#tw pursuit au

[xxl1ghtxx]

SUNFLOWER if she was in the PURSUIT AU!

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: Attack of the Homeowners Association

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 14.3k

Synopsis: A surprise visit leads to some unforgettable encounters.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, vampire AU, established relationship, situationship, set in my IPOB AU (a must read for you to understand this one), Hunter! Reader, Mockumentary AU, WWDITS AU, spider trio appearance, CW food mentions, CW blood, CW injury, TW violence, CW suggestive, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @hyperfix-wip ❤️❤️ come get your food @al1x00 !!! Just a little silly fic that I had so much fun with!

In Pursuit of Blood/Vampire! Hobie Masterlist

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The camera appears from the corner, filming you leaning on the doorway with a steaming cup of tea, and a thick cardigan pulled around your shoulders. The fabric smells weirdly like the vampire you're currently watching.

You almost jump in place when you finally notice the camera's presence. Rolling your eyes, you point at Hobie who's currently standing motionlessly by the window sill. The heavy curtains are open just enough for him to peek through, moonlight shining through the red velvet, illuminating his silhouette. His thin button up leaves little to the imagination. Lean biceps in full show, back flexing every time he shifts his weight.

“He's been standing there since he woke up.” You whisper to the crew, “it's the most entertaining thing that has happened here since I moved in six months ago. The drunken incident doesn't count.”

The camera lowers towards the dark cardigan around your body, earning you a disgruntled scoff. “I was cold, it was the nearest thing next to me.”

Hobie inhales sharply, staying still. You purse your lips together at his heavy sigh.

“That's…concerning.” The producer gives you a questioning look. “I'm not concerned about the man eating vampire, okay. I'm worried that he might be hungry again and look who's the nearest blood bag there is, me, bitch. And you too I guess.” You gesture wildly at the crew.

Jared the cameraman side eyes you. “That was a one time thing, Jeff.” You say his name like he's the bane of your existence, knowing that you called him a different name just to annoy him. “‘sides, I'm not his familiar. He can feed himself—”

Hobie releases a gutteral sound from the belly, growling in place.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” you say under your breath. “I think I should tell him to eat. Be right back.” Walking briskly, the cameras follow you closely. You make it to his side, tapping him on the shoulder with slight apprehension.

His scowl is replaced with a smile when he sees you. Fangs and all. “Darling, you're awake.” He flicks his eyes down to his cardigan, raising a brow at the sight. His grin grows wider, no sign of hunger on sight. Maybe a different kind of hunger that is. “You need anythin'? Me perhaps?” He says unabashedly before he glares at the people trailing behind you. They back away, almost tripping amongst themselves.

“Just wanted to see if you're hungry. You were standing here growling like a fucking hell hound.” You push him away with one finger on his chest. He backs away, but his smile and fond stare remains.

“That's a compliment, love. And I wasn't growlin’.”

“You were.”

“Really? How? Can you show me? I wanna hear it.” He says with a teasing smirk, you almost fall for it.

“You know what? It's too cold for this.” You try to walk away but he yanks you back, twisting you around to look at the window, your back braced atop his chest. “What—? Come on, Hobie!”

“Shush.” He says as he holds you against him.

“Don't shush me!” You wiggle out of his hold. He lets you go but you stay in place after seeing him scowl again.

“There are old people outside. Watching us.” He whispers.

“What? Don't be rude.”

“No, look.” Hobie takes your face in his cold hands, careful not to pierce your cheeks with his sharp nails, sending goosebumps down your arms. He points your face towards the accused. “There, see? Fuckin' Peepers.”

With a roll of your eyes, you peek at the small gap in the curtains. “Huh?” You see a group of old people huddled together on the sidewalk, whispering amongst themselves. “What the fuck? Have they been there long?”

“Maybe, I only noticed after feedin'. Do you think they know?” His hands are still atop your cheeks.

You look up, stuck in place. “They're probably just gossiping. You know how old people are, you're a part of the demographic.”

He lets you go, leaning on the wall casually, arms crossed on his chest. “Basically your type, yeah?”

“Augh,” you resist his awful charms again. “I'm gonna talk to them. Get them out before you decide to eat them.”

“I don't ravage old people!” He yells after you, “I let time do that!” Laughing, he sees the crew staring at him with flat expressions. “What? It's funny.” Waving them off, he goes down the patio to meet with you.

—

You go outside, with Hobie and the documentary crew trailing right behind you, their shoes shuffling quickly to meet up with you.

“Hey!” Waving at the older group, you open the gothic gates, the metal squeaking against its hinges. You take a mental note to get that oiled or it'll irk you. “Do you guys need anything or are you just gonna stand there and block our driveway?” Despite your cheery smile and the lilt in your voice, your words sounded like a threat.

The group looks at the camera crew behind you with puzzled looks before shrugging in understanding. You guess the crew have their permission.

“So sorry, but we're not here to block anything.” An older woman with platinum hair scrunches her wrinkled nose. “We're HOA, and we were actually trying to find your doorbell. Do you even have a doorbell? It's mandatory to have one.” She smiles kindly, but her eyes say otherwise. She reminds you of an entitled Karen you always seem to run into.

“We don't have one. It ruins our aesthetic. Why are you here exactly?” You narrow your gaze at the group who are all staring behind you with wide eyes. Sighing, you place your hand on Hobie's chest to tell him to calm down. You sometimes wish you're the one with telepathy.

“Uh,” the older woman fixes her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Your scowl deepens. “We're here to congratulate you two on your wedding.”

You blink away the glare. “W–Wedding?”

Hobie's breath hitches in his throat, feeling his surprise under your hand. The shock disappears a second later, replaced by a smug grin on his face. “Thank you, love. The ceremony was beautiful.” His arm snakes its way around your waist. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Oh, I bet! You seem to have good taste, Mr. Brown. Your father and your father's father did!”

Turning your head to look at him, he winks at you, voice wiggling its way into your mind. “She’s talkin' about me don't worry, I just go on vacation for a few years and come back tellin’ people my father died only to ‘replace’ him. People are idiots, lovie.”

You tamp down a laugh by biting your lip, craning your attention back to the group, you smile sweetly at them. “It's too bad that my in-laws didn't get to see us marry.” Hobie gives you a sly high five behind your back. “Well, thank you for the congratulations, but we gotta—”

“Are you two planning on having kids?” Another old woman with a pink sweater asks excitedly. “It would be nice to have kids running around the neighborhood again. Now it's all tiktok and something about toilets.”

Hobie can't help the chuckle that leaves his lips. Your cheeks are aflame from the simple question. But your hunter training blocks the thought, bringing you back to your studies, eyes narrowing at the prospect of half vampire children.

The scene shifts to you back inside the house, sitting on the dining table with you looking awfully serious at the camera.

“Half vampire children.” You say like you're a host of a true crime show, tone serious. You flip the weighty tome in your hand to face the camera. A medieval painting of a baby with fangs is drawn on the page, adorable but deadly. “Some live happy and long lives but for some they don't even make it through birth. I know very sad but it's worse if they turn out like this—”

Turning the page, a macabre drawing of a baby with a half goat body with bat wings for arms and eyes like a cat jumps at the camera. “Sorry, not exactly PG-13.” you say in your normal cadence.

Closing the large book, you decide to spare them the next gory pages. Going back to your narrator voice, you continue. “They say that when a half vampire is born, god tosses a coin. Whichever—”

“Ain't that from Game of Thrones?” Hobie appears from the doorway, smirk on his lips, eyes glinting with mischief.

“What–? No, Shut up! I'm educating the masses!”

He saunters over to the chair, wine red eyes staring at you softly. He sits on the arm of the chair, which you reluctantly scoot over to give him space.

“Educatin’ huh? Have you told them that one branch of the family where your great aunt canoodled with a vampire?” He glances at the cameras.

You look at him with wide eyes. “I'm sorry w-what?”

It's Hobie's turn to look surprised. “Shit– You didn't know?” His voice wavers, “I shouldn't have said that.”

You stare off at the camera, eyes glossy, mouth slightly parted, looking like you're having a crisis.

“I guess that's why they're disowned–”

You suddenly grip his collar, pulling down towards you. “Did you fuck my great aunt, Hobie?!”

“Fuckin' hell!” He yelps, hands curling around your wrists. “No! It wasn't me!”

You glare at him. The stare sends shivers down his spine, and in between his legs.

“Did. You. Fuck. My. Great. Aunt?” You say through gritted teeth,

“No.” Hobie says with his chest. “I haven't sired any children, darling. She’s not even my type!” He tries to lean away but your hold is too strong. Worried that he might accidentally break your wrists. He leans closer to you, forehead placed on top of yours, he felt your fists loosen. Just a tiny bit. “I'm not that vampire, yeah?”

Hissing, cheeks burning, and palms sweaty, you push him away. “I think I need to take a look at the family tree.” You practically jump away from your seat, avoiding his eyes and the cameras.

Hobie sighs, sitting down where you sat. The crew is stunned to see him smile like usual, red eyes brighter than before. “She's jealous.” He laughs, sounding more like a giggle.

With a smooth transition, the scene goes back to the previous conversation with the HOA.

“So sorry for the late intrusion.” The woman says without an ounce of genuine apology. Eyeing her friend after asking that loaded question. The rest of her lackeys nod simultaneously, reminding you of a group of bobbleheads, “but do you have a cat?”

“A cat?” Hobie's hand squeezes your side, urging you to make up a lie on the spot.

Your mind goes back to the blob mess of a cat that keeps wandering in and out of the house. You feed him occasionally, and he seems to like you despite his terrifying look with his milky white eyes and fur that is akin to a slime more than fluff. You've accepted anything is possible in this world, hence why you're not completely puzzled by the alien-like being, who seems to like you most. You suppose that you've seen weirder things in this world.

“No.” You blatantly lie. “We would know, trust me. I mean…” Pointing at the cameras, you shrug. “Impossible to hide a whole cat.”

“Oh, alrighty then. There have been complaints about cat droppings in the area.” They don't seem too convinced. Hobie's ready to hypnotize them despite his own promise to not use it unless in an emergency. But if it involves you, and that you might be in danger of getting kicked out by a bunch of old ladies, then he's ready to put them under. “We're also here to ask how many people—” she chuckles, “or pets are living inside so that we can properly bill you the homeowner fee.”

Hobie makes a face. “The what?”

“It's just that— oh I hate to be the bearer of bad news but, you're late with your dues.” She eyes you up and down as if you're the bad influence.

“Um,” you feel like you're being scolded by the elders in your family again. The camera moves to zoom in on your clenched fists, shaking as you grip onto the cardigan. “H–How,” you clear your throat but the lump still stays. “I—”

“We’ve never been late in payin’” Hobie answers for you, hand sliding up to your shoulder to massage the tensed muscles. He lies through his fangs just to get them away from you. In truth, he has never paid for anything except for the occasional electricity, water, and internet fee. Other than that, the house is his, and he has never heard of the so called HOA fee until now.

“The city hall has informed us—”

Hobie steps forward, hand still upon your shoulder protectively. “Then we'll go there and see it for ourselves. Have a pleasant night.” He says the last sentence through gritted teeth as he shuts the gates close, then leads you back into the house without another word. The group could only stare at the closed doors as they're left behind outside in the cold.

With the doors locking on its own, no doubt from Hobie's telekinesis, he cups your cheeks, feeling the warmth of your skin against the cold of his undead flesh.

“You alright?” He asks in a soft tone, thumb brushing along your jaw while the crew films the whole interaction with bated breath. “They're not here, Y/N. You're with me, and you're home.”

“Married?” He cracks a smile at the word. You take his wrists, trying to level your breathing. “Are you hypnotizing me?” You ask in a small voice.

“No, love. I'll never do that to you. If I ever do that one day, feel free to put a stake through my heart, yeah?” His wine red eyes look at you softly, as if it's just you and him in the room. “Can't even do that, remember? The curse and all.”

You chuckle, nodding as you take his hands off of your cheeks. Heart beating quickly, Hobie can hear it clearly in his ears. A song that he has dreams of every night. “Thank you, Hobie.” Glancing at the camera crew hunched together in the corner, you back away from Hobie. “I— I need to go to work. Maybe there's some stupid vampire out there who's begging to be staked.”

“I'll pay for the fee, you don't have to worry ‘bout it.” He calls you back.

“No, I don't even pay rent here so I might as well pay for that.” You exhale shakily, fingers still numb from your anxiety building up and bubbling to the surface just a minute ago. “I don't want to be a freeloader.” Hobie frowns at your words.

“But you do pay the rent?” Hobie scratches the back of his neck, wondering where the monthly checks have been coming from.

“I don't?” You turn away from him and towards your room, signalling the end of the conversation.

—

The whole documentary crew pants as they try to keep up with you lest they get burned by a large lava monster out to get you.

“Shit!” You look over your shoulder, hand still holding onto the broken hose, whilst the groaning blob of molten rock runs after you. “Get away from here!” You yell at the crew, “go! I'll be fine!”

Just as when they were about to leave you behind, a loud crash from behind can be heard. You stop in place, panting as you stare at the burn marks left on the pavement, but no creature.

“What? W–Where?” With another crashing sound, you run towards the source, it leads you towards an alleyway. The camera follows right behind you, ready to run away if need be. Taking a glass of holy water from your utility belt, (the only thing you have right now to fight a fire being) you ready to throw it at the beast.

Feet skidding across the pavement, you make it towards the dark alleyway, finding the walls scorched but still no lava monster in sight. Grabbing your flashlight from your belt, you flick it on, watching as the light illuminates the way.

“Stay close to me.” You tell the crew. As you walk towards the alleyway, a silhouette appears, all balled up in the corner with the burning trash. “Hey, you alive over there?” Moving your light, you see a lone man with his clothes singed and fear locked in his eyes. “Cursed, huh?”

He nods, trembling in place. “D–Did I hurt you?”

You stare at the hem of your coat that's singed, other than that, you're perfectly well. “You made me run a couple of blocks. I'm fine, don't worry.” You place your weapon away, taking off your coat and toss it over to him. The stranger immediately drapes it over himself, lips wobbling from the stress of transforming back. “Do you have someplace to stay? Someone waiting for you?” Your mind flicks back to Hobie waiting at home. You shake your head to get rid of the vision.

“Y–Yeah, my wife. I–I think she's waiting for me.”

You stand up, giving him a helping hand. “I'll take you home.”

“You're not gonna kill me and take my heart like the others wanted?” He reaches for you, but retracts his hand back from how cold your palm was.

“No, you were dealt with an awful fate. I'm not gonna take your heart because of it. I just never thought there'd be a human under all the lava.” Hands wringing together, you try to warm yourself up so he could hold onto you for support. “Just a bit of advice from a supernatural expert. Keep your head cool next time. Or at least bring a pack of ice with you and put it on your chest whenever you feel like you're about to turn.”

“Will that work?”

“It's good prevention. At least you won't burn down a whole parking lot next time.” You hold out your hand again, this time he takes it. “Do you know any breathing exercises?”

As you lift him up, you help him waddle back towards your car. “No, do you?”

“God, no.” You chuckle, heaving his heavy form up. “I was hoping you did, I hate for my new car to burst into flames.”

The man smiles, laughing along with you as you help him into your kia. The documentary crew stays back to get into their own car, but Jared the cameraman sees something glinting above a building. He aims his camera at the silhouette, within a second the familiar figure is gone in a snap.

—

Your neck and ankles ache from the hunt, entering Hobie's house empty handed. It was a bust obviously. All you got from it were a bunch of thank yous and a bushel of celeries that the guy's wife gave you straight from her garden. To your surprise, even with the sun peeking from the horizon, you see Hobie in the living room, nursing a burn while he tries and fails to wrap it in gauze.

“Rough night?” You ask from the doorway, shrugging off your coat and leaving it on the coat hanger.

Hobie's eyes flicks down at the celeries in your hand. “For me, wifey? You shouldn't have.”

You scoff with a smile, heading towards him on the couch. The documentary crew is forgotten in the hallway the second you see him bleeding. “You know what they say, happy husband, happy life.” Sitting next to him, you snatch the gauze away from him, helping wrap it around his sizzling arm. It'll heal quickly, but the pain is still there. You want to help in alleviating it, even for a moment.

“It's not just for a moment, y’know.” He whispers to you, but the boom mic still picks it up. You glare tiredly at him. “Sorry, you were thinkin’ too loud.”

