychnine wouldn’t have another nightmare but even if he did, Ambrose would be around this time. And real Ambrose would be there for him, since really Strychnine wasn’t a monster, he was his best friend.

Taglist @a-crumb-of-whump (Please ask to be added or removed!)

[serowebs]

how did you find out you were demonkin? i'm questioning if i'm a demon and so i'm asking around for other demons experiences

Good luck trying to read my rambling because I don't know if I can properly word out my thoughts and i am sorry if things may sound confusing just as a heads up if it do.

Honestly I am like pretty split on my whole demonkin identity for various reasons generally, but some of the reasons for me personally that make me think I am largely come from a rather general connection to demons and demon related things. Ever since I was very young and before I even knew what the fuck otherkinity was I personally always internally saw myself as, at the very least, some kind of demon like entity and I have always desired to be some sort of nonhuman physically ever since a young age. Any time in media where demons were portrayed I would see atleast part of myself in them and other things but I cannot truly put to words the specifics. I have had sort of like a phase not too long ago where I would try and just gather as much information as possible on demons and such not purely for questioning reasons at first but as I was looking around I was also starting to notice patterns and traits that would also match some of my experiences in one way or another wich would let the idea of me being demonkin kind of solidify in me. Whilst questioning I did further research about demon related topics generally but I have also looked around and compared to some other demons' experiences here and the fact that my feelings sort of matched up and the way I look internally also matched up with other demons here made me consider that label also rather strongly. Hell, I have even talked with a different demon that seemed rather similarly to me in the aspect as also being some kind of void and they also gave me the advice of aside of doing research and probably overthinking too much also just sort of "trying out the labels" aswell and if you change your mind and figure out "hey maybe I am actually not a demon" then that is perfectly fine too and after trying things out for a bit I personally just stuck with it because yea that in my opinion actually kind of suits me in my eyes you know? even if I am rather very 'soft' to be a typical one I just feel like to be considered a demon just matches up with my inner self.

[vulpecular-draconic]

although my phantom limbs haven’t been as strong/as frequent the last couple of months, i’ve still been thinking about my nonhumanity, and i’ve made a few discoveries!

first: the post i made about feeling more disconnected from humanity during this lull than normal and feeling like a changeling instead? i think i’ve figured out that “changeling” is my standard now. back when i first discovered alterhumanity, i did feel like a human, but i’ve slowly drifted away from that. now i’m at the point where when i’m not feeling like any specific kintype very strongly, my default is changeling.

which, speaking of, is subtly different than fae. i noticed that pretty soon after realizing they were ‘types, but i haven’t been able to articulate the difference until recently. the two are technically of the same species, but still different. when i’m feeling strongly fae it usually comes with at least a slight mental shift (and pearl fox phantom limbs, more on that in a sec), but feeling changeling is just… normal. my normal nonhuman brain. if someone came up to me and asked what species i am on an average day (and if being nonhuman was an accepted thing in society) then i would probably list “changeling” first.

my pearl fox kintype is intertwined with being fae/changeling. even if i’m not experiencing pearl fox phantom limbs, my natural inclination is to imagine my fae self with pearl fox features, or as a full-on anthro pearl fox. it goes the other way around too, where being more pearl-fox-ish leads me to feel more fae-ish.

a similar thing happens with cryptid and maned wolf (although usually not anthro there). cryptid itself is still mostly feelings and instincts based, and it can apply to many forms, but maned wolf-ish bodies fit it very well.

speaking of maned wolves — after questioning for a while, i think i’ll consider it a kintype? i’m still uncertain, but calling it a kintype seems most accurate.

i think i’ve mentioned how i am sometimes a shadowy being? that’s related to being cryptid, of course. the thing i’ve realized is that it’s probably an accidental otherlink. i started imagining myself as a shadowy being several years ago, way before i knew about alterhumanity. i chose things about it, so i know it was voluntary at the beginning. but after all this time it’s become a part of my identity. my connection to it fluctuates (like with all my kintypes), but i can’t drop it, and there’s some things i can no longer change about it.

OH. also! you know how i have “antlers” in my intro post, and how i say idk what they’re about? well i am very silly, because they are definitely related to being a cryptid as well as being a dragon. i don’t know how i didn’t realize it before. i usually get antler shifts the more cryptid i feel, and my dragon horns (at least on one of the dragon ‘types) are antler-ish. so yeah. very silly. i’m probably gonna remove them from my intro post soon

and not a discovery, but i’ve began working on a chart to explain my kintypes’ connections to each other, since it’s difficult to describe using words. i don’t know how long it’ll take.

…and i think that brings you up-to-date!

[elysiadjarin]

Day 2: Breeding Kink

Day 2 of Kinktober and… I got carried away with this one. The others are not going to be nearly as long as this one, so you guys are gonna be spoiled with this. I hope you enjoy it! Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Some warnings for violence and blood mentioned, though nothing too graphic. PinV sex, unprotected, consensual, nonhuman character, exophilia, slight hint of biting kink

Tags: Dilf!werewolf x reader, exophilia, kinktober

Moonlight Through Colored Leaves

When you’d first moved to the tiny Irish town in the middle of nowhere, you’d originally hoped to escape the family drama that haunted you back in America. Thanks to your grandfather’s Irish immigration, you’d been able to get an Irish citizenship and move relatively easily. So, you’d packed your bags, only told your grandfather where you were going, and boarded the first flight to Ireland you could catch.

You’d quietly made your way to your grandfather’s tiny hometown far out in the countryside, and moved into the long-since abandoned house that had belonged to your ancestors before. Though it had been run down and you’d had to do some major repairs and cleaning, you’d finally made a cozy cottage on the outskirts of the small village-like town.

The town had been quite welcoming and friendly, and you’d quickly found a job working at the local town pub as a waitress. Your boss had been very welcoming, and you’d earned favor from your coworkers and boss for your hard work and quiet, unassuming diligence. The pay was good, and you found yourself growing comfortable in the sleepy town life, meeting your neighbors and getting familiar with the town dynamics.

You’d just gone in for your shift of the day when conversation caught your ear. You put on your waitress apron, pulling your hair up into a ponytail and walking out to the bar to grab your tray.

“Did you hear about the news?” Jaina asked, arms propped on the countertop. “I mean, about that Romanian vamp that landed on Scotland the other day. Word is that he’s headed this way.”

“Well why would it want teh come here?” Sean snorted. “We’re out in teh middle o’ nowhere, Janie, t’ere ain’t not’in’ here t’at it would want.”

“Well didn’t you hear that apparently they’re expecting Agent Blue to be chasing it down with the Dullahan?” Jaina hissed. “Why wouldn’t they come over here?”

You hid your discreet grimace, instead walking out in front of the bar. To your delight and surprise, you found yourself facing a familiar little figure sitting at the bar in a corner. The little girl caught sight of you and squealed, waving.

You went over to her giving her a hug. “Well hello there, Miss Morrigan,” you greeted cheerfully. “How are you this fine evening? Having a drink?” you teased, noticing the glass of juice near her notebook.

She giggled, nodding. “Yeah! I’m with Daddy today,” she answered, feet kicking against the bar. She turned her head to see the bartender approaching. “Daddy!” she said excitedly. “Look, it’s the nice neighbor lady I told you about!”

You looked up to see Lysander Sullivan standing there, polishing a glass with a cloth. He gazed down at his daughter with a fond look deep in his eyes, then turned to look at you, his ice blue eyes meeting yours.

“Is that so?” he asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the relatively quiet bar. It hadn’t gotten to heavy traffic times, so there weren’t many people around yet. His grey-flecked hair had been swept back into an elastic band, and his beard had been neatly trimmed.

You gave him a small, shy smile, a little embarrassed. Though you knew that the man lived next to your property, you’d been a bit timid about approaching him. He was a kind enough gentleman from everything you’d seen and heard, and he’d watched out for you as you worked, but you didn’t see any reason why he’d be interested in any further contact with you. After all, you were a younger woman in your mid-twenties that lived alone.

“Yeah! She helps me with homework sometimes,” Morrigan prattled on, “and she lets me water her flowers!”

You laughed a little, feeling the color splash across your cheeks. “Well, I certainly enjoy the little Queen’s company,” you admitted. You’d heard some of the other workers gossip about Lysander, saying that he was a single father to nine-year-old Morrigan and that her mother had died in a tragic accident. You didn’t really know, and you’d tried not to pry or overhear too much. The man had a right to privacy, just like you had things you were running from as well.

“Thank you for looking out for the little cub,” Lysander said, a small smile crossing his face. He mellowed out around his daughter, his love clear in how he interacted with her.

“Of course. It’s a delight,” you said, smiling at Morrigan. “She’s a smart little cookie, aren’t you, Queenie?” you asked, tugging at her pigtail teasingly.

She giggled. “Yeah!” Then she tilted her head at you. “Are you working with Daddy tonight?” she asked curiously.

“O-oh, well, sort of,” you stammered, taken aback a little. “He works behind the counter, but I serve people out there,” you said, motioning to the tables. “So I guess we do, in a way.”

Morrigan nodded sagely. “Ohhh, so you do the food and Daddy does the drinks.” She nodded, satisfied at her conclusion. “Oh, I’m making a drawing! I want you to see it later, when I’m finished,” she said, tugging at your sleeve.

You smiled. “Of course, Queenie. You just let me know and I’ll pop by when I have a moment, alright?” you promised.

She nodded, turning back to her notebook and picking up her crayons again. Tongue poked out, she diligently returned to her masterpiece. You gave her a fond smile, noting the way the soft lights made a halo in her blonde hair.

“She’s such an angel,” you murmured, grabbing some straws from the bar to stick into your pocket.

“Aye, that she is.” Lysander’s comment almost startled you. He glanced at you across the bar, the sleeves of his crisp maroon button-up rolled halfway up his arms. “I apologize for not bein’ a better neighbor,” he remarked.

You blinked, then reached up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh, no— not at all,” you blurted, then gave him a chagrined smile. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’d met Morrigan when she was coming back from school, since I was in the front yard. She just… hopped on over, so I said hi. Honestly I should have introduced myself better, but…” You bit your lip. “I just kept putting it off because I didn’t want to bother you…”

He blinked, then chuckled slightly, as though surprised. “An’ here I thought it was ‘cause you didn’t really like me for some reason,” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

You gave him a horrified look. “Oh! Not at all!” You shook your head with a sigh, tugging mournfully at your ponytail. “I’m… notoriously bad at meeting people for the first time,” you groaned. “I just get nervous and tongue tied and I don’t know how to interact and… ugh.” You winced. “I am sorry, Mr. Sullivan. I should be a better neighbor, especially since I somehow got to know your daughter.” You half-laughed at yourself.

He waved you off. “I’m just glad you get along with Mor,” he chuckled. “She speaks endlessly about you. Seems like you’ve impressed her.”

You looked up at him, genuinely surprised. “Really?” you wondered, glancing at the girl. Then you smiled. “Well, I’m flattered. She’s such a smart, curious girl. I’m rather honored that she’d find me interesting.” You breathed a laugh, then glanced up at him. “I should get to my station, but… if you don’t mind, would it be alright if I swung by tomorrow to say hi and properly introduce myself?”

He nodded calmly. “Of course. She gets back home from school at three, if you wanted to catch her as well.”

You nodded, propping the tray on your hip. “Thank you! I’ll do that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll stop procrastinating and actually start working,” you laughed, and walked off with a wave.

The night progressed relatively smoothly, customers rotating in and out with regulars stopping by. The crowds ebbed and flowed, sometimes more rowdy and sometimes more calm. Still, you enjoyed the atmosphere and the liveliness of it all. Despite it being a pub, and an Irish one at that, the town was small and most people knew everyone else. Plus, Lysander was the bartender for more than one reason. Everyone knew that making trouble of any sort was not tolerated and had force to back it up.

You occasionally popped by Morrigan’s place at the bar, either to have a chat or to admire the progress she’d made on her drawing. And throughout the night, your worries started to mount the more gossip you heard around the pub. Some of them had heard confirmation that the Romanian vampire gone mad was making a beeline for Ireland, though no one seemed to know why. There were even more rumors that Agent Blue, the famous Will-o-the-Wisp, was after the rampaging Pricoli. And still others said that the Scott Pack would be making a reappearance.

Once you’d finished your shift and helped close up shop, you started the trudge back to your cottage down the road. It wasn’t a far walk, really, and it gave you some time to think and clear your head from the smells of the pub. Reaching up, you pulled your hair free from the ponytail and sighed, shoulders slumping.

You’d come to Ireland to escape your problems, but it felt like they were all closing in on you as the days went by. As you got home and got ready for bed, you wondered if it was asking too much to hope for some peace.

Instead, you distracted yourself by trying to think of something to make for the Sullivans the next day. You didn’t want to go empty handed, after all. Maybe some bread-?

You fell asleep thinking about it.

~

You’d just lifted your hand to knock when the door flung open. Morrigan practically tackled you, wrapping her arms around your waist with a shriek of greeting.

Laughing, you balanced yourself and wrapped an arm around her. “Well hello, Queenie,” you greeted. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

She grabbed your hand and dragged you in, chattering happily about her day at school. “Oh, and you should have heard how everyone laughed!” She interrupted herself as she led you into the kitchen. “Daddy, she’s here!” she called.

Trying to balance the homemade sourdough in one hand while still holding Morrigan’s with the other, you looked up to give Lysander a helpless smile. “Hello, Mr. Sullivan,” you greeted, a little breathlessly.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “Well hallo, Miss,” he greeted back, wiping his hands with a towel. “Mor, why don’t you let her set the plate down before anything drops,” he said, shaking his head.

Morrigan let go of your hand, bouncing up and down. “Ooh, what is it?”

You offered it to Lysander, a little flustered. “I… well, I didn’t really want to come without an offering, so… I made some homemade sourdough,” you offered, a little awkwardly. “I hope you like it, it’s a fresh batch, still warm.”

He took it from you with a nod. “Thank you. We love sourdough, don’t we, Mor?” He seemed far more comfortable in his own home, less stoic and stern than in the pub.

Morrigan nodded, throwing up her hands with a cheer. “Yeah!” She danced around. “I love bread!” Then she grabbed your hand again. “Oh, oh, you gotta come see my room! Daddy just made me a new desk, and it’s really nice and shiny!”

Lysander waved you off as you turned to him. “Go ahead. Oh, I was going to invite you to dinner,” he added. “If you’d like. The food is almost done, actually. Your bread will be a perfect addition.”

You smiled. “I’d be honored. Thank you.” Then you let Morrigan drag you away.

By the time Lysander called for you both, you’d been given the official tour of her room and had happily listened to her tell stories of what she’d done at school and the projects she planned to do in the coming days. The little girl always cheered you up with her bright and cheerful presence. If anything, it eased your heart to see the little girl clearly so healthy and happy with her Father. She openly adored him, quite the Daddy’s girl.

As the three of you sat down at the table, you realized with a slight start that you’d never felt so comfortable in Ireland as you did in this moment. It felt… right, like you’d finally come home.

“Thank you for the food,” you said, giving Lysander a grateful smile. “It looks amazing.” The soup simmered in the bowls, while the sourdough bread had been cut into slices and set by the butter.

He nodded. “Thank you for the bread.” He passed the steamed potatoes, and everyone dug into the meal.

You let out a soft hum of contentment as you ate, enjoying the rich flavors and the homey comfort food. Clearly Lysander was a good cook, and you almost envied Morrigan for being able to come home to this every night. Not that you weren’t a good cook yourself, but you supposed company really did make a difference.

“The bread is so good!” Morrigan chirped, taking a giant bite of the bread slathered in butter.

You laughed softly. “I’m glad, Queenie. Take it slow,” you warned, worried she’d choke. “The bread isn’t going anywhere.”

She nodded, scarfing down her food. “Oh, oh, Daddy, cartoons are on soon! Can I please go watch? I did all my homework!”

Lysander nodded. “Alright. Go take your dishes to the sink.”

“Thank you! Morrigan cheered, sliding down from her chair and carefully taking the dishes. She trotted to the kitchen, then got herself a glass of juice and went to go to the living room.

You realized with a slight start that this was the first time you’d been alone with Lysander. Looking down at your spoonful, you wondered if you should maybe ask him the questions that pressed on your mind. Perhaps he would know. Then again… it’s not as though he were related to your grandfather’s clan… and not to mention, most of the people in the town didn’t even know that you were aware of the nonhuman community. In fact, you were rather positive that your coworkers thought you didn’t.

“If I may ask, what brought you to this small town?” Lysander asked, his voice calm and mellow. His blue eyes glanced up at you, and the question died on your tongue.

“Oh… family history, actually,” you admitted with a smile. “And, well…” You shrugged lightly. “I needed to get away for a while. I wanted a fresh start, somewhere where people didn’t really know me.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I essentially did the same with Morrigan when we moved here a few years ago.”

You hummed, reaching for a piece of bread. He handed you the butter, and you gently grasped the sleeve of his flannel for a moment. “You’ve got a bit on your clothes,” you said, wiping the smeared butter off with a napkin. You’d just let go when your fingers brushed across his briefly as you took the butter. You didn’t notice the way he froze, his movements jerky as he pulled his hand back.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Do you— I mean, does any of your family still live here?”

You shook your head. “Not exactly. But technically, my extended family is here. My grandfather immigrated from Ireland to America, where I was born, but through marriage there are still people here I’m technically connected to.” You shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten in contact with them, though. They probably don’t know me that well,” you laughed with a rueful shrug. You glanced at him for a moment. “I bet it’s even harder when you have children.”

He glanced toward the living room, where the faint sound of the cartoons floated through the house. “Well, I suppose,” he admitted thoughtfully. “Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. She’s my life, really.”

You lowered your eyes to your plate, unable to deny how your chest tightened at the way his voice softened when he spoke of his daughter. You’d always tried to forget how much you’d been attracted to the older man. You’d only ever dated once, and while he’d been nice enough and it had ended cordially, you still hadn’t been able to forget the lingering feeling of disappointment you’d had from the experience. You’d known, after that, that it would either be a long time before you ever tried dating again or it would have to be to someone whose maturity at least matched yours. And, unfortunately for you, that tended to mostly apply to men past their forties.

You really did try to forget how Lysander ticked all the boxes.

“I can see why.” You smiled. “She’s really precious.” Your eyes slid toward the living room. “Does she… inherit from you?”

Lysander looked up, his gaze suddenly piercing as he stared at you openly.

You gave him a faint smile. “I don’t talk much about it, but my grandfather comes from the local O’Connor Faoladh Tribe,” you said calmly, taking another sip of the soup.

His shoulders relaxed, the hard edge in his expression melting away. “Ah. Yes, she does. But she hasn’t fully shifted yet. It will be another year, we think. Are you-?”

You shook your head. “Oh, no. It’s funny, really,” you said thoughtfully, motioning with your spoon. “My grandfather is Faoladh, and my mother’s side of the family is a lycanthrope pack.” Your lips twitched. “And somehow, I got the recessive genes and ended up a simple Seer.”

His eyebrow raised. “Not so simple, I’d think,” he remarked. “Aren’t Seers rather uncommon now?”

You shrugged. “For a reason. There’s plenty of potential but not many who actively practice anymore. The price is heavy for knowledge like that.”

He gave you a discerning look. “Is that what you’re running from?”

Your silver spoon clinked softly as you set it down on the edge of the plate. “I suppose you could say that,” you murmured. Your eyes closed as you shoved away the memories of distant screaming, the crackle of fire, crimson splashed across stone floors— “Or maybe toward something.” After all, you mused, there had been a reason you’d felt drawn to your grandfather’s homeland, and town in particular. And of course, you’d never been one to fight Fate too hard.

“Perhaps so,” he conceded. Then he stood. “May I take your plate?”

“Oh— please, let me help.” You stood, taking your dishes and starting towards the kitchen. “At least let me wash or dry.”

When you finally got back home, you sat down on the couch and buried your face into your hands. Seeing Morrigan and Lysander together had stirred up old memories you’d long since tried to forget. Old desires that you’d thought you’d given up on: hopes and dreams of a family to call your own.

You crawled into bed, everything inside you aching. After all, what could a Seer with a cursed fate possibly offer anyone?

~

The night the Dullahan rode into town, you’d just started closing up the pub on night shift duty.

They’d ridden in, followed by the famous Agent Blue clad in his dark robes and carrying his lantern over his shoulder. He strode in the door, followed by the Dullahan. At first, you hadn’t even noticed the other figure trailing behind them.

Your Boss, Dorian, had walked out of the back room to greet them. He, of everyone in the town, was the only one to know of your heritage, as the elected leader of the supernatural community in the town. He nodded to the group as they entered.

“Welcome, Dullahan, Agent Blue.” He nodded at them, shaking the Will-o-the-Wisp’s hand.

“Greetings in return, Chief Dorian,” Agent Blue replied, his face still covered by the hood. “Apologies for the intrusion. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Pricoli that’s been running amok all over the Isles.”

Dorian nodded. “We certainly have. I assume you’ve come on a hunt.”

“We have. And I’ve brought someone with me.” Agent Blue turned, motioning towards the back of the group.

You’d been distracted, still working on trying to finish clearing up and getting out of the way. If your boss had asked, you were ready to offer to serve the new guests as well, giving Lysander a glance that he returned with a small nod.

It wasn’t until you straightened and turned around, finished, that you heard a familiar, startled voice call your name. Turning, you looked up and saw, to your shock, a very familiar face staring at you. You froze as the figure lunged forward, wrapping you in a tight hug. After a moment, you awkwardly hugged him back, mind whirling.

“What are you doing here?” Your younger brother stared at you incredulously, holding your arms. “I didn’t even know you left home! Last I heard you were still there.”

You grasped his sleeves, disoriented. “O-Oh. Ray,” you gasped, processing. “I—“ You suppressed a flinch. “I just… moved into grandfather’s old cottage,” you stammered, then looked down. “I had to get away,” you said quietly. “It was too much.”

Of all your family, you knew that Ray would best understand. He’d been the only one to really stand up for you back home, try to support you as best as he could, being a younger sibling. When everyone else constantly reminded you of your Fate, your Destiny, Ray had been the only one who had encouraged your personal hopes and dreams, had listened to your fears and worries.

He sighed. “I mean, I can’t blame you,” he said, shaking his head. “Still… does anyone know?”

You scoffed slightly, turning your head away. “Only Grandfather ever cared about me besides you, Ray. There’s no one else who probably even asked.” You shrugged. “How is school?” You’d been the one to support him when he decided to move to Scotland to attend University. He, too, had wanted to escape home.

He grinned. “Pretty great, actually!” Then he glanced behind him. “Turns out my best mate is actually one of Agent Blue’s sons, so when the whole Pricoli thing went down, I offered to be his in to the Faoladh Tribe here. For formality, y’know.” He shrugged. “I remembered what Grandfather had always taught us about how picky Faoladh are about tradition.”

You nodded. “Yeah…” You huffed slightly. “Technically only the people in here right now even know that I’m a part of the supernatural community,” you said dryly.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s some dedication to keep it quiet. How has the local gossip train not found you out yet?”

You snorted. “Maybe because I’ve always been quiet and kept my mouth shut.” You rolled your eyes at him, though a smile twitched on your lips. “And we both know who never can.”

He playfully cuffed your shoulder. Then he grinned. “Oh, but guess what?” His eyes sparkled. “I found my Mate!”

Your eyes widened. “Really?” Your heart lightened for him, happy that your younger brother had finally found his Mate. “Does she know yet?”

He shook his head, face falling a little. Well, not yet. I mean, I’ve kinda only just met her and all, so… and it’s kinda awkward, cause…” He winced. “Well, she’s my best mate’s younger sister.”

You gave him an incredulous look, then sighed, shaking your head. “Well, good luck with that one, Ray,” you snorted. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the situation with that one.”

He shrugged. “I know, but…” His grin turned goofy. “She’s so pretty. You should see her. She’s even pretty sassy, kinda like you are with me.”

You laughed softly, patting his arm. “Well, I’m glad I was able to catch up with you. If you need a place to stay, you know my house is always open to you.”

He nodded. “Thanks, sis. I should probably head back. I don’t know what else they might want me for.” He paused, then gave you an odd look. “Have you… found anyone?”

You blinked at him, startled. “What? Ray, you know what my Fate says.” You frowned.

An odd expression crossed his face, then he shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Just… don’t forget the promise you made me.”

You sighed. “I won’t, Ray.” As if you ever could, you thought with a hint of bitterness. He wouldn’t let you.

He squeezed your hand, slipping a piece of paper into your grasp. “Text me. I wanna keep in touch.”

You nodded, pocketing the note. “Thanks. Good luck, Ray. Stay safe.”

He nodded, then jogged back to Agent Blue with a wave. You were left to stand there, your heart sinking with every step he took away from you. Everything was lining up far too well. Though you’d vainly hoped to escape from the Fate that had hung over your head for so long, it seemed as though you’d just walked right into it instead.

Turning back to the bar, you quietly packed up your things. Bidding Lysander goodnight, you checked to make sure Dorian didn’t need you and headed back for home.

It was only a matter of time.

~

Rain splattered against the ground, heavy and thick like a curtain. Shielding your eyes from the drops, you pushed yourself to run, faster, as fast as you could. There was no time left to think.

The vision you’d had kneeling under the large Fae Maypole tree you’d found in the forest nearby kept flashing through your mind, insistent and horrific. Your Fate loomed, past and future meshing into the present in ways you could hardly stand. You’d thought you’d been running, cowardly but maybe safe from the Sword of Damocles—but now here you were, fallen headlong into the trap of the Fate you’d known since childhood would claim your life.

And yet your feet would not stop running, pushing you forward without hesitation. Was this not worth it? Was this Fate—this Fate that you’d feared for so long, hated and loathed and tried in futility to escape—was it truly so horrendous? Now that you were here? In this moment of truth?

You barreled up the steps, slamming your shoulder against the door without a pause. It broke, sending you headlong across the threshold to skid across the carpet. Ignoring the burn on your arm, you looked up as you heard a scream. Morrigan’s face stared at you, sheet white as she curled up in fear by the foot of the couch.

Jacking yourself up, you didn’t take time to glance behind you. “Mor, into the safe room,” you gasped, “your Daddy sent me, okay? I need you to get in the safe room, now.”

She nodded shakily, bravely scrambling to her feet and running towards the safe room that Lysander had made for her. Nothing would get through the doors, you knew, once they locked. You waited until you heard the lock click, then turned and scrambled back out the busted door.

In the empty area between your houses, out on the outskirts of the town, everything seemed oddly distant yet crystal clear. Your memories nudged at you, whispering about the deja vu that filled your every pore at the sight of the green, rolling grass and the relentless rain that poured over everything. In the distance, the red glare of a fire fueled by gas and undaunted by rain began to dominate the color of the sky.

It didn’t surprise you when cold fingers wrapped around your throat, leaving mottled bruises to bloom against your skin. You stood still, knowing that any movement might crush your throat. You may have been Fated to die, but not until you’d finished your task.

The enraged Pricoli snarled, hissing in your ear. “I know he sent you to hide her,” he sneered. “You helpless, pitiful Seer. For all your preeminence, did you not find a way to best me?” he barked a laugh, maniacal and loud. “You useless Seers and your cursed fates—and for what? A single moment of ruined glory?”

Your breath shallowed, airflow restricted. Agent Blue, several Dullahan, your brother, Dorian, and Lysander all emerged from the tree line, pausing as they saw you being held hostage. You closed your eyes for a moment as the icy hands constricted around your throat even further.

“Tell me where she is, and you get to live, Seer,” he snarled, his face nearing your ear. “She is my perfect match, my BloodSong. She is fated to be mine, my apprentice!” he howled. “Give her to me, my right!” His nails started to lengthen, turning into claws, digging against your skin. “Or I’ll drink you dry first and use you as fuel to take these maggots down.”

You brother’s face had gone ashen in horror, staring at you as though trying to deny his own eyes. His face twisted in despair.

“I’ll never give her up to you,” you answered, aware that everyone could hear you despite the rain. You tilted your head up, letting the rain wash over your face. “I am a Seer,” you declared, loudly, proud of it for the first time in your life. “And I embrace the Curse of my Fate. I pay the price gladly, if it means the power to make sure you never lay a finger on her.”

The Pricoli snarled, the rage almost audibly warping his voice into something demonic. “Then meet your Fate, Seer.”

Your knees gave out the moment his fangs ripped into your jugular. Strangely enough, the pain wasn’t even that bad, you mused hazily. Your eyes—were they blurred by tears or the rain?—rolled up to see your brother, mouth open as he reached for you. Even Lysander, white fur matted and soaked, had his maw open as his snout pointed to the sky.

Distantly, you could hear screaming. A roar, loud, tumbling through your chest, rattling into the ground. The crackling of fire. Everything started to get.. so… cold. Vaguely, as the hand shoved you forward and you landed against the ground, you could see out of the corner of your eye the Pricoli hunch forward. Despite the pain, the numbness… your lips curled in a vindictive smile.

The crimson eyes turned to you, a horrified anger sweeping through them as they landed on your twisted grin. A cold hand went up to his throat, and the Pricoli started to choke. His body lurched, tongue lolling as he gagged on your blood, his veins starting to light from the inside out with a toxic green. Slowly, agonizingly, he fell to his knees, his face contorted in a paroxysm of agony as he choked on your blood, your concentrated inherent magic tearing him apart from the inside out.

Your limbs felt sluggish as you forced yourself up, your ears ringing. Reaching up, you pressed your hand to your ruined neck and staggered to your feet, starting to lurch away from the destroyed corpse of the Pricoli. Warmth smeared across your skin, and every breath sent needles raking down your throat and into your lungs. Your feet stumbled, and before you realized it, you were leaning against something broad and firm.

Two icy blue eyes stared down at you, claws wrapping around your arms. Strangely enough, though, you didn’t fear that grasp. Lysander’s maw moved, you noticed faintly, but all you could hear was the persistent ringing in your ears. Vaguely, you reached up, your fingers clumsily landing on the side of his snout. Red smeared his fur, and your arm dropped down numbly to your side.

With the last of your strength, you forced your mouth to form the words that your shattered throat couldn’t say. Tell her goodbye.

The world spun into crimson.

~

Shivering, you shook your head as you curled into the corner that you’d pressed yourself into. Tears burned behind your eyes, and you heard your breath start to rasp and wheeze, rattling your throat.

Your brother’s face crumpled as he stared at you. “Please,” he begged, his voice wavering. “You need to drink.”

Agent Blue rested his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Take it easy, son,” he said, voice firm but compassionate. “She’s understandably frightened. Even though she’s successfully gone through the change to being a damphyr, she’s had quite the scare and probably doesn’t want to feed.”

“But she needs to!” Ray exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice. “She’s already hurting.”

It was driving you insane. The pure power of the Will-o-the-Wisp’s blood was calling to you like a tempting beacon, and your brother’s hot blood practically screamed at you. The thirst flared in your throat, an ache so powerful you wanted to gag. It was like sandpaper. But you didn’t want to feed from them. You didn’t want to risk losing control, didn’t want to didn’t want to didn’t want to—

“I’ll take care of her.” Lysander stepped into the room. He turned to Ray. “She gave her life to save my daughter. This is the least I can do. I promise she’ll be in good hands.”

Your brother paused, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know you will, Sir,” he said, defeated. “I just…” He glanced over at you, eyes reflecting his misery.

Lysander reached out, squeezing Ray’s shoulder. “I understand,” he said quietly.

Ray nodded, then approached you again carefully. “Hey.” His voice softened. “I know you probably don’t want me around. But you have my number. Please, just… contact me when you’re ready, ok? You know I’ll be here for you, like I always have been. I’m gonna go back to Scotland, but you know how to reach me if you need anything. I won’t tell any of the family that you’re here.”

Swallowing back the drool, you tentatively reached out and barely ghosted your fingers against his cheek, hoping your eyes would convey your thanks. You just… needed space. Away from him, to control yourself, get yourself together.

But his expression turned a little more hopeful, and he nodded. “Love you, sis,” he said quietly. “Please… live.” With a small smile, he stood and followed Agent Blue out of the room.

With a quiet whine, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to push past the unbearable, insistent pain scratching down your throat. Your throat roared for a drink. Your eyes snapped open when you heard Lysander approach. Though you didn’t know why, his presence always sent you into an absolute panic, though not of fear. Your thirst around him seemed to impossibly skyrocket. Like something about him drove you crazy.

He knelt, his blue eyes fixed on yours. He reached out slowly, giving you a chance to move away. Instead, your body froze, entirely fixating on the way his plaid shirtsleeve pulled tight around his arm, rolled up to his elbow. You swallowed thickly, his blood an absolute siren call. You could smell it, practically taste it. Dripping down your throat, into your veins, ambrosia sweet and thick— Drool slipped down the corner of your mouth, past the pressure of fangs against your lips.

Lysander’s eyes strained. “I know what it does to you,” he said quietly. “Just the fact that you’re not lunging for me right now is…” He sighed, his other hand raking through his hair. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or-“ His lips twisted as he cut himself off, as though conflicted. “There’s a reason why my blood calls to you.” He settled himself in front of you, making you want to scream as both relief and a frenzy of want roared through you.

“Of course, Mor is my daughter,” Lysander said, his voice low as he looked down at the floor between you. “But her Mother was… not my true Mate.” He sighed. “I didn’t really care, because I loved her. But she… well, she left me. Didn’t want Mor, didn’t want… me.” A self-depreciating smile passed across his face. “But it was okay, I had Mor and I only wanted the best for her. But still… somewhere inside me, I knew that my true Mate was out there somewhere.”

You almost couldn’t focus, his proximity almost painful because he was too far, and yet not close enough—

“And then you appeared, and Mor started to love you, and I—“ He sighed, hand reaching up to cover his face. “And I didn’t know if I wanted to run or stay.” His shoulders slumped. “Seeing you with Mor, working with you, talking with you… every moment I spend with you near is like agony, but when you leave it’s like you take a part of me with you and I can’t breathe.”

Abruptly, your mouth went dry, shocked almost clear out of bloodlust. Wait, was he saying-?

“I told myself that you’d be better off without me,” Lysander admitted, voice thick. “I’m… not young any more. You’re beautiful and— and you have so much more promise, a whole life ahead of you… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’d gone for so long without my true Mate, I thought I’d be fine. But when I saw you lying on the ground…” He turned his face away, jaw ticking, a wild, feral light in his eyes. A low snarl rumbled through his chest, dissolving into a whine he quickly cut off.

He looked back up at you. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel… obligated to do anything. But you deserve to know the reason why my blood calls to you so strongly, and why— why I want you to drink from me. Why I don’t mind.”

Your mind whirled. The permission. The heady scent of his blood. The warmth he promised. The realization that he was calling you his true Mate. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

Reaching up, you clapped your hand over your mouth with a half-sob of desperation. You wanted it. You practically ached for it, the kindness and love he offered. The promise of a family, a home, someone who had seen you at your worst and still somehow wanted you.

“Please,” Lysander rasped, his eyes laced with that same desperation roiling in his gut. “You don’t even have to accept me as a Mate. But you need to feed, and I—“

You were at your limit. You’d already taxed yourself as a newborn damphyr somehow trying to resist the frenzy of the first feed, and now that your Mate was in front of you, offering freely, practically begging you to feed from him, you could only take so much.

You lunged, a snarl dying on your lips as you lunged forward, the strength of your desperation actually knocking the seasoned werewolf down onto the floor. And still, even as you straddled his waist, your fingers curled around his shoulder, eyes fixed on the tempting expanse of his neck… you still tried to fight. Still tried to fight it, to control yourself.

But Lysander’s broad, warm hands gently wrapped around your waist, not fighting or pushing you off. The scar slashing across the left side of his face seemed to glow in the light streaming through the curtained window, and he gave you a smile.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice low and soothing. “I can handle it. I know you won’t hurt me.”

You shuddered, drool dripping down your fangs. Leaning forward slowly, you tried to keep yourself paced, tried to force yourself to some modicum of control. Mouth opening, you lowered your head until your fangs just barely grazed the crook of his neck and shoulder, not too close to his jugular but just enough.

The moment your fangs sank into his throat, Lysander’s fingers went weak around your waist. A deep groan pooled into the air, and a tremor ran through his body underneath you.

Heat pooled in your stomach, even as his blood slid down your throat with a satisfaction unparalleled. He tasted sweet and dusky, like fresh bread and sunshine, and freshly-cut grass after the rain. The pure heat and warmth he radiated soaked into you, and you felt the bloodlust slowly slake as you drank. Finally, you forced yourself to let go, vaguely aware with your instincts that you’d taken enough to not hurt him but probably still leave him a bit lightheaded for a moment.

The bite wound almost instantly healed over, and his grasp on your waist tightened again, fingers flexing as he regained his bearings.

You leaned your head against his chest, the gratitude and shame warring inside you. Grateful that he’d been so kind, so understanding and gentle. Ashamed of your own arousal, the way your entire being reacted to him.

Your name slipped from his lips, and a moment later his face pressed into your hair. His voice ached with the same torn desire that roiled through you. “I shouldn’t—“ He sucked in a sharp breath as you pressed your body flush against his. You could feel how tight his pants were, could feel the lines of his bulge pressed up against your thigh. A choked groan accompanied the way his hands spasmed around your waist.

“Mate.” The whisper slid from your mouth, the first thing you’d said aloud since your change. Your fingers clenched in his flannel shirt. “Mate… wants me?” Your voice cracked with your fear. Fear that he wouldn’t want to deal with you after all, that you weren’t worth it—

He pulled you closer to him, hand sliding to your hair. “So damn much, sweetheart,” he rasped, cradling your head to his shoulder. “You’re so goddamn beautiful and fierce— I don’t care if you’re human, Seer, damphyr. You’re my true Mate, my love.”

And you buried your face into his shoulder and let yourself shed a few tears of relief. He wanted you. Accepted you, in spite of everything.

“I know it’s not fair to ask you to stay,” his voice strained. “You gave your life for Morrigan, and I’m so much older—“

You reached up, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw as you slanted your lips over his, tears slipping down your cheeks. His mouth opened, kissing you back with a fervor as he splayed his hand over your lower back, pressing you into him. He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into your body. Your entire body flushed, and you let out a quiet whimper.

Almost before you could register it, he flipped you over onto the floor, hovering over you. His teeth bared, and he stared down at you with a heat in his eyes that scorched through you. His hands clenched around your waist, pulling your hips flush against his.

You whimpered, tilting your head to the side and exposing your throat to him, sprawled against the floor. Your chest heaved with breath, and a moment later his teeth closed gently on the arch of your neck. A soft breathy moan escaped your lips, eyes fluttering closed as his scent washed over you, his mouth marking your neck, replacing the memory of the Pricoli’s fingerprints mottled against your skin.

With an effort, Lysander wrenched himself away, though he half rutted against you. “Darling, I’m going to need you to tell me if you don’t want this,” he rasped, voice thick and half a snarl already.

“Lysander,” you whispered, lips caressing his name.

His hips stuttered, and he pulled you up against him before heaving himself up and staggering to the bed. He lowered you onto the bed, wasting no time before he practically yanked you to him, his hands hot and greedy. He kissed you, somehow still gentle and yet needy enough to take your breath away.

“May I?” He tapped your shirt.

You nodded shyly, letting him slide it off of you. You lifted your hips in an invitation, and he lowered his mouth to your neck as he slipped your shorts off. He groaned, hands sliding across your bared skin. His skin felt so hot to the touch against your chilled body, wholly satisfying. You practically melted into his hands like putty, malleable to however he touched you, moved you. He made you feel safe. Loved. Cherished. Wanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “So beautiful, leannen.” The Gaelic spilled naturally from his mouth as he slid his hands under your back, unhooking your bra. You let him slide it off, too desperate for the warmth of his hands to process embarrassment. His hands cupped your breasts, callouses rasping across your nipples in a way that left your breathless and aching.

You whimpered, a little encouraged by the way you felt his bulge throb against you at the sound. Fingers tangling in his shirt, you tilted your head for air, arching into his hands.

“Fuck,” Lysander hissed against your jaw, his hips rolling into you. His hands slid lower, and his thumbs hooked in your underwear. “Can I?”

You nodded, fingers clenching against his shoulders as he slid them off. His shirt was already straining at the seams, threatening to rip. At your tug, he took a moment to reach down and practically rip his shirt off, tossing it uncaringly to the side as he opened his mouth against your neck.

You were already dripping, just his touch and scent enough to arouse you. Breath hissed through his teeth as his fingers dragged through your slick, just barely brushing past your clit. A whine escaped your lips as you shivered, fingers slipping against his chest.

“You smell so good,” Lysander groaned, one finger slipping into you as his thumb rubbed circles around your clit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re wet. Can I take care of you?” he rumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “You already gorged yourself on my blood. How about I fill you up with something else?”

You flushed, fangs sinking into your lower lip. “Please?” you whispered.

His ice blue eyes flashed, and his chest heaved under your hands. “Oh, are we a little desperate?” He smirked, sliding another finger into you, stretching you. “Want me to pull your legs up on my shoulders and keep you here all night?” He chuckled, feeling you pulse around his fingers. “Mmmm, I think your gorgeous body is being pretty honest, sweetheart. Well. I aim to please my Mate.”

You only had a moment to wonder when he’d managed to get his pants off. His fingers slid out of you, only for you to feel his cock rest heavily against your entrance. He slid against you, and you could feel a dribble of precum smear across your skin. One hand went to your waist, holding you, while his other found your clit again.

“Is this alright, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and suddenly soft. “I’m a bit of a stretch. I’ll try to go slow.”

With how wet you were, you sincerely doubted that he would find much of a problem. Still, you swallowed and nodded, grateful for his care and the way he tried, every step of the way, to make sure you were comfortable. Then again, you could already tell he wasn’t lying about how big he was. You could feel him resting against you, throbbing against your thigh. Slowly, he pressed just the tip into you, his breath shuddering.

Your lips parted in a gasp as he stretched you open, sliding into you. Compared to the chill of your body, his cock practically radiated heat. By the time he completely bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours, you’d already come so close to the edge, drool slipping from the corners of your lips. He seemed to completely fill you, pressing up against every spot inside of you until you swore he’d stretched you into his shape.

Lysander slumped over you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck. His entire body shuddered, and his hands clenched around your waist. His chest heaved against yours, muscles flexing as though he were physically holding himself back.

“Thank you.” The shaky whisper pooled against your skin. “For saving her. Giving your life for her. Thank you. For choosing me.”

Your fingers slid into his salt and pepper hair, relishing the stubble against your neck and shoulder. “I love you.” The confession spilled from your lips, quiet in the room.

He shuddered, letting out a low moan. His fingers clenched, just as he pulled you down further onto his cock, pressing up into you. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Lysander,” you repeated obediently, wholly truthful. Your core clenched around him, and he hissed, pulling out to thrust back into you.

“I love you,” he groaned, starting to thrust in a slow but steady rhythm. He reached down, then pulled your legs up around his hips. The new angle made you pulse as he seemed to reach impossibly deeper into you, angling up justenough to hit that one spot inside you that had you gasping and arching.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Feels so good, sweetheart. So good.”

He suddenly reached behind you and grabbed a pillow, then lifted your hips up to prop it under you. Setting you back down, he shifted himself up and pulled your legs up to his shoulders.

A cry left your lips, utterly wrecked and broken. His cock completely filled you, fucking any semblance of coherence out of you, going so deep you swore you could feel it in your stomach. He seemed to know exactly how to read your body, adjusting to every whimper you let out, not giving you a break as he kept pounding into you with devastating precision.

“You feeling good, sweetheart?” he chuckled, the sound raking down your spine. “Is this what you want?” He thumbed your clit, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You gonna give Mor a little sibling? Taking me so well like this, spread open for me?”

The thought of adding more kids to your life, together with Lysander, proved to be the last straw for your poor mind. You came, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you cried out his name and the wave of heat and pleasure washed through your body.

And Lysander just kept fucking you through it, going harder as he pinned you against the sheets under him, not caring that your fingers raked against his shoulders. He bent to kiss you, murmuring your name in a husky voice that just wrecked you even more. He gave you no mercy, his gaze predatory as he stared down at you, soaking in your ruined expression.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Cum for me,” he murmured, coaxing you through your high.

Even when you rode it out, he didn’t slow down or let up the pace. “You gonna make me cum, darling? Can I cum inside you?”

A plea staggered off of your lips, followed by his name. Your jumbled, blissed-out mind wouldn’t allow you to do anything else, barely recalling your own name.

“Fuck— gonna cum, sweetheart— gonna fill you up—“ He let out a moan before his hips slammed into you one last time. He ground against you as he came, his bruising grip not letting you move an inch away from him.

You melted back into the bed, eyes closing as you soaked in the feeling of his seed filling you, pouring into you. Your fingers slid up the back of his neck as you lay there, docile and welcoming to his every move. Even when he’d finally stopped spilling into you, your stomach full and hot, he slumped against you.

His lips slid across your throat, soft and almost reverent, and he pulled you into his body. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, his hands running over you with gentle, loving strokes, soothing you.

“I promise I’ll do my best to protect you, treat you the way you should be,” he promised. “I love you so much, sweetheart.” Then he chuckled, hand running over your stomach. “I wonder if Morrigan will want a brother or a sister. She’s already going to be so excited to call you Mommy.”

You gave him a shy smile, accepting his soft kiss. “Thank you, Lysander,” you whispered. “I love you.”

Perhaps the price of your Fate had been high, you thought, but it had been entirely worth it.

[kyberphilosopher]

Eunoia

The Mantis crew decides to take a well deserved break.  Word Count: 2422

Warning(s): straight fluff, short Requested: yep This can be read for a female, male, non binary, or any other reader.

Eunoia is the shortest English word containing all five main vowel graphemes. It comes from the Greek word εὔνοια, meaning "well mind" or "beautiful thinking”. It is also a rarely used medical term referring to a state of normal mental health. In rhetoric, eunoia is the goodwill a speaker cultivates between himself and his audience, a condition of receptivity. In book eight of Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle uses the term to refer to the kind and benevolent feelings of goodwill a spouse has which form the basis for the ethical foundation of human life.

* ✭ ˚ ･ﾟ ✧ *･ﾟ * ✭˚･ﾟ ✧* ･  *

Cal is actually not as observant as people think he is. You know because you’ve been leaning against his doorway, watching him, for about two minutes now and he hasn’t noticed a thing. 

Maybe if you were in his position you’d be the same. That seems about right. He’s hunched over his desk with the lamp on bright, tinkering with something that you can only assume is for BD-1. He’s probably lost in thought. Maybe he’s dreaming of better days. Or maybe he’s just trying to figure out which wires and bolts connect to which. There’s no way to be certain from your position. He’s the mechanic, you are not. 

So why have you been watching the redhead from his doorway for three minutes now? A simple answer. He is your friend, and you enjoy his company. Even when he’s not giving you attention, completely unaware to your presence in moments like this one, lost in his own world, it’s his warmth that really counts. Cal is such a relaxing bout of fresh air compared to everything else in the galaxy, in your life. It’s like being at a great party, but whether you enjoy it or not, stepping outside and tasting the air and the smell of something wonderful. Even if you had a day full of talking to people and had become burned out, talking to Cal would have been no problem at all. Maybe in a way that makes him your favorite person. 

Yeah, maybe. 

BD-1 jumps onto Cal’s desk. His head looks at the boys hands, cocking about as if observing. Then he meets your gaze, only to find a smile. One index finger raises to your lips, prompting the little droid to stay quiet about this, before you turn away and head towards the main part of the ship. 

“Where’s Cal?” Greez gruffs upon seeing you. He’s shaking spice onto a steaming brown plate, which puts a pep in your step. Greez’s cooking always makes life better. 

“In his room,” you answer. You turn from the doorway to the counter, where something hot does cause stringy, swirly puffs of air to waft upwards from a large metal container. With your back to Greez, you pull a plate for yourself and begin hulling it full of food. Some sort of rice or grain?  

“Hmph, that reminds me,” the Latero begins mid-chew. “Me and Cere was talking about taking a vacation.”

“Vacation?” you scrunch your eyebrows and put the lid back on the container. “Where to?”

“The beach maybe?”

You scoff as you turn around and lean on the counter. One hand holds the plate while the other uses your index finger to prod at the mush. It smells alluring. The individual pieces of it stick to your skin. They burn and sting, but it’s so small it doesn’t bring much of a reaction. “I don’t know a lot of beaches.”

“Well, ya know,” Greez shrugs. “Just a thought.”

* ✭ ˚ ･ﾟ ✧ *･ﾟ * ✭˚･ﾟ ✧* ･  *

It was more than just a thought. Six days later, the Mantis touches down on Scarif. But first there’s the issue of landing. 

“Watch that tree,” you point, leaning over Cal’s shoulder as he co-pilots beside Greez. A second later, the ship gives a great rock and the palm tree crunches beneath it. “You weren’t watching the tree.”

“Sorry,” Cal offers sheepishly. 

“What?” Greez says. He’s the one in main control of the ship. He’d never let Cal take over the whole thing. “What he do?”

“Ran over a tree,” you snort. 

“Cal!” Cere scolds, turning around in her chair. 

“I said I was sorry!” Cal defends. 

“I’m telling the wookies what you did,” you whisper.

“Don’t,” Cal whispers back, though it’s still desperate. 

The Mantis parks itself in a field of tropical emerald on the cuff of a beach. The sand is white, the waves cyan and royal blue and sloshing. There’s several beaches on the planet. All of which are very beautiful. Would be a true shame if anything were to ever happen to Scarif. It’s so different compared to so many other planets in the galaxy- not occupied by Imperial forces or scumbags. 

Greez waves everybody off. Cere exits first. Cal is ahead of you, but he steps to the side and rather gentlemanly insists, “You first.”

You hum and move past him. The Scarif air hits your face with a warm breeze. It smells of salt and water and some kind of flower. The horizon goes orange and pink and salmon with the setting sun. It is... serene. It nearly knocks you off your feet. It takes his voice to realize Cal is beside you at the bottom of the ramp. 

“Woah,” he offers simply, in as much awe as yourself. 

“Woah,” you repeat in agreement. It’s still for a second. “Come on. Let’s join them. Or else I’ll have to cast a Jedi mind trick on you.” Your fingers wiggle up and down by Cal’s face for dramatic effect. 

Cal rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he utters with a push on your elbow, urging you forward into the sand. 

Okay, so maybe you like Cal more than just a friend. But who can blame you? Things had been feeling different between you two lately. You’d always gotten along pretty smoothly. You made up for skills that Cal seemed to lack himself, and his abilities- human and nonhuman- never ceased to amaze you. He was a friend. And then, when you tended to the stab wound he’d gotten from Vader, there was a moment where you held each others eyes. After that, the joking became more constant. The little touches on the shoulders and elbows and forehead taps happened more often. And you started watching him from his doorway sometimes and... and at some point you just caught feelings. 

Cal Kestis seemed to feel the same, but who could really say? No use poking that bear right now. 

The sand is soft, even beneath your boots. Cere stands in front of the water, just breathing in the air. The light breeze makes her vest ripple. It’s tempting to just join her. 

“Gotta say,” you hear a familiar voice say from your left and below. “We picked a nice place.”

“Maybe we should stay a while,” you joke, though you secretly hope for it, to Greez. 

“Yeah,” Greez rolls his eyes. “Until this moron gets us into trouble again!”

Cal perks up. “What did I do?”

“Anybody who can lift things with their mind is gonna attract some attention, kid. You just brought it on us.”

“So true,” you jump on with a smirk to Cal. 

“Alright,” Cal turns away towards the beach. You position yourself so you’re closer to him, and Greez takes the opportunity to waddle away further ahead to waves.

“Sorry for bursting your bubble, Cal,” you continue with a smug grin. “Maybe in the next life, don’t be born with force powers? Just a suggestion.”

“You think you’re so funny,” Cal tells you, though he’s smiling too. His pale green eyes spare a glance at you, thick lashes dancing on his boyish face. 

Your knees bend until you collapse on your bottom in the sand. It’s so soft, it doesn’t even resist your weight. It makes way for you easily, like a blanket. “I do.”

Cal joins you in the sand quickly enough. You’re both face to face, the wind in your hair and the water at your side. It crashes every few seconds, but it’s peaceful. Some kind of bird flies overhead, and butterflies are in the forested area behind you. The light of the sunset illuminates Cal’s hair more than usual. The brightest points of his eyes are highlighted. 

“He loves you,” you offer. 

“You think so?”

“I am one hundred percent certain... Just don’t touch the ship.”

Cal raises his hands as if surrendering. “Understood. Hands off.”

You turn your head to the water. Greez and Cere are standing ahead, most likely having a conversation of their own. The tide carries so much of the stress your shoulders hold away from you. Everything with the holocron, the empire- it was ridiculous what living in hiding could do to a person. It’s hard to imagine how Cal did it for so long. How painful that must’ve been for him. How painful it is to imagine him in pain. 

“How’s your stomach?” you decide to ask at last. 

Cal tilts his head for a second. “Better.”

“Perfect?” you raise your knees to your chest and rest your arms on them. 

Just then, a little whirring noise pulls both of your attentions away. BD-1 bounds down the ramp of the ship, twirling around in observance as if excited. “Hey, BD,” Cal greets. “I know, buddy. I know.” The droid places itself in Cal’s lap, still looking around at the change in scenery. 

“We’ve never been able to do this before,” you tell him. “I mean, I wasn’t here for the whole adventure. But I was here after and before and... and just... we’ve never done this.”

Cal is quiet. “I haven’t either.”

You look at him. 

“Taken a break. I guess time on Bracca was the closest thing.”

You smile softly. “I’m sure it was really nice.”

Cal rolls his eyes along with his head, though the corner of his chapped pink lips turn upwards. “As nice as it could be with the Empire.”

“That’s pretty nice.”

Cal and you huff a humorous puff of air in unison. 

“What were you doing before the Mantis?” Cal suddenly asked. 

“Oh,” you roll your eyes and wave your hand. “Not important. Don’t even worry about it.”

“Come on!” Cal shifts. 

“I’m serious!” you defend. “It’s boring stuff. You wouldn’t want to hear about it. Not as interesting as the force.”

“Well anything related to you is interesting,” Cal says casually, one of his palms lifting in the air for effect as he shifts again. 

Well that makes your face feel hot. Anything related to you is interesting. How often do people get to hear that? And how casually it comes out of Cal’s mouth, the shrug of his shoulders that you tie so easily to him, that’s how you know it’s honest. Not only have you heard something intimate that not many people will in their whole lives, but it was also heartfelt. 

“Yeah,” you mutter, though it sounds distant and far away as you watch Cal’s eyes. He doesn’t seem to mind. Then you snap back to reality. “This is gonna be good.”

Cal watches you pop to life, standing up entirely and running towards the water. BD-1 perks up as well to watch you just in time to see your much bigger form nearly knock the Latero over. And, much to Cal’s surprise, the little droid jumps from his lap and bounds after you. The red head decides he’s next to follow. 

“BD-1,” he rasps, also nearly pushing Greez to the ground. “Don’t touch the water!”

But it’s too late. However, nothing happens. BD-1 stands in the shallow waves, unelectrocuted and unbroken. He doesn’t spark a bit, only cocking his head in wonder at his friend. 

“Think fast!” a voice calls. 

A splash of warm and salty water slaps against Cal’s face. He cringes, turning his shoulders away on impact with a little gasp that makes his throat burn. “Hey!”

Another splash. 

Cal turns to you. You’re standing with your hands on either side of yourself, open and matching your smug and proud face. Your boots are still on, which can’t be comfortable given that they’re now submerged in water. BD-1 is on the back of your shoulders- something Cal thought was only between him and the droid. Apparently not. 

“What’s wrong, Cal? Can’t handle the current?”

Cal stills himself. Then he bends down himself and flicks water upwards. 

“Hey! No!”

He does it once more. 

“No!”

So you too repeat your original actions and begin forcing salty liquid up into the air in Cal’s direction as well. BD-1 grips onto your collar for stability while you both go to town, careful to not open your mouths too wide and taste the saltiness. 

“Be careful you two!” Cere calls from the shore. Neither Cal nor yourself heed her words, continuing on in disrupting the tide. 

“They’re fine,” Greez assures with the wave of one of his many arms. 

“Are you sure about that?” Cere responds with a hand on her hip as she watches you tackle the Jedi to the sandy terrain below the shallow water. 

“Completely fine.”

You push both of Cal’s shoulders down jokingly, careful not to subdue his head under the water. He cranes his neck to keep it above the waves. Through his soft lashes, Cal can just see your smiling, evil intentioned face with BD-1 on your shoulder gazing at him. 

Honestly, it feels just how it did last week- the last time you had watched Cal in his room. Gazing at him, admiring him. Just now you get to touch him, relax with him, splash water at him, even. You wish you could capture this moment if not forever, then for a while, and Cal wishes the same. 

* ✭ ˚ ･ﾟ ✧ *･ﾟ * ✭˚･ﾟ ✧* ･  *

Sorry it’s short. Idk if it’s my best work certainly but I haven’t written for Cal or Star Wars in a while. But I didn’t kill the reader in this fic or have someone sick or in danger! So it might be my first ever straight fluff? I don’t know. But what a good character to do it with. I’m glad to give Cal a break. And i hope the requester enjoys. 

[lizard-shifter-noms]

Wayward Waters Chapter 19

——————————————————————————

Hello everyone! Chapter 19!

this Story contains Vore, Dont like dont read.

have fun reading!

and as always Reblogs are appreciated! (Also ASK’s are open so feel free to bother me!)

AO3 Link for those that prefer the layout there;

AO3 Wayward waters

——————————————————————————

Having gotten Robin, who had taken a hairbrush to his messy locks, we went outside to see Rikaad standing on a Podium in front of the manor.

Considering the podium was stone it had to have been there for quite some time, probably built with the house itself.

There was already a crowd,  a bit more sparse the closer to the front it got, apparently not many people wanted to be near the more nonhuman visitors.

We took one of the more free spots which put me near that Leon guy.

He looked over and bared his teeth, making me take a step back at the snarling grimace.

I probably would take it more personally if he didn't do the same to a human on his other side right now.

Not a fan of people huh? 

Then again if people got too close they might notice the slightly too pointy ears and teeth as well as the unusual eye color.

That was something I could understand, not wanting people to get close and figure out you weren't really human.

So, keeping my distance from the rather hostile young man,  I turned to face Rikaad who had already been talking a bit.

Apparently it was about the future of the island and how if they wanted to live peacefully they couldn't keep shutting out and downright hunting other sentient people just because they weren't human.

That most of the nonhuman people weren't even out for a fight and just wanted to live their lives and do their job, same as everyone else.

And if they had wanted to fight they would already have done so, outnumbering humans on this island by far anyway.

He spoke more words of peace and the like as well as hoping to work together in the future instead of against each other and then finally went to appoint the new Mayor.

It was Marianna, Shalimars mother and Cassidy's Ex wife.

Now I wondered even more what I missed, because apparently Rikaad and Marianna had to have been in contact a few times before already.

And she did spy work on the old mayor to find all those documents and other things to get him to jail.

Rikaad had not looked the least bit surprised as she appeared and handed over the papers.

All of that had to have been carefully planned.

I looked confusedly at Robin who looked just as confused back.

Ah, so neither of us knew then.

Rikaad spoke some more about a few changes,  not all of which were met with applause before finishing the speech and bowing politely in front of all those watching.

I just stared, being King must be exhausting as hell,  and Rikaad wasn't the type to take breaks.

Well, at least he had the nerves to stand in front of a thousand or more people and talk without stuttering once or messing up.

I for sure would rather faint than do that.

But it also reminded me it had been forever since I had actually talked to him, either time or other things getting in the way.

As soon as we got back to Kamerasca and things had calmed down a little i'd go and drag him outside for a bit, fuck knew he needed a break.

Arthur and Robin as well, then maybe we could just hang out for a bit.

Maybe Oakley would come with, and speak about things that made my brain struggle to understand.

I should also probably tell the guy using magic about magic dying, maybe he could keep a better eye on it and tell me when to stop shifting.

“Hey fucker! You were late!”

I jumped as someone tapped at my back, turning around to see Jamie perching on Akeem again.

For something made of heavy stone he was surprisingly quiet.

Jamie wasn't though.

“Well next time inform me sooner, why did they even send you?”

Jamie just shrugged, pointing at Cassidy.

“Was his job but Marianna, uhh, 'Distracted him' ”

I was not gonna ask what that entailed.

“Nevermind then, what now? Do we go back to Kariba island?”

“Ask the bossman, i'm just here to see what stupid stuff Ronan will do”

Ah yeah, of course.

Where was he anyway?

Eh, not my problem.

I gave Jamie a thumbs up and collected Robin to go ask Rikaad what we were doing next.

Rikaad himself was back in the manor, talking to Marianna about easier means of communication than sending letters per ship.

Apparently Marianna wanted to build a post office where flying creatures such as Harpies could work, which however required to make resting stations on the smaller island between here and Kamerasca.

The idea itself wasn't so bad,  though it would probably take some time to do that.

RIkaad still gave the okay if they managed to do it but wasn't expecting it to be ready anytime soon.

After that Marianna left and Rikaad turned to us.

“There you two are, how are you doing?”

Robin whipped up and down where he stood, cheerfully answering.

“I'm good! I still wanna go do a beach day with all of you!  Do you think we can do that before we go home?”

That would be fun, if we could get him to come with us.

“We could ask any of the sailors if they know a good spot! Come on you deserve a break once in a while too”

Rikaad did look thoughtful for a moment.

“Well, since there don't seem to be any problems I don't see why we couldn't do that, how about you two ask someone for a nice place while i wrap things up here?”

YES! Success! A fun day for us and Rikaad finally would take a break!

“Yes! I'm gonna ask Ronan,  he's been around so I'm sure he knows more than one place”

Though for that we had to find him first,  wherever the hell that scatterbrained idiot had gone.

“Oh i saw him with a medic, i think someone punched him”

Why was that not surprising? Probably Shalimars fault.

“Alright thank you Rikaad, well go and look for the medic station”

He nodded and pointed us down the hallway behind him.

Down the rather short hall was indeed a very small medic symbol painted on the door, a staff with two snakes.

I ought to find out what those snakes stood for at some point.

Robin politely knocked on the door and a very old looking man opened it.

“Oh hi doc! Is Ronan here?”

Robin knew the guy? How much did I miss?

“Ahh Robin, welcome! Yes there is a young man by that name here I assume you want to talk to him?”

We both nodded and the old man let us in,  pointing at a window bed where Ronan was staring out of.

I doubted he was supposed to be half kneeling on the bed and sticking his head out like that,  but not like he normally followed any other instructions either.

“Ronan! Hey!”

He startled and hit his head on the top of the window,  cursing something only Jamie could have teached him.

“Ow! Oh hey! Did that weird guy punch you too?”

Weird guy? So not Shalimar?

As he turned around i could see he sported a blue eye.

“Uh what? No? Wait, who punched you?”

He shrugged, hopping off the bed.

“Uhh i think its the guy your friends picked up at some point? 

Something with L”

“You mean Leon? Yeah he didn't exactly make a friendly first impression, or second, or third”

Or any impression really.

“Yeah that guy, I just asked if he had any Elven ancestry and WHAM!  I got a blue eye and no answers! Fucking rude”

Maybe he shouldn't go around asking people such things.

“I guess, though a stranger asking that probably isn't something he likes”

“Oh, yeah, I guess, hey what did you want me for?”

Oh right, the reason we came here for.

“We wanted to ask if you knew a nice spot for a beach day? 

Preferably one with no danger”

“Oh sure! I know plenty! There are a few nice ones around Kariba I could show you! there's this one pretty small island that's half sand and half dirt with a few trees and boulders! You could span a hammock! 

And it's got lots of shells, though there are some hermit crabs but they won't bother you, just check the shells you pick up for any inhabitants!”

That did sound nice, and if it really wasn't far from Kariba island then we'd probably go there.

“Sounds good! I'll tell Rikaad about it when I can! Oh also i don't think we are staying here for much longer so maybe get your stuff ready” “Will do! This place is kinda boring anyway, the houses all look so similar to each other and the people here aren't exactly friendly” 

That they weren't, and at this point I was not expecting them to be.

“Yeah, sometimes people suck, but were leaving anyway”

Ronan nodded and then was called over by the old man again, The medic wanted to check his eye again to make sure the punch hadn't damaged it.

I grabbed Robin and left the man to his job,  still questioning how Robin knew him.

“Hey where did that medic know you from? He knew your name before any of us said anything”

“Oh he's the doc of the Victory Rose! 

Though I have no idea what he's doing here,  Maybe he came with us on the Call Of The Damned? I mean the Victory Rose is currently being repaired, also he gave a first aid course”

He did? Well if he managed to explain things to the scatterbrained Ginger that was great.

“Really? What did you learn? 

And what poor soul had to be a test subject?”

He laughed, telling over the next hour what he had learned, which apparently was mainly how to get a fish hook out of a finger or leg and some other basic stuff as well as how to reset a dislocated arm.

Huh, he learned quite a bit, and of his own volition no less! Impressive!

“That Impressive! 

Next time I faceplant to the ground I can just ask you to help!”

He laughed at that.

“Ha! I'm still not as good as an actual medic! But I know how to clean scrapes at least!

But, uhm, i only really did that so i wouldn't have to sit around alone with my own brain, i mean, you fell overboard and i just wanted to do something that took more of my attention than that”

He had started fiddling with his nails.

“Don't worry, at least you did something useful! All I was good for was serving as entertainment for Imugi! And I guess Jamie too.

One time I got stuck on the mast because they don't have a ladder there and Jamie told me if I managed to get up I'd get a prize,  they had to help me get back down, the NEXT day!”

That had been chaotic, not that I remembered most of it.

“No way! Wait what Prize? What did you get?”

Ohh right! The prize was in the little bag Jamie had given me, which was still on the Halcyon!

“Oh I forgot it on the ship! Good thing we are going back to Kariba later! I'll show you then yeah? It's a little fossil of a sea star”

“A fossil? Cool! At least you can't lose it while it's there!”

“Yeah and it can't break either, but remind me to grab it, i don't think anyone would go back to an entire island just because i forgot something”

Though I could probably send a letter and ask them to send it to Kamerasca.

The rest of the day went pretty boring, people put more Crates on the Call Of The Damned and a few were taken off and sometime late afternoon a headcount was done and everyone shooed onto the ship.

Looking around I saw that Ronan, Akeem and Jamie were all accounted for, Robin was already back in the cabin somewhere to set up his stuff, not that either of us had much.

I decided to walk over the deck once more before we left,  looking at the island from the ship.

It really did look as Ronan had said,  The houses were pretty similar and everything looked way too neat, every detail of this place clearly planned out.

No wonder considering it had all been built around the same time.

Even Kamerasca itself had more charm than this artificially looking place.

I silently wished Marianna the best of luck with that.

Speaking of, she was down at the pier and talking to Shalimar,  giving her something that looked like a whip.

That would not go well,  either she'd manage to tie it into a horrible knot or end up taking someone's eye out if her acrobatic skills were any indication.

Well, better keep away for a bit till she was okay at using that weapon.

The ride back on the Call Of The Damned was uneventful,  aside from Imugi showing up and whistling at Ronan for attention.

Jamie tossed him overboard, stating that since he had that bracelet now he could swim the rest of the way back with Imugi.

I wasn't about to argue with that, besides they were right about the swimming part, and if anything happened Imugi was there at least.

And he actually did swim all the way back,  shifting to human size overnight and letting Imugi carry him before shifting to the water creature the next day again.

He probably did that out of spite now.

Though as soon as we got back to Kariba he crashed onto shore and fell asleep as he was.

No wonder there really, the beach day seemed to have to wait a bit.

In the meantime I decided to try and help out rebuilding the Halcyon to the best of my ability, which mainly involved carrying heavy stuff with Akeem and holding things steady while they fixed it in place.

At some point the resident medic, Grace,  came over to see if anyone had hit their finger with a hammer yet.

Pretty sure that was mainly meant for Ronan,  who had dropped one a few times already.

Grace also did comment on my muscle density, stating that for the size they were they were nearly double as strong as average.

Well, that was something? 

Did it have anything to do with the Bracelet? maybe?

Though i was able to lift up an entire person without much difficulty,  as well as other heavy stuff like while repairing the ship.

Of course the rest of the crew immediately wanted to test that,  by telling me to hold my arms out and have them cling to them while dangling over the ground.

Surprisingly enough I managed to hold one person per arm, Yamet on the left and Imik on the right as they were roughly the same size.

That was really a bit more than average, I'd have to ask Oakley about that at some point as it might be connected to the Bracelet.

Though as Ronan tried it he immediately folded.

We ended up sleeping in their weird cave house again, Yamet making some oil fried fish for Dinner that Imugi had tossed at him through the window, making him fall over as the fish was bigger than he was.

After that Ronan shifted and broke a shelf,  Both Yamet and Imik chased him around in the confined space with a broomstick and frying pan, cursing him out.

Jamie of course joined in on that, especially the cursing.

The weird shape of the creature form was surprisingly agile,  at least for a bit until he tripped over his own flipper like hands and face planted into the wall.

He was threatened quite a bit to change back and they made him sleep outside with Imugi, which I sincerely doubted was the first time.

The next day we collected Rikaad from wherever the fuck he had slept, IF he had any sleep at all,  and dragged him to the freshly repaired Halcyon, waiting for Ronan to put the Harness on Imugi to go to the beach he had talked about.

As it turned out the beach itself was maybe two hours out and looked exactly like Ronan had described it, sand and trees and all.

The day was actually pretty great,  We collected seashells and then moved on to throwing clumps of wet sand at each other and nobody remembered who even started it.

After that we went into the water, Rikaad actually showing off how good of a swimmer he was, well at least i could be sure he wouldn't drown.

But it was nice to see that he finally took a break, and actually had some fun for once even though he lost the armwrestling against Akeem.

To be fair Akeem was a statue and technically didn't have muscles to best.

Surprisingly enough I nearly won against him,  Both of us have to strain to try and win.

Though he still ended up winning.

After that we went swimming again,  The water here was nicely clear and not as cold as in Kamerasca.

At some point both me and Ronan shifted, splashing water around and making big waves for the others.

Considering Ronan’s big ass Flipper hands he had more success at making bigger waves than I did.

At some point i grabbed his tail with my teeth,  dragging him over the sand and through the smaller waves.

In response he tried to drag me into the water, but only ended up with a mouthful of green fur.

In retaliation for that I jumped on top of him, noting that the weird fin on his back wasn't entirely hair but just covered by the fine strands.

He tried to twist out from under me to not much success,  me being nearly double as heavy as he was.

We roughhoused for a good bit more, making sure to keep a bit distance to not accidentally roll over someone.

At some point Imugi joined in which caused even more chaos as she, despite being part of the crew, was completely unbiased and went after both of us, trying to spit water at us.

The day was over way too fast for my tastes and we ended up sitting on one of the boulders to watch the sun slowly set.

For whatever reason we hadn't properly done that yet,  then again thus far there was either chaos or someone missing.

Well technically Arthur was missing but we knew where he was and that he was okay, probably more so than if he had come with.

Poor guy would just have been seasick the entire time.

Still Poor guy as he was stuck at home with Nea and had to deal with her antics.

We sailed back as soon as the sun was completely down, Imugi being so nice and dragging the Boat again, being sly she spit water at Ronan one last time before dunking her head under and towing the boat.

Aside from that the way back to Kariba Island was uneventful and boring, but strangely enough Rikaad actually thanked me for making him come along.

Well yeah duh, he was our friend, and clearly had needed a break.

It wasn't fair that he had to do all this King stuff,  He was only eighteen and as Oakley had once said that was just a Number and didn't magically make someone an adult.

It was mean that he just didn't get to do fun stuff anymore that was considered childish, just because of his title.

But it was very clear he wouldn't trade the title or let anyone else try to do it as long as he could do it himself.

Yeah I'd remind him from now more that even he needed breaks.

Being lazy we slept on the ship,  Akeem somehow Procured a bunch of blankets and pillows.

I refrained from shifting, not wanting to steal so much space and ended up in the middle of the sleep heap, back down on the deck.

I stared up at the stars till long after everyone else was asleep, simply watching the moon and the star Fable had pointed out to me.

Lafayah, the north most star that was sometimes used to navigate.

It was nice, just laying there surrounded by people that did not want to kill me, surrounded by friends.

Simply being there and listening to their breathing as they slept.

If only it could always be like this, peaceful and calm.

Sadly the next day was a lot more hectic as we got ready to sail back to Kamerasca, the Victory Rose sporting a new mast now.

Before I got onboard Jamie tossed the little bag with my stuff at my head, which I nearly forgot again,  yelling at me to keep a better eye on my stuff.

Then the Victory Rose set sail back Home,  the smaller Halcyon following a good bit behind.

Just a few days, and an unnecessary amount of switching between ships with the help of Imugi, later the coast of Kamerasca could be seen.

In a few hours we’d be home again.

Well all of this sure would be a crazy story to write to Fable.

And I still had not worked on my awful handwriting.

NEXT / PREVIOUS / OVERSIGHT

[retrievablememories]

picture me | johnny (m)

title: picture me pairing: vampire!johnny x black!reader genre: fantasy, romance, smut, fluff, angst summary: you meet a vampire-slash-photographer whose self-identity is increasingly lost to him, and you try to help him find some purpose again. word count: 18.3k warnings: age gap (cuz you know, vampires...but everyone is legal), mentions of discrimination/prejudice based on species, self-identity issues/self-deprecation, general angst, sheltered!reader, mentions of blood and drinking blood, oral sex (female and male receiving), fingering, thigh riding, loss of virginity, corruption kink, use of lube, unprotected sex (do not try at home), creampie, johnny is packing in this fic ok! a/n: today (the 28th) is my birthday, so i’m posting this 100% self-indulgent fic that i’ve been working on between requests since september. it was very hard to get johnny’s characterization right for this fic and idk if i actually succeeded but i’m not revising this for the 1000th time lol. i love this fic with my whole heart tho.

i haven’t seen many vampire fics that really explore the whole “doesn’t show up in mirrors/photos” concept (shout em out if you know em) and...there’s probably a reason for that, this shit is hard af to write and there are some logic issues but whatever 🤪

(the beginning quote is from “criminal,” stan taemin!!)

The moment I fall for you is the end of my innocence

—

He sits in the same coffee shop everyday, like it’s a habit he just can’t break. But who are you to judge? You’re there, too. Watching him like a creep. Or maybe like an interested coffee shop patron, trying to be discreet and failing at it.

He wasn’t hard to notice. You’d never been to this coffee shop before, but your friend recommended it to you mostly for their in-house-made pastries; she claimed the coffee was good, too, but she wasn’t much of a caffeine person. You decided to give it a try when you had time between classes and a moment to breathe, not needing to talk to this advisor or that professor.

You saw him immediately when you walked past the shop window. He was sitting at a table near the front, staring down at his phone with a small cup of coffee sitting in front of him. Its miniscule size was almost comical in contrast to his...everything. He was tall—that much was obvious even with him sitting down—and imposing, wearing all black. His hair was equally pitch-black, his bangs hanging to one side and the rest shaved in an undercut. If you didn’t know much better, you’d think you’d stepped back into 2007 and landed dead in the middle of the emo craze.

He was interesting to look at. Not in a bad way, but in a way you don’t see very often. Deciding to walk in before you made yourself look totally weird staring at him through the window, you’d stepped into the coffee shop, the small bell dinging above your head. A barista greeted you at your entrance. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man, to your left, still looking at his phone.

You’d given your order and waited for it to be ready before taking it to a table on the other side of the shop. From that vantage point, you had a good view of the man. You tried to keep your eyes on your food and your phone, not wanting to spend the whole time looking at him, but it was a little hard not to.

When you took a bite of your pastry, you quickly discovered it was just as delicious as your friend promised—probably even more so. You made a noise of approval before you could catch yourself, and you glanced around the shop in embarrassment to see if anyone nearby noticed. Didn’t seem like it, at first. But then you glanced over to the man again only to find him looking at you below his eyelashes with a small, amused smile on his lips. He only kept his gaze on you for a second before returning to his phone.

What? You hadn’t thought you were that loud. How did he hear you from over there, and above the noise of the café? Even now, you remember how embarrassed you’d felt, ducking your head and looking away.

The man finished his coffee not long after that; he slipped his phone into his pocket and stood up. You glanced up only momentarily when he stood, but your eyes soon slid back to his form when you noticed something odd. On the wall behind him, there was a big oval mirror sitting pretty in its elaborate silver frame. He stood just a few feet in front of it, yet there was no reflection of him. The only thing you could see was the other side of the café reflected back, with another man sitting alone at a booth enjoying his own coffee. The tall man’s reflection was nowhere to be found.

That was when you figured he must be a vampire.

You’d never met one before. At least, you didn’t think you had until then.

Unbeknownst to you, vampires are notoriously able to blend in more easily than most other supernatural beings—until faced with situations like that one in the coffee shop. Ultimately, there’s no faking a reflection no matter how hard you try to remain inconspicuous.

The man had caught your eye again. Thinking back on it, you aren’t sure of what expression you had on your face or what it must’ve looked like to him. It must’ve been something akin to surprise, though; you weren’t quick enough to disguise your reaction at his lack of a reflection.

He gave you another smile, though it felt sadder than the previous one, and walked out of the store, the small bell on the door ringing at his departure. He disappeared down the street in a swirl of black fabric, almost like something out of a movie, and you watched him retreat until you could see him no more.

You scraped your index fingernail over the wood table your food was resting on, your mind whirring with all kinds of thoughts. Your interest was piqued. And yet there was no way for you to know if you’d see him again.

—

At least, that’s what you believed then. Luckily for you, your subsequent visits to the coffee shop have proven fruitful; the strange, tall vampire is there more often than not, always in the same spot in front of that same mirror. Sometimes he reads a book, other times he looks at his phone, and other times still, he stares out the window at the passersby.

He acknowledges you whenever he sees you, either with a nod or a smile. You’ve never spoken to each other, though you know what his voice sounds like from hearing him talk to the baristas. It’s a nice voice, rich and handsome like him, and you find yourself gradually wanting to hear it spoken in your direction. But you aren’t sure how to talk to him, or what you should say.

There’s a lot you want to know about him and his vampirism, but you don’t think it’s fair to bombard him with questions right after meeting him—if you could somehow work up the nerve for that first step.

When you were young, your parents made sure to keep you safely sheltered away from anyone who could potentially be a vampire or any other nonhuman being. This game kept up until you went to college, where they could no longer “shield” you. Because of their lifelong fear and disgust, your knowledge of nonhuman beings is scarce and mostly inaccurate.

The man’s skin isn’t deathly pale like you’ve heard others say vampires always are. It’s nicely tanned, in fact. Nor are his eyes red, or his canine teeth abnormally sharp. And obviously, he has no aversion to sunlight, otherwise he wouldn’t be out here during the day. The only visible marker of his inhuman nature is his lack of a reflection. Maybe he’s not a vampire at all? Maybe he’s another type of being entirely. That only makes you more curious.

It’s not rare to come across supernatural beings, but they only make themselves known if they want to, or if it’s imperative to their survival. Most of them would rather quietly assimilate amongst humans or stay safe and hidden within their own communities. Humans are still too judgmental towards those who are different from themselves for nonhumans to feel truly safe or welcomed—at least not on a global scale. Small pockets of communities forged with human allies are helpful and sometimes vital for survival, but not always enough.

These small tidbits of information cycle through your mind as September gradually bleeds into October. You continue watching the thoughtful man in the coffee shop and making up your own secret theories about his life. You haven’t told anyone from school about this, because you already know the reaction would be nothing short of awful. Your parents would only let you go to school at the one university in the city that explicitly didn’t allow supernatural beings; it goes without saying that your classmates don’t view them in a positive light.

Part of you feels like you might be breaking the unspoken rules just by being at this coffee shop all the time and allowing this man to take up space in your mind. But who will know what’s inside your thoughts except you?

One day, your friend decides to accompany you on your lunch break, finally stopping by the café she recommended to you. The man is already there, as usual, and he smiles slightly when you and your friend enter. She doesn’t catch this, too busy wondering what she’s going to get off the menu today.

“I haven’t been here in forever, I wonder if Sam still remembers me?” You know Sam to be one of the baristas there, having read it on their name tag before.

“I doubt there are very many people who’d forget you,” you answer.

When you both have your food, you take a booth farther away from where the man sits, though you can still see him easily from this distance. Your friend settles into the seat in front of you.

You try to keep things inconspicuous throughout your conversation, but you must glance over at him one too many times, because your friend eventually raises her eyebrows questioningly. She turns around in her seat, making it obvious that she’s looking, and you groan as you keep your eyes in the opposite direction towards the window.

“Who’s that guy you keep staring at?”

You cough. “No one.”

“He’s obviously someone. Someone interesting enough to hold your attention.”

“I don’t know the man,” you say curtly. You shuffle your napkin and spoon aimlessly, your nervousness rising. What if he has some kind of enhanced hearing and can hear what you’re saying right now? He definitely heard you make that noise that first day.

Your friend looks at the ceiling and blows air out of her mouth. “Whatever. I’ll find out who he is sooner or later.”

You take a sip of your drink and lower your voice to just above a whisper. Although you want to leave the subject alone, you’re curious about one thing. “You mean you’ve never seen him before? This café was your hangout spot before it was mine.”

She shrugs. “No, I think I would’ve remembered someone as...visually striking as him. Why are we whispering, anyway? It’s not like he can hear us above all this noise.”

You think to yourself, I’m not so sure about that, but you merely shake your head.

You spend a few more minutes talking before movement catches the corner of your eye. At this point, it’s practically a reflex for you to look in that direction. You try not to, but your friend has already caught you and turns her head to spy, too. The man has gotten up for whatever reason to say something to one of the baristas at the counter. Your gaze darts back to your cup after you’ve gotten your eyeful, but you’re nearly startled into dropping the cup at your friend’s gasp.

Oh. The mirror.

She grips the edge of the table. “He’s a vampire…?”

You don’t know what to say to that, and you feel oddly guilty for some reason you can’t pinpoint. Like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “U-um, I don’t know…?” You can hardly finish your thought before your friend is scrambling to grab her purse. She hurriedly stands out of the seat, tugging your arm as she does.

“Come on. We shouldn’t stay here.”

“Are you serious—?” You feel embarrassed heat rip through your body at her display; some other café-goers are already looking at her curiously, probably wondering what the hell she’s doing. She tugs more incessantly, and you already know she’ll get louder if you don’t get up now and defuse the situation. Leaving your half-full cup behind, you grab your things and follow her out of the store, keeping your eyes firmly on her back as you pass by the man. You don’t know if he looked up, or if he could sense the reason for your sudden departure—you’ve never left the shop before him until now—and you don’t want to know.

Neither of you talk until you’re well down the street and around the corner. “That wasn’t necessary,” you huff, your hands still sweating from the spiked adrenaline at suddenly being rushed out.

“Yes it was! We all know bloodsuckers and all these other weirdos are dangerous...even if they think they’re being well-intentioned by living among humans. I hope you don’t go back there.”

“Whatever...you’re the one who told me to visit the café,” you mumble, unable to muster up the energy to say anything more. You both know very well she can’t tell you where to go, but you hope she doesn’t mention this to your other acquaintances on campus and make it into a bigger deal than it is.

When you part ways with your friend and get back to your dorm, you realize you’re missing your planner. The planner with all your upcoming assignment dates in it. You sigh heavily and roll your eyes, knowing it must’ve happened in the chaos of her pulling you out of the shop. Maybe if you’re really lucky, it’ll still be there, picked up by an employee or simply left untouched. Knowing how many people go through that café in a day, you’re not optimistic.

For the first time since visiting the quaint little shop, you’re not anticipating returning and seeing the man again, afraid he’ll ignore you or look at you with distaste—like you’re just another unsympathetic human. And would he be wrong to think that? You’re only strangers to each other.

You try not to dwell on it too hard when you go to bed that night.

When lunch rolls around the next day, you hesitate a couple times on your way to the café, not wanting to show up. However, the desire to see what became of your planner pushes you forward. You don’t even have to stay; if it’s there, you’ll take it and leave. If it’s not—oh well. You can still leave. It’s not hard to buy another.

He’s there when you arrive, of course.

He nods at you when you step inside, though he doesn’t smile as he’s become accustomed to doing. You nod back, but you can’t ignore the renewed rush of embarrassment you feel. You linger at the entrance for a second longer, wondering if maybe you should say something. Apologize, even? But what if he really didn’t know what was going on yesterday? Then how odd would you look for bringing it up?

You decide to move on and go back to the booth to search for your belongings, but his voice stops you. This takes you by surprise.

“Did you come back for this?”

You turn to him to see him holding your planner in his hand. You stare, momentarily dumbfounded, and almost shake your head before realizing it is yours. Definitely the same sticker-covered, scribbled-all-over planner.

“Oh—y-yeah. Thank you.” He passes it to you, though you notice he’s very careful not to let your hands touch. You’re a little perplexed about why, but then the rumors about vampires having cold skin pop up in your mind. Maybe that’s actually true, too. “I usually don’t lose things so easily, but…” Your voice falters, and you don’t know how to finish that sentence without bringing up the other day’s events.

He doesn’t seem to mind as he replies, “It happens to all of us sometimes...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my camera.”

“You take pictures?” you ask, a tinge of curiosity in your voice.

He nods. “I take photos of anything that interests me. Which often ends up being everything I see. I work at an art museum, so I guess having an eye for photography comes in handy.” He hesitates for a second, then says, “I could show you some?” He waves his phone, indicating that the photos are there.

“Oh, sure.” The man gestures for you to sit down in the empty chair in front of him, and you do so. He swipes through his phone a few times until he settles on what he’s searching for, then puts the device on the table and slides it to you. You lean forward to look at it and see that it displays an album full of pictures, simply titled with the emoji “🌌.”

“It’s okay, you can pick it up.” He chuckles. You pick up the phone and swipe through the numerous pictures. Many of them are nighttime shots of the moon, trees, half-empty streets, darkened storefronts. Others depict nature scenes at sunset or the beginning of sunrise, with the sky colored in darker hues. No matter what the subject matter is, they all look to be professionally taken, even for an iPhone.

“Wow, these are nice. You said you work at a museum…are you a professional photographer, too?”

The man shrugs, and as you look at his slight grin, you realize you still don’t know his name. “Something like that, I guess.”

“You should be if you aren’t already,” you say, looking through more photos. “I’m sure you’d make a lot of money.” When you reach the end of the album, you go to hand the phone back to him but realize he’ll probably want to avoid contact again, so you slide it across the table. He takes it and slips it into his pocket.

“I don’t really care about the money,” he responds. “I just like it because…” He trails off, unsure how to convey his thoughts, wondering if he should even get that personal with a stranger. “It...helps me pass the time.” He’s not quite satisfied by that answer—it doesn’t feel like enough—but it’s all he can think of on the spot.

“Well, that’s nice too. It’s always good to have a hobby just for the sake of it...not for anyone’s benefit but your own.”

“Do you have one?” He takes a sip of his coffee. You don’t expect to be asked about your own interests, and your mind goes blank as you try to think. Why does this always happen when I’m asked these kinds of questions?

“Um, just different things here and there.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, amused.

“It’s not that, I just don’t have a ton of hobbies or anything. I’m kinda boring, so…” And wasn’t allowed to do much of anything until I left home.

“Being boring isn’t always a bad thing.”

You lean back in your seat, shrugging slightly. “Maybe if you see it that way. My friends don’t.”

“Would one of those happen to be the same one who dragged you out of here yesterday?” He speaks casually, putting his cheek in his hand. You slump further down in your seat, feeling exposed. Of course there was no escaping this topic. He notices your mood shift and shakes his head. “You don’t have to feel so bad about it. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.”

“I’m sorry for all that mess,” you murmur, unable to meet his eyes. “Really, I am.” You stand up from the seat, gripping your planner. “Thanks again for this. I don’t want to take up any more of your time today.” You’re about to turn to leave when he speaks again.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know…you could talk with me whenever you feel like it.” That’s the last thing you expect him to say. His voice takes on a quality that’s...not what you’d call begging, but it’s clear he’d enjoy some company. Maybe he’s doing this for your benefit as well as his own, because it’s obvious how your eyes always stray to his little corner.

You nod, giving him an apprehensive smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, then.”

The rest of your day after that is uneventful, full of classes and unexciting lectures, but you keep thinking of one thing. Though he appears to enjoy his time in the coffee shop, how lonely must he really be? There’s never anyone else around him. His eyes when he’d spoken to you held a certain sadness.

And you still didn’t get his name.

You don’t see him for the next few days, mostly because you aren’t at the café. You’ve gotten busy with a new project and haven’t had as much time to return to the coffee shop, mostly spending your time in the library instead.

When you finally get a chance to buy lunch outside campus, he’s not there. This disappoints you more than you thought it would, and you wonder what his absence means. Did he just decide not to come today, or has he found another place to frequent? You kind of hope the second option isn’t the case, though you also don’t know why you’re even caring this much about where someone else goes on their own time.

You get a drink to-go this time, deciding you’ll just take it back to the library and continue your studies there. The entryway bell rings behind you as you wait for your order to be made, though you don’t pay it much attention; half of your mind is still occupied with what you need to do next for your project.

When you turn around to leave the shop with your drink, you’re surprised to see the man standing there, waiting to get his own coffee. “You’re late,” you blurt out. You immediately feel silly for saying it, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He gives you a slight smile. “Yes, I am.” Then he spots your to-go cup. “Are you leaving?”

“Uh, well,” you glance at your drink, “are you staying?”

He nods as he steps up to the counter. “Yeah, I’m staying. My offer’s still open, by the way.”

Right. The offer to talk to him sometimes. You’re tempted to stay awhile and talk to him now, though you don’t even know what about. Your project? That’s boring. Him being a vampire? Too invasive. Your school? Also boring, and probably not the best idea considering which one you attend.

“I...think I’ll stay, then.”

You both sit at his usual table, with you grinning nervously.

“How are you? I noticed you hadn’t showed up in a while,” he asks, settling back in his chair.

“Yeah, I’m doing fine, I’m just busy with school stuff. These teachers don’t give us a break.” You laugh a little, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He grins. “I never did go to college, but I’ve always heard others talk about how tiring it is. And expensive.”

“They’re right.” You roll your eyes at the thought of it. “But I guess it’ll all be worth it in the end. Maybe. If the economy isn’t in the toilet.” The sound of his laughter is nice, and you’re glad you could make him laugh. “Also, I’m sorry—I don’t know how this flew under the radar, but I don’t know your name.”

He shrugs. “Nothing to apologize for, really. It’s Johnny.”

You tell him your name, too. “Since I haven’t seen you lately...how are you doing?” You circle your hands around your to-go cup, feeling its warmth transfer to your palms as you await his answer.

“I think I can say I’m the same as always—which is fine. Life slows down a little when you have a lot of time on your hands.” Johnny’s lips quirk up at that, and you think he might be referring to his vampirism. Your eyes widen a little.

“What’s that like? Having so much free time. I wouldn’t know much about that right now, but…”

“Maybe not as pleasant as you think it’d be. But there’s good in it. Like coming and going when you want to. And you can take up whatever interests you want without worrying as much about busy schedules.” You already know he’s alluding to his photography. “I do like having a job, though…it gives me structure.”

“You’re probably right…I wouldn’t know the first thing to do if I had a ton of free time…like, which hobbies to pick up first.” You consider how you initially thought about him being lonely and wonder if that’s one of the unpleasant parts he hinted to. “Speaking of hobbies...did you take any new pictures lately?”

Johnny nods. “Most of them were on my camera this time, but some are on my phone. You want to see?”

“Yes!”

Johnny lets you have his phone again to look through the newest pictures he’s taken. There are varying shots of car-lined streets and storefronts, some of the latter decorated with glowing jack-o-lanterns for the onset of October. A pigeon sits on a streetlamp during the daytime, holding its head up like royalty upon a throne. In another image, a stray cat and her kittens huddle in an alley, the babies grooming each other while the mother looks quizzically at the camera.

You recognize a few photos from the nearby park; he also had some pictures of it the last time you looked. “Do you go to this park often?”

“Yeah, it offers some great shots. It’s especially pretty if you go just before the sun sets...the light filters through the tree leaves and it looks kinda like a kaleidoscope.”

“Ah, I’ve never seen that before…” you say a little sadly. Your parents didn’t much like taking you to that park when you were younger because of how far it is from their house. And since living away from them, you’ve only been able to visit it during the early hours of the day—like now.

Johnny looks closely at you. “Would you ever want to?”

“If it’s as pretty as you say, I should.” You slide the phone back across the table to him, not catching what he’s trying to hint at as you keep talking. “Do you go anywhere else besides here and the park?” As soon as you say it, you realize this might sound a little rude and try to make a quick save. “I mean, do you have any other favorite places? I’m not trying to say you don’t have a life or anything!”

Johnny laughs at your slight panic at thinking you’ve offended him. “Nothing too out-there, I guess. The bookstore, the photography store, the theater. Pretty much all the same places others visit.”

“The movies are fun.” You trace your finger across the table’s surface, thinking of your own favorite spots. “Me and my friends like to go downtown. There are a lot of cute little shops down there…”

You and Johnny talk for a while longer, and you almost forget you have to get back to campus until you glance at the wall clock. “Oh no, I’m gonna be late.” Flustered, you jump out of your seat and crumple your empty cup. “Sorry to cut it short, Johnny, but I gotta go back now.”

He smiles good-naturedly and nods, his dark bangs sweeping his face. “I understand.” As he watches you gather your things and get ready to go, he speaks up again. “Actually, if you want to see the park at sunset sometime...I could show you? It’s up to you.”

You pause, suddenly curious at the thought of seeing him outside the café. In the back of your mind, you feel a little paranoid and afraid of your friend or maybe even your parents seeing you there with him, though the latter is extremely unlikely. It’s hard to shake that familiar fear of judgment and ostracism when it’s been ingrained in you since childhood. “That sounds good. If it’s not any trouble for you…?”

“Never too much trouble. I usually get off around 4 on Fridays, just before the sun sets at 5. Unless the weekend is better for you?”

You nod, holding your books tighter to your chest. “Friday will work for me! I’ll meet up with you then.”

Johnny smiles. “Great; I’ll see you then, kind stranger.”

Maybe he says it to be joking or quirky, to sound like one of those characters in a movie or drama, but it makes you smile. Nodding to him again, you step out of the café and rush towards the direction of your school. Johnny watches as you retreat, your roles reversed.

You meet up with Johnny at the park that Friday, just as you both agreed. You spot him sitting on a bench near the park entrance, waiting on your arrival.

Johnny’s wardrobe is still mostly dark, but it’s a little lighter than usual today. He’s changed things up with a white polo shirt underneath his black sweater. Seeing him dressed like this, you wonder what he’d be like as a student, or maybe even a university professor.

He stands up when you get closer, hearing the sound of your footsteps approaching and turning towards you. His camera sits safely around his neck, the lens catching in the light of the sun.

When you stop in front of him, he smiles at you warmly. You try to relax into the genuineness of that smile and ignore the still-lingering traces of anxiety about being out with him. “Hi, Johnny!”

“Hi, Y/N.”

You and Johnny walk around the park as he looks for something interesting to shoot. He snaps a few shots of the trees, fallen leaves, bushes, and other natural elements along the way, though it seems like he hasn’t quite captured what he wants yet.

“Are you looking for something specific?” you ask, peering at his camera as he holds it in his hands.

“There’s an aster bush around here,” he responds. “It hadn’t fully bloomed yet the last time I was here, but it should be open by now.”

It turns out he’s right as you two finally come up on the bush. Its blooms make bright purple smudges against the rest of the landscape, which is a monochrome red-and-orange palette from the leaves changing their hues. You watch as he comes up to the bush carefully and quietly, like it’s a small animal he’s afraid to scare away. Johnny is very attentive while taking pictures of it, always conscious of getting the correct lighting and securing the exact angles he wants to capture. “Compassionate” is not a word you’d usually associate with the act of taking photos, but that’s the only word you can currently think of to describe this display. He treats the flowers with a peculiar sense of respect, as if they’re a human subject.

After he’s gotten the images he wants, Johnny offers you his camera to take a few of your own. You’re anxious about holding his prized possession and are afraid you’ll find a way to mess something up, but he promises you it’s fine. You take a few shots of the sky, still with a few wisps of clouds left, and a nearby tree that’s almost stripped bare of leaves. You know the shots will probably end up blurry from your unsteady hands, but Johnny tells you you’ve done a good job anyway.

Something about getting his approval makes a pleasant warmth settle in your chest.

As you both walk down a long trail, you finally ask him, “Sorry if this is invasive, but I was wondering how old are you? Like...as a vampire.” Your voice becomes hesitant on the word vampire, even though you’re the only two in this part of the park.

He chuckles a bit. “I’m 85.” You try not to look surprised. “I’ve been turned for 60 years. Old, but probably a little younger than most vampires you’d think of.”

“Kinda,” you say quietly. “They’re always like 2,000 years old in movies.”

“The ancient vampires are purebloods. They keep to themselves and avoid mingling with turned vampires, let alone humans. Some people are even skeptical if they exist. Supposedly, they use humans as servants or blood banks.” He gives you an apologetic look after saying this, though you don’t really know why. You don’t get the feeling he’d do that to another being, but he is still mostly a stranger... “At least, that’s what my mentor told me.”

Your curiosity is roused at all this new knowledge. “You had a mentor?”

“An older woman. She was also a turned vampire.”

“Turned, huh…”

Johnny nods, toeing at a small pile of leaves on the ground. “She went away eventually, said people are meant to pass in and out of each other’s lives. I don’t think she ever had intentions to stay. But I enjoyed her company while she was there.” Johnny stops at a short bridge above a small manmade lake, and you both look down into the water.

You place your arms on the bridge railing so you can lean over more. You notice he doesn’t have a reflection in the water, and this startles you more than you expected. Before meeting this strange man, you’d never thought much before about why vampires don’t have mirror reflections, but it seems even more unnatural to see this phenomenon happen again in the lake.

You find yourself looking at the side of Johnny’s face, trying to read his expression as he peers into the water’s depths. He turns to you, and you flinch at being caught staring, but he only smiles slightly. You force yourself to form words and break the silence. “What—what did you do after she left?”

“Lived on my own. She taught me a lot of things to help me live independently as a vampire, so it wasn’t too difficult to get along without her...but emotionally? A different story.”

“You sound like you had a very close relationship with her.”

“Yes. Quite close…” Johnny’s tone suggests something deeper, more intimate than a regular friendship. You feel a bit astounded at the idea of him having an older, more worldly lover while being only a newly changed vampire. Your reaction makes you feel foolish, inexperienced. Still, you can’t help imagining a scenario of them living in a big, dark mansion somewhere in the mountains, rolling around in a bed with bloody red sheets—and maybe drinking from the occasional naïve, misled human hiker.

Strangely, too, you feel jealous at his freedom, his ability to go wherever and do whatever with whoever he wants without overbearing relatives always just a step away.

You continue staring at the ripples as they circle in and out of the water’s surface, the motions triggered by a small orange leaf falling into the lake. You’re unsure of what could be the right thing to say to his admission, so you blurt out whatever comes to mind next. “You said she taught you to live independently as a vampire. What does that mean? How do you get...you know. Blood?”

“There are ways,” Johnny says cryptically, which makes your own blood rush faster. He turns to you with a grin, like he finds your naivety endearing. “It’s nothing drastic, though. At least, not for me. I never drink directly.” It does make sense that there are other ways to drink human blood without taking it straight from their necks, though you can only speculate on which methods he prefers. “Drinking directly is lethal, and often not worth it.”

“So, it’s true that vampire bites can kill?” You watch as Johnny pushes himself off the railing, and you follow him as he continues down the trail.

“It’s not false. But it’s never really that simple.” Johnny’s answer is mysterious, and he doesn’t elaborate further. He turns to you. “Where did you hear that, anyway? Your university? The one that bans all nonhuman beings?”

“You know where I go to school?” You feel embarrassed, thinking he must assume you’re like the rest of the student body who hates nonhumans but still nurtures an odd obsession with them.

“I saw it on your notebook one day, the school insignia. I’m not a stalker, by the way.” You laugh only slightly, and Johnny seems crestfallen when he notices your apprehension. “I don’t care if you attend school there. Just because you do doesn’t mean you think the way they do.”

“You must think I’m some weird opportunist, then,” you mutter, heat finding its way to your face. “Asking you all these questions...I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think anything except that you’re a pleasant person to be around.”

You’re quiet for a moment, letting the compliment sink in. You think you should probably give him one of his own, but before you can, he says, “Look. The sun’s already setting.” Just like he told you before, the dying rays filter through the tree leaves and create impossibly intricate patterns on your surroundings. You hold your hand out and watch the latticework that the leaves create dance over your open palm.

You let Johnny take a picture of your hand with the tree shadows flitting over it, but you shy away from the camera’s lens when he points it higher to your face, a questioning look in his eyes. “Maybe some other day.”

You walk around for a while longer until the sky bleeds into a dark purple. “I guess I should be going soon. It’s getting late,” you say, though you’re also a bit sad over your evening with Johnny meeting its end.

“Do you want me to take you back to campus? You shouldn’t walk back alone. My car is just in the parking lot there.” He points to it where it sits in the distance.

You look at Johnny with a confused gaze. “But you can’t come on campus. They have...things to ward off vampires.” Like gates made of pure silver, displaying intimidating, elaborately designed crosses. You don’t know if any of it actually works, but it’s probably better not to find out.

Johnny doesn’t seem bothered by this information. “Yeah…I know. I can just drop you at the street across from the main gate.”

You hesitate a moment longer but eventually agree. He is right; you’d rather not walk alone at night, and getting a ride with him is better—and cheaper—than calling for a rideshare.

The ride to the college is fairly quiet, with the radio filling the silence. It’s not an awkward type of stillness, at least, which you’re grateful for.

As he said he would, Johnny parks on the side of the street that sits in front of the main gate, just outside the immediate vicinity of the campus. The metal crosses stare back at the both of you, glinting in the light of nearby streetlamps. You turn your face away from them, biting the inside of your cheek.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. “Thanks again for the ride. I guess I’ll see you back at the shop next week, yeah?” Again, you get the urge to say something, anything, to remedy or cover up the foreboding source of discomfort sitting just in front of you, but there’s no one sentence you could say to wipe away decades of hatred.

Johnny nods and smiles, and still he shows no signs of being disturbed. He doesn’t cast another glance at the gates. “It’s no problem. See you then.”

You get out of his car and cross the street to get inside the gate; it’s early enough in the evening for it to still be open. Any later, and it’d be locked shut to even humans. You risk another wave at him before turning back around and heading for your dorm, which sits a few yards from the entrance. Johnny lets the car idle on the side of the street until you’ve walked into the dorm, and only then does he drive away.

It doesn’t take very long for you to warm up to Johnny inviting you to other places. The next time you and him go somewhere other than the coffee shop, you accompany him as he buys some film for his camera on one of his free days. You don’t know a ton about photography, so you’re more than happy to let him tell you all about how film works and why he buys certain kinds over others.

The place he frequents is a specialty photography shop that still carries older varieties of film—ones that fell out of favor once digital cameras became a thing. The store looks noticeably old, but not in an unkempt or decrepit way. You can tell it’s been around for a while, holding all kinds of history in its structure.

“There are so many different types.” You look over a shelf of film rolls in awe. “How can you tell them all apart?”

Johnny laughs. “It gets easier if you’ve been doing it for a while…or a few decades.” He picks one up from a row of them and holds it in front of you. “35mm is the most common type, which is what you’ll find the most of when you look through any film shop. That’s what I use.”

He sets that one down and walks past another display of film rolls, gesturing toward them. “There’s also 120 and 220 film formats here…those work for even older cameras, sorta like ones you’d see in 1930s movies. You can even turn a film camera into a digital camera.”

You nod to his words, looking over what seems like millions of film canisters—and occasionally glancing at the lines of his broad back as he walks ahead of you. “You should teach a photography class. I’d be more willing to listen to you than some old professor.”

Johnny snickers. “Huh, I don’t know. Not a professor, but I am old.”

You both continue walking through the store, with Johnny giving you the rundown on every item that catches your interest.

Like the coffee shop, there’s another mirror in this store. Many more, actually—there are whole rows of them on a series of shelves, all in varying sizes and shapes. They create a fragmented view of your form as you stand in front of them, though you don’t initially realize you’ve crossed into their glassy line of sight. You’re busier with looking at a roll of film Johnny’s handed you. When you notice your reflection shifting in your peripheral view, you look up.

Johnny’s only a few feet behind you, and you know this because you can hear him and feel his presence. Yet, it’s strange to see yourself as the only person in the aisle.

Eventually, he notices what’s got you preoccupied and comes to stand next to you. Though you see him clearly in front of your eyes, there’s no trace of him in the glass reflections.

Suddenly, you’re hit with the aching loneliness of it—how it must feel to never see yourself. You can see him with your own eyes, and so can everyone else who encounters him, but what must it be like to be virtually invisible outside of other peoples’ perceptions of you? You almost feel utterly alone even though you know he’s beside you.

Noticing your sudden melancholy, Johnny takes the film roll from your hand and tosses it up in the air, making it look like it’s moving on its own in the mirrors. He means to lighten the mood, if only to see the cloudiness disappear from your expression. It works to a degree, though you still feel downcast deep below.

“It’s not good to dwell on it.” Johnny presses the film roll back into your hand, still carefully avoiding skin contact. He has no problem meeting your eyes, though, and you shyly look away from his dark gaze after a few prolonged moments.

“You’re right,” you say softly, turning back to the aisle and away from the rows of mirrors.

—

You and Johnny head to the coffee shop after your trip to the photography store. Once you get your drinks and sit down in your usual spot, he speaks suddenly. “Something’s wrong.”

Your eyes dart around the shop, thinking he’s referring to one of the patrons around you. “What? What’s wrong?” Your voice comes out a bit panicked. He doesn’t want to laugh, but he does.

“No, I mean...something’s wrong with you. You seem far away.”

“Oh…” You wonder if you should even bring it up and potentially ruin the mood. But you have been curious for weeks now, and you don’t think you’ll get a trustworthy answer by asking anyone other than him. “I just...I was wondering why you don’t have a reflection. I know it’s a vampire thing, but I’ve never really known why...you don’t need to answer, though. Like you said, it’s not good to dwell on it.”

Johnny makes a motion like a half-nod once your question is revealed, his eyes darting to the window and back to the table. His fingers trace across the rim of his coffee cup, a thoughtful but stormy expression on his face, and you’re afraid you shouldn’t have reawakened this topic. “You know...being undead means being in two places at once.”

“Two places?”

“We are caught between the living world and the world of the dead. Something that’s not really supposed to exist, yet…” He’s quiet for a moment. “You can only imagine the kind of issues and side effects that can cause. One of them being no reflection.”

“I never thought of it like that,” you say. “Two planes of existence...what does it mean to be a part of the world of the dead?”

“Our blood runs slower. Ours is more like sludge compared to yours. The heart beats only a few times per minute. Don’t need to eat or sleep, either, though many vampires still do.” Johnny pauses. “How much do you really know about vampires?”

“I don’t know much about any of this...stuff.” You gesture vaguely, meaning all supernatural beings and not just vampires. “No one ever told me these things growing up, and it’s hard to tell truth from fiction at school. People will say anything, horrible things, and you just take it at face value, I guess. I never really thought to try to find the reality.” You sigh. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t know anything.”

“Learning is good. You can always learn. I don’t think it’s too late for that.” Johnny’s voice is a little lighter. “Anyway, everyone’s knowledge is different. Sometimes it slips my mind that everyone doesn’t know what it’s like to live as a vampire, though the world never lets me forget for long.”

“Then…do you hang out with other vampires who do understand? Or…maybe humans who can sympathize?”

Johnny gives a humorless laugh. “Most humans are hesitant to interact with us, if not full-out terrified or disgusted. At the museum...it’s less pronounced because all the employees already know. They…tolerate it. But every time someone else realizes what I am and doesn’t take well to it?” He shakes his head, acts like he’ll say something else, and then abandons that line of thought. “And do you really think I’d want to spend my free time around other bloodsuckers?” He tries to play it off as a joke, but you’re more inclined to think he actually feels that way. You can only nod, feeling bad for him but also a little disturbed by his view of his own kind.

“I think you’re a kind person, and you being a vampire doesn’t affect that,” you say hesitantly. “I like talking to you. And even if you feel that way about other vampires, I…wish you wouldn’t feel that about yourself.”

Johnny remains quiet, but he nods. You wonder about the struggle occurring in his mind. The only outward hint of his uneasy state shows in the furrow of his eyebrows and the tense set of his mouth. With his right hand resting on the table, he rubs his fingers together absentmindedly, like he’s analyzing your words. You have a sudden and startling desire to hold his hand, to twine your fingers together and feel his skin on yours for the first time, but you don’t dare cross that boundary.

He finally replies with, “You’re much kinder to me, an old and bitter vampire, than you probably should be. But maybe that’s a good thing about you.”

“I think it’s a good thing,” you agree, your voice low. “Every living being needs companionship. Good companionship, anyway.”

The corners of Johnny’s lips shift in something reminiscent of a smile. He turns a rueful gaze once again to the window, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. “Aren’t I lucky to have yours, then.”

On a day when you don’t have as many responsibilities to juggle, you visit Johnny at the art museum after his working hours are up. He’d already invited you to come to the museum any day you felt like so he could show you around. 

When you get there, he’s waiting in the visitor’s lobby for you, framed by receding sunlight as the day starts fading into night. He looks the same as he always does when you see him in the café on his lunch breaks, but within the context of the museum, he suddenly seems more…alive? Vibrant? He could’ve served as a muse for one of the many statuesque, perfectly proportional sculptures in the museum, and you’d never know anything different.

Your heartbeat increases at the sight of him, just enough to be outside the normal range.

“Hi, Johnny. I hope your day went well?”

“It was fine, nothing too crazy. But it’s better now.” And he smiles at you, sincere enough to make your heart ache.

“Oh—that’s great.” That’s it? You scold yourself internally, but you aren’t quick enough to think up a witty reply to his comment before the topic shifts.

“Is there anything in particular you wanna see first?” Johnny asks, leading you further into the museum.

“I guess I hadn’t thought too deeply about that…do you have a favorite exhibit? I want to see what you like.”

Johnny smiles faintly. “Let’s see, then.”

The dark-haired man takes you to a section of the museum filled with oil paintings, all by one singular artist. At first, all you see is varying shades of black and gray and red, with some white splashed in between. When you begin looking at the paintings more closely, it’s easier to see that each one depicts a different scene of chaos. Maybe a sort of organized chaos, but disarray all the same.

There is one picture that holds a clearer subject than the rest. One of the oil paintings is of a vampire—obvious by the fangs—with bloodied lips and anguished eyes. You pause when you catch sight of it, your steps stilled by the sheer frenzy in the other being’s painted eyes. Their hands reach out for the viewer as if begging for an escape that can only be provided by whoever’s observing.

“This one was painted by a fellow vampire, you know. The same one who did all the rest of the paintings in this gallery,” Johnny explains. He points at the placard next to the painting that displays the artist’s name and a short description of the piece. The word fellow comes off his tongue wrapped in cynicism. “And it was one of the ones I personally chose for this exhibit.”

You glance at him, a tinge of surprise blooming in your chest. “Really?”

He nods. “Who better to depict the ills of vampirism than a vampire themselves? I thought it was a…fascinating change of pace from all the humans who try and fail to do so, ironic as that is.”

If you look at the painting for long enough, you think you can recognize sadness in the corners of the vampire’s eyes—pure, unadulterated sadness. Different from anguish or panic. A similar mask of sadness you’ve seen on the man next to you.

You say nothing for a while. You simply feel the painful throb of your heart in your chest and listen to the small sounds around you. Even now, there are still other people exploring the museum and walking through this very exhibit, but you can’t hear or see any of them. Johnny notices the disconcerted look on your face, and his forehead creases. “But I’m sure you want to see something less…morbid than this, right? Come on.”

“Uh, I-I don’t mind,” you insist, even though you feel like you’ve just awoken from a painful trance by the sound of his voice. But he’s already gesturing for you to follow him elsewhere.

The next set of paintings you end up in front of are a series of sunflower studies. One frame depicts the long green stems; another provides an up-close view of their lined petals. One zooms in close on the flower’s brown center, only small glimpses of yellow left at the edges of the frame.

“This is definitely very different.” You look at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. “But it fits you. I see why you like it.” You remember him back in the park, taking careful pictures of the aster bush and of your hands…and then offering to take one of you. You don’t know why that last one makes your stomach jump.

“I thought you might like it.” Johnny’s eyes linger on your face as he observes your reaction to the paintings. He’s seen these flowers probably a hundred times by now in this permanent exhibit, but the wonder in your expression is new to him.

—

You both walk through a few more exhibitions after that, all with different subjects and mediums—some consist of sculptures, others are clay vases and figures. There’s still a lot to see in the museum, but you’re starting to get hungry, and you know Johnny has already heard your stomach growling.

After the 2nd time it happens and you think you might melt from embarrassment, he grins at you and makes a suggestion. “Let’s go to my office. I’ll get my things and we can eat. The restaurant here is pretty good—or at least that’s what everyone else says…”

When you get to his office, you feel almost like you’ve stepped into a room from years past. Your gaze drifts across his desk immediately; it’s not sleek and modern like you’d expect, considering the rest of the museum’s aesthetic, but wooden and heavy and vintage-looking. It’s olden quality resembles everything else in his personal space. Even his desk chair, a big and plush thing, feels vintage with its soft leather and rustic design.

This feeling is far from a bad thing, though. You enjoy the aged look of the bookcases, the picture frames, the chairs, the small decorations here and there—everything about this room.

Johnny notices how you look around, studying everything in sight, and smiles. “It’s not the most modern, but I like it.”

“It’s perfect. Like a world of its own.”

“A woman of taste, I see.” Johnny puts a hand over his heart, giving an expression like he’s truly touched, and you can only grin sheepishly. When he has his belongings, he leads you out and locks the door behind him.

“Let’s see what they have on the menu today, then.”

—

You get dinner at the museum’s restaurant, just as Johnny recommended, and he even decides to eat too. Maybe he does it so you won’t look odd being the only one eating, or because he really just wants to; he doesn’t let on. Either way, sitting across from him like this in a fancy restaurant with both of you having a nice meal feels almost like a date. You let that thought amble around for a few minutes longer before tucking it back into one of your mind’s many small niches.

“I’ll probably be digesting this for the next few weeks,” he says jokingly, pulling a mock-disappointed face at his plate.

“That sounds like the worst constipation in history.” He snorts at your comment, his eyes creasing as he laughs. You notice he has a dimple when he smiles, and your grin mirrors his. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh quite so genuinely before, but now that you’ve experienced it, you want to hear it again and again.

Anything is preferable to the perpetual gloom, always slinking around the corner.

—

When Johnny gets back home after dropping you off at the university, he undresses himself and showers and pulls on his bedclothes, which are nothing more than his underwear and a pair of sweatpants. His upper canines ache in his gums the entire time he goes through these motions, like two pulses of red-hot heat positioned on either side of his mouth.

He takes a blood bag from the fridge and drinks it in bed, leaning his arms against his knees. A sudden remembrance manifests itself in his mind; he hears the hazy echo of his mother’s decades-past voice in his head, reprimanding him for eating in bed. A sharp pain grips his chest, and he tries to send it back to the depths where it belongs.

When the blood hits his stomach, the pain is eclipsed by the bloodlust, which is no better. His fangs drop immediately, spiking into his lower lip. Johnny closes his eyes and, very gingerly, allows himself to draw a picture of you in his mind, of your blood in his mouth and your heartbeat roaring in his ears. The way your blood would flow out so delicately, crashing into his tastebuds like the high tide. He is usually better than this at curtailing his bloodlust, not even letting it reach the point of his canines hurting—he can’t remember the last time that’s happened—but being around you sets him on edge. Awakens him in some strange, raw way.

That only makes him more wary. And more guilty about imagining himself drinking your blood. He shouldn’t even be around you if he’s losing his grip on his hard-won control. But although it makes him feel ashamed, it also causes his heart to rush.

He drains the blood bag to the last possible drop. To his relief, it calms him significantly, though the thoughts of you don’t leave. More innocent ones now, of your outing earlier in the evening. Deep beneath, they are tinged with his ever-present guilt at his vampiric nature.

Johnny doesn’t need the sleep, but he drifts off anyway, if only to quiet the conflict sending daggers into his mind.

You’ve known Johnny for a few weeks now, not counting the time you spent silently staring at him in the café, but you find yourself intertwining yourself further into his life. You end up visiting his apartment sooner than you anticipated. You didn’t think of anything as ridiculous as him living in a coffin or sleeping in the rafters like a bat, but you also had a hard time imagining what his place might look like.

You come over on a weekend when you have more time to simply hang out and not worry so much about anything else.

Like usual, he waits in that spot on the side of the street for you to come out. In the daytime, you’re more apprehensive about him being here and someone potentially seeing him and trying to cause trouble for him, but there’s a part of you that likes the rebellious aspect of it. And if he truly doesn’t mind coming near the campus to pick you up, you don’t have much issue with him doing it.

Johnny’s apartment is clean—and a little sparser than you’d expected. Maybe he’s a fan of minimalism. One side of the wall is taken up by a wide bookcase, which features a bunch of different knickknacks, books, and a collection of larger hardcovers that look like photo albums. On the other walls are a few framed pictures of different scenes, and you assume they’re ones he must’ve taken.

“This is a nice place,” you say as he takes your jacket for you and puts it up. “It must cost quite a bit, too…” You sit down on the couch, stroking the soft material of it.

Johnny shrugs. “Thanks. It’s nothing I can’t handle...being nearly a century old gives you plenty of time to save money.” He appears charmingly self-satisfied when he’s able to make you laugh. “Do you want anything?”

“Water is fine…thank you.” Johnny nods and goes off to the kitchen.

Despite trying to keep your eyes on the wall photos, your gaze follows him as he leaves. You discreetly watch him move around his kitchen. With his dark clothes, he’s like a splash of black paint against the pale tile and stainless steel.

There are blood packs in Johnny’s fridge. Lots of them. You know because you saw them from your vantage point on the couch when he opened the fridge door. They look like the blood bags you’d see in a hospital, which makes you wonder how he even gets access to those. Another mystery you struggle to wrap your head around.

He comes back to the living room with your water, and you take it gratefully, though you also feel a little awkward. You think maybe the blood bags are something you shouldn’t have seen, although you know he probably would’ve made more effort to hide them or put them away if that were the case.

“You have a good supply of blood, a nice apartment, and a great job. Does every vampire get these kinds of perks?” Admittedly, it sounded better in your head. Your attempt to stave off the awkward feeling—which was really only coming from your end—only makes it more intense. Johnny laughs dryly in response. You can’t tell if he actually finds it amusing or is just trying to humor you, which makes you feel incredibly silly.

“All of it’s government-issued if you promise never to bite any humans.” Johnny gives a wry smile. “But it’s a mistake to think vampires live glamorous lives, filling up on blood and having no cares in the world.”

“N-no, I get it,” you stutter. “Bad joke.”

“I’m not trying to embarrass you or be mean. It’s just the way things are.” Your roles are suddenly reversed, and now he seems to feel some sort of sympathy for you, like you’re just an ignorant little human who doesn’t know any better. The last part of that is more your insecurities speaking out than anything else, but you try to ignore that and take him for his word.

Johnny gets up from the couch to go over to the bookcase as you sip your water. After looking through the photo albums intently, he takes one off the shelf and hands it to you. You set your water down and hold the album carefully as you open the front cover. The cover itself has a neat little label that reads Telluride 1976 - 1980, so you can already expect what you’ll find in it. There are numerous photos of trees, bushes, snowy mountain ranges, lakes, brilliantly vibrant flowers, and woodland creatures. You stop at a picture of a deer looking straight ahead, its black eyes wide and curious as it examines the lens.

“I lived in the mountains back then, a little after my mentor had left. I spent some time trying to reconnect with nature...and all that other hippie shit people used to do back in that era.”

You chuckle. “Did you wear the same kinds of clothes, too? Bell bottoms and tie-dye T-shirts and all?”

Johnny laughs and shrugs. “Maybe…but that’s only for me to know.”

You grin and look at the photos again. “Well…did your plan work, at least?”

Johnny gives a wistful smile. “In some ways, I think it did.”

You continue looking through the rest of the album, which you could probably do for hours if you had the time—just sit and trace every possible line, curve, and ray of light. Johnny sits beside you as you do, occasionally explaining some pictures and their backstories.

“Lately, I’ve been wanting something else to take pictures of...someone else, maybe.”

“What, like a subject?” you ask.

“Yeah, it’d be nice...I haven’t taken pictures of another person in a while.”

You nod quietly as you flip through the pages—another possible hint flying right over your head. Then a thought comes to you—one that makes your skin warm. “Have you ever taken pictures of anyone you were...involved with?” You don’t say it directly, but you hope he can get the gist of what you’re asking.

Johnny nods as if he doesn’t want to admit to it, a nervous smile gracing his lips. “A few different people…but I always gave them the pictures after we, you know, stopped seeing each other...so there’s none left here.”

“I see…” For a few moments, your thoughts circle around that concept. What was it like to bare yourself in front of someone else like that, immortalized on film? What might it be like to allow Johnny to see you like that, to take pictures of you in your most vulnerable form? The idea doesn’t make you as downright anxious as you expected it to, though you can’t completely shake the lingering embarrassment about it.

After you finish looking through the entirety of his Telluride adventures, Johnny shows you some recent pictures he’s developed, and you’re giddy to see your own blurry creations among them. Now that you’re holding them physically in your hands, you can agree that they look nice, each with its own little personality.

“I thought about putting them in a new photo album,” he says, “but you can keep them, if you prefer.”

You hold them to your chest. “Yes, I’d like to keep them. Thank you.” You smile. “I’m sure I’ll leave you with plenty other photos to put in your album, anyway.”

—

The sun is close to setting again. You aren’t ready to leave yet, though, and Johnny is content to let you stay longer. He pulls out another album for you to look at, this one dated with 1960 - 1964. Unlike the others, there’s no title to describe what’s in it except for that year range.

“This is a picture of me someone took before I was turned,” Johnny murmurs, sitting back down beside you. He turns the album to you, and in the middle of the first page is a sepia-toned photo of him sitting on a bed—or maybe a couch?—wearing a suit. White, handwritten lettering on the bottom right of the photograph reads August 4, 1960.

“Oh wow...” You touch the photo gently over its protective lining. “You look exactly the same. Of course.”

“It’s the only photo I have left of myself,” he sighs, leaning back on the sofa. “If it weren’t for that...I’d feel almost like I didn’t exist at all.”

“Do you remember this day?” you ask.

“…Vaguely.” His answer doesn’t feel like the whole truth, and the way his eyes dart anxiously as he says it confirms your suspicions. Then he sighs again, heavier this time, and he seems to be exhaling all 60 years of his burden along with it. “I was...going to be married. It was for our wedding shoot.”

You’re surprised for a reason you’re unsure of, never even imagining that Johnny could’ve been married at one point in time. Could’ve had an entire life and a family, if it hadn’t been for...

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You know you never would’ve met him if things hadn’t happened this way, and that knowledge tugs at your heart in a way that makes you feel intensely selfish.

Johnny shakes his head and avoids your eyes. “It was long ago.” He wets his lips and his jaw clenches like maybe he wants to say something else, but he remains silent for a while.

You continue exploring the photo album in silence. With its thin size, there aren’t as many pictures in it as the others—much less, in fact, but each one is still enough to keep your interest. Your mind keeps drifting back to the one of Johnny.

You hand the album back to him when you’re done. He takes it from you, but in a gesture you don’t foresee, he allows your hands to touch for the first time. You make a tiny flinch at the unexpected coolness—not ice-cold, but enough to be noticeable—but you don’t draw away from him. You let his fingers slide across yours as the photo album leaves your hands, and it sends electricity racing up and down your spine.

“S-sorry.” You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for flinching or for making contact at all, though there is no reason to because he initiated it.

“Doesn’t it ever disturb you at all that I’m not human?” Johnny asks softly, still holding the album.

“What?”

“You’ve taken all this so easily...much more easily than many others. You aren’t even disgusted at my cold hands.” A ghost of a grin comes over his face.

“If I were disgusted, I wouldn’t even be here,” you say, trying to lighten the tension. It’s not the kind of tension that arises from anger, offense, or upset, but something else that you are lost on comprehending in this moment. “Some of it’s unfamiliar, obviously, but I’m not disgusted.”

He glances down at the album in his hands, as if contemplating something. Maybe thinking about the only living photo of himself beneath the cover. Or maybe he’s thinking back to how he was turned in the first place and subsequently lost the life he was about to have. He still hasn’t told you anything about how he became a vampire, and though you’d like to know, it’s obviously a sore spot for him.

Eventually, he nods, willing himself to smile at you. “I’m glad.”

—

Night has fallen by the time you’re done exploring the decades of his life, though there is still much you haven’t seen and don’t yet know. You let him drive you back to the school as you stare out at the passing cars, wondering how many more of these people sitting in their vehicles are nonhuman and you’d never know it.

You hesitate after he pulls up across from the main gate.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Uh, nothing really, it’s just—I still don’t have your number or anything.” And I want to talk to you more often. I want to hear your voice more often. You don’t want to say anything overly dramatic or cheesy, so you just keep those last thoughts to yourself.

Thinking it had been something serious, he smirks at your concern. “Oh, I see. I’ll give it to you now, then.”

Once your numbers are safely in each other’s phones, you finally bid each other goodnight. 

Though you try to steer your thoughts towards other things, you keep veering back to Johnny. His apartment. His fridge full of blood bags. His photo albums full of years of history. Even when you get into bed that night, you can’t keep him off your mind.

You wake up gasping and sweating when you dream of him with his fangs in your neck, your own blood running down your neck and chest. You glance over at your roommate to make sure you haven’t woken her and rest your head on your knees, trying to catch your breath and settle your racing heart. Your skin still prickles with how you could practically feel his heated breaths on your neck, ice-cold hands gripping your shoulders.

The worst part of it is that you can’t quite say you completely disliked it.

“It doesn’t make much sense to have a Halloween party and dress up as the very beings that you hate, but whatever…” you mumble, looking through a rack of costumes with a certain impassivity. You’re not very enthusiastic about going to this Halloween party, but your friend refuses to go alone. You haven’t been spending as much time with her anymore—partly because of Johnny and partly because you feel even more out of place around her than normal—and with all her begging and pleading, she refuses to let you opt out of this one.

“It’s about having fun, no one really cares Y/N. They’re freaks, aren’t they? That’s why people dress up as them, they’re practically meant for this.”

You become even more apprehensive about the party after hearing that, if that’s even possible. You smooth your hand over the fabric of a witch’s robe and sigh again, shaking your head. It doesn’t feel quite right to keep spending time in her presence—or anyone else who goes to your school—but you feel trapped on all sides, left without much of a choice. You would never hear the end of it if you tried to switch universities…or even drop out.

Your mind strays back to Johnny as always, with his melancholy aura and weird jokes and pretty pictures and monochrome clothes. The smell of his cologne, the lingering scent of roasted coffee beans, and his toothy smile, when he does show it to you. Something in you makes you want to drop everything you’re doing right now and go to him. It might even be nice to settle in his arms, feel them strong and solid around you—though he’d probably need just as much comforting as you.

“Dress up as this!” Your friend breaks the reverie as she prances over to you with a pair of fake fangs, the tips of them painted in acrylic blood. She holds them up to your mouth, and you struggle to manage a smile, if only to sate her enthusiasm. “It actually reminds me of…that vampire at the café. Say, have you seen him since then?”

You shake your head, moving away to sift through another rack of outfits as you try to maintain a detached expression. “Nope, not a glimpse. Haven’t even thought about him.”

When your friend doesn’t suspect anything, you let your expression drop just a tad, breathing out quietly.

The night of the party, the full moon is heavy and bold against the black blanket of the sky, which feels horribly cliché. You wonder if there are any werewolves out tonight, and what they might be doing right now.

“We’re going to have a good time tonight,” your friend insists as you both walk up the front steps of the host’s house. It’s someone you only vaguely know, a friend of a friend of a friend, but clearly a person who has an abundance of money judging by this expansive home. You don’t know why she feels the need to convince you, but maybe it’s because you haven’t seemed very enthusiastic so far. You only give a thumbs up to her words, which feels like an unconvincing gesture. Luckily for you, it works.

After a few hours, the party is still going strong but your head is starting to hurt from the music, and you’re growing weary of all the men crowding in too close, looking at you in your angel costume like you’re something to be devoured. You’ve rolled your eyes at way too many of them and their haphazardly put-together costumes, dressed up as vampires with terrible fake fangs or werewolves with manes of matted up fur.

Your friend keeps flitting around the party, talking to whoever she recognizes from classes or campus organizations, and you’ve given up on trying to follow her around any longer. Every time you turn around, she’s somewhere else. Noticing that you’re currently solo, a guy from one of your history classes comes up to you and begins what he thinks is an interesting conversation on how angels actually look more like Eldritch abominations than the cherubic humans depicted in paintings—so your costume is “technically inaccurate” —and your eyes glaze over as you pretend to listen to him.

You eventually manage to get away from him and get to an undisturbed corner, wedged next to two girls drinking cider and critically rating all the guys’ costumes. You pull your phone out and think about calling for a ride back to campus, but your thumb hovers over the message icon. You press it without thinking too much about it, and Johnny’s name appears as one of your most recent conversations. Though you feel somewhat nervous, you will yourself to open the box and begin typing.

To: Hi Johnny. I hope I’m not bothering you, but can I come over? 🙏🏿🙏🏿🙏🏿 I’m over this party

You put your phone back in your purse, trying not to get your hopes up for a quick response. You know there’s a good chance he’d still be awake at this time of night since he doesn’t need to sleep, but he has his own life and is probably off doing...vampire-y things. Whatever those things could be.

However, your hopes are met when your phone pings only a couple minutes later.

From: Of course. You’re not scared about spending your Halloween with a vampire? 😏

You smile at that.

To: I think I’ll be fine…as long as you don’t bite me.

From: 🦷🩸

—

You get to Johnny’s studio apartment not too long after, and you hang around outside his door for a few moments before knocking, suddenly feeling bashful about your costume. Maybe you should’ve changed before coming over here; what if he thinks it’s childish? Or maybe too revealing? Does he even care about that kind of stuff? Doesn’t matter now, though. You’re here, and there’s no way you’re turning back around.

He answers a few seconds after you knock, wearing a sweater and black pants. You notice his sweater is a cream color and not the usual black. He looks a little surprised to see your costume, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Wow, you look pretty. Nice of you to visit me after falling straight from Heaven.” You cringe at his cheesy line, though you also cannot deny that you secretly enjoy every bit of it.

“Thanks, Johnny...” you say timidly, stepping into his home as he lets you in. “Nice work with changing up the color scheme.”

He’s confused for a moment before realizing you’re talking about his clothes. “Oh yeah, that...um, haha. Thanks.”

Unbeknownst to you, the back of his mind is buzzing with a form of excitement he hasn’t felt in a while. Not the clawing, frantic spikes of bloodlust, but a more physical kind of desire. It’s pleasurable, but he also feels guilty about pining over how sweet and innocent you look in your all-white outfit, stockings hugging your legs perfectly and your dress just short enough to tempt the imagination. Really, you’ve painted a picture of perfect purity, and the only thing he can think about is ruining you. Putting his hands on you and peeling your dress off to reveal the soft skin underneath.

He casts those thoughts aside as you sit prettily on his couch, legs crossed at the ankles—though it’s hard to do so. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? There isn’t a whole lot of food here, but I can order something…”

“Do you ever make your own coffee?” The question seems a bit random at first, and you try to explain. “You know, since you always get it from the café.”

Johnny smiles. “Do you want coffee? I can make it.”

You nod. “That would be nice…whatever you have.”

“I pretty much have your usual order memorized by now, so I should be good on making it.” Johnny walks to the kitchen. “You can look through the albums while you’re in there. The ones you haven’t seen yet.”

“Oh, thanks.” You feel a little nervous to be looking through the shelf of his treasured photo albums by yourself, but you’re also glad he trusts you enough to let you do it. It makes you feel important. Maybe even important to him, as silly as that might sound.

It isn’t long before the scent of coffee wafts out into the living room. Johnny returns soon with two cups of it, and just as he promised, yours is made just the way you like it.

“Thank you.” You set the album back on the shelf and take the cup from Johnny. For a while, both of you talk of nothing important—just filling the space with the details of your days.

“So how was the party?” Johnny finally asks, and he raises his eyebrows as he scans your outfit again. You grin halfheartedly.

“It was…alright. Kinda weird. I think it’d be more fun if I went to a regular university, but you know…”

Johnny shakes his head. “I can’t blame you for bailing out.”

“Yeah…I’ve been to college parties before, but the Halloween theme was a bit…”

“Strange for an institution that bans all supernatural beings?” Johnny finishes your sentence. He doesn’t look offended or irritated by it—only slightly amused.

You shrug, biting your lip. “Yeah, that.”

“Well, look on the bright side. I wouldn’t have gotten to see you in your natural form otherwise.”

This one almost goes over your head, too, but you catch it just in time. Johnny’s compliments make you feel warm all over, like you’re sitting under the sun. You grin and look down into your cup of coffee, unused to receiving such bold praise and unsure how to respond to it. Something pops into your mind, though, and you think it might be a good idea to run with it.

“You could...take a picture of me, you know. If you want to...since I’m all dressed up now anyway.” You meet his eyes only for a second and then look away, twisting the mug in your hands.

Johnny sits up a little straighter at your words, trying to catch your eyes, though you don’t hold his gaze for long. “You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure. Go ahead! Before I change my mind.” You laugh nervously and carefully set your half-empty mug on the table.

Johnny’s camera is never too far away from him, so he grabs it and plays with the settings for a bit before looking back to you, a small smile on his face. “I’m gonna start, okay?” His voice is surprisingly soft. This, yet again, reminds you of him and the aster bush. He acts as if you might run away at the first shutter click, which makes you feel babied, but you don’t totally hate it.

The first few photos are a little awkward—at least to you. You aren’t sure how to pose, or if you should try to look more casual, though Johnny assures you you’re doing well. He gives you directives throughout, telling you to look in his direction or angle your face a certain way, and you follow his instructions to the best of your ability.

At one point, one of your dress straps slips down. When you go to fix it, Johnny says, “Wait. Could you keep it like that?”

You look at him, your body heating from the suggestion.

“Is that okay with you?”

“…Yes.” Your throat is dry, and your body reacts in a way you don’t expect—little nervous thrills in your hands and feet, though you try to internally explain it away as the coffee’s effects. Johnny takes a few more photos like this, and then he steps closer to gently touch your chin, guiding your face to the angle he’s looking for.

“So good for me.” It slips past his lips in a reverential murmur before he can really consider what he’s saying, and you both freeze. Your heart rate increases, and you wonder if he can hear how hard the red organ is beating in your chest. Probably.

You want to hear him say it again.

Johnny laughs awkwardly, his hand coming back to his side almost a little too quickly to be natural. “Um, I’m really sorry. That was a bit...”

“It…it’s fine.” You avoid his eyes. Johnny takes a few more photos, but the set of his mouth is a little tight, as if he’s stressed about something. Or regretting what he let slip, maybe. You want to tell him you really don’t feel bad about it, but you aren’t sure how to do that without making things more awkward…or revealing your true desires.

When Johnny has taken enough pictures of you to be satisfied with, he sits next to you on the couch, setting his camera on the coffee table and looking suddenly timid.

“I can’t wait to see them,” you say, attempting to break the tension that never really cleared the room after his earlier comment. He blinks for a moment like he doesn’t know what you mean, and then realizes—obviously, he’ll be developing the photos.

“They’ll come out nice, I’m sure. I think you’ll photograph well.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, and now it’s your turn to be unsure of how to resurrect the conversation.

“You’re beautiful.” It’s an abrupt comment. It makes your stomach twist in a pleasant, fluttery way, and you become hyperaware of his form sitting next to yours.

“Haven’t heard that one much, but thanks.”

Johnny turns to you. “Anyone who’d think otherwise is a fool.”

There’s a pause after this where you both simply study each other, watching for hidden reactions that can’t be read on the surface. The way he says it is…decisive, assured. But it also manages to be tender, as if he needs you to know what he thinks of you. Needs you to see yourself the way he does—the same way you do for him. You don’t know where the confidence comes from, but maybe his tone and his words and his endlessly dark eyes have pulled it out of you. “I want to kiss you.”

Johnny’s lips part. “Are you certain?”

“I’m certain.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore. Johnny moves closer to you and cups the back of your neck. Something awakens in his eyes in the seconds before he presses his mouth to yours. Though he wants to drink eagerly from your lips, his kiss is languid to avoid overwhelming you, and there is an audible smack of your lips whenever he pulls away and presses back in.

His mouth tastes like the coffee you just drank, but underneath that you swear you can taste a hint of the deep iron of blood, and you don’t know how to feel about that. You think about what his fangs would feel like scraping against your bottom lip, if he’d ever show them to you, and you moan quietly.

“Do you want this? With me?” Johnny confirms once more, pulling his gaze away from your lips and up to your eyes. His own eyes are yearning, but there is also an element of something like fear roiling in them. As if you’d turn him away, even though you’ve already shown your desire for him.

“Yes. Just you. No one else.”

Johnny’s body gravitates towards yours, and you think he’s going to push you down onto the sofa, but he scoops your legs up and carries you to his bedroom instead. Even his hands on your waist and legs makes you burn inside.

This is the first time you've seen his bedroom. The sheets are cloud-soft when he sets you down on them, and his window lets moonlight shine through the open blinds and scatter in thick beams across the floor. The only other light source is the bedside lamp, which emits a comfortable yellowish glow.

Johnny joins you on the bed and lets you climb into his lap—encourages you to do so. His cool hands pulling at your thighs as you settle them on either side of his waist makes tingles go through your body. You don’t hesitate to bring your lips back together, kissing each other deeply as one of his hands cradles the back of your head and the other settles on the small of your back.

You are certain vampires don’t have any powers of enchantment—that’s for magic wielders. And yet, you feel like you’ve been put in a trance by his kisses alone, and you wonder how you could’ve lived this long without knowing how his lips feel—how they fit perfectly against your own. As if everything up to now has purposely led you together.

You shift in Johnny’s embrace, and the movement causes his thigh to slide between your legs. Your heat is pressed against his thigh directly now, your silken panties catching against the denim of his pants. You murmur against his lips, not really saying anything of substance but wanting to vocalize your desire to him. Johnny’s hand tightens slightly on your back, and he experimentally lifts his leg higher and slides his thigh across you. That draws a gasp from you.

Noticing your positive response, Johnny continues rocking his thigh up against your pussy and kissing you until you’re breathless and your nipples are straining against the fabric of your dress. You pull away from him for a moment to try to ground yourself, feeling like your nerves are already being singed with fiery pleasure. Johnny’s face is noticeably more flushed than before, but he also looks much more composed than you feel at the moment.

“It takes longer to get hard,” he explains, as if reading the lingering question in your own expression. “Since...you know. Slow blood.” You rock your hips over his thigh more enthusiastically, motivated to get him hard underneath you, and you listen to his choppy breaths as you move. Your movements aren’t the smoothest, but he helps you guide your hips in a way that feels good for you both. You’ve never been with anyone before, so it doesn’t much matter to you how long or quick it takes for him to get there as long as he does.

Feeling the bulge grow underneath you excites you. Johnny groans against your lips as you kiss him and rub yourself over his member. The sound comes from somewhere deep inside him, as if it’s something he’s been containing for a long time. Your hand goes to his waist and tugs at his belt loops, then drifts closer to his belt buckle, pulling the leather and metal apart. Johnny pauses when you get off his lap and slide further down, grips your arms like he doesn’t want you to go. “Are…you sure? You don’t have to…if it’s too much—”

“I want to, Johnny.”

With your affirmative, he lets you kneel between his legs, pull his zipper apart, and trace your curious fingers over the bulge beneath the fabric of his underwear. Johnny loses his breath when you drag his underwear down, sliding it over the heated skin of his dick. His length is thick and long—even with him not being fully hard yet—and the tip glistens wet with precum. You weren’t sure what to expect, but this is much bigger than you think you might be able to handle. It makes your face warm and your stomach do another series of flips. Still, you want it and you want him, so you aren’t going to stop now.

You lean closer to press your lips against his shaft, leaving a few soft kisses behind. Johnny’s mouth parts when your mouth touches him.

Johnny gently holds the back of your head as you leave small licks over his shaft, tasting the salty skin on your tongue. He lets out a shaky breath as he watches you, his other hand brushing the side of your face.

“Just like that…” he murmurs, his voice heavy with lust as you circle your tongue around the thick, darkened tip, catching drops of his precum. He never takes his eyes off you, and this makes you feel a little exposed, but you continue with your actions. When you suck Johnny’s tip past your lips, his thighs tense under you, the thick muscle reacting beautifully to your actions on his body.

More precum drips from him, and you find the taste strangely pleasing. It makes you want more of him, of whatever he has to offer you. You wrap your hand around his shaft, though it doesn’t fit entirely around, and begin stroking him in a way you hope feels good.

Johnny’s hand slips over yours to guide your movements and show you how much pressure to apply, what pace to stroke him at. “Like this, baby…yes, that’s so good…” He showers you with praise as you get the hang of it, and he eventually lets your hand go so you can do it on your own, his own hand drifting back to the bed to grip the comforter.

It’s hard to quantify just how much seeing you like this turns him on, you kneeling between his legs with his cock between your lips while wearing your pretty, angelic outfit. His previous guilt about “corrupting” you descends to the very back of his mind as he savors every moment of your hands on his cock and your tongue circling his slit.

“I’m close,” he whispers. You quicken your movements on him, hollowing your cheeks tighter around his dick, and the moan he gives shoots straight between your legs.

Johnny carefully pulls your head back so you won’t choke before he comes, streams of his seed shooting into your mouth and running down his cock. Your hand still squeezes around him as he comes, and he slowly thrusts into the tight circle of your fist as you milk every drop from him. By the time he’s spent, your mouth and hand and part of the sheets are completely sticky with his release. You imagine it must have been a long time since he’s last had an orgasm.

The vampire watches intently as you swallow his cum, which causes his softening dick to throb in your hand. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, uncaring of the taste of himself in your mouth. His hair tickles your face as he kisses you feverishly, his nose bumping yours and his tongue prodding past your lips.

“Come here, angel.” Johnny pulls your body up onto the bed before you can get yourself up there first. The pet name makes warmth flood through your body, like drinking a hot chocolate at the café, except a thousand times more satisfying. Johnny’s hands are once again caressing your thighs, though this time they slide up underneath your dress and squeeze your hips. “Can I take these pretty panties off you?”

“Please.”

He hooks his fingers into the sides of them and pulls them down your legs and past your ankles. One of his hands goes underneath your dress to feel you soft and wet against his fingers, and you both moan at the same time. He slides his digits through your lips and over your clit, and him leaning forward to bring his mouth to your throat is enough to have you nearly overwhelmed. His fingers tease your entrance but don’t push inside until you nearly have to beg him.

“Please, Johnny…” You push your hips up to get his attention.

“Do you want my fingers?” he asks softly.

“Y-yes…” At your words, he eases the middle one into you, slowly enough to avoid discomfort. It feels strange to have someone else’s fingers inside you. His finger reaches further than yours can, touching you more deeply than you’ve felt before; it makes you gasp a bit too sharply.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, freezing and thinking he might’ve done something wrong.

“N-no, I’m fine. Keep going.”

Johnny’s mouth edges closer to the cleavage of your dress as he starts thrusting his finger into you, warming you up enough to take a second digit. Shakily, you bring your hands up to slide the straps down and make it easier for him, and his breath hitches when you pull the top of your dress down.

His mouth envelopes one of your nipples as he slides the second finger into you. His fingers encounter a part of you that makes you moan unexpectedly and grab onto him, a little surprised at the sudden spike of pleasure.

“You’re so pretty,” he purrs, his lips moving against the curve of your breast as he speaks. “And so responsive.”

As Johnny’s mouth and fingers work you closer to an orgasm, you marvel at how handsome he looks and how good he feels. He opens his eyes to see you staring at him, your pupils wide and mouth desperate, and he separates himself from your chest to kiss you deeply once again.

When you come around his fingers, Johnny whispers more compliments to you about how good you are and how he wants to watch you come undone because of him all the time. When he thinks you might be on the brink of overstimulation, he takes his fingers out of you, slipping them into his mouth to taste you.

“I’ll take this off now. Is that okay?” He whispers this into your ear with his hands on either side of your hips, caressing the fabric of your dress.

“I-it’s okay.”

Johnny slips your dress off, leaving you in nothing but your white sheer stockings. The sight of you sitting there on his bed, breathing heavily from your climax in your pretty thigh-highs, has his cock throbbing and rising to life once again.

“Lay back on the bed.” You do, and he settles himself between your legs like you did for him earlier. When you glance at him, his eyes are heavy and piercing. In this moment, you are acutely reminded of the fact that he is not a human, with how he looks like a beast of prey about to devour a meal. You are too nervous to look back at him for long, so you stare at the ceiling with your legs shaking from anticipation.

Johnny’s mouth on you is almost jarring in how wet it is, and you arch up into him in surprise and a rush of pleasure. He gently presses your legs back onto the bed and continues licking into you, parting your lower lips with his tongue and making your thighs tremble under his grasp.

If you had to describe it in words, you probably wouldn’t be able to. He kisses your pussy the same way he kisses you on the mouth, passionately and with more than enough tongue to satisfy. Johnny slips his fingers into you again as he curls his lips around your clit, and you moan unabashedly.

You’re quickly spiraling towards another orgasm, maybe quicker than you expected; but it makes sense with you still being so raw from the climax you just had. You gain enough courage to give another glance down at Johnny, and you see the way his other arm moves back and forth from beneath the bed, stroking himself while he eats you out. Something about that pushes you over the edge, and you cry out as you come on his tongue.

As Johnny gives you time to calm down again, he stands and finally pulls his clothes off, baring his body to you. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen a man so beautiful.

He goes to get a condom, and your words stumble from your lips before you can psych yourself out of saying them. “I-I’m on birth control.” Johnny looks back at you, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite read. He comes closer to you, holding himself above you on the bed so his face is hovering just above yours.

“You want to feel me raw?” he whispers.

You nod under his burning stare, feeling like you’re on a high you won’t be able to get off of. “I need you, Johnny.”

Johnny climbs fully onto the bed then and positions himself between your legs. His cock is thick and heavy between his thighs as it bumps against your inner thigh and leaves a smear of precum behind. After putting some lube in his hand, he slicks himself with the sticky substance, preparing himself to fuck you open. Something deep in your abdomen shudders, and your walls clench around nothing as you watch him stroke his shaft, the squelching, wet sound of his hand on his dick loud in the quiet room.

When he’s done, he grabs your thighs and pulls you a little closer to him. “If it hurts, tell me, okay?”

“O-okay.”

The slick tip prodding at your hole makes you want more, though you are a bit afraid of how this is going to feel. When it finally pushes inside of you, you gasp. Johnny watches your face for signs of pain as he slides forward further.

With two previous orgasms and the lube to help, his cock stretches you open with some discomfort, but not the kind of sharp pain you expected. Your nails leave little half-moon shapes on Johnny’s biceps as you squeeze his arms and try to keep your lower half relaxed, wanting to take all of him in—or as much as you can manage, anyway. You try to keep your breathing even as he pushes into you slowly.

Your eyebrows crease and your mouth tightens when he slides deeper still, and he pauses. “Johnny…” You worry your lip with your teeth, feeling like you’ve been stuffed to the brim—and he’s not even all the way in yet.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you beg, maintaining your grip on his arms. “Just…try moving.”

Johnny pulls out and slowly thrusts back in again, angling his dick to find that sensitive spot within you. Your mouth falls open silently when he does; this feels much, much different from his fingers. This is better.

Johnny repeats the movement, being mindful not to push himself too deep—only enough for you to handle. Beneath him, your body begins unwinding at the pleasure he’s delivering to you, and your eyes flutter closed as the ecstasy takes over your mind. One of his hands goes to tease your clit as he settles into a good rhythm, and you cry out at the extra dose of pleasure.

“You’re taking me so well,” Johnny mumbles as he sits back and watches himself slide into you, both of your lower halves slick from lube and your own wetness. “So warm and wet, angel…” You can tell he’s using a lot of his energy to keep his pace controlled and gentle enough for you to actually enjoy. The idea of being fucked harder makes you ache deep inside, but you figure it’s best to save that for when you’re more used to this. You already know it’ll be difficult to walk in the morning after this.

Johnny leans forward to kiss your lips, changing the angle again and circling his pelvis into you, and a choked gasp escapes your mouth at the slow wind of his hips.

Johnny lavishes your neck and throat with kisses, and though he is a vampire, you aren’t worried about him biting you. His fangs have not made an appearance since all this started, and you doubt if he would ever bring them out in front of you. You don’t know if you should ask about it, either, wondering if it’s too soon after only a month and a half of knowing each other—but maybe you could say the same about him being inside of you right now.

“Johnny…” you whisper into the air, your fingers scrabbling against his sweaty skin. The mounting tension in your abdomen is close to snapping, and you are almost frightened by how intense it already feels. He moves his face from your neck to be face-to-face with you again and plants a heavy, dizzying kiss on your lips.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve got you, Y/N.”

Falling apart in Johnny’s arms feels like a form of Heaven that’s meant to be kept hidden, because you might become addicted to it otherwise. Your inner muscles squeeze around his dick as you come. His name flows from your lips in a high song. You can’t imagine any physical sensation that could be better than this, his hips rocking into you as you tighten and cream around him, and you know innately that Johnny has ruined all chances of you ever feeling this fulfilled with anyone but him.

The constant pulse of your walls against his dick is too much to withstand for long, and Johnny’s muscles pull taut with pleasure when he comes, groaning into your neck and spilling overflowing streams of thick cum into you. His hips falter in their former rhythm, and he resists the urge to push himself as deep as he can into you.

When he pulls out, you whine from the discomfort of it, but also because you wish he could stay in you forever. You know you’ll be sore when you wake up—and you can already feel the very beginnings of exhaustion and ache settling in your body—but you’d do it a hundred times over without changing a thing.

—

Johnny curls himself around you after he’s cleaned the both of you up, as if he means to shield you from the world. You’re quiet for a while as you listen to his slow-beating heart and feel his cool skin against yours.

You look up at his face, which is hard to see distinctly in the dark of the room. With the lamp turned out, the only source of light comes from the moon now, but you can decipher enough to make out the shape of his lips and his glittering eyes. You know he can see much better than you in this light, and he takes his time tracing his fingers across your face and cheek, studying your features.

“Would you ever…make me a vampire?”

His body tenses at your question. “Don’t say anything ridiculous. You still have a whole life ahead of you to live. What I have here...this is no existence.” He’s not mad, at least not at you, but his voice hardens at the very idea of it.

“But what if I wanted to live it with you?”

Johnny takes a breath, but he doesn’t say anything to that. He just continues stroking your face and looks at you for a long time, like he’s searching for something. You don’t know if you truly expected an answer from him, or how you would feel if he did give one.

Eventually, your eyes begin to fall low, and sleep overcomes you. The last thing you register is Johnny’s chilly hand touching your cheek. When he notices you’ve drifted off, he pulls the covers tighter around you both. Then he presses you to his chest as he tunes out the sound of cars rumbling on the streets below in exchange for the beating of your heart—still alive, so red with blood.