#just waxing poetic about vampire man

[bg-brainrot]

I think one of my favorite things about Astarion is that he's so canonically pansexual.

Like, it's true that all of the companion characters can romance any Tav, but there's something about the way that he overtly hits on all of the other companions, that he doesn't care about your appearance if you go half-squid, that it seems like he would really like you, no matter who you are or what you look like, simply because you are you.

I think that's why I like to focus on gender-neutral Tavs when I write, why I think he's more of a hip/butt aficionado-- that way anyone can feel the Astarion love.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I love how no matter or who or what kind of human, elf, dragonborn, etc you're shipping him with, it all feels right for him. It means I can connect with every piece of fanart, fanfic, headcannon, regardless of who his partner is. It's like, oddly heartwarming. <3

[avelera]

Was thinking about how Hob and Dream could both be insufferable in some way because, in fairness, Hob comes across as someone who could make friends with bread if left in a room with it long enough.

Then I had a thought:

What if Hob Gadling is just super fucking insufferable to other immortals?

See, Dream is... difficult for mortals to get because he's got his whole eldritch thing going on. But while he's not particularly popular with them, I imagine other immortals at least get and respect his whole deal. Like, he's the Dreamlord. Of course he's weird. But they understand the laws and principles he's referring to at least when he's being weird. He seems to at least have a pleasant relationship with the Faerie Court. It's mortals who can't really connect with Dream and find him exasperating as a result.

Whereas Hob gets along great with mortals, just swell. He's Just A Guy who happens to live forever and people get along with him. But immortals? We don't really see it much but immortals positively loathe this guy.

Dream's reaction to the whole, "I've made up my mind, I've decided not to die!"? Hob tossed out in 1389? That's the teeth-grinding level of irritation Hob engenders in every immortal he comes across (before they have centuries to get to know him) and it is exactly why Death just had to make this man immortal because it would be hilarious.

Why doesn't Hob hang out with other immortals besides Dream? Because the minute he opens his mouth about how great life is and how he's never had even a moment's doubt about how much he wants to live, every immortal in the room starts to make the gagging motion.

You're an immortal just trying to have a bit of a kvetch about Kids These Days and how much times have changed and how it was better in your day, and there's Hob fucking Gadling again ready to throw down about how amazing antibiotics and automobiles and the latest iPhone number whatever are and like, sure, but you were just trying to say back in your day things were better, right? Not objectively maybe but you're just trying to indulge in a bit of immortal nostalgia and Hob fucking Gadling is not having any of it and is ready to argue you into the dirt about it.

You're immortal but haven't quite kept up on today's slang? Hob Gadling will absolutely call you out and he's a teacher now so he's going to be super nice about it but you know he's judging you for saying groovy unironically and thinks you should get with the times already.

You're a vampire living off centuries of generational wealth? Hob keeps talking about how you should get a job and get out of the spooky mansion more, and maybe you wouldn't feel so much existential angst. You like your existential angst!

Hob doesn't have a single ounce of patience for immortals who want to wax poetic about wishing they were mortal again. Diseases, he says, have you ever had diseases? Like even a cold? It sucks. It really fucking sucks. The Plague? The fucking worst. You don't need to be mortal to get involved in mortal life, Hob fucking Gadling keeps pointing out at the monthly eldritch coffee meetups. You can just live as a mortal and share in their problems and enjoy the fact you don't have to deal with the shit parts like getting sick. Completely missing the point of the futile lamentation of regretting one's lost mortality is something you enjoy.

Hob harshes the vibe of every single immortal out there. They are so goddamn sick of him. There's a reason he has no apparent immortal friends or connections to the supernatural world despite (in the comics) seeming to have met other immortals and having the occasional supernatural encounter that he immediately brushes off as dull when compared to what the normal, every day world has to offer.

No other immortal can fucking figure out what Dream of the Endless sees in this guy, and how he can stand to talk to him even once a century without storming off (which, in fairness, Dream has done on 2/7 occasions). Dream, not otherwise known for his patience, is seen as a saint in the eldritch community for even spending as much time as he has over the course of 600+ years with Hob fucking Gadling.

[woaza]

Dali Delico x (Fem) Vamp!Reader head cannons

Warnings : Mentions of drinking Blood, minor death mentioned, Nsfw subjects.

Contains : 19th century courting rules, Mostly SFW with NSFW divided.

Word count : 700 words

A/N: Why are head cannons actually kind of difficult to write?

(SFW)

— Dali had seen you briefly, much of your Family was high in Vampire society. Most men knew better and keep their distance. You aren’t to talk to ladies without being introduced first. Delico had to ask Dino for a formal introduction, and once he had received the introduction and returned home that evening he was quick to write a letter of proposal.

— Much to your surprise when a couple days later your mother informs you of the news. It takes a moment to recall the man. But despite your family’s power, a proposal from a member of the Delico family was irrefutable. Much to Delico’s delight.

— Dali simply cannot wait throughout the entire courting process. The pure agony he felt as you two had to be chaperoned. Dali was a gentle man through and through, he wanted to be romantic making sure he gives you the proper courtship you deserve.

— In the early stages of Courtship you and Dali would meet in the front parlor of your estate. With a chaperone of course, there was a couple activity’s that were appropriate for a couple in the earlier stages such as you two. Which included singing, talking, piano playing, and parlor games. His personal favorite was Parlor games.

— He loved to watch you grow quite as you think your next move when the two of you played cards.

— Writing you letters is a must for him. He writes you very poetic and meaningful letters. Telling you about some of his worries but mostly of his excitement for the future when you are his wife. He also mentions his children. Reassuring you of how well behaved they are.

— Once you two are officially wed he never gets over hearing people call you ‘Lady Delico’. It always makes a small smile cross his face.

— Considers himself lucky and you an actual lover. Not many people were as fortunate as he was. You two genuinely enjoyed spending time together and loving each other. Which was a luxury not many betrothed got to have. Even as grim as it was his late wife was more of a political marriage, who he had grown to love of course. He grieved deeply for the mother of his children but the feeling you give him is much more of actual love.

— When it comes to the two of you feeding, unless you prefer to blood drink straight from the body he will happily bottle it for you. He’ll even put a wax seal on it. “Wouldn’t want to get any stains on your new dress I bought you, would we now?”

— If you are willing to he’d love to teach you how to spar. Or at least be comfortable around a sword. Despite it being ‘un-lady’ like your protection is the must utmost importance to him.

— If you are affectionate to his children he falls in love with you all again. He often thinks of what it would be like if you had him had a Child together.

(NSFW)

— Dali is a unorthodox man to say the least. From taking care of his children to how he treats his occupation and Satus. Same goes for his views on Romance and sexuality.

— If you were raised the traditional way and followed what was acceptable at the time, sex was viewed as a duty. At least for people of Delico’s status. But he doesn’t confirm to any of those rules why these ones?

— He only will make any initiative when you two are alone in a private space where he knows you both won’t be interrupted. But beyond that I think he’s open to suggestions, as long as it’s private.

— It feels so scandalous when you even suggest a different position. Let alone if you ask or suggest somewhere other than the bed. He loves your boldness and if you just ask and it is within reason he won’t deny you.

— Personally his favorites are when he can see your face. Truly what gives him the most pleasure is seeing you enjoy the intimate moment. Watching as your face contorts with a pleased expression. It makes him feel as if he’s going a good job.

(I wish this fandom was more alive, it’s such a cool concept and I just known some of the fics would hit so hard. We just gyat to get more people into Delico’s nursery.)

[livefromcastledracula]

Dracula & Carmilla again...

Another thing both of these have in common: vampires really love their gaslighting. Like, aside from drinking blood and waxing poetical, that's their thing.

Count "my dear friend" Dracula with his "write now to your firm and loved ones and tell them you want to stay for a month" and his "foul bauble of man's vanity" and his "write these post-dated letters that would allow me to cover for your murder please" and his "oh you want to leave? welcome the coming, speed the parting guest! oh hark, wolves!" is the king. But I present for your consideration one Mircalla Karnstein, she of the "Oh how delightful I ALSO had a dream JUST like yours!" and the "I lock my room because of assassins totally assassins" and the "Oh a magical charm against VAMPIRES? I'll buy one!" and the "oh Laura you're probably sick because you didn't wear your charm here have mine it'll help you" and the kicker of the "oh it's nothing supernatural it's probably soaked in medicinal herbs to keep away malaria" I SEE YOU, ACTUAL LITERAL VAMPIRE. and the best part is the ambiguity of literally everything she says and does. She really COULD have lingering trauma about being murdered since she was killed at the ball in 1698, she really MIGHT have some kind of lifelong dream connection to Laura, she really MIGHT have intended to leave their household before Laura got sick (was she having second thoughts about what she was about to do? Or just manipulating Laura's father into insisting she stay? But then why do that at all?) And most of all she might really care for Laura in her messed up vampire way. Or she might be just a soulless predator playing mind games out of spite, boredom, or compulsion. Le Fanu has no interest in telling you, despite how the book ends.

[avocado-writing]

Ohhhh my lord I would DIE for some sort of AU where Astarion had a lover/partner before he was turned by Cazador???

And maybe he finds you visiting his grave after being freed from the tadpole or something and mentally debating whether to go to you or stay hidden bc he’s insecure about being a vampire?

Idk I’ve just been thinking about this randomly and the angst would be so goooood

Love Love Love your work Avo 💚💚💚

notes: sorry for this I swear I’ll write something happy next.

pairing: astarion x reader.

warnings: hurt, no comfort

rating: T

He dies and leaves you broken.

At least, you think he does. There is no way for him to come to you through those first few years, when Cazador keeps him imprisoned alone and half-crazed with starvation, sucking the innards out of rats until their desiccated husks are his only company. Eventually he manages to endear himself to his master enough that he is allowed out of the palace, though that is only to bring food back in the form of the unsuspecting nobles of Baldur’s Gate.

It is a miserable existence. He hates his body, hates himself, and as Cazador forces him to seduce people back, using his own beauty as bait, the soft nights he spent with you are all that keeps him sane.

Your memory is a light in the darkness of his new life.

On the fifth anniversary of his death, the first chance he has since he was turned, he cannot help but go and visit his grave. Call him maudlin, but he wonders if it has yet fallen into disrepair. As a magistrate he was hardly the most popular man in the city, and now everyone thinks he’s long gone…

He does not find it empty. He finds a sobbing figure next to the headstone.

You are just as lovely as he remembers, though your face is stained with tears. You grieve as if he died yesterday and not several years past. Your fingers carefully caress the engraving of his name, the way you used to trace them over his cheekbones, his lips.

It is a punch to the gut.

“Why did you have to leave me…” you choke, gripping the grass so hard you tear it from the ground.

He wants to hold you in his arms. To tell you that he is here, that death didn’t take him. He wants to remember what it feels like to touch you, really touch you, not just live by an echo of it in his memory. 

But he can’t, because he is a monster. A creature which belongs to the night. You would not want him now, would you? You’re a thing of beating blood and soft flesh and breathed air and life. He simply cannot anchor you to this thing which he has become and drag you down too.

That would just kill him all over again.

Wordlessly, he leaves you to mourn.

He comes back every year, to that little corner of the graveyard. You still cry but as time moves on, it is less, and eventually you make it through a whole visit without shedding a tear. You wax poetic about your favourite memories of him: quiet meals spent together, days when you never left bed, private in-jokes he thinks you would have forgotten by now. He listens to you talk from the shadows. 

It is the one thing he has to look forward to all year.

Then you start bringing company.

Your partner holds your hand tightly, and Astarion seethes from the darkness as you tell them about all him, about the pale elf you used to love. They listen as you fondly recount stories of your time together, and Astarion is torn: you no longer sound hurt like you once did, like the grief is a constant companion as you stumble on through life; but he is bitter. You were his. And now your hand easily links through the fingers of another.

He considers attacking you both. Biting you, trying to turn you. Killing your new paramour and having their bastard blood quench his unholy thirst.

But then you laugh, really laugh, tipping your head back in mirth at something they said, and leaning up against them. The way you used to with him.

How can a dead heart break?

He leaves.

The next year, when the two of you visit, you have matching rings on your fingers.

The year after that, you do not come to his grave at all. He wonders if you have finally forgotten about him. He tries to swallow this fact and move on, but what does he have to move on to? More misery. More loneliness. More Cazador.

The year after he finds you there, once again, and he feels the first twinge of joy in gods know how long –

“We had a baby, Astarion,” you say to the cold stone in front of you, carefully clearing off the moss which has attempted to take it over. “A little boy. He’s so precious… I know you never really liked children, but I hope you’d be pleased for me. I miss you, my darling, but I’m finally happy.”

He never visits his grave again.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate@dhampling

[theharrowing]

Fledgling

Jungkook is tired of his dreary existence. So when a mysterious stranger offers him a way out of life as he knows it, he takes it without hesitation.

🩸 Human (to Vampire) Jungkook x Vampire Namjoon

🩸 word count: 12.3k

🩸 dead dove, strangers to lovers, vampire au, horror, blood & gore, major character death (kind of; to become a vampire), smut, light angst, possessive fluff, 21+

🩸 warnings: dead dove 🕊 do not eat! top Namjoon bottom Jungkook; a vampiric game of cat and mouse; this is a bloody fucking mess; Jungkook has a death wish and makes unwise choices; talk of sex work and using men for a place to sleep; Calvin Klein babygirl Jungkook; lavender Namjoon; talk of robbing men jk sleeps with; talk of a car crash and the sight of the aftermath of a crash; use of the word whore; vampire compulsion/charming; lots of pet names and terms of threatening endearment; possessiveness; classist language jk says toward himself (which does not reflect my real opinions at all); fear kink; nj drinking JK’s blood; jk literally bleeds to death (hi hello this is a vampire fic lol); smut (temperature play kind of; does this count as blood play???; blow job; anal fingering; anal sex; dying while being fucked and having a lovely time; semi-public sex beside corpses); a lot of blood drinking; having a captive person whose blood is drained; jk loses his autonomy completely.

🩸 note: in this fic, we observe a world where Jungkook has heard of zombies but not vampires, okay. suspend your disbelief just once, my loves!!! this one is quite dark but not terribly graphic, all things considered. there is plenty of blood & gore tho!!! i did not get a chance to proofread as much as i usually do, so if you notice any errors, feel free to let me know!

🩸 happy halloween to my lovely @sweetestofchaos! 🧛🏻 👻 🎃 🍂 i hope you enjoy this!!! i only meant for this to be a short, sweet oneshot and it completely took on a life of its own.

🩸 written for the bts fantasy & fangs trick or treat event! check out more hauntingly good works!

🩸 beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🩸 posted oct. 2023 | read on ao3

The moment the older man walks into the bar, Jeongguk takes in a deep, fortifying breath and instinctively holds it. Something about the way this man carries himself – tall, broad, and strong, with an aura of danger surrounding him – makes Jeongguk weak in the knees, and he grips onto the poles of the tiny caged-in stage and swishes his hip as he gets low into a squatting position. 

Being a go-go dancer at a bar this seedy tends to attract the attention of the wrong type of men – men with families waiting for them; men with enough power and influence to make them greedy and mean; men who know damn well that a pretty little thing like Jeongguk disappearing from a shithole like this would not raise many alarms. 

Jeongguk gets a thrill from being spoiled by rich married men; he dares one of them to swoop in and make him disappear – even if it means death. Anything would be better than this life, he thinks. 

Unfortunately for him, the wealthy men who gravitate toward him are all talk – anything for an easy fuck. They promise Jeongguk the world, telling him how badly they want to get him out of his current rundown apartment and wax poetic about a better life – modeling contracts or sugar baby arrangements. 

Oh, how they moan and groan and lament over how stunning Jeongguk is – talented, and thoughtful, and pretty. And then they fuck him and leave him, never calling back, moving along to the next sad little poor thing to utter empty platitudes to while balls deep inside them. 

Jeongguk can already tell that this man is different. This man is dangerous beyond just money and an appetite for young meat. This man could make Jeongguk disappear in the blink of an eye. 

The man who approaches the bar is gorgeous, dressed head to toe in black – a fitted jacket over a button-up, tucked into fitted slacks. His slightly grown-out hair is lightened to a soft lavender-blond and pushed off his forehead, his eyes are razor-sharp, and his pillow-plush lips are pulled into a smirk. As he walks, men straighten out and step to the side, quick to get out of his way.

Jeongguk watches as the man approaches the bar and leans with one elbow against the wood, ordering a drink and letting his gaze drift around the smoke-filled space. And when the man's eyes land on Jeongguk, he feels his pulse quicken. 

Something dark and indiscernible flashes in the man's gaze and Jeongguk feels a pull, leaning forward, bare chest touching the cold metal bars that his hands loosely hold onto. His blood shimmers and soars through his veins, and he swoons to the cold touch of steel. 

All sound around him – music and voices – seem to slow and morph, as if he is sinking deep underwater. The man's smirk grows to a salacious grin, and then he turns his gaze away from Jeongguk, who crashes back to reality as he heavy-blinks his surroundings into place.

Slowly, Jeongguk swishes his hips up to a standing position, finding he has to grip a little harder onto the poles, which are slick from sweat that has pooled beneath his palms. The man does not look back at Jeongguk, talking instead to another patron with his back facing this way, leaving him feeling empty and disappointed. 

In an attempt to save face, Jeongguk dances for two more songs, eyes never straying from the back of the man, and then picks his black denim jacket up off the floor and exits the cage, hours too soon. 

"Need a bathroom break," he mutters to his manager Sunmi, who stands with her arms folded over her chest, scowling at him. 

"Make it quick," she snaps, to which he simply grunts, in return.

Jeongguk has half a mind to walk out the back door and go home. He cannot explain why, but he experiences such a pull to the lavender-haired man that having him turn away and not regard him leaves him feeling so disappointed and frustrated that he would rather call it a night than continue to work.

Of the dancers, Jeongguk is easily the most attractive, and he garners the most attention, meaning the managers are on his ass the most, and would definitely berate him for leaving. Luckily, he has no working cell phone at the moment, which could make leaving a lot less annoying.

The bathroom is a dimly lit shithole with yellowed walls and chipped tiles that may have once been white, years and years ago. It reeks of piss and urinal detergent blocks, and every surface is inexplicably wet. Jeongguk scrunches his nose uncomfortably, never able to get used to the stench, as he approaches the sink and stands before it, not quite sure what to do with himself. 

Staring at his reflection, Jeongguk begins to give himself a silent pep talk. The way he looks now – bangs hanging in his eyes, which are smudged black like coal – he is far too fucking hot to let some asshole ruin his night. 

Tonight, his hair is down – falling nearly to his shoulders in pretty dark brown waves. He wears a thin black tie under his black denim jacket, and black loose-fitting denim pants – no shirt. Dressed like this, men never turn their attention away from him once he has it, so what was that guy's fucking problem?

Jeongguk runs the sink and splashes some cold water on his face, letting it drip down his chest. He uses a paper towel to blot at his forehead and cheeks but allows the droplets on his pecs and abs to linger and glisten. 

Maybe, he thinks, maybe he can score the hot lavender-haired man. At the very least, he anticipates someone will take him home tonight. Someone always does. 

As he exits the bathroom, the first thing Jeongguk notices is that the man is no longer at the bar. Briefly, he scans the space, looking for him, then he clears his throat, lifts his head high, and walks back to the cage. The moment he steps in, some older man in a suit walks up and grips onto the bars in front of him, like clockwork. 

"Hey, pretty thing," the man snarls, reeking of cigars and gin. What he lacks in looks, he makes up for in confidence, and hopefully money. 

"Hey there, handsome," Jeongguk responds sweetly, squatting low enough to be just under eye-level with the man, which only seems to excite him more. 

"What time you off work?"

It's always the same with these men, and Jeongguk heavy-blinks once, schooling his plastered smile so as to not grimace. 

"I finish when the bar shuts down."

The man is antsy, shifting left to right, gripping onto the bars. Jeongguk can tell that he is considering all the ways in which his money has allowed him to skirt past rules and authority; he can tell the man is going to try to insist that Jeongguk, too, is above his own responsibilities if the man can flash enough notes. 

"What do you say we get out of here now, instead?" the man tries, causing Jeongguk's right eye to twitch. "I'm sure your boss can be bought, eh? There's two more dancers here; what's the harm in letting one go?"

With a sweet smile and a shrug, Jeongguk looks over his shoulder demurely. "Boss is back there. The woman standing by the wall – the one who's frowning. If you can convince her to let me go, I'm all yours, big boy."

Fat chance in hell Sunmi noona would allow Jeongguk to leave even a minute before close, but he likes letting these men try their best shot. If anything, being told no only makes them more desperate to have him and they wind up spending a pretty penny on getting him drunk enough to fuck them later. 

The man hobbles away, and a curious tingle travels up Jeongguk's neck, filling him with the sudden urge to glance around, certain that someone must be watching him. But as he makes a little spin in his cage, eyes tracing over every patron at the bar, peering over every shadow, he doesn't notice anyone paying him special attention. In fact, the only person he makes eye contact with is Sunmi noona, who is glaring at him while the man before her attempts to barter for his freedom. 

Things go just as Jeongguk anticipates, to such an exact formula that he would find it amusing if it were not so fucking tedious. The man is ultimately turned down, then he proceeds to sulk at the bar, only ever leaving his post to bring Jeongguk a new drink or go take a piss. This goes on for an hour and a half, and then the man announces that he is going to use the restroom once more, and for Jeongguk to stay put and don't go too far.

Jeongguk leaves the cage and approaches the bar, feeling tipsy and tired as he leans against the far end and waits for the man to return from the restroom. He oscillates between feeling impatient and wishing the man would not return, saving him from having to suck his drunk, flaccid cock in a desperate attempt to get him hard. He just knows this man is going to have to contend with all the alcohol he has been drinking, and that Jeongguk will be the one paying the price. 

Although the man is not Jeongguk's type at all – nothing like the Adonis of a man who walked in hours earlier – Jeongguk supposes he is just happy to have somewhere warm to stay for the night. Never mind how undoubtedly bad the sex is going to be. If he is lucky, Jeongguk may even find an opportunity to rob him. Nothing too wild, just a few notes from the man's wallet and some cufflinks or a watch that he likely wouldn't even miss. 

Once more, a tingle works its way from Jeongguk's spine to the nape of his neck, and he shivers, glancing over his right shoulder and then his left, puzzled by the strange sensation. 

"Ready to go?" the man asks from Jeongguk's right, taking him by surprise and making him flinch. 

Jeongguk sighs out an embarrassed exhale and scoffs to himself. "Sure. Let's go."

"I have a room nearby," the man says. "Five star."

Of course, he has a room nearby, Jeongguk thinks. Men like him always have wives; they never take Jeongguk home with them.

Jeongguk still only wears a black denim jacket, a black tie, and no shirt underneath, and the moment he gets outside, he shivers, tensing his shoulders up to his ears and exhaling visible puffs of air in the cool autumn breeze. Being that it is bar time, the sidewalks are crowded with drunk people stumbling to and fro, and Jeongguk digs his hands deep into his jacket pockets as his shoulders and elbows are slammed into. 

The man leads Jeongguk to the end of the block and to the left, around the corner, where the street is somewhat quieter. Just up ahead, a black sports car beeps, flashing its lights. With a crooked smile, the man gestures, keys in hand, to the car and says, "This is me."

Jeongguk halts, kicking the cement with the toe of his boot in an attempt to assess the situation. Ordinarily, men who bring him back to hotels do so in a taxi or with a personal driver.

"Yeah, I'm not getting into that car with you," Jeongguk says slowly, taking a tentative step back. "You've had a lot to drink."

Despite having a bit of a death wish, being smashed in a head-on collision is not his ideal way to go. 

The man laughs, or maybe he hiccups – it's hard to say. "Come on, don't be a prude," he slurs. "Get in the car."

With a sigh, Jeongguk takes another step back, pulling his hands from his pockets. He hates it when drunk men get pushy, and he begins to crack his knuckles with his thumbs – a nervous tic. 

"Sorry, man," Jeongguk insists, continuing to slowly back away. "I'm not getting into your car."

The man looks incensed, and he turns around in a quick swaying stumble, barreling five or so steps to reach Jeongguk, who holds his hands out in front of him, palms up, as if in surrender. 

"Hey, man," Jeongguk begins, "Look, I'm not trying t—"

The man lunges, grabbing one of Jeongguk's wrists, yanking hard enough to make Jeongguk stumble. "I'm not trying to fucking argue. You and I both know I can pay you more money to keep me company than you're worth at that shithole. So why don't you be a good little whore and get in the fucking car!"

Jeongguk attempts to rip his arm away, but the man is surprisingly strong, and he yanks him enough to make Jeongguk stumble once more, causing anger and fear to spike in him. And then the tingle works its way through Jeongguk once more, much stronger than before, and he sways forward and back, blinking heavily as if trapped in a mental fog. 

Slow footsteps click-clack against concrete behind Jeongguk, and without looking he knows the handsome man from the bar is standing behind him – he has no idea how or why, but he can sense him.

"Gentlemen," the man says, voice deep and rich, raising Jeongguk's goosebumps even higher. "I trust that this is not a physical altercation that I am walking in on."

The drunk man stands tall, yanking on Jeongguk's wrist again. Feeling intoxicated by the man's presence behind him has Jeongguk's arm relaxed, and he stumbles into the drunk man, causing him to huff angrily and continue to yank Jeongguk toward the car.

"He told you he isn't interested in going with you," the man behind him says, and Jeongguk gasps, curious how much of the conversation he could have overheard. 

The drunk man squeezes Jeongguk's wrist before throwing it down and pointing at the man, shouting, "And just who the fuck do you think you are?"

In a blink, the new man is standing right beside Jeongguk, cloying his senses with a rich, heady scent of wildflowers and musk. The drunk man gasps and stumbles a step backward, mouth moving frantically as he quakes with fear, and the man by Jeongguk's side slowly lifts his hand, gripping the drunk man's throat. 

"I," the man says slowly, "am your worst…fucking…nightmare."

Silence hangs and then the drunk man begins to laugh, snot and drool flying from his lips. He grips onto the hand around his throat and shoves it down, then he shakes his head, face turning a gruesome shade of red under the golden streetlights. 

"You almost had me," the drunk man says, slapping his hand against his thigh. "That was a good one."

Jeongguk finally turns his head to face the lavender-haired man. The man only stands slightly taller than him, but his presence feels enormous. The man smiles, which creates a pretty little dimple in his cheek, and he dryly chuckles along. 

"That was pretty funny, wasn't it?" the man beside Jeongguk asks. 

The drunk man nods and continues to laugh, looking between Jeongguk and the lavender-haired man. 

"Get in your car," the man beside Jeongguk commands firmly. 

Suddenly, the man stops laughing, and his eyes lose their shine. As if being piloted by some invisible force, he turns and begins walking toward his car. 

"Wait," Jeongguk mutters, looking between the men as the drunk man rounds the hood of his car and opens the driver's side door. "What is he—"

"Drive out to the countryside at top speed and crash into the first semi truck you see," the man beside Jeongguk commands, and Jeongguk watches with confused horror as the drunk man utters something to himself and closes his door. 

Instinctively, Jeongguk jolts forward, eager to stop the drunk man from driving in the state he is in. But the man beside him very quietly, almost seductively says, "Oh, baby, you aren't going anywhere," and Jeongguk's entire body freezes. 

It is almost as if Jeongguk's skin, down to the marrow in his bones, shimmers and heats up, heavy and dreamy as if every nerve – every blood vessel – is listening to the man beside him and wants to do exactly as he says.

"What are you doing, leaving with a man like him, anyway, hmm?" the man asks. 

Jeongguk, finding he is incapable of speaking anything but the absolute truth mutters, "I need the money, and you weren't there."

"You were hoping for me?" The man asks, lifting a dark eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"You're handsome…and you appear dangerous. I wanted to know what it was like to get lost in a man like you."

"Awe," the man groans as he leans close, right beside Jeongguk's ear, voice deep and dangerous, "little ol' me?"

"Yes," Jeongguk mutters, feeling any miniscule sense of control quickly leaving him as the man says, "Then come with me." 

The man turns and begins to walk the way he came, and Jeongguk feels his limbs twist and buckle as if led by invisible strings. He stumbles as he attempts to keep up, unable to move his lips to speak or to pull his gaze away from the back of the man. 

Lavender hair, broad shoulders, and an expensive suit – nothing else in the world exists. That is, until the man turns onto the still crowded street, and Jeongguk follows along so obediently that he causes pedestrians to trip over him. 

Drunk people stumble and swear, telling him to watch his step, muttering under their breath about what a fucking degenerate he is. Jeongguk pays no mind – hardly hears them. All he can focus on is the strong man with the floral and musk scent, leading him along. 

For the second time tonight, Jeongguk and a strange man approach an expensive car. Only this time, when the man motions for Jeongguk to get into the passenger seat, he doesn't think twice – couldn't think twice if he wanted to. 

A voice in the back of his head wonders where they are going, what the man could want from him, how he is leading Jeongguk to act against his will. But he cannot form these thoughts into words; he cannot speak. 

The car this man drives is nice – nicer than the generic sports car the other man drove. Far too nice to be flashing it around in a neighborhood like this. If the wrong person catches someone driving around this side of town in something this expensive, it is likely the owner will end up floating face down in the river by dawn. 

Not that a man like this one has any reason to fear others. 

"Close the door" the man commands as soon as Jeongguk slides into the passenger seat, and he does as he is told. Jeongguk can sense the man turning toward him as he asks, "Wanna see where our friend ended up?"

"Yes," Jeongguk mutters against any better judgment he could have. Ordinarily, he would never admit it, but he is curious. 

The man chuckles, presses the ignition button, and speeds off down the road. Jeongguk sits stiff as a board, eyes wide and staring at the cars and buildings passing at speeds that he is terrified to comprehend in the middle of the city. And without a seatbelt, because the mysterious stranger never instructed him to put one on. 

"What is your name, pretty?" the man asks, voice magnanimous but still containing an edge to it.

"Jeongguk," he mutters in response. "Jeon Jeongguk."

"Jeongguk," the man repeats nice and slow. His name sounds like honey dripping from the man's tongue, and Jeongguk wishes he could turn and properly see him. "My name is Namjoon. But you can call me sir."

"Yes, sir," Jeongguk responds without thinking. 

Namjoon chuckles deeply, leaving the slums for the wealthy outskirts before veering off into the countryside. At the speed which Namjoon is driving, the outside may as well be a black abyss, shrouded in shadow. Headlights and taillights streak by as Namjoon weaves through lanes. And then, up ahead, Jeongguk sees it. 

The bright glow of a large headlight shines up ahead, and as they approach, Jeongguk realizes the other headlight is obstructed by what hardly looks like a black car. The front of it is smashed almost like an accordion, surrounded in exploded glass. 

“It’s safe to say he won’t be bothering you anymore,” Namjoon announces with a smile in his voice. 

“Why did you do this?” Jeongguk mutters, unable to tear his eyes away from the crash. 

“Look at me,” Namjoon commands, and Jeongguk’s head snaps to the left before he is able to think. 

Namjoon is devilishly handsome – eyes sharp, dark almonds and heavy-lidded, with pillow lips pulled into a smirk. "I didn't like the way he touched you," he explains, lifting a hand to delicately caress Jeongguk's cheek. The touch is ice cold and electric, making Jeongguk suck in air quickly through his teeth. 

Sirens and lights blare from in front of them and behind, and Namjoon lifts his eyebrow, then says, "Well, this is our cue to go!" while flashing a smile so bright, it gives Jeongguk chills.

Namjoon reverses and then whips around, tires screeching as the car does a 180 and speeds off back toward town. Jeongguk continues to watch Namjoon, eyes stuck on his side profile, in part because he is so beautiful, but also because he has not been given instruction to look elsewhere. 

How Namjoon is able to weave through cop cars, fire trucks, and an ambulance without anyone turning their attention to him is beyond Jeongguk, but he is unable to think too deeply about it, mind too full of fog. Jeongguk expected Namjoon to continue driving deeper into the countryside and take him somewhere terrifyingly secluded, and he is surprised when the city lights return. 

"What is a pretty thing like you doing in a place like that, anyway?" Namjoon asks, breaking a tense silence. 

Jeongguk continues to stare at the side of Namjoon's face, feeling his pulse quicken when the man turns his gaze to him briefly with a hint of a smile. 

"Places like that are where all pretty things like me end up," Jeongguk mutters somewhat methodically. He has more thoughts on the matter, but he finds that all his brain and mouth will offer are exact responses. 

"And why is that?" Namjoon asks as he pulls to a red light and turns his full attention to Jeongguk.

Tears build in the edges of Jeongguk's eyes. He cannot tell whether it is because he has not blinked since he was told to look at Namjoon, or if the man has struck a nerve. He thinks perhaps it is somewhere in the middle. 

"I'm a dropout with no direction," Jeongguk responds quietly, voice cracking around his words. "No rich parents…I don't have anything to offer but my body."

Ordinarily, when Jeongguk bothers to open up to men, they put on a pitying act. They promise Jeongguk this and that while assuring him that he does have purpose – he does have something to offer to the world. Namjoon, on the other hand, perks up. He practically snarls. And when the light turns green, he continues watching Jeongguk for a few more tense seconds. 

"Ah, yes," the man finally says as he returns his gaze to the street and continues driving. "Another pretty face who could disappear and nobody would miss them."

Although Jeongguk feels like Namjoon is mocking him, there is no mockery in his tone. He is so perfectly matter of fact, that Jeongguk is unable to feel angry if he wanted to, because he is a classic case of a nobody, as far as anyone is concerned; Namjoon could murder him tonight and the only person who would notice him missing would be his boss, and even she wouldn't go looking for him. 

"Do you like that job?" Namjoon asks as they begin to wind through darker streets that Jeongguk assumes is a more residential area. 

Jeongguk quietly mutters, "No."

"Are there aspects about it you like at all?"

"I like dancing," Jeongguk responds as tears break and streak down his cheeks. His eyes feel dry and heavy, and he forces himself to partially blink, finding that his eyes will not close entirely. "And I like the attention. Getting spoiled by rich men is fun, but I wish most of them weren't so gross."

Namjoon laughs, turning his attention briefly to Jeongguk. His eyes appear to be dark black pools of nothing, and Jeongguk does not have a mind to question it. 

"Do you think I'm gross?" he asks in a playful tone.

"No," Jeongguk responds instantly. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

"And if I want to spoil you?" Namjoon continues as he seems to pull to the side of the road but keeps his ignition on. He turns to fully face Jeongguk, cocking his head to the side.

"Please," Jeongguk all but whispers, then he clears his throat. "It will hurt like hell when you abandon me, but I'm used to it."

If Jeongguk were not spellbound, he would surely feel embarrassed over his admission. Being this honest with strange men is not his wheelhouse; he has never fully admitted to his feelings with anyone in the past. 

"And if I choose not to abandon you?" Namjoon asks as he scrapes his pearly teeth over his plush bottom lip. Jeongguk's eyes follow the movement; he desperately wants to know how that lip feels between his own teeth. 

"Don't tease me," Jeongguk responds, voice slow and distracted as he continues to stare at Namjoon's mouth. 

Namjoon smiles wide and Jeongguk could swear his incisors were sharper than before. As he runs his tongue along the bottom edge of one pointed tooth, Jeongguk's heart gallops behind his ribs. 

"Not a tease," Namjoon says with a snarl, sharp smile remaining on display. "But it would come with a price."

Jeongguk swallows thickly, gaze stuck on Namjoon's devilishly inviting mouth. "And wh-what is the price?"

Rather than respond, Namjoon shuts off the ignition. "Follow me," he commands as he gets out of the car, and for a split moment, Jeongguk's body pulls toward the driver's seat before correcting and opening the passenger side door. 

Namjoon rounds the hood of the car and approaches a large, angular house set back in tall, spiky trees that appear massive in the pitch dark. Although there are other houses around, there is a feeling of seclusion as Jeongguk follows Namjoon down a short path and up a set of cement steps that lead to the side of the home rather than the front of it. 

"Are you scared?" Namjoon asks over his shoulder.

Shadow closes in the further they walk. Jeongguk wants to say no, and he is disappointed when his mouth utters, "A little."

Namjoon punches a long passcode into a keypad, then pulls the massive wooden door open, holding out his hand as if to invite Jeongguk to enter. Only Jeongguk cannot enter, because his instruction was to follow. 

"If I break the spell will you run?" Namjoon asks with a playful lift of an eyebrow.

"No," Jeongguk answers plainly. Where would he even go?

With a snap of Namjoon's fingers, Jeongguk's shoulders quickly droop and his body adjusts to the natural force of gravity that holds him. He takes in a deep breath, feeling his lungs fill painfully as his dry eyes blink away the last of the tears that had formed. Jeongguk is able to weigh whether or not he wants to enter this man's home, and even though he is certain that Namjoon is not entirely human, he finds he does not care. 

So, with another deep breath, Jeongguk steps forward, into the dark space. He can hardly see what is in front of him, but he takes a few more steps and begins to toe out of his loosely laced boots, shaking his ankles until they hit the floor with a hollow thunk, one after the other, then bending to remove his socks, as well, worried they might stink. 

Namjoon's home seems to come alive as the man walks deeper through the foyer and into a large living room. Sconces light on their own – faint golden glows that illuminate just enough but keep the space somewhat dark. The walls have deep red wallpaper with dark wood wainscoting, and there are large portraits hung throughout the space, all of which look like Namjoon painted during various artistic periods throughout history. 

"This is…" Jeongguk mutters, eyes trailing from a faded image of Namjoon painted somewhat crudely over yellowed parchment to a clearer painting of Namjoon dressed as a nobleman in a style that would be centuries more recent than the last, but centuries older than the one they live in, now.

"Impressive?" Namjoon asks.

Jeongguk shakes his head, stopping in his tracks to look at his host fully. "Weird. This is fucking weird."

Namjoon smiles widely, standing tall before Jeongguk – as beautiful as he is terrifying. Jeongguk wants to lean close and run his hands over the man's chest and push away the lapels of his expensive jacket.

"I suppose it is quite weird," Namjoon responds, gaze becoming somewhat sad. "Seeing all and surpassing everyone I have ever come to know…hiding away as a monster…all of it is, indeed, quite weird."

Although Jeongguk is certain that he has full control of himself, the tingle persists, settling at the base of his spine and spreading a curious, eager warmth throughout. "Make me into a monster like you," he utters without really considering what he asks for. 

Namjoon squints, gaze curious, almost mocking. “Do you know for what you ask, little one?”

And, sure, Jeongguk could wager a guess, but all he responds with in the moment is a petulant utterance of, “I’m basically the same height and build as you.”

With a hum, Namjoon takes a step forward, causing Jeongguk's entire body to react. He feels like cornered prey as his hips twist and he backs into the wall, heel hitting polished wood as a brass sconce scrapes the side of his head. Namjoon truly is only a bit taller but he looms over a cowering Jeongguk as he stands his full height, elongating his spine to look down at him. 

"Yes, you are a sizable match in many ways," Namjoon says softly, raising a hand to gently detangle Jeongguk's hair from the elaborate sconce. "But I have lived lifetimes before finding you. Dynasties have risen, fallen, and faded into obscurity, and I have seen all. I could snuff your life out in the blink of an eye, like a tiny little rodent."

The absurdity in Namjoon's statement makes Jeongguk want to laugh, only he finds all he can do is snicker before something in Namjoon's presence makes his mouth rest. He has already experienced the man's magic…could he be telling the truth?

"Do it," Jeongguk urges, eager to reach out and touch Namjoon but incapable of lifting his arms. 

"You don't know what you're asking for," Namjoon responds lowly, eyes appearing sad despite the edges of his lips rising. 

"Aren't you lonely?" Jeongguk urges. He has no idea whether he and Namjoon would even get along, or whether they could be sexually compatible, but he is desperate for a life outside the one he has known for so long. 

Namjoon smirks and drags his ice cold hands along the curve of Jeongguk's neck, making him shiver. His jacket hangs open, and Namjoon gently pushes the material back, running the backs of his hands down Jeongguk's chest, ribs, abdominals. 

"You're so cold," Jeongguk mutters under his breath, watching as Namjoon's gaze follows his own hands. "Cold as death."

"That is correct, little one," Namjoon says, eyes flicking to his. "My own blood has not flowed through my veins for centuries."

Although Jeongguk struggles to wrap his mind around everything Namjoon says, it feels real…sort of. "Are you a zombie?" he mutters half to himself, not fully intending to say the words aloud. 

Namjoon's eyes crinkle, his cheeks dimple, and he laughs. He laughs loud and boisterous, sounds echoing throughout dark space, and Jeongguk is certain that he has never seen or heard something more beautiful in his life. With a shake of his head, Namjoon continues to laugh, and Jeongguk stands and waits while the smallest smile creeps over his own lips.

"Not a zombie," Namjoon replies, still shaking his head. "But I am technically undead."

In a flash, Namjoon's expression darkens. His eyes go almost pitch black, and his incisors sharpen before Jeongguk's eyes, confirming that what he saw earlier was not a mistake. The familiar tingle works its way up Jeongguk's spine, only this time, it triggers his fight or flight response. All he can do is freeze.

"Namjoon," Jeongguk mutters as he presses further into the wall, hands shakily grazing over the ridges of wooden panels.

"You seem so eager to know what kind of monster I am," Namjoon responds, leaning close and wafting cold breath that reeks of decaying flowers over Jeongguk's face. "Shall I show you?"

"I—" Jeongguk croaks, voice becoming lost in his throat. 

The tips of Namjoon's frigid fingers begin to dig into the skin of Jeongguk's tummy, just above his waistline, by his left hip. He doesn't remember Namjoon having long or sharp nails, but he swears he can feel his skin begin to puncture – he finds he is too afraid to look. 

"You…what?" Namjoon prompts, dark eyes pooling with black abyss. "Too frightened to speak?"

Jeongguk's lips tremble, creaking broken sounds that find no resolve. He is absolutely horrified, and more curious than he has ever felt about anything before. 

Namjoon lifts a hand, proving that what Jeongguk felt was real – the index and middle fingers have sharp claw-like nails that drip with blood. Jeongguk can feel wet warmth on his left hip, but he does not look; he can only stare as Namjoon lifts his hand to his lips and sucks the blood from his fingers. 

The sounds Namjoon makes are borderline pornographic – hums and groans of pleasure. Jeongguk watches intently as Namjoon pulls his fingers from between his inviting lip – as Namjoon's pink tongue pokes out and laps up a drop of blood that has run between his fingers. 

He knows he should glance down and assess what Namjoon has done to him, and he practically begs his brain to allow his gaze to move. He almost feels caught in the same trance as earlier, only Namjoon has not commanded anything; how is he trapped in place, unable to look away?

"God, I love that look of fear, confusion, intrigue," Namjoon purrs, voice somehow deeper than Jeongguk remembers. "We should really tend to that wound. Wouldn't want it to kill you."

"Would it?" Jeongguk murmurs, feeling somewhat dissociated from his skin. He does not feel pain, but he can feel the trickle of blood. 

Namjoon begins to sink down to his knees, gaze never leaving Jeongguk's. Only when Namjoon settles and sits high, leaning toward where his nails dug deep enough to puncture skin, does Jeongguk see the wound. It does not bleed too badly, but it is leaving a wet black spot on his black pants. 

Without a word, Namjoon opens Jeongguk's black denim jacket and pins the fabric to the wall with both palms. Then he leans in and licks a slow, firm path from the waistline of Jeongguk's jeans and over the wound. 

Namjoon groans, eyelids fluttering as he licks and sucks. All Jeongguk can do is stare, watching Namjoon's tongue streak deep red before disappearing. Jeongguk cannot deny that it feels good. In fact, the visual of Namjoon on his knees before him, lapping at his skin with such hunger while his dark eyes stay on Jeongguk's face has arousal coursing through his veins just as quickly as oxygen does. 

Jeongguk's cock begins to harden, and he decides it is best not to allow the myriad questions and concerns muddy the spell that Namjoon must have him under. One particularly firm flick of Namjoon's tongue makes Jeongguk shiver, and before he knows it, the pleasure he feels is enough to make him sigh out a hint of a moan. This catches Namjoon's attention and makes him grin, lips stained with blood and yet so inviting. 

"Please," Jeongguk whispers, fingertips tingling to reach forward but planted to the wall. 

"Please…what, little one?"

Without a clue as to what he is asking for, Jeongguk simply watches as Namjoon's hands lift from the wall and begin to rub over Jeongguk's skin, along the hem of his pants, to the fly, where he works the button open. Blood and saliva cover Namjoon's chin, and his ice cold fingers send another shiver down his spine.

Namjoon's eyes fall to Jeongguk's jeans – undoubtedly to the bulge that lifts the fabric – then he glances back up, grin widening with his sharp white teeth on display. He scrapes his tongue along his teeth before asking, "That turned you on?"

Jeongguk could swear Namjoon's pupils were brighter than before. No longer are they deep black pools, shining a rich umber that appear outlined in red – a trick of the light, Jeongguk surmises – and making him more alluring than ever.

All Jeongguk can do is nod, mouth too heavy and dry to make coherent sound. That did turn him on, and he is terrified of what it could mean for him. 

In a blink, Namjoon is standing before him. Jeongguk startles, bumping his head into the sconce and wincing from the pain. Namjoon's chin is still smeared pinkish-red, and his breath smells like decaying flowers and iron. 

"Do I scare you, little one?"

Jeongguk's exhale trembles from his lips, and his voice is barely audible as he says, "You know you scare me."

"Do you like it?"

Jeongguk doesn't give himself a chance to mull it over. "Sort of."

"I can scare you more if you would prefer."

Although he is certain that he should not be asking leading questions to someone who has proven himself to be a literal monster, Jeongguk swallows thickly then asks, "Why would you want to do that?"

Namjoon licks his lips and hums, putting on a show of thinking over his response. Then he leans in close to Jeongguk's ear, groaning through his words. "There is something about the way your blood courses through your veins when you are afraid that makes it taste…so…sweet."

Jeongguk's fight or flight impulse returns, and he tenses. Suddenly he wants to run far, far away from Namjoon. Worse, he thinks that he would like Namjoon to give chase. 

"God, I can smell the fear on you, little one," Namjoon whines, rubbing his nose over Jeongguk's throat. "I'll give you a ten second head start if you want to run."

"Shit," Jeongguk mutters, suddenly unglued from the wall, limbs relaxing only to tense back up again. He was definitely just under Namjoon's spell, and he had no clear confirmation of it while it happened.

"Ten…" Namjoon says with a grin, taking a large step backward. 

Jeongguk looks around the darkened space, unsure where he could even go.

Then Namjoon lifts a brow and cocks his head to the side as if silently asking Jeongguk what he is waiting for as he says, "Nine…"

Jeongguk runs to the right, deeper into the large house, blinking in the darkness while he attempts to get his bearings. There is no way he could hope to fight Namjoon off, so he does not attempt to go to the kitchen to search for anything sharp or heavy to use as a weapon. Not that he wants to fight Namjoon off, but a voice in the back of his head is telling him that he should.

Namjoon's voice echoes from behind him, calling, "Eight!"

Stairs come into view and Jeongguk storms upward, taking two at a time in the darkness, tripping over himself at the top landing and stumbling before pummeling shoulder first into a wall. 

"Seven!"

There is a faint golden glow that comes from the far end of a long hall and Jeongguk runs toward it, bare feet sliding along hardwood and stomping onto carpeting. He can vaguely make out more portraits and photographs lining the walls, as well as closed and open doors.

"Six!"

Jeongguk slams his open palms into the door, which is cracked a few inches, and he stumbles into a bedroom. He is surprised by the furnishings, eyes finding velvet upholstery, intricately carved wood on a large four-poster bed, and matching wooden dressers and vanity. 

"Five!"

Briefly, he considers hiding, but if Namjoon is truly able to smell his fear, he does not think he would be able to stay concealed for very long. He turns somewhat uselessly, noting a door that he assumes leads to a closet, lounge chairs deeper in the room, and a large glass door at the far end. 

Running toward the door, he considers whether he may be able to jump off the balcony and chastises himself for not just running outside while he was still downstairs. This is how characters are caught in horror films, he reminds himself – by running upstairs instead of outside.

"Four!"

There is absolutely no way Namjoon wouldn't find him, if what he has said is true. But what if it is not? Jeongguk considers that some of what he has said could have been simply to scare him.

With a heavy sigh, Jeongguk pushes back thick, blood red curtains in search of which side of the glass panel is a door. On the far right, there is a black metal handle, with a small metal latch that Jeongguk works open. 

"Three!" 

Jeongguk feels a surge of excitement as he throws the door open, then instantly regrets his choice as he steps out into the cool night air. The balcony is large and rectangular, made of wrought iron and concrete, and it overlooks a steep hill that leads down to a large pond. Even if he could jump down safely, where the fuck would he go? 

Without a proper shirt, he could catch  any number of ailments from submerging himself in that water. But all thought of wanting to play Namjoon's game seeps away as Jeongguk's mind screams at him to get the fuck away from this house. 

"Two!" 

And there is no way in hell he would be able to outrun the man. Namjoon has already proven that he has the ability to move too fast for Jeongguk to even fathom. Fear spikes, and his teeth begin to rattle in the cold night air. All of this seems futile, and yet…he has to try. 

Namjoon's voice calling, "One!" is all Jeongguk needs to close the glass door behind him and then run to the edge of the balcony. He hardly thinks of the repercussions as he throws his legs over the railing, one after the other. With a glance over his shoulder, he tells himself that if he can manage to land on his feet and roll down the hill, he has a pretty good chance at survival. 

Jeongguk releases his hold on the railing, but rather than falling down, two strong, ice cold hands grip onto his wrists and yank him upward. 

"Going somewhere, little one?" Namjoon teases as he effortlessly returns Jeongguk to the balcony. 

Jeongguk cries out and trembles in the cold air, taking a step backward as soon as Namjoon lets go of his hands. His lower back hits the railing and he gasps, feeling like cornered prey once more.

"I thought you liked being afraid of me," Namjoon pouts, closing the space between them. "Were we not just playing a game?"

"I do…we are…I just—" Jeongguk cannot get his thoughts straight. Truth be told, as much as he considered flinging himself over the balcony, all he really wanted was for Namjoon to catch him. And catch him, he has. But what does this mean for Jeongguk? 

"Are you afraid of death?" Namjoon asks, cocking his head to the side. His reddish-brown eyes seem to glow in the pale light of the moon.

Without hesitation, Jeongguk shakes his head, muttering, "No."

"But you are afraid of me?"

As Jeongguk licks his lips, he watches Namjoon's eyes follow the movement. He wants Namjoon's tongue back on his body, and maybe…just maybe…he wants to become whatever Namjoon is.

"Sort of," he admits.

Namjoon steps so close, Jeongguk can feel the cold radiate from him. But he likes the way Namjoon's thigh slots between his legs. He likes how Namjoon's lips feel as they graze his throat as he says, "Elaborate, my sweet."

"I want to know you," Jeongguk says, eyes fluttering closed. "I want to become like you. But I don't…I don't know what that means."

"Life as you know it will be over," Namjoon breathes against his neck, forcing each of Jeongguk's exhales to shake from his lungs. 

Jeongguk is certain that there is nothing more inviting than leaving his life behind. "I know. That's what I want."

Namjoon takes a step back, just far enough that he can look Jeongguk in the eye. For the first time, he appears uncertain, and perhaps even a little sad. His hands gently cup Jeongguk's face, thumb leaving a chilled path over his cheek. "The first few months of this new existence will be full of pain and confusion."

With a scoff, Jeongguk mutters, "My entire life has been full of pain and confusion."

There is understanding in Namjoon's eyes, and Jeongguk questions everything he knows about the man. Could someone so delicate and handsome really be a monster? 

But then Jeongguk remembers the wound on his hip, and the superhuman speed, and the way Namjoon can command Jeongguk to think and do exactly what he wants. And he thinks he wants to have that kind of power all to himself. 

Without another word, Namjoon takes Jeongguk's hand and pulls him back inside the warmth of his bedroom. He releases Jeongguk's hand to close and lock the sliding glass door, and then he pulls the deep red curtains closed, leaving the two of them in the golden glow of a lamp that sits on the other side of the room, beside the massive bed. 

Namjoon turns and begins to make his way toward the bed, arms lifted and moving in a way that suggests he may be unbuttoning his jacket. It takes Jeongguk a moment to follow him, stepping softly onto an intricate rug that covers most of the floor. 

"I don't turn people often," Namjoon says as he looks over his shoulder and then begins to shrug out of his jacket. "In fact, I only planned to drain you tonight. If you were interested, I would have wanted to fuck you first, but ultimately, the plan was to leave you to die."

Something about Namjoon's candor is not only oddly comforting, but alluring. Perhaps Jeongguk should be most concerned with the bit about draining him and leaving him to die, but all he finds he can circle back to is the thought of Namjoon wanting to fuck him. 

Of course, he saw the way Namjoon licked at his skin, and his jeans are still unbuttoned from Namjoon opening them before deciding he would rather play a sordid game of cat and mouse. So it should really come as no surprise.

"Guess that makes me special," Jeongguk responds somewhat cheekily, feeling there is still a bit of a heaviness that hangs in the air, making him nervous. 

Namjoon spins on socked feet with his black button-up shirt halfway undone, nimble fingers working a button just below his pecs. The expanse of bare skin is inviting, and paired with the hungry look in Namjoon's eyes, it sends a thrill through Jeongguk.

"I have been wanting a companion for some time," Namjoon says, "and you do seem like a worthy man. You are very pretty, and I like your attitude."

"A companion?" Jeongguk responds, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He is not exactly a relationship type of guy, and suddenly, he feels a bit apprehensive. "Don't you think that's moving a little fast?"

In a blink, Namjoon is standing before Jeongguk, pushing at the collar of his jacket. Jeongguk actually chuckles at the thought that Namjoon's response to his remark was to quite literally move too fast. 

"Once I turn you," Namjoon mutters as Jeongguk's denim is pushed past his shoulders and begins to slide down his arms, "you will depend wholly on me for quite some time. Your hunger and other urges will be so strong that it will physically pain you to exist, and I will be the only tether you will have to any sense of sanity."

With a roll of his eyes, Jeongguk says, "You make it sound so dramatic," all the while his jacket crumples on the rug around his feet. 

Namjoon grabs the black tie that hangs around Jeongguk's neck and gently yanks on it, forcing Jeongguk to stumble into Namjoon and place his palms against his cold, muscular chest.

"Not to mention," Namjoon adds with a lift of his brow, "after I fuck you, you won't want to leave my side."

At this, Jeongguk scoffs, rubbing his hands over Namjoon's clothed nipples, which harden to the touch. His shirt hangs open around the waistline, still tucked in and forgotten. 

"I've been with a lot of men," Jeongguk challenges, tilting his head to the side. "A lot of men who have made a lot of empty promises. What makes you think you're so special?"

Namjoon's grip on the tie tightens, then releases, and he reaches for Jeongguk's left wrist, gently lifting it to his lips. 

"Oh, my darling boy," he mutters, lips dragging over Jeongguk's skin. "I have experienced centuries of pleasure. Those so-called men could not possibly fathom what I have to offer. And, not to mention…" Namjoon lifts his mouth and smiles widely, showing off his sharp teeth in a way that is both too menacing and intriguing for Jeongguk to comprehend. "...I can show you pleasurable pain the likes of which so few living men have ever experienced."

Without warning, Namjoon sinks his teeth into Jeongguk's wrist. The pain is so white-hot intense that Jeongguk's entire body tenses and he attempts to yank himself free. Namjoon's eyes open widely before rolling back, and he moans with pleasure as he retracts the teeth that have left two puncture marks in Jeongguk's skin, and he begins to suck. 

Blood play is something that Jeongguk has always done his best to steer clear of, and now this monstrous man has already made him bleed twice. What is more, Namjoon seems to really enjoy the taste of his blood – is this what he meant by draining Jeongguk and leaving him to die? Does Namjoon actually drink blood?

Jeongguk almost misses the tingle that works over his skin, leaving goosebumps and warmth in its wake. "You son of a bitch," he mumbles, knees turning loose like gelatin. "You're charming me again, aren't you?"

With a deep groan, Namjoon releases Jeongguk's wrist. Blood pools in two tooth-sized holes, and he is certain that he would be panicking over the blood loss if it were not for the mind control, or whatever the fuck Namjoon is done to him. 

"I prefer the term compulsion, but charm works, too," Namjoon says. He drags his tongue over Jeongguk's wrist, streaking it with red. 

"Will you be able to do this to me even after you have made me whatever you are?"

Namjoon smirks, responding, "Sadly, no. My charm only works on humans. Living humans." He drops Jeongguk's wrist, and even Jeongguk is surprised by how heavy his arm feels; he wonders if he is only standing because Namjoon has somehow commanded his limbs to do so. 

"I like the charm," Jeongguk mutters, feeling somewhat dizzy and light. "I like how shimmery and floaty it makes me. But I want to experience the fear and the pain. Please."

Jeongguk knows, somewhere in his mind, that what he is asking for might be something he comes to regret. But if what Namjoon says is true – if he really is going to transform Jeongguk into something not human – then Jeongguk wants to feel those intense human emotions one last time.

With a wide grin, Namjoon reaches down and begins to unzip Jeongguk's jeans. "As you wish, my pretty little human," he says, dropping to his knees. "But don't be surprised if it becomes unbearable. Now…let us finish what we started downstairs, shall we?"

He is silent and still as his senses return, watching as Namjoon reaches with sharp nails into the waistband of Jeongguk's briefs and begins to yank his garments down. Slowly, Jeongguk lifts his arm, feeling somewhat distressed that his wrist continues to bleed enough that blood runs down his palm and drips from his fingers. 

He even considers whether he should bandage the wound and apply pressure and all of that first aid stuff, but the feeling of Namjoon's ice cold palms gripping onto his half-hard cock has all thought leaving Jeongguk's mind. 

"Whoa," Jeongguk mutters, feeling the forces of gravity momentarily disagree with his body as he shifts on his feet in an attempt not to fall. Even from just a single touch, Jeongguk is buzzing and needy for more. 

"Ever do temperature play?" Namjoon asks as his hands stroke Jeongguk to fully erect. 

Jeongguk is not sure he even knows what that is, and he shakes his head, saying, "No."

"Some find the chill of my mouth to be rather exquisite," Namjoon responds without missing a beat, sitting high on his knees. 

The cold, wet drag of Namjoon's tongue along the length of Jeongguk's shaft makes him groan and shiver. It is striking how different it feels, and he struggles somewhat to get his bearings. And then Namjoon opens wide and engulfs Jeongguk's cock, causing him to sob out from how cold but simultaneously wet and inviting his mouth is. 

"Fuck," Jeongguk groans, lifting his hands to grip onto Namjoon's lavender hair. "Holy fuck."

Namjoon sucks Jeongguk's dick with a fervor he has never experienced. With seemingly no gag reflex, Namjoon swallows deep and hard, groaning when Jeongguk's hips buck and tremble uncontrollably. Pleasure builds and crashes inside him, and he worries he may cum in an instant. 

And then he feels the sharp drag of teeth against his cock, and fear spikes so intensely that he roughly tugs on Namjoon's hair, to no avail. Namjoon stares up at Jeongguk as he presses the tip of his cock far into his throat, causing tears to form in his pretty, dangerous eyes. 

He is certain that Namjoon is fucking with him – making him feel the fear that he asked for only moment ago – and he does his best to relax. With his pants and briefs hugging around his ankles, it is not as if Jeongguk would be able to go anywhere, anyway; Namjoon more or less has him trapped, as always. 

Namjoon hums deep as his eyes flutter closed and he slurps and sucks, picking up speed. He wraps his hands around Jeongguk's hips and manually rocks Jeongguk against him, forcing him to fuck his mouth. Jeongguk finds the rhythm with his hips, though the pleasure is so overwhelming, he is certain that he will bust very soon. 

"Oh, god," Jeongguk moans, head lolling back while he continues to hold Namjoon by the hair. "I'm gonna cum."

As he chases his high, his hips rock faster, and Namjoon accommodates without any trouble, slurping and sucking and humming to the rhythm of Jeongguk's body. Even as flashes of Namjoon's terrible superhuman speed and affinity to lick his bleeding wounds play through his mind, Jeongguk only becomes more aroused rather than disgusted, pushing him over the edge. 

Namjoon swallows deeply the moment Jeongguk opens his mouth to croak out a warning that only falls from his lips as a moan. He cums hard, whimpering and sobbing as his body bends at the hips and threatens to topple over. Somehow, Jeongguk remains on his feet, hands sliding down to Namjoon's shoulders to anchor himself up. 

When Namjoon finally releases his cock, Jeongguk is relieved to find there is no blood. His relief is quickly dashed, however, when he notices red streaks in Namjoon's hair and realizes his wrist is still bleeding. Not only that, but he feels incredibly dizzy, and he is certain that it cannot be entirely from how talented Namjoon is at sucking dick. 

As Jeongguk lightly lifts his left arm and watches blood trickle past his fingers, he sighs. He should really be more concerned about bleeding to death, and he wonders if Namjoon has compelled him not to care. 

"On the bed," Namjoon instructs as he stands and finishes untucking and unbuttoning his black dress shirt. "I want to enjoy you while you're still warm."

Jeongguk grumbles something under his breath that even he is uncertain of, then stumbles forward, forgetting that his pants are still snug around his ankles. He reaches for Namjoon, who takes hold of his non-bleeding arm, and uses him as leverage to step out of his right pant leg and then his left. 

Wearing only the black tie around his neck, Jeongguk shuffles over to the bed, placing his palms against cold black satin and hoisting himself up. He is definitely woozy, and he practically falls face-first onto the blanket before crawling to where he surmises is the center. 

The mattress dips and Jeongguk is shoved down against the bed, gasping as he uselessly tries to find purchase against the sheet. Cold hands press his ass and spread him wide before an even colder tongue laps over his hole, making Jeongguk tremble and sob. 

Namjoon is rough with the way he prods Jeongguk open, barely giving him time to adjust before stretching him further. Jeongguk would beg for him to slow down if he weren't so enthralled with the way Namjoon handles him, and he wonders once again if he is charmed by the monster, as well. 

"So pliant and tight," Namjoon groans. "And so warm."

Jeongguk loses track of which ice cold appendage or muscle prises him open, occasionally feeling one wetter than the others. It isn't until Namjoon shoves him roughly onto his back that Jeongguk watches a beautifully nude monster in the form of a human man spread his thighs nice and wide and begin to spear him on his thick, frigid cock.

When barely a sound louder than a croak comes from between Jeongguk's lips, Namjoon pouts mockingly, whining, "Awe, don't die just yet, little one; give me one more orgasm first."

All Jeongguk can do is lay and take what Namjoon gives him, barely capable of moving his own limbs. The bed is soaked with blood that he knows has come from his wrist, and although Namjoon's cock feels incredible inside him, he is unsure whether his own cock is hard at all. 

"Fuck," Namjoon groans as he leans forward with one hand anchored against the bed. He looks impatient as he lifts his other wrist to his mouth and pierces his teeth into the flesh. 

Jeongguk gasps at the sight, certain that now they are both doomed; surely they cannot both survive puncture wounds to their arteries. Never mind everything Namjoon said earlier about surviving centuries, and all that. 

Namjoon, on the other hand, only seems mildly inconvenienced as he holds his wrist above Jeongguk's face and allows his blood to drip down onto his mouth. 

At first, Jeongguk flinches, disgusted by the ice cold, thick and brassy blood that drops onto his lips and chin. He closes his lips tight in the hope of keeping any of the liquid from seeping in. But then he gets a taste of the blood, and everything changes. 

Instantly, Jeongguk feels a pull to Namjoon that seems to take him by storm. He needs the blood, and he needs it now – of that, he is certain. 

Jeongguk reaches up with weak hands and grips onto Namjoon's hand and arm, tugging the bleeding wrist down to his lips. With an amused chuckle, Namjoon complies, giving Jeongguk what he needs while continuing to fuck into him. 

The combination of drinking blood from Namjoon's wrist while getting fucked by him feels like there is glitter shimmering in his bloodstream, alighting every blood vessel. Arousal crashes more intensely than it had before, and Jeongguk not only feels healed from his earlier wound, but he feels strong. 

The blood also tastes better than anything Jeongguk has ever sampled before, and he is desperate to get his fill, eyes rolling back as he moans and sucks and moans some more. He feels fucking drunk. 

Namjoon is a mess of groans and whimpers, and he begins to yank his wrist away from Jeongguk, who grips tightly with both hands as if his life depends on it. He is certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that without this blood, he may die. 

"Enough, little one," Namjoon grits, clearly struggling as his hips continue their assault, smacking sounds echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet room. Before, Jeongguk could swear he heard and felt the pounding of his own heart, but now there is nothing.

Jeongguk finally releases his hold, moaning and sobbing through the quick, dizzying build and crash of an orgasm. Without warning, he sprays cum on his tummy, only to feel the pleasure build and build once again. 

"Yes, that's it," Namjoon moans, reaching to cradle Jeongguk's head, which lolls uselessly against the satin sheet, "I want you to cum again."

Namjoon grips onto Jeongguk's thighs, spreading him impossibly wider, and fucks him at a pace so punishing, he worries Namjoon's cock might burrow too deep inside him. Briefly, he considers begging for a break, but the feeling is so euphoric, he only teeters on the edge of overstimulation without fully plunging over. 

But then he begins to black out. Little blips of time and space at first, before he wonders if he is imagining things, entirely. Jeongguk blinks his heavy eyelids open to find Namjoon appearing like some kind of beast from hell with long, sharp teeth and glowing red eyes, fucking him with a fervor that almost feels like hatred. 

And then he imagines his chest being clawed open. The pain is dreadful, but he is also being fucked so good, he is incapable of reconciling the two feelings. He even thinks that perhaps all the blood in his body erupts from his chest cavity in one final, harrowing tug of strong cold hands ripping him at his ribs like an animal carcass. 

And then he wakes up.

He feels no pain or fatigue as his eyes blink open. In fact, he feels more invigorated and alert than he has in all of his life. There is nobody in the bed beside him, and as he glances around, he realizes that it must be dark outside, which begs the question of whether it is the same night, or whether he has fucked and slept well into the following night. 

The events of his night with Namjoon are so eerie, that as they seep in and he begins to remember what happened, he almost feels confused. Certainly none of that could have been real, but he clearly remembers the man existing, and he has woken up in a bed that must belong to Namjoon. 

Jeongguk sits up and stretches his limbs, pleased with how incredible he feels. He thinks that he could run a marathon and hardly break a sweat with the energy that courses through him, and he surprises himself with how it takes hardly any exertion at all to toss the comforter aside. 

Discarded on the floor are his jeans, briefs, and jacket, and folded on the nightstand appears to be his tie. However, Jeongguk decides that he is feeling brazen, and he stands from the bed and heads for the door in the nude. He feels so invigorated that he wants to find Namjoon and entice him into bending him over whichever surface they encounter first and fucking him until he is dizzy. 

As Jeongguk makes his way out of the master suite and down along the second floor hallway, he becomes aware of two things simultaneously. The first is the smell, and the second is the sound.

Just before the top landing of the stairs, to the right, there is a door cracked open and a light on inside, and without giving it any thought whatsoever, Jeongguk knows that what he senses is coming from that room, so he picks up his pace and walks a little quicker, feet padding over a soft rug that lines the center of the hallway. 

Nothing can prepare Jeongguk for what he walks in on when he opens the door, nor can it ready him for the way the scene makes him feel. 

In the dead center of a rather small, dimly lit room, is a nude person restrained by the wrists and ankles to a large wooden X. Blood pours from the person's left wrist and arm, and Namjoon stands off to the side, to the right of the person, also nude with blood covering his chin. 

Before Jeongguk can make his presence known, Namjoon's eyes are on him, and his grin is wide. "Hello, my little fledgling," Namjoon calls somewhat menacingly as he turns his body fully to Jeongguk and opens his arms wide and invitingly.

Jeongguk should be horrified, but instead he is filled with an overwhelming need to taste. He shuffles forward, almost robotically, and approaches Namjoon, slotting himself against his side, beneath one of his open arms. And then he begins to lick the blood from Namjoon's chin. 

The person restrained to the X groans – the sound that Jeongguk is certain he heard earlier – and rather than filling him with the urge to save or protect the person, Jeongguk finds he almost wants to mock the person and make them produce even more desperate sounds. In fact, Jeongguk finds that more than anything, he wants to rip the person's skin open and drink all of their blood. 

"I trust you slept well?" Namjoon asks sweetly as Jeongguk finishes lapping the blood from his chin and turns his attention to their captor. 

"I did," Jeongguk mutters, surprised by the quality of his own voice. He sounds dreamy, almost as if he is put under yet another one of Namjoon's spells, only this time, all he can focus on is the blood that trickles down the stranger's arm. 

Namjoon's fingertips on Jeongguk's chin and throat no longer feel cold, yet Jeongguk shivers to the touch as Namjoon asks, "And how do you feel?"

Moments ago, Jeongguk felt more alive than ever before, but now—

"Hungry."

To simply say he feels hungry is an understatement, but Jeongguk is so wholly enthralled by the wriggling person captive before him, it is all he can express. 

Fingertips push back at the hair around Jeongguk's forehead and neck in a delicate motion that makes him swoon for blood even more. Is this his life now? To crave and to drink and be loved? Is Namjoon really the monster he says he is?

"Feed, my darling. Drink until you feel their pulse still."

A strange pain overtakes Jeongguk's mouth, and he quickly reaches to his gums to feel the impossible – his incisors are sharp, just as Namjoon's had been. With a gasp, he turns to Namjoon, startled. What strange ritual has taken place? Has he already begun to change? Is he already dead?

Namjoon cups the end of Jeongguk's chin and smiles softly, asking, "What are you waiting for?"

Jeongguk has so many questions that swirl and dizzy him, but the only thing he can bring himself to care about is that tangy, inviting scent of blood. He stands high on his tippy toes and reaches for the person's wrist, but Namjoon presses a hand over Jeongguk's chest, keeping him from reaching with his lips. 

"The neck is so much better, my little darling." Namjoon reaches to tap his sharp fingers on the side of the throat. "Sink your teeth in right here, where you can see their heart beating."

Without hesitation, Jeongguk steps forward, grips the captor by the hair and roughly moves their head to the side. He can see the pulse beating against their skin – can hear the sound of their heart as if its squeeze and relax were being amplified straight into Jeongguk's mind. When he leans in close, dragging his lips over the skin, there is an alluring scent that seems so indescribably human that pulls him closer. 

Jeongguk sinks his teeth into the skin of the person's neck just as he had watched Namjoon sink his teeth into his own wrist, feeling a spark of arousal as the person whimpers and sobs. It takes him by surprise how much he has to really dig his sharp teeth into the flesh, but once it breaks, the blood pours into his mouth. So much, in fact, that he gasps and feels it run down his chin. 

It takes Jeongguk a moment to realize he needs to pull his teeth from the puncture wounds to properly drink from the skin, but once he does, he feels every inch of himself burst and bloom with life. How could Namjoon call himself undead when this is the most energized he has ever felt?

Jeongguk can feel the heartbeat against his lips – can feel as it slows. The captive continues to wiggle and cry out, but it is impossible for them to match Jeongguk's strength as he languidly sucks and licks at the pouring blood. He even decides he has had his fill before their heart has a chance to stop. 

"All done, my darling?" Namjoon asks, taking Jeongguk by the chin and licking over his neck and his lips and anywhere the blood may have been spilt. 

Jeongguk smiles and shrugs, saying, "You can finish them," and steps aside to watch Namjoon take his place at their neck. Blood pours from the wound down the dip of their clavicle and chest, and Namjoon licks a streak leading to their wounds, groaning as his lips close over the holes. 

Something about this visual makes Jeongguk desperate to feel Namjoon on and inside him – makes him want Namjoon to rip him apart and piece him back together again. Despite feeling sated, he also yearns so desperately to be fucked and adored and touched and tasted. 

Namjoon must sense it – or, perhaps, knows the way he must feel – and he steps away from the body that hangs lifelessly and smiles with blood-stained lips as he closes the space between their bodies to bring Jeongguk in for a kiss. 

Every cell of Jeongguk's body yearns for Namjoon. In an act of desperation, Jeongguk spins out of Namjoon’s hold and places his palms against the wall near the open door leading to the hallway. He pushes his ass out and glances over his shoulder, batting his lashes and asking, "Please?"

Namjoon drops to his knees and wastes no time tongue-fucking Jeongguk until he is whimpering and begging for more. Jeongguk must still be stretched from before, because Namjoon presses his cock in nice and deep without much preparation and grips Jeongguk by the neck as he carves him open, bowing Jeongguk's back so their faces touch. 

"All mine," Namjoon growls as he fucks Jeongguk so hard he fears his spine might just snap. "My pretty little fledgling, I will never let you go. All you need in this world is me. All you are in this world is mine."

"Yours," Jeongguk babbles between sobs and broken consonants, speeding toward orgasm as his body struggles to keep up with the myriad sensations that overwhelm.

In between moments of blissful pleasure come fierce, sharp moments of confusion, pain, and a thirst so unlike anything Jeongguk has ever experienced. It is as if he blacks out occasionally and returns a fiendish monster whose only drive is to kill, kill, kill! 

Namjoon placates him at times, pushing his buttons to make him more devilish – more angry. He fills Jeongguk's mind with a distrust for humans and teaches him how to lurk in the shadows and hunt. 

"When you learn to control your urges better," Namjoon assures, balls-deep in him beside two corpses in a dark alleyway with Jeongguk's leg slung over his hip, "I will teach you how to blend into society better."

Jeongguk has no idea how much time passes, but he lives only in darkness, only to feed on the blood of living humans, only to serve and please Namjoon. He feels frustrated, confused, and angry with Namjoon, who seems to lavish Jeongguk's unfettered need to be by his side. 

Despite the overwhelming pleasure and insatiable appetite Namjoon has for fucking him, Jeongguk feels trapped both in his need, and in his desire, to stay by Namjoon's side. 

"The urges will pass, my darling fledgling," Namjoon promises against his lips, hand tugging Jeongguk's cock until he screams out Namjoon's name. "Until then, I will take such good care of you. All you need in this world is me. All you are in this world is mine.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!! 🦇🩸🧛‍♂️🍂🎃👻😈💀 HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!

i hope you had fun with this. please do not ask for a part two lmao my brain is mush and i refuse to perceive these two further. i have too many eggs in too many baskets!!!

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS MAKE ALL THE DIFFERENCE, AND LIKES ARE SUPER APPRECIATED, TOO!!! 💜💜💜

no tag list for dead dove contents! thanks for understanding!!!

Fledgling is copyright theharrowing 2023. no translations or reposting allowed!

[snuffysbox]

man the ending of BG3 was kinda... rough, ngl. Like, not the fights and stuff, that was about what I expected, but the cutscenes post final battle were... something.

HEAVY SPOILERS for Baldur's Gate 3 ending under the cut

listen man, I can respect not giving everyone a perfectly happy ending, but Karlach's fate felt unfair. It felt like there had been a way to save her in development, but it got scrapped somewhere in the process. why even have the quest with Dammon and the infernal iron if all you can do is delay the inevitable.

Astarion's wasn't much better. If you tell him not to use the ritual to ascend, he just. stays a vampire spawn forever then?? the whole 'oh I can stand in the sunlight' bit was just for laughs?? I was horrified tbh.

Gale's romance scene was... fine. Like, perfectly servicable, sure, but choosing what to do with the crown was his literal companion quest! and you don't even get to see it resolved, he just SAYS what he'll do with it. PLEASE.

Shadowheart had one (1) appearance and one (1) line of dialogue in my ending and that was a quip about Astarion's sad fate. Thanks.

No mention of the Emperor after killing the netherbrain with Orpheus. Really? He's just dead, apparently. Nvm that it was like... the original founder of the city. No no, just dead, don't even see him die if you didn't kill him during the fight.

NO EPILOGUE AT ALL COME ON MAN. I would've taken poorly written SLIDES over nothing at all.

The post-credit scene with Withers feels... so, so redundant? Like, why is he waxing poetic about foes who weren't even the stars of the show? It really felt like a version of that scene should've come earlier, maybe around the start of act 3.

There's a ton of other little stuff that I would've loved to see resolved, but those were my main gripes. It just felt veeeery rushed right at the end there which is pretty disappointing, considering how entirely excellent the rest of the game is. Like, I don't want games to be these infinite projects that studios revisit and expand on (in anything other than expansions) bc they didn't get it quite right the first time around, bc that shit isn't sustainable, but man.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @mkdecimation this week (thank you <3)

got some more vampire au goodies for this week just in time for the temperature dropping here and the leaves changing color, it's very much spooky season for me already.

warnings for blood and gore descriptions, but mostly its just Price waxing poetic about his conflicted feelings over his hot vampire gf

It's not the first time he’s seen her in this state. Covered in blood that isn't her own, drenched to the point her clothes are a slick oil spill of black, the fibers so steeped in it they reflect the light. Her mouth drips red, crimson pouring down her chin. It’s always a startling realization to see her in her glory, a beast with prey, rending flesh from bone. The metallic tang of copper hits his nostrils and oozes down the back of his throat. It’s a stench he knows all too well, and not just because he’s involved with a vampire. It's a scent he carries with him. His hippocampus storing it. A reminder linked to memory, to emotion. Fear. Danger… The way she moans. He shakes his head, clearing the thoughts. Refocusing. 

The way she feeds in seclusion, hidden in the dark— this isn’t the way she treats him. There’s no romance here. The way she drinks from him is an act of bonding. Something tender, draped in all of the seductive elegance Rory had always carried with her. This— this is predatory. Violent. Cruel and crude as she satiates her most base need: to eat, to perpetuate her life. Even her undead one still requires sustenance.

That doesn't stop the disgust that burrows deep within him on a level he doesn’t quite understand. That primordial fear of the things in the shadows that go unseen, the reason why man sought fire in the dark. He’s learned not to let his emotions get the better of him when it matters, not to fall prey to instincts that went against his training, but witnessing the woman he loves turn into the very thing that parents have been checking under the bed and in closets for for centuries still needles in his brain.

She’s the top of the food chain, and he knows it.

The complete lack of humanity in her as she feeds on their enemies is a grotesque thing to witness. She had always been cold when it came to her kills, resolute with a trigger, never questioning her motivation to take a shot. Now, the weapon was removed from the equation. This was all just her. No switch flipped or order given. She was in her natural setting. 

Her long, sharp fangs descend and they don’t merely puncture small wounds into the artery to drink. Instead, she rips the layers of skin away with the frenzied delight of a child and a gift’s wrapping paper on Christmas morning. Giving into whatever it was that sustained her, whether disease or curse, he couldn’t be sure. No one did. It was just the truth of things. 

John lingers just out of sight, in the shadows watching, feeling like a voyeur as she grips at this stranger's dark hair, clawing at his scalp as she forces their head back and latches on with the same persistence as a leech. Her lips (the same one he’s fantasized about being on him) wrap around the throbbing pulse point, flooding her throat with their essence. Bleeding them like a stuck pig. Draining them until they're little more than a husk— as dry as the bloody desert. 

He grimaces at the spectacle. The body tossed away from her when done. Discarding the trash. A lesser life form that’s only use is to be fed upon after being a bullet sponge, fodder for some piece of filth they’ve been sent in to deal with.

Her hand drags over her lips as she smacks them and her tongue dips over plump lips, drenched in the color of life while she remains so plainly dead. Pale, pallid. Forever perfect like one of those stone angels guarding over tombs in a cemetery. 

A quiet groan of sated pleasure echoes in the silent room as she stands there, bodies strewn around her, and his breath hitches. He’s caught only the last dregs of her feast, her plate finally cleared. It’s clear Rory has a near insatiable hunger, an unquenchable thirst that constantly drives her, and he can only imagine the sheer will it must take her not to devour an entire base of soldiers when she’s stationed at one. She could do so far too easily. How she hasn’t lost control and torn his throat out yet, he can only imagine. The indomitable strength she carries was something he always recognized in her, it had never been more apparent than in this moment. She glances over her shoulder and the swirling depths of scarlet in her irises regard him as if he’s caught her in a lie, a secret, something that was never meant to be divulged to him. But there's no judgment in his stare, just the same unreadable gaze of a man who’s seen and done monstrous things-– 

Who was he to cast the first stone, after all?

tagging the cod list folks [opt in/out]

@taciturntraveller @writeforfandoms @imagoddamnonionmason @chadillacboseman @efingart

@alypink @roofgeese @harmonyowl @g0dspeeed @simplegenius042

@voidika @strangefable @direwombat @la-grosse-patate @josephseedismyfather

@statichvm @clicheantagonist @tommyarashikage @aceghosts @inafieldofdaisies

@raresvtm @cloudofbutterflies92 @justasmolbard @finding-comfort-in-rain

@imogenkol @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @confidentandgood

[bonesandthebees]

finally started watching interview with the vampire since i've been meaning to watch that show since it first started airing (have a soft nostalgia spot in my heart for the og 90s movie but oh my god I adore the show so far) and anyway I can't get over how funny daniel is. he's such a bitchy old man who has no time for vampire bullshit. louis' waxing poetic about his struggles with his thirst and what he's become and daniel's just like "okay cool yeah can we get back to the baby? did you eat the baby?"

[ks1971]

sorry i know i just sent an ask. i need to send another. because you don't understand how well this au pushes every single button in my brain. fucked up vampires. religious imagery. i am now very sincerely this au's number one fan. if you have anything to spare iwould owe you my life

CREETCHURE. I love that for you so much because same. Lemme give you some first impressions for Techno and Phil! They're two men who at first glance grew up in a circumstances similar yet vastly different.

Seeing Techno for the first time was a bit of a shock to Phil, you could say he was awestruck at the sight of the guy. Head taller, dressed in leathers from the bottom to the top and roughed up from a few weeks of travel. He wore a silver cross on a short chain around his scarred neck.

The complete opposite of Phil, dressed in his soft pyjamas with his long, blonde hair and unmarred skin. The one thing they shared were the crosses, though his was made with gold and attached to a pearly rosary.

The lack of any emotion on his face didn't help with making him look the tiniest bit approachable either. The glasses looked funny on such a burly man, though, and as it turned out Techno Godner was polite and had a sense of humor despite his flat tone.

Oh but did he look good despite the initial awkwardness.

-

The young master was almost what he expected and different at the same time.

He definitely looked like one, all... Wily, and just really frail in general. Techno assumed he would be snotty like his kind tends to be, but the smile he was welcomed with wasn't fake at all. There was something about it... Angelic, perhaps- Aaand there he goes with waxing poetics.

He wore a beautiful rosary.

Techno had to appreciate the warm welcome, though. The master of the manor woke up in the middle of the night for his late arrival. He knows he would have probably pretended to sleep and let himself in only once the morning came.

Once he sees him tomorrow he will see Phil Grey's eyes in daylight and ponder, as he could swear he recognized them from somewhere.

-

(I plan on writing a screenplay for the story, and I don't want to spoil too much since there's a lot of things I want revealed during it. Sorry! T^T)

[ghuleh-recs]

♡ Fandom Faves Tag ♡

Tag 1-3 (or as many as you want) of your favorite creators (writers, artists, outstanding members of the community etc) and link your favorite creation if you can.

Thank you for the tags @midnight-moth and @coffeeghoulie! I'm gonna challenge myself to not wax poetic and keep these extra short and sweet. That way it's not as intimidating for others to participate (hope that makes sense). Oh and I'm not putting a "keep reading."

Witness my faves (ง •̀_•́)ง

@midnight-moth (who started this tag game ♡) drew THE Phantom art of all time and I recently went absolutely feral for:

Buried in Treasure - Dew x Phantom - E, 3.6k

When his eyes roll forward again, he notices more than just the same riff playing over and over. He notices Phantom’s grip on his hand simultaneously go still and tight. He notices the rosy flush on his cheeks, and the tent in his pants that he tries to conceal with the hand holding the phone. It takes more than a few seconds for all of the dots to connect and when the thought is fully formed, Dew grabs the phone and launches it to the end of the bed.

@ramblingoak hey why is there an angel in the satanic band fandom? I created this whole blog so I could shout about:

The Cardinal's Bride - Cardinal Copia x F!Reader - E, 91k (wip)

A Romantic Adventure in the Old West: After being forced into a marriage with Mr. Saltarian by your father you are sent west to his estate in Nevada. Along the way you end up meeting one of the cowboys you have always fantasized about…

@conjuring-ghouls finds the perfect moments and turns them into the loveliest gifs. On top of that she is endlessly kind and supportive. Look at these!!!

@coffeeghoulie is writing the Aeon x Swiss hurt/comfort fic of y'all's dreams and I got to do my first "official" art collab for it yay!!

Eternal Heatstroke - Aeon x Swiss - M, 17k (wip)

For once in their life, Aeon feels lucky. Whoever's opened this portal, whoever's summoning ghouls Up Top, specifically wants a quintessence ghoul. They may not be the biggest or strongest quintessence ghoul, far from it, but they'll do anything this summoner wants if it means they get to live. Or: being Topside is a drastic change from the life Aeon's used to.

@writingjourney truly the kindest soul and an absurdly talented writer. I screenshot Ibi's tags on my posts all the time because they cheer me up so much 🥹🥹

Friday Nights (series) - Papas x GN!Reader - E, 40k

“But to die as lovers may - to die together, so that they may live together.” ― Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla Each of these stories features a vampire papa and a gender neutral reader.

@anamelessfool writes some of the best world building and characterizations that I have ever read in fanfiction AND she's a fantastic artist.

Violence & Gentleness - Primo x OC - E, 50k (wip)

You made me forget myself...I thought I was someone else, someone good... LATE OCTOBER 1979 Primo has his work cut out for him as the bodyguard of the beautiful and fearsome Mater Emerita Jocasta. As mystery after mystery unfolds, it becomes harder to remain a honest man in this den of thieves called the Ministry.

@foxybouquet makes wonderful art and her colloquial Italian posts are an incredible resource for the fandom.

@angellayercake has angel in her username for a reason tbh. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I learned important things about myself and my love language whilst reading the brilliant:

Banchetto - Terzo x F!Reader - E, 22k (wip)

Papa Emeritus III is struggling to adapt to his life after the Ghost project but perhaps some good homemade Italian food will do the trick.

(I'm cutting myself off here because I could do this all day. I will probably be making another list in the near future because I love and admire so many of you. 😅)

No pressure at all but I would really love to see this tag game keep going! If you're reading this please consider adding some of your personal favorites to the list! This fandom could use some positivity right about now ♡

[magnus-sm-writes]

WIP Intro: Plastic Fangs

Paranormal Literary Fiction / Drafting / Playlist / Pinterest

I finished writing the original “Plastic Fangs” short story early this year. I think in the wrap-up post I wrote about it that I said Marcellus and Abel are two of my favorite characters I’ve written for as of late, and I still completely agree with that. Specifically with Marcellus. He’s just a strange little guy who loves stealing diaries, eavesdropping on conversations, and watching “talkies” (because he was a kid when silent movies were still a thing). I definitely gave him my “weird little man” syndrome. 

My beta readers (Shini-san and my husband Trystan) both loved Marcellus as a character and lamented that the story was, well, a short story. Both straight-up told me that they would love if “Plastic Fangs” were novelized.

So here we are. Novelizing “Plastic Fangs” in time for spooky season!

WHAT

Plastic Fangs follows Marcellus, a sixty-something vampire living his best life in the eighties. Despite technically being a fledgling himself, he meets the fledgling vampire Abel and takes him beneath his wing to show him the ways of vampirism. 

While simple to boil down to an elevator pitch, I think what really shines here are the characters. I already mentioned that Marcellus is a little freak, but Abel matches his freak pretty well. Abel hasn’t had enough time to develop interests as deep or varied as normal as other vampires, considering he’s in his early twenties. Despite that, he’s still a deeply strange person.

The plan is to begin with a first chapter similar to the original short story, then build on from there. Marcellus and Abel go on a gay vampire road trip from state to state as Marcellus teaches Abel how to live as a creature of the night.

I’m expecting a lot of references to other vampire media. Dracula and Interview with the Vampire, because Marcellus loves vampire media and consumes it regularly. And of course, references to some of my favorite vampire stuff: My Chemical Romance, My Babysitter’s a Vampire, my own vampire work Night Bite, What We Do in the Shadows. That sort of vibe. I love vampires, so it’ll be easy for me to make silly references to them. 

THEMES

Plastic Fangs, like most other works of vampire fiction, has a large focus on themes of otherness, immortality, and yearning. So much yearning. 

CHARACTERS

(via ElenaA's Windswept OC Maker)

Marcellus

There isn’t much to say about Marcellus that I haven’t already said. If he were human, he would be in his mid-sixties. He’s a young enough vampire that he’s still technically a fledgling. (Vampires are considered fledglings until they reach a hundred years of vampirism.) 

Marcellus is passionate about “following the rules” as he was taught. There’s a certain etiquette to vampirism and feeding that Marcellus thinks is respectful. He’s determined to teach Abel these rules.

In the first draft of the short story, Marcellus was your typical broody vampire. He had a lot of angst about his transformation. However, I found it a lot more compelling if Marcellus enjoyed vampirism and had a funky fresh time with it. So Marcellus became the eccentric little freak he is now. 

Plastic Fangs (the novel) expands on Marcellus’ short story characterization. He’s just as delighted by the modern world (waxing poetic on how much he loves disco balls), just as nosy (frequent eavesdropping on people in motel rooms, “glass on the wall” style), and just as happy to be alive as he is in the short story; he just gets more time to enjoy it.

Abel

Abel is a fledgling vampire. He’s been a vampire for less than two years. The person who turned him did it on a whim and abandoned him. Until he met Marcellus, he hadn’t established a solid relationship with another vampire. He didn’t get to learn from a vampiric master like Marcellus did. He’s making up for lost time now.

I think Abel is just as fun of a character as Marcellus is. We aren’t as close to him, since Plastic Fangs is told from Marcellus’ point of view, but we do get to see a lot of Abel’s character in it. Abel fully enjoys indulging in nightlife. He does some fun things with makeup, in eighties punk fashion, and is wearing these obnoxiously long fake nails when we first meet him. 

Abel is a lot angstier about vampirism than Marcellus. He hasn’t had a lot of time to process his vampirism, and he didn’t get to choose it like Marcellus did. It’s pretty difficult for him. Abel is also a lot closer to everything that happened to him during his human life, so he has a lot more feelings to work through. 

THEATRE TROUPE

Marcellus’s introduction to vampirism was a theatre troupe that rolled through Provincetown. He went to see them perform for the first time and was so smitten he spent all his money returning every night. They welcomed him happily. It wasn’t until he’d been with them for a couple months when the members revealed that they were vampires.

The theatre troupe are often mentioned, but we don’t get to meet them face to face until we’re about halfway through the book. The troupe is composed of a rotating cast of characters. When we meet them, the group consists of: Julius (he/him), Cleopatra (she/her), Smythe (she/her), Mary (they/them), Calliope (she/they), and Ptolemy (it/its). We get mentions of other members offhandedly.

These vampires are all considered “elders” in the context of the story, though they are nowhere near considered elders in the counsels. The only ones who would be considered actual elders in the vampiric community are Ptolemy and Cleopatra, and even then, they don’t really follow the “old ways”. 

Julius

Julius is Marcellus’ former master/mentor. He isn’t an elder vampire by any means, but he’s old enough to have experienced the barbaric “old ways” of vampirism, and stands firmly against them. Julius is overdramatic, enthusiastic, and exactly Marcellus’ type. 

He doesn’t often create spawn, having only three (Marcellus included). Julius is close with all of his spawns, calling and sending mail. He has high standards for vampirism that he’s passed onto Marcellus. 

Their relationship is really sweet, honestly. I love how much they care about each other. From Marcellus’ perspective, Julius is his first love. Julius has great respect for how much Marcellus cares about other people and that Marcellus adopted his teachings. Meeting Abel thrills Julius; he’s overjoyed that one of his spawn is willing to take in a fledgling that isn’t theirs.

EXCERPT

“You don’t seem particularly sociable.” Abel weaves around a tree, glances back playfully. In the darkness, he looks more like a vampire than Marcellus. His long nails and contact lenses aren’t noticeable once the branches above block out the cloud-darkened sky. The swish of his hair and his cape speaks more to vampirism. He doesn’t seem to have problems speaking around the ridiculous plastic fangs.

TAGLIST

@pigeonwrites, @cwritesfiction, @revenantlore

Ask to be added to the taglist, my spooky friends!

[vemaro]

under these circumstances

[PART 2]

Here’s a link to PART 1 if you haven’t read it!

Pairing: Astarion x Tav (female Tav) // also minor Karlach x Dammon

Word count: ~2900

Notes: Sorry this one’s a bit longer. Couldn’t find a good spot to end it so I just left it as is. Man, I am soft for how Astarion approves of you helping children in Act 3. So soft. And in this house we stan Dammon!

Enjoy!

…

Astarion got roped in by the tieflings to come and see their former leader. And by roped in, Karlach literally dragged him up from the Underdark. Against his will. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Tav. Of course he wants to see her. He wishes she never left his sight. Astarion just has absolutely no desire to see the woman he’s madly in love with living a lavish life with someone else . Sure, he understands it’s his own fault. The vampire made no shortage of mistakes along the way; holding her at dagger point upon introduction, plotting to seduce and manipulate her, telling her he hoped she died screaming because she stopped him from completing the ascension ritual, the list goes on. His biggest mistake, however, was not confessing when he still had a chance. That or screwing up his manipulation plan so spectacularly he ended up developing feelings in the first place.

On second thought, both mistakes are equally stupid on his part.

Tav irrevocably changed Astarion’s life and his worldview. She made him a better person, a better man, an upstanding citizen of society who’s willing to help others without a second thought (sometimes). If not for her, he might’ve ended up dead, still under the control of his now dead master, or, worse yet, he could’ve turned into Cazador. For as long as he’ll live, no one will ever mean more to him than that kind hearted woman. Which is why it hurts to see her here and now. She’s married with a child, albeit an adopted child and the marriage was for purely political reasons.

To add salt to his wound, there’s also the matter of said child, Callum himself. Astarion is not immune to the boy’s charm. He’s actually quite fond of him. Hells, he would kill for Callum. By some cosmic fluke, the boy seems to share the sentiment (just to be clear, the fondness, not the killing). He can’t help wondering if Callum gets this excited seeing Tav’s husband. It would be rather uncouth to ask, right?

Astarion smirks, perfectly masking all of the rampant thoughts clouding his mind. “I was wondering when you’d notice me,” he says. “I was starting to feel neglected.”

Callum charges at Astarion like a horse wearing blinders, who then scoops him up with practiced ease. The vampire gets a small poke from the sword for his troubles. “Ah, do mind the blade of your weapon, Mr. Monster Slayer,” he tuts. “This monster is on your side and won’t require any slaying, thank you very much.”

The little boy gasps. “You’re not a monster, Asty! You’re so nice!” He throws his little arms and hides in the man’s neck, ironically on the side with the bite marks. “I love you!”

Astarion isn’t too proud to admit he’s grown to have a soft spot for children (and cats), but Callum has him wrapped around his little finger. That doesn't make the unprompted proclamation any less nerve racking. Gods below, he is so much like his mother, ready to befriend almost anyone. If they were alone, he would’ve waxed poetic about his odd friendship with Callum, but today there is an audience, a very particular audience. “Thank you. I … I love you too, Callum,” he says back, refusing to make contact with anyone but the boy. For fuck’s sake, he has a reputation.

Karlach takes this prime opportunity to tease the vampire. “Awe, is that a faint blush coloring big bad Astarion’s cheeks?”

“No,” he’s quick to say. Too quick. Even if he really was blushing, he knows the callout would’ve caused more blood to rush his face and ears. But he is not blushing. Curse Karlach for bringing him here. “For your information, I haven’t fed in a while so that’s not possible.”

Tav, amazing and kind and sometimes alarmingly generous Tav, frowns. The crinkle in her brow oozes concern and it makes his undead heart ache. “Oh no, are you okay, Astarion? Later I could let you …” She lets her words trail off, but the implication is obvious. No one’s hidden the fact that he’s a vampire from Callum. They do tend to spare the gorier details for good measure.

He shakes his head. “Thank you, dear, but I simply couldn’t.” She’s only offering because her husband isn’t around. He’s also aware of Astarion’s condition and gets this pinched look on his face whenever Tav invites through the front door. Or perhaps he’s aware Astarion is in love with his wife. Who’s to say?

“Yes, you can, Astarion, because I’m offering.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

“But I insist.” He wants to accept, not only to be close to her again, but he’s genuinely thirsty. Most of the blood that crosses his path these days goes to the many ravenous spawn who followed him and siblings after the fall of Cazador.

Karlach snorts. “It’s either her or me, Fangs.”

Astarion blanches at the tiefling. “Er, no. I’ll have to pass, Karlach. Despite fixing your overheating problem ages ago, your blood is still much too spicy for my taste.” It’s the equivalent of biting directly into an Altheian chili pepper. Walking directly into the sun would burn less than stomaching her blood.

Tav shrugs. She puts on an airs of nonchalance since she thinks she’s won this argument. “That only leaves you one choice then, doesn’t it?”

He has a comeback though. “Ah ah, incorrect, my sweet. I also have the choice of not eating at all.”

Callum jerks back suddenly, a devastated expression on his face. “You have to eat, Asty. You have to. Food is good for you.”

Tav has crossed the room so she’s standing on his opposite side. Fantastic. Now he has both mother and son staring him down. “Exactly, Callum’s right. You need to feed.”

And, of course, Karlach, the loud mouth, has to throw her two gold pieces in. “Yeah, Fangs. We can’t have you starve to death.”

His eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. “That literally can’t happen—” Which all the adults in the room are fully aware of. Fuck you, Cazador. Burn in whatever level of the Hells he got shoved into. “—but alright, fine. Later.”

Relieved, Tav smiles and places a hand on his free shoulder. “Thank you.”

Astarion scoffs. “You’re thanking me? You’re the one offering bl—” A quick glance to the child makes him remember to rethink his words. “Food . You’re offering me food when you absolutely don’t have to. Thank you, Tav, you stubborn, selfless woman.”

Her hand slides from his shoulder to his back, finding the space between his shoulder blades. She rubs soothing circles there. “Of course. You’re one of my best friends. I worry about you.”

The contact sends goosebumps all over his body. Hold it together, Ancunin. “The concern is appreciated, darling, but I can handle myself.”

“I know, Astarion,” she says. “But still. That’s what friends do. We look after one another.”

He both loves and hates the title. It causes his stomach to do a somersault and also drop like a heavy stone.

“You’re my best friend, Asty!”

A better distraction couldn’t have come along. “Am I now? Well, I feel honored.” He tosses a cheeky grin at his competition. “Hear that? I’m his best friend.”

Karlach’s jaw drops. The next few minutes are about to get interesting. “I thought I was your best friend, Callum.”

The little boy taps his chin in deep thought and points between them respectively. “Um, Asty’s my best friend. And Karlach’s my best friend. And Dammon’s my best friend.”

The blacksmith shrugs. “That’s fair. Though I’m just happy to be included.”

Astarion swivels so Callum’s back is to the rest of them. “Yes, of course, we’re all your best friends. How sweet and diplomatic. But I’m your favorite, right?”

Karlach rushes over, and is it suddenly a little warmer than it was a second ago? “I’m his favorite.” She tries to place herself in Callum’s line of sight, but Astarion swivels away again. And again. And again.

At this point he’s spinning in a circle. “Excuse me, you saw how utterly delighted he was when he saw me.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Karlach starts walking in a circle too, following Astarion and Callum’s rotation. It’s officially a game of keep away with Tav’s son. “What? He didn’t even notice you at first, you said so yourself.”

He waves her off. “It’s hard to miss the large, exuberant, bright red tiefling smack dab in the middle of the kitchen.”

She sticks her tongue out. “Whatever makes you feel better, Fangs.”

Who cares if she could throw him and Callum over her shoulder like it’s nothing; he’s going to throttle her. “If you don’t believe me, ask him.” Astarion abruptly stops, grabs the boy under the arms, and holds him out. “Callum, dear sweet and so very brave, Callum. Tell that wretched Karlach I’m your favorite best friend. Also, you’re very adorable. And a great swordsman.”

Karlach elbows the man none too gently. “No, Callum. Tell yucky, stinky Asty I am your favorite.”

Meanwhile, Tav and Dammon stand back, amused and entertained. “How is my four year old more mature than these two full grown adults?”

“Baffles me as well,” he says. “Still love them though, right?”

Tav has to look away, hoping he doesn’t notice the blood rushing to her face. “Mhmm. Still love them.”

“Callum.”

“Callum.”

“Callum!”

“Tell him, Callum!”

“Stop,” Callum shouts, shocking both of them. He points his sword to the side. “I love you both. But … Mama’s my favorite.”

Dammon barks out a laugh at the plot twist. Tav glides in and takes her son into her arms, even does a little twirl. “Awe. You’re my favorite too, Callum.” She pulls him in for a big kiss on his chubby little cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama.” Tav peppers a dozen more kisses all over his face, resulting in a fit of giggles and squeals.

Astarion averts his eyes, trying so hard to ignore the roil of yearning churning in his gut. Is he really jealous of a toddler? Pathetic. Someone clears their throat, making him look back up. Karlach is staring at him, hard, and she flicks her eyebrows. What’s this about? He narrows his eyes trying to discern her intentions, to which she smiles knowingly then looks back at Tav. She makes eye contact again then silently mouths tell her now.

As if it’s as easy as that! As if Astarion could just walk up to Tav and just tell her he loves her with every fiber of his being. He’s fucked up way too many times for that to ever happen. He’s fucked up too many times for her to ever return his love. And even if by some miracle she did love him back, she’s in a publicly favored marriage. (To be honest, he’d be perfectly content as the mistress, but he would never put her in that position.)

Karlach’s support, however well-intentioned, is ultimately pointless. The pale elf and the sunny druid are not meant to be, much to his chagrin. Because he apparently can’t help it, his gaze drifts towards Tav again. Mother and son glow with love, affection, and warmth, something he was forced to leave behind when they’d finally rid themselves of the parasites. It’s too much for his heart to take. Without a word, Astarion turns on his heel and heads for the front door. Best to commiserate in solitude, maybe back in his fortress in the Underdark, but …

“Asty? Where are you going?”

Shit. So much for being a stealthy rogue. Now to have a go at persuasion. “Just stepping out for a moment, little bird.”

Callum pouts in the most irritatingly precious way. “You’re leaving?”

Great, now he feels bad. He really is wrapped around the boy’s finger. “No. I was in need of some fresh air, is all. I’ll be right back.”

The boy wiggles until Tav places him down. Then he runs over and grabs Astarion’s hand. “I’ll go with you. I’ll protect you from the scary monsters.” He punctuates the statement with a slash of his new sword.

Tav can sense something is wrong, though she has no idea exactly what it is. “Um, Callum, perhaps you should wait here with me.”

Right on cue, the dramatic, overconfident facade slips back into place. “But what if there’s a monster, dear? You would leave poor little me defenseless? Now who’s the monster?”

As always, she sees right through it. “Are you sure?”

He keeps at it. “Absolutely, darling. He’ll have me back within the hour.”

“Okay.” Tav has that wrinkle in her brow again and she crosses her arms. He is in for an interrogation later. “Be safe. Both of you.”

“Bye, Mama!”

She waves back. “Bye.”

Astarion catches her eye and gives a playful wink before speaking to Callum. “Let’s go, Mr. Monster Slayer. I think I saw a vendor in need of saving on our way in. He might give you some sweet treats as a reward.”

“Yay!”

The pair leaves as Astarion goes into some tall tale of his adventures since he’d visited last. Tav is left trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. They’re friends. Tav and Astarion are friends, nothing more. He made it abundantly clear in the past that he has no romantic interest in her. And she insisted they be friends. Not to mention she’s married now. To a widely known public figure. It can never happen. Never ever. As much as she wished it could.

And yet the druid can’t rid herself of the image of Callum’s face when he laid eyes on Astarion. He doesn’t even get that excited when Terrick, the man raising him, returns from his business trips. Not that she can blame her son. She definitely prefers the company of the vampire over her husband. She prefers any of her friends’ company over her pretentious husband.

Not that she’s ever voice that out loud.

She roughly has half an hour to get herself under control. When they return, she’ll send Dammon, Karlach, and Callum outside for the ‘sparring session.’ Inside, she’ll allow Astarion to feed then question him about whatever seems to be a bother. She won’t be able to focus properly if she’s too busy staring lovingly into his beautiful ruby red eyes or imagining herself dragging her fingers through his soft hair or—no, stop it. Stop it.

It’s been years. Get over it. Focus.

Tav suddenly claps her hands together, starling her remaining guests. “Okay. While you get settled in a guest room, I’ll put together some snacks. Dinner won’t be ready for another hour or so.”

Karlach opens her mouth to say something, but Dammon grabs her by the hand and starts pulling her out of the room. “Sounds perfect, Tav. Thank you for letting us stay the night.”

She’s too preoccupied with forcing herself to compartmentalize her feelings to realize she missed something. “You’re welcome.”

In their room, Dammon shuts the door and looks at his partner disapprovingly. He’s got his arms crossed and one foot tapping a steady rhythm on the rug. Karlach hates it. “What?” she whisper-yells.

“You know what.”

She begins to pace because she is not a fan of standing still. “They’re my best friends, Dammon! And they’re totally oblivious to each other's feelings.”

“I know, but it’s not your place.”

She smirks, hoping to lighten the mood. “Isn’t it?”

He pinches the ridge of his nose and sighs. “No, love, it’s not.”

She pouts. “Why not?”

He rolls his eyes. “Because they’re both adults. If they wanted to express how they felt for one another, they could do it themselves.”

Karlach throws her arms out, but keeps her voice at a whisper. “But they won’t express how they feel because they both think the other thinks of them as just a friend because of all the shit that happened when we had worms in our heads.” Miscommunication, manipulation, and misinformation. It was truly a mess back then. Still is, apparently.

Dammon sits down on the bed and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “That may be true, but it’s still not your place to speak on behalf of either of them.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Need I remind you that Tav is currently married.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “She doesn’t love that soggy sponge, Terrick. She only did it so she could help the city. Bloody hells, she held her wedding outside, at night just so Astarion could attend.”

She makes a fair point. “I know, I know.”

The big red tiefling sits down next to him. “I want them to be happy, Dammon. They’re not happy.”

“Under these circumstances, they can’t be together.” Karlach lets out a frustrated growl. “Things can change though. Circumstances can change. There’s hope that one day those two will finally wake up and see what’s right in front of them with no obstacles in the way.”

“You really believe that?”

He straightens up and reaches for her hand again, this time meshing their fingers together. “That’s what I want to believe, love.”

She huffs. “Me too.”

He gives her hand a squeeze. “Promise to leave them be during our stay?”

And there’s that pout again. “Ugh, yes. Promise,” she grumbles.

“Thank you.” Dammon tilts towards her and places a light kiss on her cheek. Their tails intertwine behind them. “Now come on. She may not be happy, but I think having friends around makes things better.”

“I think so too.” They both stand up and head for the kitchen again. Just before opening the door, Karlach blocks it and grins wickedly at her partner. “But I know what would make her even happier .”

“Karlach.”

She relents. “Gods, kidding. Just kidding, Dammon.” Mostly.

…

Thank you so much for reading!

[maithefluffychicken]

Astarion/Gale bloodweave.

Gale has a gift for Astarion. SFW. Part 1 of ??.

Astarion had told Gale that he misses to admire his own face in a mirror. Petty vanity, Astarion has said back then, it feels like years ago.

It's been just a few weeks, maybe a whole month? Gale has lost track of time since the... ilithid abduction. And back then Gale had thought Astarion was just being dramatic, fishing for compliments, asking Gale directly what did he see whenever he looks at the vampire. Gale was taken aback then, both because Astarion is breathtaking in his ethereal beauty, his fangs a constant reminder of his dangerous nature... and because Gale had to face then the awkward truth that he was, indeed, developing intense feelings for the pale elf.

Gale praised Astarion that night, called him beautiful, and winced when Astarion seemed unimpressed by his words, no matter how much Gale tried to wax poetics about Astarion.

Now, Gale can read through Astarion cold, nonchalant facade. Now, Gale takes in every microexpression the vampire does, how his eyes flick quickly, taking in his surroundings, ready to flee or fight whenever he feels some kind of threat upon him.

Now, reaching Baldur's Gate, the tadpole still firmly and cozy nestled in their brains, with Gale's fate over his head like Damocles' sword... now, the wizard decides that he can spend his last nights on Faerun spoiling his favorite brat, the man that has raptured his heart.

"Gale, darling," Astarion calls, dragging every syllabe lazily, sighing dramatically. "What are you doing all by yourself in this ruined cabin?"

Gale shakes his head, amused. Astarion's voice send shiver down his spine, reminiscence of the dream-like nights they spent together, when Astarion still believed he had to use his body to keep Gale entertained.

"Ugh, this is so disgusting, oh look, a dead rat... What a waste... Gale? Are you playing hide and seek? Where are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm on the second floor, Astarion," Gale answers, unable to contain his smile.

"Gods, why? Come here, darling, I miss your face."

Gale does not giggle, he's an ass grown up man and he does not giggle, but he can't stop his cheeks from burning red. Of course, Gale obliges.

"What are you doing up there, dear?"

"I was just... meditating," Gale says, because he's scared to admit that he needed some alone time to psych himself to do what he's going to do now.

"Sure, alright," Astarion says, eyeing Gale with his head tilted up defiantly. "You missed dinner, I saved you some cheese and dry saussages, and bread, and that wine you fancy."

Astarion says, shrugging, as if does this for everyone everyday. As if this doesn't matter. Gale's heart does a mortal jump at this freely given love demonstration, and he's sure the vampire can hear how fast his blood rush thorugh his veins right now.

"Dinner, sure, thank you, beloved," Gale says, unaware of how the endearment falls from his lips until Astarion's face does that small wince, how his pupils blown, swallowing the red of his irises.

"Gale..."

"I have something for you," Gale blurts out. "I... could we find somewhere more intimate?"

Astarion seizes him up with his red wine eyes. Nods minutely. Astarion trusts Gale, knows Gale won't betray him, nor force him to do something Astarion is not ready yet. Gale would rather die to betray Astarion, and leaving the tray of food behind, Gale takes Astarion's cold hand and together they walk until Gale deems the landscape good enough for his gift to Astarion.

NEXT

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next parts or in my Astarion/Wyll ficlet (coming soon) 💛

[loisfreakinglane]

Top 5 things/people you love about the buffyverse?

oh THIS is a fun retrospective. i haven't yet started buffyverse rewatch 2k24- but it's happening SOON. i've given myself a new edict to scrub away 27 years of btvs/ats opinions, loves, hates, fandom histories, annoyances, EVERYTHING- and go into this rewatch totally fresh, to let opinions form as organically as they can for a universe so near and dear to my heart since i was. god lol 6 years old. i'm personally hoping characters, ships, and plots that i've found hopelessly aggravating before, i find blazing passionate love for now. WOULDN'T THAT BE FUN THO??? i'm sick of negativity, i wanna embrace joy.

before i scrub myself clean, it's nice to remember why i was invested for so many years in the first place. SO. TOP 5 THINGS/PEOPLE I LOVE ABOUT THE BUFFYVERSE!!!!!!!!! not exactly my favorite 5 EVER about the buffyverse, but an assortment of 5. 5 separate top favorite things.

cordelia chase- my love my life my soul my queen c. the thing is. i adore her. i adore her as a bitchy mean girl, using her wealth and her beauty and her status to squash down our heroes. i adore her as a broke struggling actress, using a vampire detective agency as a stepping stone for international stardom. i adore her as a genuine hero, embracing her destiny, choosing to be a demon, and fully throwing herself into fighting the good fight because it fills her soul with purpose, belonging, and fulfillment. she has an utterly flawless character arc, one that parallels buffy's own in so many ways. (and fyi as a sidenote i am ENTIRELY POSITIVE that in ats s4 amnesiac cordy was 100% cordy, jasmine did not take over her body until she had the vision of the beasts eyes, and then it was real cordelia again in you're welcome. there's not question or ambiguity about it for me personally, not anymore.) my love for cordelia is all encompassing. i love her more than anything.

buffy&dawn, angel&connor- probably my favorite plot for both buffy and angel was when they each gained a kid who automatically became the most important part of their life (while my ultimate buffyverse otp is angel/cordy, i am very fond of bangel- and my biggest proponent for a postseries reconciliation revolves around this shared life experience) there is so much i love about both characters getting an auto-grown, magically created, blue eyed brown haired impossible teenager dumped in their lap (with bonus world-altering magical memories making their existence assimilated and accepted). giving them both not just another person to love, but another human being that is entirely reliant upon them specifically for love, protection. one person with the power to uplift or destroy them, through their own actions or the actions of another. buffy and angel both went through phases of being willing to destroy the whole world just to keep them safe- buffy in the gift, angel in forgiving. i just think it's NEAT. i probably spend more time thinking about angel & connor bc i do remain frustrated with a lot of choices made wrt them in s4 (the decision to lean far harder into whiney ungrateful teenager and less into feral hellchild raise by ultrareligious 18th century man in a barren wasteland of demons was in fact frustrating to me!) but hey, i still love connor in all his messy angsty ways. and origin/not fade away put a pin in that conversation in ways i will adore FOREVER.

the concept/importance of families of choice. for as much as i've waxed poetic over two of the series core biological relationships lol, the real center of both shows is always that love between a group of unrelated misfits. i've gone back and forth over the years on my opinion of many of the relationships within the buffyverse, and how successful those families can be- but it is still something i really love. and it's especially at the heart of what has been my 2 favorite seasons- buffy s5, and angel s3- which, only hitting me now, is also when dawn & connor are introduced, which brings the group much closer together. it's unfortunate tho, that in this world of two separate families of choice, with an assortment of characters from a large variety of backgrounds, that we only got one main that's not white. forever the biggest problem with both shows. and also why i won't shut up about how kendra should have been brought back. SHE ONLY DIED A LITTLE!

wolfram&hart as a main baddie. lawyers are evil. we know this. LOL BUT RLY THO. god! a perfect PERFECT villain, perfect way to use the fuckery of the legal world to impose your will upon broke private detectives. lawyers are everywhere, i'm p sure there's more lawyers in california than in any other state. we are very litigious. the mystery behind ~the senior partners~ that is always hanging over our heads, the horror that can be inflicted by these very human lawyers engaging in blood sacrifice, murder, every evil thing under the sun- and the fact our heroes can't exactly run around killing them because a. human and b. there's way fucking more where they came from. of course they were never defeated, of course they are a main villain from beginning to end. i have less fond memories about the state of wr&h in s5, but that's less about them and more about how our heroes try to utilize their resources (badly, it's badly). lilah morgan, one of the best antagonists EVER. holland manners, linwood murrow, gavin park. they come at angel investigations from every angle- sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. but they. never. stop. 10000% perfection.

okay this one is more...... idk. this is a random thing i've been thinking about. and it's set design. lmfao. maybe it's because these shows have been part of my life for so many decades, because i grew up watching and rewatching and rewatching, but there's so much i love about their main sets. the hyperion hotel is one of my favorite locations on tv ever. the magic box! the sunnydale high library! i feel like i too lived in these locations. and i wanna go BACK!!!!!!!

[oxygen-stealer]

Audio adventures scriddler headcanons

Crane uses pet names a lot, and all of the cheesiest ones, but mostly ones that have something to do with food/sweets (Honey, honey bun, sugar, sweetie pie, pumpkin, baby cakes, etc). He's also totally called Edward "delicate little dish"

Eddie gets freaked out easily by horror movies but that just means Jonathan makes him watch them even more. He gives little bits of information throughout the film that somehow make it worse. He can stand some of the cheesier B movies though, he has a blast complaining about plot holes and stupid characters. Sometimes Jon will defend a film with his life against him but then it's like a movie about space vampires or something.

Edward is the wettest most pathetic man in Gotham Jonathan loves him so much if you don't cheer and clap for him he's gonna gas this whole fucking building

If you can't tell, Crane's a bit of a hopeless romantic. Edward likes to feign having a bit more restraint because he has a reputation to uphold of course. In reality he's a bit of a softie and gets all gushy at the slightest displays of affection. He also loves classic romance tropes. He flirts by waxing poetic and speaking in French.

Jon has very little concept of personal space, it's hard to distinguish whether this is actually purposeful to make people uncomfortable or if he really just doesn't think about it. With Edward it's mostly the latter. Edward doesn't mind touch per se, however only in reasonable amounts.

Eddie engineers Jon's saw trap devices. He built the kill collar for him.

Jon keeps his mask on around the house a lot. He just feels more comfortable that way.

Erm. Motorcycle rides......,,,,,,

Autumn and Miss Tuesday can't stand being around the both of them at once, they're like their embarrassing dads. Miss Tuesday likes Jonathan for the most part, she thinks he's cool, but he's also a bit of a weirdo and she can't stand his gross gushing around her boss. Autumn finds Edward to be kinda annoying and cringe but she doesn't say anything to him or to Crane about him.

They're both so embarrassing and weird and cheesy I love them so much