You sigh, “it's fine, I was thinking too loud.” wrapping the gauze tightly, you finish him up with an affectionate pat to the back of his hand. “You're done.”

Before you could stand up, he grabs onto your wrist, sliding his hand downwards to grasp at your hand instead. You look down at your interlocked hands, eyes shining in the warm light of his home. You guess it's your home now too.

“Ask.” He softly says.

You chuckle softly, knowing what he meant. Squeezing his hand, you look down at him through fond eyes. “Can I stay in your coffin tonight?”

His crimson eyes sparkle with mischief. “Like yesterday? And the day before that, and the day—”

“Alright, if you're gonna be smug about it—!” He's suddenly carrying you in his lean arms. “Hobie!” You smack his chest weakly. “Don't drop me.”

He leans closer, if his heart still beats, it would beat like a drum right now. “Never, love.”

The lens zeroes in on Hobie's soft gaze on you and at how you're gripping onto him like a lover would. With a puff of dust from the carpet, you and Hobie have run off towards his room. The audio guy hears the sound of shuffling and giggling before the mics get tossed right outside the window with a piercing thump that has the poor guy clutching at his ears.

—

You sit on your desk, fingers kneading at your temples as you glare at your opened laptop that has an absurd interview question. Eyes flicking at the crossbow hanging above the desk, you thump your head against the keyboard, leaving a bunch of Hs in its wake while the camera watches you collapse further into your desk.

The scene shifts back to you, now on the same ancient couch where Hobie once helped you on. There's a steaming cup of tea left untouched on the table with a note in Hobie's scribbled handwriting together with a doodle of you smiling while driving a stake through his heart. That seemed to cheer you up as you smiled slowly, and taking the cup from the coffee table.

“He went out to hunt.” You blow at the warm drink, addressing the camera. Sighing, you already know what Jared the cameran is about to ask you before he could open his mouth. “It's hard to find a decent job when everything in your resume says you kill and hunt the supernatural for a living. A degree in chemistry doesn't help much these days. It doesn't even pay that well— hunting the supernatural, I mean. I think, wait, how did my family get rich from this gig?” Your frown gets deeper, eyes glimmering as you leave the barely touched drink on the table to walk towards your room alone.

You're left to ponder amongst yourself, meanwhile on the second team of the filming crew, they're chasing Hobie while he's on his nightly hunts. He's in a dark alleyway, if it weren't for the camera's night vision, the crew wouldn't be able to see Hobie feasting on a suit clad man with shiny leather shoes.

He lifts up his head from the neck of his latest meal, chin dripping in blood, fangs fully out and eyes bloodshot whilst staring directly at the camera. His eyes glow in the night vision, a proper sight for the start of a horror movie.

“What?” His voice is akin to a growl. He slowly tilts his head towards the camera, claws gripping onto the limp man.

The crew doesn't back away anymore, they're used to Hobie's post feeding haze. But the fear is still there, Hobie can hear their heartbeats thudding against their chests. Just begging to be ripped out. The producer utters your name softly, barely heard by the boom mic.

“Is she still sad?” His fangs retract back slowly, sound squelching as he tosses the body on his shoulder. The camera nods, and Hobie lets out a face. “Nod normally, Jared.” With a whoosh, he's gone, presumably back home. Back to comfort you.

—

You open the front door and are immediately startled by the bright flashing light of the camera. Besides the shock, it’s a beautiful night out, with the stars twinkling in the early hours of night, and the full moon showing itself to you. Giving Jared the cameraman a nasty glare, you button on your coat properly, fixing your hair to hide the warmth on your cheek.

“You guys are late today.” You clear your throat.

Hobie appears from behind the door, yawning and still in his pajamas. He’s wearing your old college sweatshirt, pajama pants hanging low on his hips, and with very fluffy slippers on his feet. He opens the door wider for the crew, keys in hand with a bat keychain hanging alongside it. “Don't forget your keys, love.” The camera pans over to you then back to Hobie. He shrugs, lips shining in the same shade of your lip balm.

The keys jingle as you take them from Hobie, glaring at the camera. “Don't follow me to work.” You point at the lens, making sure to smudge it with your fingerprints, taunting them.

Whilst the crew cleans the glass, moonlight filters inside the house; bathing the now brightly lit home in silver light, blending in well with the warm yellow tone of the light bulbs. Sighing, you glance at Hobie before waving goodbye. He opens his mouth to say something but with the camera following his every move, he shuts his mouth.

“Come home safe, yeah?”

You walk backwards to face him but still heading towards your kia. “It's a grocery store, Hobie. The only danger I'm in is getting stuck in the freezer.” You pause mid-step. “Actually— that's really scary.”

“Well, jus’ don't get inside the freezers then.” He waves back, stepping forward, as if he wants to join you.

You shrug with a smile. “Okay, dad—!”

As the words leave your lips, something or someone flies overhead at unimaginable speed. The air around you almost blows you away, the breeze whistling out a high pitched tone. You shield your head with your arms while the crew braces themselves. Hobie rushes over to you, holding onto you the second he spots a pink blur in the sky.

“Is that a bloody witch?!”

You peak over his bicep while he holds onto you. “I think that's my godmother!” A sultry laugh echoes in the night, and Hobie grimaces at the hazy memory of that sound. He can't quite pinpoint who laughs exactly like that though.

With a whizz of yellow and orange, a crashing sound can be heard inside the house. Glass smashes inside, wood creaking and falling based on the chaos heard. The rushing wind subsides, and you're left with your godmother's words of wisdom in the night.

“Take care of him for me!” Her cackling makes you groan in Hobie's arms.

“Damn it! Not again!” You march inside the house, leaving Hobie's side and pushing away the confused film crew. Kicking the front door open, you enter the house, already noticing the cold air getting inside.

Hobie follows right behind you, your shriek coming from the inside has him immediately appearing right next to you.

“That's my fucking room!” You hold your head in your hands with a frantic look on your face. The camera and Hobie follow your gaze, finding the ceiling now has a person-shaped hole on it.

Hobie had to tamp down a guffaw at how perfectly shaped it is. The hole goes through from the roof to your room then down to the living room ceiling.

“Found the source of the draft you were complainin’ ‘bout last night.” He pokes your side to lighten the mood. “Now you really have an excuse to stay in mine.”

You stomp your foot down, annoyed by it all. “I swear Felicia does this everytime I get my shit together!”

Hobie blinks, then his expression morphs into shock. “That Felicia's your godmother?! The same witch that cursed your whole family?!”

Your eyes widen briefly, head slowly turning towards Hobie. “...no, what I meant was—” The pile of wood and cotton candy insulation moves and groans, the perfect distraction for you. “Oh shit! Someone's under there!” You fail to act worried as you help the person underneath all the rubble.

With a helping hand, a teenager emerges from the splinters. He still holds onto his broom, cloak covered in dust and pink fluffy insulation, yet his hair is still perfect in every way. You're quite jealous.

“You okay?” You flick your eyes towards Hobie who seems concerned about the poor kid who plummeted down through his house.

“Sorry about the damage, lady.”

His deep brown eyes stare into your soul. Maybe he can, your godmother's apprentice always has some gift, that's why she trains them and once they've unlocked their potential, she dumps them on either you or your family members. You still have no idea why she does it though.

The said apprentice notices the cameras following you, and his frown turns into a bright smile. You swear you'll need sunglasses around this kid.

“Oh, cameras! Hello!” He waves back at them all friendly like.

“Did you hit your head that hard?” Hobie gently tilts the kid's head to the side to check for an injury, finding none. He locks eyes with you, answering your question wordlessly, and you sigh in relief.

“Uh, don't think so.” The apprentice knocks on his head and you immediately take his hand to avoid further damage.

“Okay, we're gonna sit down now.” You carefully lead him towards the couch, stepping over debris and a shattered guitar that Hobie doesn't seem to mind being broken.

“A shitty rocker gave that to me, don't worry about it.” He tells the camera and you.

The plush seat helps the kid relax. You take a pen light from your coat, checking signs of a concussion. Thankfully you find none. “You seem good. Can you tell me your name?”

“Pavitr Prabhakar. But you can call me Pav if you like.” He smiles at you, giving you his hand to shake.

“Y/N, and this vampire here is Hobie.” You shake his hand briefly before letting him go and glancing at Hobie, having a wordless conversation.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry about the roof.” He frowns, concerned about the giant hole that is now in the living room.

“Don’t worry, I'll send your mentor the bill.” You stand up, pocketing the pen light. “Felicia does this every time she's bored of her apprentice.” Hobie raises a brow at you, jaw tightening at the name uttered. You ignore it for now. “You seem fine. So come on, where do you live, kid? I'll drive you.” You gently tap him, jiggling your carabiner of keys.

“Mumbai.”

“Damn it.” You hiss.

Hobie finally lets out a loud guffaw that rattles the house, making a plank of wood fall from the ruined ceiling.

“We'll figure this out later.” Checking your watch, you head out. “I'm so late.”

Hobie protests immediately, fluffy slippers squeaking on the floor as he follows you outside. “What about the kid?”

“Just keep him entertained or give him some juice!” You open your car with a beep, entering the driver's seat. “Open tiktok or something!”

“A what?!”

You poke your head out of the rolled down window. “Just don't eat the kid, dude.”

“Dude?!” He animatedly gestures around him like you've scorned him. “That’s not what you called me last night, darling!”

You beam at him playfully. “Dude! There's a kid inside! Don't start!” You're already backing away from the driveway.

He huffs on the porch, hand placed on his hips. “Jus’ don't forget about tonight!”

“Yeah, yeah! Bye!” The car screeches as you drive away wildly as if you're in Tokyo drift.

Hobie exhales deeply, turning around to meet with Pavitr’s polite smile. “D’you like ice cream?” He nods happily. “C’mon, let's get you a bowl. And make sure you grab the one with her name on it, yeah?”

—

The mundane grocery store has you breaking down your defenses that are always on high alert because of your upbringing. So when the camera crew appears right behind you, followed by a familiar black smoke forming into a silhouette, you almost jump in place.

“Nice melons.” Hobie’s face materializes next to you, he glances at the two melons you have in each of your hands with a raised mischievous brow. You roll your eyes, gently placing the fruit back down on the crate.

He leans on the apples right next to you while you were stacking the melons properly after someone took one from the bottom. His brow is raised, eyes flicking towards Jared the cameraman for approval. The said man seems to bite his lip to prevent a laugh from escaping, especially after seeing your deadly glare.

You yank the fruit from under Hobie's arm, making him stumble a bit. “Don't lay on the apples, Hobie.” Your tired voice echoes around the near empty grocery store. This is why you took the night shift, it's more quiet. That and the night deferential salary. “What are you even doing here? Please don't tell me you couldn't keep the kid alive for more than six hours.

His face flickers into concern briefly before smiling softly at you. “Our son misses you.” Gesturing behind him, you peek behind him to see Pavitr browsing the shampoo aisle. “‘Sides, we're here to pick you up for our appointment.” He suddenly groans and rolls his eyes. “I hate that fuckin' word, ‘appointment.’” He shivers in place.

“Pick me up? I'm the one with the car, Hobie.” His grin widens. “No, you're not literally picking me up and flying us towards the city hall.” He pouts, fangs peeking from his lips. “No, remember what happened last time I let you?”

“C’mon, love, it'll be a bloody crackin’ entrance. Strike fear into the hearts of government employees.”

“No, could you guys wait twenty minutes until I finish up my shift?” A thud rings out around the quiet store, you and Hobie look at the source only to find Pav trying to pick up a fallen bottle of shampoo with its strawberry scented contents now oozing on the floor. “You okay?”

“I'm sorry.” Pav's shoulders are slumped, face contorted into fear.

You sigh, heading towards him to help clean it up. “It's alright, don't step into it, you might slip.”

Pavitr looks at you apologetically, “I can pay for it—”

“No need, bruv.” With a wave of Hobie's hand, the oozing shampoo returns back into its bottle on its own. As if being replayed backwards on tape until it flips back on the shelf. Pav stares at him with wide shining eyes. Hobie shrugs at him, patting the top of Pav's head. “See, ‘s fine now.”

“Woah you're really powerful.” Pavitr says with wondernment. “Now I know why my mentor left me with you guys!”

Hobie glances at you only to be met with an empty space. “Oi!” His long legs immediately catch up to you towards the meat aisle. Pavitr follows right behind Hobie, trying not to get distracted by the scented candle aisle they passed through. “Darling, we gotta talk.”

“Uh oh!” You sarcastically say, trying to act busy while you stack up packaged chicken nuggets in the freezer. “We don't, Hobie.”

“What's up with you and Felicia, hm?”

“What's up with you and Felicia?” You throw his words back.

“That was bloody centuries ago, love.” You click your tongue, annoyed at him. Hobie pinches his brows together, instructing Pav to busy himself somewhere while mom and dad talk.

The younger witch makes a face before leaving towards the candle aisle. He was hoping that the crew would do the same but all they did was hide behind a cookie standee to film the interaction subtly. If subtle was an elephant stomping through the aisles.

“Are you fuckin' jealous?” The corner of his lips tick upwards into a smirk. “Thought you didn't fancy me very much, huh?”

You pause, elbow deep in the freezer. “I still don't fancy you.” Emphasizing the word, his smirk turns into a hurt expression. “Don't forget that I tried to kill you, Hobie.”

But he recovers quickly. “That's not what you say every night in my coffin—”

“Felicia is my godmother, there, happy?” You huff, shutting the freezer door loudly. Inhaling, you think of a lie.

You can't exactly please everyone in this situation. If you tell Hobie the truth that your family has broken the curse and is now able to kill him? That could enrage him so much that he could kill you and your entire family in one fell swoop. Sometimes the soft embraces and gentle words make you forget that he was once worshiped as a god. You really don't believe he'll do that but your years of studies hinders you to think otherwise. Or you lie, you keep your family happy and safe, and Hobie stays in the dark. Win/win. If only it were that easy when he's staring at you like that. As if you were the exact person he fell for centuries ago. As if he loved you for who you are and not your ancestor’s face you wear. It's not your fault that you look like her. And yet, it's entirely your fault for falling for him. The one you were supposed to kill three years ago.

“How did that happen?” His voice wakes you up from your internal turmoil.

“They…” you stare deeply into his wine red eyes. Hoping that something will make you fall out of love. But you find none, you find yourself drowning in those crimson pools. Your godmother was right, you're bad with choosing partners. “...They made a deal before I was born. Way before I was born.”

Hobie waits for more but you stay silent, your nails digging into your palms while you lie. “And? What was the deal?”

“I don't know, Hobie. No one told me, it's a family secret— a house secret. The elders only know about it.” You feel awful, like you're spitting venom right at his face.

For a second, you thought that he's able to see through your well concealed lie. But with his nod, he trusts your words wholeheartedly. He trusts you. Maybe he shouldn't.

“Right.” He glances at the cameras still rolling before reaching for your hand atop the freezer to unfurl your fists gently. “We'll wait for you outside—”

The sound of glass shattering smashes the tense atmosphere, followed by Pavitr's muffled apologies. “Gotta help our kid before he breaks anythin' else.”

“Please, before I get fired.” You urge him to go, but his touch lingers on you. Before he could leave, he brings your hands towards his cold lips, pressing softly along the knuckles while he keeps his eyes on you and you only. “Hobie…” Your guilt eats at you.

Watching his back retreat from you has your heart clenching at the sight. You're used to lying, lying to your family about a monster kill when in truth you let them go out of pity. Lying to lovers about your profession; lying comes natural to you. But with Hobie, it's like swallowing a flaming bullet.

“Men, right?” The sudden voice startles you, staring at the source, you find the grocery store owner behind the butcher's counter, with a large knife in her hand.

“It's not nice to eavesdrop, Janet.”

“So is slacking. Get back to work.” With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you head back towards the front of the store.

You stare directly at the camera, “cut this part out.”

—

“Stop touching shit, Hobie.” You drive recklessly in your kia with Hobie in the passenger's seat, Pavitr in the backseat, and Jared the cameraman holding onto dear life right next to him.

“Can't help it, it's my first time in your car.” He smiles as he checks himself out in the rearview mirror. Smiling, he leans on the center console, teasing you with a simple look. “Your air freshener smells oddly like fresh linen and sandalwood, love. I wonder why.” His grin gets bigger with every word. You've been got.

“I like it!” Pav unintentionally saves you the embarrassment. “Reminds me of an ikea.”

You snort, dodging a car on the road like you're Vin Diesel in fast and furious. “It does smell like it, right?” Glancing beside you, you see Hobie frown and sit up right on his seat with a slight huff.

Hobie side eyes you, eyes glinting with playfulness. “Oi, Pav, fancy a snack?”

“No, thank you—”

“Right! The kid's hungry, love. ‘m sure you've got your stash in ‘ere.” Before you could stop him, he reached towards the glove box, opening it swiftly and releasing a stuffed worn out rabbit to tumble out of it.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath. “Don't, Hobie.”

He picks it up by its patchwork ears. “What's this then?”

“Uh, a rabbit. Is this a test?” Pavitr peeks from behind you to stare intently at the plushie. “Yep, a stuffed rabbit.” He confirms.

Your annoyance grows. “Just let it go.” Trying to snatch it, Hobie holds it further away from you. “It's just a toy!” You almost swivel on the road, but you manage to drive straight, eyes keeping up front.

Jared feels like he's about to piss himself.

“I know what it is, the question is, why hide it from me?” He mocks a pensive look, oddly sniffing at the toy. “Pav, mate, any chance that you're a medium?”

“Dude.” You warn. “I swear I will hit the breaks so fast you'll go through the windshield.” Jared hopes you don't.

Pavitr smiles widely, but Hobie stops him. “And don't say that you're a small, bruv. I invented that joke.”

Pav pouts lightly, “...no.”

He shrugs, “damn, the secrets this thing could tell me.”

“I use it as pixie bait, Hobie!” You finally make it to the city hall, thankfully finding it still open even though it's close to two am. You guess that it's a new policy to remain open 24/7? You have no idea, the whole city is weird enough to have goblins and vampires roaming around with no one the wiser.

“Sure…” He flips the bunny upside down, releasing a quiet squeak when he does. Grinning from ear to ear, you already know what he saw whilst you were too busy parking the car. “Then why does it have your name scribbled on it, hm?” To add salt to your wound, he shows the camera your child-like handwriting on the bottom of its fluffy foot. The lens zooms in, making sure that it gets all the details. “Why do you still need a stuffed toy when you have me, love—?” You're already outside, door closed as you leave them behind in the car. Hobie's muffled guffaw can be heard from where you are.

“I think it's cute that she kept a childhood keepsake.” Pav chimes in, opening his door to exit. He leaves Hobie to think about it further.

As you walk towards the entrance, you feel a rush of wind behind you, then a not so subtle arm snaking over your shoulders. Sighing, you stare at Hobie, finding that he has pocketed your bunny inside his coat pocket.

“What? Just keepin’ him safe, don't worry.”

“You better not lose Mr. Prince.” Shoving him off, you leave them behind as you head inside the building.

Hobie looks over at the camera, smirking while patting the rabbit's head.

—

As you enter the glass double doors to collections, you have a group of mismatched people following right behind you, making you seem like you're someone incredibly important. Good thing there's only a handful of people waiting inside. Or else you'd be embarrassed about appearing with a dozen people right next to you. Add the cameras, lights and boom mics, people might ask for Hobie's autograph seeing that he looks like a punk star in his usual red velvet and leather getup. He's in his usual spiked jacket, complete with the numerous pins and patches that you will never confess to anyone that you helped stitch some of it.

And Hobie will never confess to having your initials embossed on the inside, lest you take a peek inside. Which has happened before, if he wasn't fast enough back then, you would've noticed how it's placed right above his heart. The red velvet pants he has on looks comfortable, you know it is from how you borrowed it before when you thought it was pajama pants. His ringed fingers glint in the light, shining as if it's hypnotizing you. The small scattered group of people seem to think so too when they can't get their eyes off of the certain punk. And yet, his eyes don't wander, they're only looking at you as you take a number and sit patiently under the harsh fluorescent light of the government building. Pavitr takes notice of this, so does the whole camera crew. But they don't say anything, just letting him unabashedly stare at you with fondness in those crimson eyes.

Looking up at the screen that says what number they're serving now, you find that you're only two people away from being called on. So you sit tight, pretending that you don't feel his affectionate eyes on you. You try not to glance at him, lest you lean against him and cuddle on his side. You know it's bound to happen when he looks at you like you're the living embodiment of a blood bag. You're not his blood bag, not yet anyway.

The room feels stiff with its drab grey walls, boring PSA posters, and even more boring royalty free music playing softly in the speakers. You feel sorry for the employees right now for hearing that kind of music on loop for eight hours. The air around the place is just incredibly mind bogglingly boring. The room doesn't even smell anything, as if the room itself sucked all the good things and farted it out in the parking lot.

You can hear the whirring of the camera lens while they take establishing shots of the entire place. You're used to the sound nowadays, what you're still not used to is the questioning stares from people around you. Sighing, you feel Hobie's arm snake around your shoulder subtly. While Pav sits on your left, and trying to ignore the blatant PDA, Hobie lounges on the cold metal bench as if he owns the place. You can hear him scoffing and murmuring a “bureaucrat” under his breath after waiting for exactly six minutes.

“Be patient, Hobie, we just got here.” You pat his hand laying on your clavicle, index playing with the frayed edges of your shirt.

The camera hones in on the close proximity, and Pav stares at the camera with a blank stare. One day in and he's already tired of it.

“‘m gettin' hungry, darling.” Hobie replies with a playful lilt.

“You fed after you woke up.” You unconsciously touch the side of your neck where the two pinpricks of scars lay. The lenses whirr again, and you don't have to wonder what they're currently shooting at. Leaning closer to him, a smirk immediately appears on his lips when he gets a whiff of your familiar perfume. “Don't be greedy.” Your whispered words are no use when the mics pick it up clearly.

“Still, ‘m hungry now.” His honeyed wine eyes glance at the bathroom in the far corner of the room. You take notice.

“No.” You enunciate for clarity. He pouts, feigning disappointment. “Keep those fangs in, Hobie.”

“Until we get home?” He whispers against the shell of your ear as you see your number glaring on the screen.

“In your dreams.” You say, standing up to go to the nearest available counter. Hobie's quiet footfalls follow you immediately together with Pavitr's louder footsteps. The camera crew stay a few ways away from you, save for Jared the cameraman who sidles up with you on the counter.

“I love seein’ you in my dreams, lovie.” He calls after you. And you ignore him with a roll of your eyes.

“What are we doing here again?” Pav scratches the back of his head, talking in between yawns. “Are we getting your marriage certificate?”

“What?” You almost yell in shock. “No, we're here to pay our dues.”

Hobie chuckles, “Where'd you get that idea, bruv?”

“Marrying your familiar isn't unheard of—”

“She's not my bloody familiar.” Hobie says, a bit offended.

Pavitr gives an apologetic look, hands raised in surrender.

“I'm not his fucking familiar.” You simultaneously say with Hobie, but the second you let out the sentence, the person behind the counter appears. “Shit– sorry, hi. We're here to check our balance?”

“Uh,” the brown eyed boy wearing an oversized hoodie glances at the camera next to you, then his eyes widens at the sight of you and Hobie. Recognition flits across his face for a second before clearing his throat. “HOA fees right?” he's already typing, weirdly enough, he doesn't ask for your name or Hobie's, he didn't even ask what the camera crew is about. Hell, he didn't even ask what's up with the bunny inside Hobie's pocket.

You flick your eyes towards his nametag, reading his name and position internally. ‘Miles Morales, intern.’

“Thanks, mate.” Hobie rests his chin atop your shoulder, while Pav tries to take a peek at what the guy behind the counter is typing. You resist the urge to cup the back of Hobie's neck.

“Hey, aren't you my age?” Pavitr suddenly asks, face pressed against the glass.

“Uh, don't do that. The glass is nasty.” Miles answers while still typing. Pavitr immediately moves away from the glass pane. “Yeah, I guess.” He taps his badge, “got the short end of the stick.” Pav nods, now leaning on the glass all nonchalant, copying Hobie.

“Let me guess,” Hobie chimes in, hand slyly pressed on the small of your back, giving you enough space to move away. But you remain still, even leaning against him. The producer and Jared the camera man take note of this. “Your old man gave you community service for spray paintin’ hm?”

Miles pauses from typing, eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “I didn't give you permission to read my mind.”

Now it's your turn to be confused. “You know that he's a vampire?” Pointing at Hobie's chin, you can feel him smile on your shoulder.

“Bro has red eyes, and has been glancing at your neck.” he shrugs, “What else could he be?”

You and Hobie chuckle nervously, getting called out is embarrassing enough, but getting called out by a teenager is much more mortifying.

Hobie looks impressed. “I didn't read your mind, mate. I saw your phone wallpaper and it has your old man wearing a copper’s uniform. Then I saw the paint on your hands, I put two and two together. I don't do that invasive shit, come of it.”

You crane your neck to see him looking back at you smugly, proud of his own perceptiveness.

Miles smacks his lips together, continuing to type, keyboard clicking loudly around the room. For a half second, Miles' eyes turn white, as fast as it came, it's gone. If you blinked right there and then, you would've missed it. Pavitr seems to notice too, he moves next to your side, hand cupping your elbow. He's probably freaked out about it but didn't want to say anything. Hobie noticed it, based on how he squeezes your hip lightly. Jared looks like he saw a ghost, his hands trembling as he holds the camera.

“Right, Brown residence on—? Watch out for the mail cart!” Just as he says it, the sound of rolling wheels and metallic clanging can be heard right behind you. The presumably mail guy runs after it frantically, trying to catch up.

Grabbing Pav out of the way, Hobie in turn moves the two of you away from harm as the cart smashes against the counter. Envelopes and packages fly off, the sound of metal bending has you gnashing your teeth together. If not for Hobie, you would've been pancaked by the cart. Good thing Jared the camera man had enough time to jump back. You can't exactly pay for the damages if he got run over by the homicidal mail cart.

“Shit, sorry about that!” The man running after it quickly picks up the packages with yours and Pav's help. In a minute or so, he's already wheeling the damaged cart away.

“Knobhead should've been more careful.” He pats the space between your shoulder blades, wordlessly asking if you're alright. With a nod, he returns his attention towards the mysterious Miles.

“You okay, Pav?” You nudge him, smiling kindly at him.

“Yeah,” he pats himself all over, checking for injuries. “You saved my life.” He gasps at you, eyes shining.

You chuckle, “don't worry about it.” Turning towards Miles, you tilt your head curiously at him as he presses gently at his temple. “Headache bothering you?” Hobie glances at you with a soft smile, while the other two stare at you with wide eyes. “One of my cousins was clairvoyant, I know about the skull splitting headaches after a vision.” Grabbing a piece of paper from Miles’ table, you take your pen light, scribbling down a recipe. “She brews these everyday. Helps with her migraines.” You give it to Miles without another word.

He takes it gingerly, skimming through it. “Thanks. It's getting worse these days.” Clearing his throat, he shows you his computer screen. “Turns out you're fully paid for everything. I guess the system got it wrong the first time. It happens a lot.”

Hobie grins at him. “Thanks, bruv.”

“Did you think I rigged the system?” Miles glances at the three of you. “It wasn't me, even if I could do that. You're actually just fully paid. It was probably an error.” He shrugs, “we're good here.”

“Wait, are you sure?” You try to confirm. Flicking your eyes towards the vampire, he just shrugs, more than ready to go home as he tugs you away.

“We need to go before I start eating everyone in ‘ere.” Hobie whispers, pulling you and Pav away from the counter.

“It was nice meeting you, Miles!” Pav waves a goodbye, now getting hauled away by Hobie. The entire crew exits with the three of you, finding the whole encounter boring except for the fact that they just filmed an actual clairvoyant in action.

“You too, Pavitr.” He tiredly answers back.

“He knows my name?” Pav wonders as Hobie opens the double doors with his mind. With a gust of black smoke, he teleports the three of you outside, leaving the crew in the dust.

—

“That was anticlimactic.” You say as you unlock your car, which Hobie quickly sits on the passenger seat before Pav could call shotgun. “Did you know about that?” You ask, leaning against the doorway, head peeking in.

Hobie buckles himself, still holding Mr. Prince hostage. “You better get inside or the rabbit gets it.”

“I'm with Hobie on this one, Y/N, I'm really tired.” Pav yawns, head leaning against Jared's shoulder, all weary.

You sigh, “fine, we still need to get you settled in one of the rooms.”

“Don't worry,” he fights a yawn while you start the engine and put on your seatbelt. “It's only temporary until Felicia takes me back home.” His eyes close gently, lashes fluttering as he relaxes in his seat.

You feel sorry for him, knowing that your godmother dumped him over to you after unlocking his powers. Now he's all by himself after being practically raised by her. Hobie seems to think of the same thing, red eyes turning into a softer hue as he looks at Pav in the rearview mirror. Turning towards you, he knows what you're thinking.

“The blue room. I'll clear it for him.” Without thinking, you reach over the center console to kiss his cheek. His eyes close briefly, breath staggered in his throat.

“Thank you.” Leaning away, you pat his cheek Without looking at the direction of the camera. Good thing that Pavitr's already asleep. “I'll help clean it up.” Hobie seems to be stuck in the moment, leaning against your palm, eyes cast on you.

A loud metal thud ruins the saccharine moment. Screaming in shock, you see Miles huffing in front of the car, fists knocking on the hood. Pavitr snorts in his sleep, none the wiser at what transpired.

“What the hell, man! I just bought this!”

Hobie's eyes glare dangerously at Miles for ruining the moment and for punching the hood of your kia.

“I—I need help!” He heaves, panting like he ran after you three. “It's my friend! She's in trouble!”

Hobie's demeanour changes. You're already unlocking the door for Miles. “Get in!”

—

“There!” Miles points at the city's cemetery.

Fog rolls in, blanketing the grassy knoll and grey gravestones. Curved trees loom overhead, moonlight beaming down, painting the leaves in its silver light. You slow down the car into a stop, eyes trying to decipher what's hiding in the mist. Before you could stop Miles, he's already running further into the cemetery.

“Fuck! Don't run off!” You yell after him, releasing your seatbelt as you quickly grab a dagger under your seat. Opening the door, Hobie grabs your wrist, clawed hand wrapping gently around you. “What? I gotta help the kid!”

His red pupils shake, lips pursed into concern. For a moment you thought that he'd protest, or even teleport you back home. “I'll come with.” Instead, he releases you, exiting the car in a blur of smoke as you stare at the trail he leaves behind.

You turn towards the backseat, finding Pavitr still sleeping off the day's fatigue. Then you glance at the camera and the van parked right behind your kia. The filming crew could be in terrible danger if they come with you, but with Jared's curt nod, you exhale sharply.

“Stay far from the action and don't do anything reckless. You got that?” You don't wait for his reply as you're already getting out of the car. Speed walking towards the trunk, you open it quickly, yanking the false bottom away to reveal your array of weapons towards the film crew. “Shit, should've asked what we're killing.”

So you chose the quickest thing you have and the most universal thing that could kill an entity, silver tipped arrows and crossbow. Grabbing the quiver, and your utility belt filled with toys for hunting down the supernatural, you head towards the direction Miles went while you frantically equip yourself.

“Hobie!” The cold pinches your cheeks, lashes fluttering in the cold autumn air. Yours and the documentary crew's footsteps crush fallen leaves whilst you dodge gravestones on your way. The fog parts for you, and now you see what you're up against. “Oh good, at least it's not a gang of pixies.”

The ten foot werewolf howls, blond fur matted with dried blood, claws drenched in the same ichor. Your worst fears come to mind, but the second you see Hobie hauling away Miles on his shoulders, you sigh in relief.

The crew listens to you after seeing the behemoth, choosing to get out of your way instead of getting the shot that might win them a golden globe. Instead, they'd rather stay alive in the sidelines even if the footage will be grainy and far away.

Loading the crossbow, you step on the cocking stirrup, anchoring it on the ground as you load the arrow in its crosshairs. Knocking it back with some force, and putting it in place. The sharp string cuts your palm open but you ignore it while your blood drips on the grass below.

“Damn it.”

The camera pans from you over to the werewolf, its teeth are bared, maw opening and closing as it whines, as if it's in pain. Its blue eyes glint in the moonlight as it sniffs the air, head moving until it stops in your direction.

Heart stuck in your throat, you raise the crossbow. The wailing werewolf bounds over to you, paws as big as your head digging into the soil below.

“No, don't shoot!” Miles manages to wiggle out of Hobie's hold, now running towards you, desperately trying to reach you.

“Miles!” With one lightning quick move, Hobie yanks Miles away, and in turn snatching you off your feet, making you miss your shot.

The arrow pierces the tree right next to Jared's head, you swear you can see him collapse on his knees from where you are.

The werewolf slashes at thin air, howling and huffing from the missed mark.

“Why'd you do that?!” You ask Hobie, bracing yourself on a gravestone as you try to keep your dinner down from the sudden jerky movement.

“She's my friend!” Miles answers for Hobie. “Don't kill her please.” He grabs you by the shoulders, and you now notice how he limps. “She's already hurt.”

You glance at Hobie, who nods at you. Looking at Miles’ friend, you find her clawing at her head, still crying out in pain. Tilting your head, you notice that her ears are bleeding, claws digging in her ears. Like she's trying to quiet down the noises. But you're at a cemetery, the quietest place you can be at night.

Miles yells your name, shaking you awake. “Can you help her?!”

“I think I can.” You stand up straight despite your nerves inching its way into your chest. “Go wake up Pav, tell him he needs to do a trapping spell, one that is strong enough for her.”

“W–What?” Miles is panicking, hands shaking and body trembling from fear.

“I know we just met but you trusted us enough for you to ask for help.” You clasp his shoulder. “Please do what I tell you so we can help your friend properly, okay? Nod if you understand.” He nods, still trembling. “Good, wake up Pav, tell him to cast a trapping spell, one that would last for at least ten to fifteen minutes. Before he does that, go to my trunk,” you hand him your keys. “There's a leather pouch in there filled with vials. Take the whole pouch and then my mortar and pestle. As much as possible, avoid her. She won't be able to recognize you in this state. Hobie and I will keep her occupied.”

“Mate, do you understand?” Hobie takes a look at the werewolf then over to Miles. “You can do it, weave through the trees, avoid her eyes, easy, thread the bloody needle.”

“O–Okay.” He takes a deep breath. And you encourage him with a smile. “Her name's Gwen, please don't hurt her.” With those words, he enters the thicket, running even with his sprained ankle.

Gwen doesn't seem to notice him just yet, she's still wincing and groaning on the ground. Paws still clutching at her bleeding ears.

“What do you think, lovie? Should we call your uncle the Jersey devil?” Hobie sidles up to you, nudging you with his shoulder.

You chuckle despite the dire situation, hands feeling for the things in your utility belt, making mental notes of what you currently have. “Don't call him that just because he has a birthmark in the shape of Jersey.”

“I think he's the only family member you have that I like.” He says while slipping off his leather jacket and draping it over a tombstone.

“I'll tell him that.” Dropping the crossbow, you opt for a more defensive strategy. Hobie walks in front of you, subconsciously protecting you. With trepidation in your veins, you hold him back with your hand clasped around his wrist. “Don't die. I'm the only one who's allowed to kill you.”

He looks over his shoulder, smiling softly. “‘m immortal, remember?”

“Immortal, not invincible.” His red eyes soften into a pinkish hue.

“Fuck it.” Hobie grins before cupping your cheeks and leaving a chaste kiss on your lips. Leaving you breathless. It was so fast that you barely felt it. Like a breeze fluttering by, but you savour it nonetheless. He runs his thumb across the scar he left on your neck lovingly. “Twilight fans will cream themselves when they see this fight.”

“You ruined the moment.” You whisper, leaning closer to peck the corner of his lips. In your peripheral, you see Pavitr is now awake, with Miles rummaging through your trunk. But the most concerning thing is Gwen is now noticing the two boys behind her. “Go fulfill some fanfic, vamp.”

He winks all suave, then a puff of smoke envelopes you, hugging your form before a large bat appears through it. Hobat flies towards Gwen with a determined screech.

Hobie distracts Gwen, his bat form circling around her wildly as he dodges her clawed swipes. She continues to yelp and huff at him, blue eyes darkening with annoyance at the shrieking bat that is the size of a grown man. You've seen this bat form of him a few times before, but it always astonishes how flawless he flies overhead. Even though you've seen him drunk in this form before.

Whistling out loudly, you take Gwen's attention briefly before she could side swipe at one of Hobie's wings. His claws dig into her matted fur, tugging and pulling at it like a playground bully.

You step into the fray to help him. You can't help but worry with every second that ticks by. Taking a smoke canister from your utility belt, the can is filled with bright pink smoke, you throw it in the direction of the frantic werewolf, obscuring her vision and staggering her backwards from the hissing sound the cans emanated. You circle around her, throwing more and more of the canister. Her yowling echoes in the cemetery, sending shivers down your spine. The pink smoke is dyeing her blond fur, mixing in with the darker crimson hue.

Miles suddenly calls for you, inadvertently getting Gwen's attention from Hobat. “Ah shit!” Gwen turns towards him, ready to pounce at her friend. “Gwen, it's me—!”

Gwen raises a large clawed paw, and you don't even think before you lunge at Miles to push him away from harm. Your bag clatters in the ground. With a thump and the sound of cloth tearing, you land with Miles on the soft soil, dry grass clinging to the both of you.

“You okay?” You huff, giving him a once over to check for injuries. He nods his head, eyes wide with panic, and staring above you. Looking over your shoulder, you see her going in for the kill. “Hobie.” You whisper into the wind, he hears it, frozen heart clenching at the scene as he tries to get Gwen's attention.

It's futile.

Within a half second, Hobie turns into his regular form above Gwen, fist raised, ready to strike. He meets with your fearful eyes, your own body shielding Miles. Dread fills him as Gwen's knife-like claws get closer and closer to your head— he can't see you die again.

A sudden blast of light blinds him. Instead of landing a hit on Gwen's furry face, he slams unceremoniously on a glass like dome, face smashing against it harshly. He groans, body sliding down the dome slowly. As he hits the ground, he immediately runs towards you at unimaginable speed.

Yelling your name, he finds you sitting on the grass with Miles, still heaving from the close call. “Love!” He makes it to you, hands immediately cradling your face. “Fuck, I thought I lost you.”

Taking his wrists, you close your eyes, leveling your breathing as you inhale his perfume to ground you back to reality. “I'm o–okay.” There's a sudden ache on your leg that you ignore for now. “We need to put her to sleep.”

Miles stares up at Gwen, claws piercing through the spell but still holding her in place. “That won't hurt, right?”

“No, it won't. Just think about it like a sleeping pill.” You try to stand up, but you feel something wet just under you. Placing your hand under your thigh, it's warm and wet. Lifting your palm, you see red. “Oh.”

Hobie smells the familiar scent, alarms ringing in his head just as when you lift your hand up. “No,” he immediately rips a piece of fabric from his shirt to quickly wrap it around your wound. “You'll be okay.” His hands are drenched with your blood, and not in a good way.

Pavitr makes it to your side, hands glowing with the same yellow light from the spell. His eyes widen at your bleeding leg. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Miles' terrified stare has you rethinking your injury. Gwen mumbles incoherently inside the bubble, snout sniffing at your spilled blood. “It was an accident.” He whispers, you don't know if he's saying it to you or to his friend.

“I'll be okay, just a flesh wound.” You tug at Hobie's arm, feeling the tingling sensation from the loss of blood. You have to do it quickly. “Hobie.” Tying the cloth around you tightly, he's too panicked to hear you, blood rushing in his ears, fangs out as he tries to tamp down his hunger. “Hobie.” Cupping his cheek, he finally looks at you. “I'll be okay, we have blood bags at home, and we can stitch this later. For now, someone go get my kit, Pav can't hold her back forever.”

“I can wait—” Pav's glowing hands are starting to shake.

“No, you can't.” You say as you take the leather bag from Miles' trembling fingers. “I can survive this, don't worry.” You can tell that he's feeling guilty. “I won't turn into a werewolf if you're worried about that. I need to get bitten to turn.” Hobie gives you space to work, your leg aches but you carry on.

“I think you dyin’ from blood loss is our main concern, love.” Hobie stares at you fondly while you expertly pick your herbs and flowers into the mixture inside the mortar. Using your teeth to open the vials, pouring just the right amount as if you're not actively bleeding.

“Nobody's dying today, Hobie.” You glance at him, smiling softly before you return to crushing the ingredients together until it turns into a metallic purple shade. “Needs more wolfsbane.” You add a bit more into the concoction, crushing it into the mortar.

“Y/N?” Pav's shaking voice has you pausing in place. “I'm g–getting tired, I'm sorry.” Sweat dribbles off his forehead, straining from the spell.

“Just a few more seconds, Pav, you're doing great.” You have no time to finesse the crushing, so with a few more strikes to the bright purple powder, you immediately take a handful of it. “Help me up.” Hobie quickly grabs hold of you, arms enveloping around you as you anchor yourself against him. “Can you open it a bit?”

“What?” Pavitr swallowed thickly.

“Just enough for the powder to get inside.” You see the apprehension in his eyes. “You can do it.”

He nods slowly, still unsure. His left hand balls into a fist, unclenching it slowly. Lips muttering a spell softly. You watch while a hole emerges from the side, Gwen roars at you, an ear piercing sound that has the birds waking up from their nests.

“It's okay.” You slowly approach the opening, fist unfurling in front of it. Without wasting another second for Pav's sake, you gently blow at the powder, sending it fluttering inside the dome that encapsulates her. The opening closes, keeping the substance inside. “C’mon, go to sleep.” Hobie feels you weaken in his hold, he brings you back down on the grass, letting you lean against his body. “Thanks, guys. You all did well.” Voice wavering, you look up at Hobie as you hear Gwen's soft yawning. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Oi,” his tone cracks, “don't die on me.”

“Not a chance. I think I inhaled a bit of it.” You chuckle, craning your neck just in time to see Gwen slump on the grass, snoring softly. “She was hearing voices, wasn't she?” Eyes flicking over to Miles, he nods, relief evident in his shoulders.

“Yeah, she— she's a medium.”

You nod, understanding fully. “She has no pack because of her ability.”

“Yeah,” Miles sniffles, and Pav releases the spell, opening the dome fully. Light fades away, replaced by the bitter blue of dawn. “She only has me.”

“A medium werewolf, there's a joke in there somewhere.” Hobie quips, admiring you in the glow of the early morning sky. He has never seen you in this light, and this is the closest he has gotten to sunlight in a thousand years. But warmth? He feels it everytime you walk into the room. Hand reaching for the stuffed bunny, he places it on your arm for comfort. “Let's get you some blood, yeah?”

“Oh how the turn tables.” You chuckle, hugging Mr. Prince as Hobie lifts you up and carries you. “Hold on,” you look at your childhood companion in its button eyes. “I think Gwen needs him more than I do.” You hand it to Miles so that he could place it on the crook of her arm. Gwen immediately feels the fluffiness, curling around the plushie and hugging it in her werewolf form.

The sun peeks from the horizon, now it's your turn to panic. “Do you want to be toasted, Hobie? Because if we stay for a minute longer you'll be a pile of ash. And that doesn't look good on T.V.”

The filming crew walks towards the group now that it has calmed down. They're still shaking from what happened, but they're alright. The sun slowly inches its way over to you and the group, flooding the way behind you in its golden rays.

Hobie's skin is starting to sizzle, and yet he still smiles with endearment at you and the little rag tag group he's lucky enough to run into. You stare longingly at him while the glow of the sunrise bathes his face. You can't help but imagine a life where he could walk in the light again. One day, he'll be able to once he reaches a certain age, but for now, you're well alright with walking the shadows with him.

Hobie’s tempted to kiss you right then and there if not for the threat of him becoming cement. “Take large werewolf and that's so raven ‘ere and meet us back home, Pav.” Your car keys leap off from the ground and into Pavitr's hand. “Don't forget my jacket.” Before the sun fully blankets the cemetery, you and Hobie disappear into a puff of blackened smoke.

Pav sniffs, “But I don't know how to drive.”

—

“Well, I'm alive!” You gesture at yourself on the couch while Hobie lounges right next to you. His arm is perched right on your shoulders, fingers brushing along the pin prick scar on your neck. “It's been a long recovery.” You sigh, “too fucking long.”

“But we made it.” Hobie pats your stomach lovingly. “Two months and we've got her runnin’ circles around us.”

You scrunch your face into a scowl, flinging his hand away from your tummy. “Don't do that, they might think I'm knocked up.” Shrugging, he instead pats your face with his palm covering your entire face. “This isn't any better, Hobie.”

A blond girl with pink highlights walks behind you, leaning against the couch with a smirk. “Congratulations on the little abomination.” She flicks her blue eyes towards the camera, pointing at herself. “Gwen, the werewolf who almost killed her.”

Hobie finally releases your face. Revealing your glare, which he covers up again with his hand. “Right, I guess she lives here now too.”

Gwen rolls her eyes, jumping over the couch to sit next to you and yank off Hobie's hand away from your face. “You guess? You're the one who invited me here, Vampire.” She leans over you, eyeing him up and down. “You of all people should know the value of an invitation.” Sticking her tongue out, she places her head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your arm.

“Get off my darling, mutt.”

“Nope, bloodsucker.”

You stare at the camera with a flat expression. “Just do the montage for context.”

—

The scene shifts with you while on bed rest, flipping off the camera that the crew has sneakily managed to peek through the crack in the doorway. Gwen, now in her human form, has taken the mantle of taking care of you. Even though you've told her numerous times that it's not her fault and shouldn't feel guilty about it. She always answers with her puppy dog eyes, and you always surrender.

She's covered in bandages herself, still healing from what you've been told— from a werewolf pack that decided to pick on her during the full moon. With some help from your books, you found a way to tamp down the ghosts that haunt her. And in turn, shutting up the lifeless voices she hears. There's nothing you can do about the transformations though.

Gwen pauses from her reading to you, sniffing at the air. “I smell death.” You roll your eyes at the comment.

“Not again, Gwen—”

With smoke slithering inside, Hobie appears in the room, carrying bags filled with take out. Gwen makes a face at Hobie, nose scrunched up. “Oh, just him.”

Hobie smirks at her, but his eyes glare at her before turning soft when he sees that she was reading to you. “I guess you don't want your spring roll then?”

Gwen gasps, offended. “No, I want it!” She pounces over the bed, bodying Hobie. He falls back into the door, shutting it closed, slamming into Jared and making him stumble backwards into the stairs.

The camera falls with him, landing directly next to Pavitr's feet, it catches his shocked expression. His scream almost cracks the lens. He panics around the groaning cameraman, calling for Miles who appears from the doorway, joining Pav’s side.

“Why's Jared on the floor?”

—

The mics pick up the soft hum of the record player, the candle lights gives off a lens flare when the camera moves to fix the angle they're capturing. There you are sitting next to Hobie on the long dining table, laughing with Miles about something, while Pavitr accidentally knocks his glass of orange juice from his bout of laughter.

“It was one time!” Gwen exclaims, giggling along.

“That poor leprechaun, Gwendy.” Hobie shakes his head, acting as if he's disappointed at her. He takes a subtle look at you, smiling with his bloodstained fangs from the goblet of blood that he's having. It makes you laugh harder.

The camera moves downwards, recording what's under the table. Hobie's hand is atop your own, fingers interlocked with yours lovingly.

“I didn't know they don't like lucky charms, okay!”

The house fills with laughter, warmth blanketing around the once cold and barren home.

—

“A bat!” Pavitr shoots a web of light from his hands towards the shrieking fruit bat flying around the ceiling of the living room.

“Don't let it bite me!” Gwen hides under the couch blanket you specifically placed there for movie nights.

“Transform or something, Gwen!” Miles screams when the tiny bat plunges down towards him, chasing him around the living room as Miles knocks down several knick knacks off the shelves. “Catch it!”

“No, fuck off!” Gwen says, still balled under the crocheted blanket.

“Keep it still, Miles!” Pav shoots wildly, almost hitting the camera directly. “Sorry, Jared!”

“It's gonna bite me! Help!” Miles' voice cracks, feet stumbling all over the carpeted floors.

“Y/N! Help!” The trio simultaneously yells for you.

Within a few seconds, you're off the bed and making your way downstairs with your crutch helping you walk.

“What?! Are the goblins back?!” You skid off the floor, side hitting the door frame but otherwise fine. Looking around, you see the mess that was previously the living room. Then you see Hobat flying around in his smaller bat form, playfully teasing them and riling them up by flying close to each of them. ