#sleep deprived so I’ll be returning to it tomorrow to make edits but we leave today triumphant

[baura-bear]

Just wrote 1800 words of vaguely-horny-but-never-crossing-the-line Baberoe

[x-reader-theater]

I don't know what is wrong with me but i just love stockholm syndrome stories?? So can i request Reid x Vampire male reader where the team investigates murders where the link is that all the victim's bodies where completely drained of blood. Later Reid encourages the reader and offers to trade himself in order to the reader to stop killing innocent people and the reader (suprise) agrees. And then later on Reid would fall for the reader after seeing him almost everyday due to his promise to be the readers blood bank.

So, technically, there has been no proven case of Stockholm syndrome, since by the very definition, the person has to be given a multiple chances to escape unharmed and not take them, and after being pulled from the situation, retain that level of need and want of their captor, so this is not a Stockholm syndrome story, but one about helping someone with a disability/medical condition type of thing. Also, I'm going off of Buffy the Vampire Slayer vamp rules so, vamp face, super strength and speed, and burns in sunlight, but no other powers. Also, there's no Demons taking over a vamp's soul in this one because I need the reader to be appreciative that he doesn't have to kill anymore. Edited by @mystic-writes

Gif by @reidgifs

He giggles as you pull him outside, actually giggles, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. You know you're attractive, that's kinda the whole point, in order to lure your meals. You usually go for women, as they seem to push themselves more towards you at the places you frequent, but men will sometimes approach, and you really have no preference. You like your meals tipsy, and into you.

You slam the man against the back wall of the bar and start kissing his neck, leaning in and slotting your leg between his. You feel his arousal on your leg and you roll your eyes before sinking your fangs into his wet neck. He gasps and immediately starts trying to pull away from you, but you wrap your arms around him and he can't escape.

You drink deeply, letting out a low groan, before you hear something behind you.

"FBI. Step away from the man," another man says from behind you, his voice only wavering slightly.

You open your arms and take a step back, and the body falls to the ground, dead. "Too late," you say, turning around and running at the man. His gun fires, but misses you as you slam him into the wall behind you, connecting to the back of another building, some abandoned warehouse or something. You growl at him, your face already turned and your fangs extended.

The man underneath you gulps, and you look down at his neck, flushed pink. You lean in and take a long sniff right at his pulse point, and you whisper against his warm skin, "If I weren't already full, I would devour you."

You press a light kiss to the skin, and the man underneath you shivers, before blurting out, "Let me help!"

You frown and pull away, though you're still pinning him to the wall, you can look in his eyes now. "I'm sorry?"

"Let me help," he repeats and you frown, though you feel your face return to normal. "I-I have to travel a lot for work, but you don't *need* to feed every day, and that way you-you can stop killing people?"

He phrases it as a question, but you stop and think for a moment. It would make things easier, and there is something addicting to having the same blood for a long time. It's certainly more filling.

You nod slowly. "Okay. Fine. But, you have to come by at night. Or I have to go to your place. You're going to be tired after I feed, so you'll need sleep and I am not letting you walk home sleep deprived," you say, leaning in, pushing your forehead against his. "No one else can have you. Not when you're vulnerable, not any time. You're *mine*."

The man whimpers, but nods. You grin.

"What's your name?" you ask, carding your hands through his hair.

"Sp-Spencer. Spencer Reid," he says and you smile.

"You can call me [Y/N]," you reply, before leaning in and nipping at his lip, not to draw blood, just to show him who he belongs to. "You're mine, Spencer Reid."

–

You open the door to your apartment, and smile as Spencer steps through, sitting down on your couch like he's done a couple times before. Already, after a week, you're starting to become more filled, needing Spencer less and less. For the first three days he came over every day. Then it was every other. Now, you've waited two days, and still don't feel starved, just slightly hungry.

You close and lock the door behind you before sitting down beside Spencer, who starts removing his tie and shirt, like he's done before. You know how messy feeding can get, and you don't want to ruin *all* of his shirts.

You lean forward and mouth against his neck, muttering, "How was your day?"

He sighs, and tilts his head. "I think we have a case for tomorrow. JJ looked like she was going to cry when she talked to Hotch," Spencer says and you bite down in the middle of his sentence, so he's distracted and doesn't feel as much pain. He gasps and tenses slightly, but that fades quickly. "We're probably going to be leaving tomorrow. Be gone for a couple days. If it's any longer than four I'll text you so-" you pull away from him and lick up the errant blood that's still flowing from the wounds, closing it with your saliva "-you can make plans to uh… get some more blood somewhere else."

You nod, and wipe at the corners of your mouth with your thumb, and you go to lick it off, when Spencer takes your hand, and sticks your thumb in his mouth instead.

His eyes go wide and he freezes, mirroring you, seemingly realizing what he's done, and he pulls away, your thumb pulled free. You wipe it on your pants and clear your throat. Spencer is bright red, and, honestly, if blood still flowed through your veins, you would be blushing as well.

You stand up and you clear your throat and say, "Ah, ahem. If you want the guest bedroom it's yours," you say and Spencer nods, grabbing his things and practically running out of the room.

You sigh and retire to your own room, keeping yourself distracted from the thoughts running through your head as you think about what has just happened.

In the morning, Spencer is gone.

–

It's four days until you see Spencer again.

You hear a knock at your door, and frown, opening it, and your features soften.

"[Y/N]! I-I want to apolo-apologize! I shouldn't have done- done what I did, and it was really not professional, and I-"

Spencer cuts himself off and you grab his hand, pulling him into the small apartment, flush against your chest. "Do you want our relationship to be professional?"

Spencer looks at you, with wide eyes, and slowly shakes his head. "No…" he whispers.

And you kiss him.

[buginetye]

Marichat!!!

Fairy Lights and Flower Boxes

Sorry this is so late! Anyway, I need sleep, so here’s something quick ‘cause I don’t know if you mean a doodle or a fic!

P.S. the fic is after Chloé has apologized, become nicer, and actively tried to help take down Hawkmoth and Mayura, even as a civilian.

Edit: I kinda forgot about Kagami so just assume she fell asleep or smth idk. Also fixed my spelling :/

~

“Girls night!” Alya had decreed as soon as she walked into class and saw Marinette’s dead expression.

And that was why, at 8pm, Alya, Kagami, Chloé, Sabrina, and Juleka were in Marinette’s room, engaging in a heated debate over who the better hero was: Chat Noir or Misterbug. The six girls had become quite close since Juleka and Sabrina figured out all of their identities, and accidentally told them all that they knew they were a hero in a group text instead of four individual ones. (It was 3am when they finally cracked it, okay? Everyone makes mistakes when they’re tired!)

“Misterbug is clearly better!” Marinette said, slamming her hands on the table.

“You’re only saying that because he doesn’t make cat puns,” Chloé remarked, met by murmurs of agreement from the other girls.

From Sabrina’s shoulder, Trixx chimed in, “Hey, I like his puns! Chat Noir is definitely better!”

“No way! Not with that stinky, cheese-eating kwami of his!” Tikki said, wrinkling her nose as she munched on a cookie.

“Is it not pointless to debate such things? They are the same person under the mask, after all.” Longg, in a flash, stole Tikki’s cookie and returned to his perch on Alya’s head. He winked at the bug kwami and ate it.

“Hey, Longg, be careful! You know I love you, but that does not mean that I want crumbs in my hair!” Alya said, already trying to get any crumbs out.

Mullo squeeked, hiding behind Chloé as Sass chased him. “Hey, leave him alone!” Pollen said, flying between the two kwamis.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Sass said, slithering back to Juleka as Mullo stuck his tongue out at him from the safety of Chloé’s sleeping bag.

There was a tap on the window, and Marinette walked over to open it, telling the kwamis to hide.

“Come on in, Kitty,” she said as she opened the window. The cat squeezed inside the opening that should have been too small for him to fit through, seeing as Marinette had barely opened it, but through the physics of however the fuck cats work, he fit, seemingly with ease.

“Princess,” he said, bowing and kissing her hand as she giggled. He turned, noticing the others, who were all regarding the interaction with suspicion. “Am I missing something, or did you just not invite me?” He pouted while giving her puppy eyes.

“It’s a girls night, dummy,” Marinette said as Alya threw a pillow in his face.

“Well then, can I join?”

“Hmmm...” Chloé trailed off, seemingly lost in thought. She looked around, and the others nodded, knowing her well enough by now to predict exactly what she was going to say. “Only if we can give you a makeover.”

“Anything to spend time with my Princess.” Marinette blushed deeply, which was not lost on the others. “By the way,” he said, shaking flowers out of his hair, “what’s with the flower box?”

“I needed a little garden of inspiration, okay?” she said as the others hid their laughter.

2 hours later, Chat Noir, the hero of Paris, had on bright red lipstick, some black eyeliner, and some black eyeshadow, blended into green at the edges. (The girls had somehow managed to cover his mask in concealer. Don’t ask how.) He had a tiara on his head, and Marinette had shoved a frilly, sparkly pink dress at him to put on over his suit. He had just finished putting on knee-length, silver, extremely high-heeled boots on over the normal boots his suit came with when he heard a crash.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” he said, trying to turn around but tripping on Alya’s sleeping bag as his heels got twisted in it. “Ow.”

“I’m okay,” Marinette called from her position by the window, tangled up in fairy lights. Sabrina and Juleka giggled, took a picture or two (or three...or ten...) and then went and helped her up, untangling her from the lights. The girls strung them up by the window.

“Hey, can I get a picture for the Ladyblog?”

“But of course! I couldn’t deprive all of Paris from seeing me look this fabulous.” Chat Noir posed over dramatically while Alya took some photos. (The rest of the girls may or may not have photobombed one of them, resulting in a subsequent photo of Chat Noir laughing maniacally as the girls fell on top of each other in a large pile on top of Sabrina’s sleeping bag.)

“Hmm, maybe one with some fairy lights in the background would look nice,” Longg mused, having snuck up into Alya’s hair, hidden from Chat Noir’s eyes.

“That’s a great idea! Hey, Juleka, Chloé — could you hold up some fairy lights for me, please?”

“Hey, watch the claws!” Chat whined after Chloé tripped on Juleka’s foot, tangling up the fairy lights in his claws.

“Oh, here, let me help you,” Marinette said as she sauntered over. “Little Kitty got caught in a mousetrap?”

“Only one set by the best, Princess,” he winked, nodding at where the mouse miraculous had previously hung on her neck while they had fought Kwamibuster.

She blushed lightly as she set to work untangling him, only to be stopped by the lights twisting under someone else’s control, wrapping her and Chat closer together until they were nose-to-nose.

“Hey!”

“Oops,” Sabrina said, fist-bumping Chloé. “How utterly careless of me!”

Marinette tried to back away, but Sabrina tightened the lights even more. She could feel his breath on her face, and his lips brushed hers as he spoke. She turned bright red.

“Well, this seems like...quite the situation we’ve found ourselves in, huh, Princess?”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me, you silly cat.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.” He closed the gap between them.

The kiss was passionate, and when they pulled away, they were both bright red, and Marinette had gotten some of his concealer on her face and some of his lipstick on her lips. As they gasped for breath, Alya said, “Yes! I got it all on camera!”

“Alya!”

“What, Marinette? Is something wrong?” The journalist had an innocent expression on her face, before the two tangled-up teens started laughing, turning back to face each other.

“So...” His voice trailed off, and he gulped, looking away. “Would you want to, uh...go on a date tomorrow night?”

Her eyes lit up at th prospect. “Of course! I��d love to!”

“I’ll pick you up on your balcony at 6?”

“Sure.”

“Dress casually, okay? And maybe something to hide your identity, like a baggy hoodie.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know, Kitty. I am your Mouse-inette, after all, no?”

“Yeah.” He looked her in the eyes. “Yeah, you are.”

He pulled her into another kiss, and after they pulled away this time, Chloé said, “Is this how you two lovebirds are going to act all the time? I’m starting to regret this.”

Everyone laughed.

“What? I was being serious!”

The two rolled their eyes, and were about to kiss again before they were quickly untangled and pulled apart by the girls.

“So...” Alya butt in. “Truth or dare?”

[anjuschiffer]

[Maribat] Ancient Magus’ Bride Au : Second Chance

Was probably sleep deprived when I wrote this draft but I found the following on my notes on my phone and thought I’d share it..

Pairing: Daminette

Concept: Marinette as Chise (possibly 17, turning 18?) and Damian as Elias Ainsworth (however, Damian is only like 1-3 years older than her, but mari thinks he’s like in his late 20s due to how stoic he is.)

Marinette signs a contract with someone to give consent to selling herself in an auction. 

All of her life, Marinette’s been able to see fairy-like creatures as well as some ominous gloops in her everyday life. The dark blobs have always been the ones to haunt her, especially since her parents died in a car accident. 

She was tired of being sent from foster home to foster home, finally settling on selling herself to someone who’d want her for being a “waste of space.”

She’s bought by a mage for 6 million. A mage that caused everyone in the auction house to badmouth him. Something about being uncouth and showing off his wealth. But what she heard the most was the title of “The Tainted Demon.”

What caught Marinette’s attention was the skull that the man used to hide his face. 

As soon as she’s purchased, the mage simply gets rid of her chains and throws his cloak over her. “You are mine. Don’t forget that.” Marinette nodded, following him as they went into a room. After a few words, they leave the same room through the same door, only to no longer be in the auction house but in a luxurious cottage surrounded by wilderness and grasslands. Before they entered the home, the mage removed his mask, revealing a tanned male with emerald eyes. 

“This is your new home. Get used to it.” The mage pulled her to the bathroom, where he stripped her and placed her into a tub of warm water. Marinette fought from being stripped and being touched by this man, only for her to lose at a battle of strength. 

She couldn’t help but realize that he was toned, reserved and yet caring, noticing frown upon seeing the scars and bruises covering Marinette’s body.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here.” The mage said as he lathered some soaps into her hair. “I wanted to prove to the imbeciles of the Bats that I am worthy of being our father’s successor. They thought I couldn’t find myself someone to be my apprentice, but what better person than you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can see them, can’t you? You can see the fairies, Chosen one.” As he said that, he grabs something that had peeped from the window. 

“Chosen?”

“A Sleigh Beggy- the most adorned person in our realm. A Queen Bee if you must, but a curse at the same time. You attract both the ugly and the beautiful, just like this fae.” He opens his eyes to show her a fae dressed in red. [might include a sketch later on???] 

Marinette is at awe and learns that its name is Tikki, a fae that helps in creating items and at times, new magic.

"You are to work under me as an apprentice, so be prepared to work hard.” He then gives her a circular orange pendant. “A welcoming gift. Now get to sleep, we got a busy day tomorrow.” 

He introduces her to Barbara, who runs a store called Oracle. (Also where she finds out that the Mage is called Damian.) “Come here if you ever find yourself in trouble.” He talks with Barbara in private, Marinette roaming through the bookstore, finding another fae, almost resembling a raven. As she reached for it, it bit her before flying away. As she was about to tell Damian about the incident, the cut healed, the evidence disappearing. However, a ring was left behind on her middle finger on her right hand

Time passes by, Marinette learning more about the world of magic, embracing everything taught to her and adoring her new friend (and later familiar) Tikki. 

She also learns that while Damian is reserved, he makes sure to always have everything needed at home and for his familiar Titus, a Church Grim. (She also learns that he gets jealous when Titus prefers to stick more to Marinette than Damian.)

Once, when she’s sheering wool from the sheep-looking creatures, she’s attacked by a dragon, taken away behind Damian’s back. That’s where she mets Richard, the Dragon Caretaker. This is where she learns why Damian is called The Tainted Demon. (People knew he was of the Clan of Black Mages that dealt and majored in dark magic: Al Ghul. People were also frightened to know that he mastered the dark magic spells at the age of 8 and kept making more spells until he was 10, where he was taken in by Bruce.)

She remains with Dick for a complete week since Dick is a master of illusions and distortion, which is why Damian took a while to get to Marinette. Damian quick yells at Dick before taking Marinette by the waist and taking her back home.

Damian makes more protective forces around the home, Marinette learning that the pendant she got from him was actually a tracking device, but didn’t care. It was his way of saying that he cared for her after all. 

One night, someone visits them. “Jason.” Damian snarled when he saw the figure who stood at the door, about to cast a spell to send him away when Jason simply grinned, pulling Marinette towards him, light engulfing her. When the light faded, Marinette was gone and there stood a black cat, staring at Damian with her blue eyes before running away.

Damian lunged at Jason, a thorn covered branch piercing through Jason’s shoulders and legs. But instead of screams, Damian heard howls of laughter from Jason. “I thought I was hearing things, but seems like the rumor was right! The little Beggy really important to you, isn’t she. But I wonder, will she return to you, Demon Spawn?”

So yeah... this is the first installation to this au I apparently made while sleep deprived... I  guess I’ll finish making the rest when I get the chance? (So yeah, there’s going to be a second part :D)

Edit: Next

[readfelice-blog]

Moominland Chronicles Siebzehn: infatuation is not a gift

Blog guide: all italics are my wednesday edits.

Before we begin:

Anyone who suddenly might be unexpectedly flush, my crowdfunding campaign has less than 24 hours left

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/acht-ocho#/

Well then, hello, no more letters lets return to moominland.

You might remember in my last chronicle that my bloody tale of woe was still in action, after many pills and spending time with a really wonderful gynaecologist who spoke about death with me - following my lead, (she didn't open an appointment with a death chat, I don’t think doctors are normally allowed to even think the word) it was finally determined I have chlamydia.

Surprise!

What fun eh?

I’m on antibiotics now, it should be gone by this weekend, and the bleeding stopped about 2 weeks ago after I started a combination of blood clotting pills and the contraceptive pill. My suspicions are it was stress, hormones and chlamydia that caused the gushing of blood, it would be an act of suicide on chlamydias part to deprive itself of so much iron, which it needs to survive.

So as inferred previously, the NHS would of caught this sti months ago, I would not of cost my insurance company thousands of euros or been subject to various ultrasound spy dildos and gleeful practitioners telling me I was pregnant rubbing their hands together in anticipation of jumping into my vagina, or surgeons hysterically clutching scalpels, so overjoyed to be operating again.

BUT, if I had dealt with my insurance issue diligently, and gotten a proper gynaecologist much earlier and done my research carefully, AND LEARNT GERMAN, this would also not have happened, so I can't deny my own responsibility in all of this either. I still retain my idiot abroad status, which I need to work on to be a proper functioning expat.

So, I’m lying in bed a bit nervous because I’m printing my first copies of my publication tomorrow to fly them to italy at the weekend: it’s Tuesday as I type this horizontal on my phone. As I'm away and just embarking on the next chapter of my project, the making it really real bit, I thought it best to get this log drafted and up before I go.

They’re done, some of the pages are wonky, but they look great actually.

Follow the diary of this project here:

https://felicezhukov.net/bocem-diary

(Because death lurks round every corner, it’s best not to have any unfinished business.)

It’s been quiet, I’ve been napping a lot and taking pills and cutting down salt, my social life has utterly ground to a halt aside from the occasional quick drink and my trips to the studio to practise the live element of this project, which has been revealing itself to me and making me consider myself in a new light, somewhere between a musical performer, a stand up comedian and just all out weirdo, but I’ll refine this at a later date.

What I want to talk about this week are the letters to Nicolás Jaar, but not as a letter to him. As thoughts directed into the macrocosm of the internet.

Because I finished ‘I love Dick’, at first I wrote a very clumsy synopsis and realised many of the critical details had passed me by, academic references sifting out of my mind like flour and swirling away into the air. It has made me realise I need to study what I read, but again that's a thought to refine later.

Still, I was left with a very strong impression which fermented inside me like kimchi and whilst sat in my kitchen earlier between courses, my eyes resting on candlelight, it struck me, the protagonist of the book, Chris, was bullying dick, suddenly it was crystal clear that her infatuation was never weathered by Dicks resistance, that Dick could be curious and still also be anxious about her attention, that victims make mistakes to. But she ploughed on, regardless of his protests, for a long time.

Now, my letters to Nicolás Jaar only lasted a matter of months in comparison, and did not include any colluders, but they were still deeply personal and troubled. Week after week I decried the suffering in my life, the cruelties I was facing, the emotional carnage of my break up and my alcoholism, addressing them to someone I’d formed an infatuation about solely on the impressions of his public persona and his music.

When I was 15 I was obsessed with the doomed relationship of courtney love and kurt cobain, as a the eternal odd one out with nowhere to go in the countryside I entertained myself by creating a character called enigma, who lived in New York. I drew hundreds of drawings of her in different attire that looked more like fashion illustrations than anything descriptive, my mum used to get frustrated at this waste of talent bound to repetition, and enigmas neck was always to long.

Enigma had a lover, called jake, chiselled jawline, a genius musician with a tortured soul, he seduced and slept with all of New York’s cultural elite, but he loved enigma. Though they stayed plural and their relationship was often fraught, they were absolutely bound together, forever destined to explode and then reassemble.

Jake didn’t kill himself.

That fantasy has taken new form, enigma looks like me now, but it is the foundation of every infatuation I develop.

Nicolás Jaar was in the middle of a grueling international tour, I mangled what I read about him into some kind of twisted connection between us, he was travelling the world to the backdrop of me destroying every last vestige of my life,in all senses of the word, selling and trashing my life’s work and possessions, leaving my husband, leaving my home of over 10 years.

Then In its closing chapters I retold and fictionalised a very unsettling story about murder and submersion, the whole thing taking an unsavoury twist with me paralleling beauty and the beast, what if the beast had killed beauty?

I was the beast.

But aren't we all the beast sometimes?

I can only imagine how tiring and unsatisfying months of touring can be for someone creative who wants to innovate and explore in their work, it would be my personal hell, that rotation of groupies, hangers on and gargantuan crowds, barely a moment to breathe and personal space so diminished that you stop knowing who you are any more. In the midst of this to be receiving unsolicited attention from a mentally damaged stranger on twitter, sometimes 2 or 3 times a week, could only serve to heighten the stress you're already experiencing and cause you to disassociate yourself from your inner core even more.

In my mind I was pleading to be saved by devoting all my attention to him, in my unhinged state I felt like by baring everything to a man I’d never met he’d be so disarmed he'd surely empathise, find solace in my garbled stories of misadventure and anxiety.

But now I see how selfish it was, to project on to another human, after all dick was just a human to, with all his own baggage to cope with, though infatuation can amplify its object the reality is noone is really built to cope with that kind of attention, not Dick, not Nicolás Jaar.

Though it was an interesting exercise in some way and will always be part of my oeuvre, probably more definitively so because it exists on the internet, so if the walls don’t come crashing down it is relatively protected, it wasn't kind. I was not trying to help Nicolás Jaar, or create something nourishing, it was selfish. Infatuation is, at its core, selfish, the object is merely that because there is no connection, or at least in this example. There was never any exchange between us, just me pouring all my illness into him blindly.

And I know this well because I have suffered with others becoming infatuated by me on more than one occasion, it’s not pleasant.

In Turin, on stage, he seemed so broken and at odds with himself during his set, he appeared to be really unhappy, my most noble act in this whole enterprise has been to stop writing him letters and focus on myself. I do feel angry with the former me though there is no use regretting what has already passed and life moves on as surely as the sun and moon pass each other in the sky.

In the end i cant punish myself, to err is humane, to forgive divine, I must forgive myself as well.

I’m glad im returning to Turin a more advanced and thoughtful person, I’m going to order in a restaurant this time (well, maybe, but I’m definitely going to buy chocolate) and have a nap before I go out on saturday, I’m going to go to Italy this time, not to stand wretchedly at the feet of a man who owes me nothing and asks for nothing from me. Because as someone grappling with their own fears about performing: this kind of incident is one of the key aspects of what I am terrified to illicite, so i say to you my readers, that I'm sorry to Nicolás Jaar and I will never repeat this journey with any future influences in my life.

I wonder if Chris Kraus has ever apologised to Dick, I’m going to give it a google now I think then try to get some sleep.

Goodnight all, next week I’ll regale you with my Italian trip and who knows what else.

Should ever our paths cross, I don't think I could be like chris, I feel like I’m done exposing him, so it may very well be that whatever ending this story could have, this here will be the end in terms of its written account, I might never type the words Nicolás Jaar on tumblr again.

And by the way, I’ve already uploaded my album, because actually I detest exclusivity, it’s free to download and publically available on 2 of my music based accounts, it’s not hard to find, trust me.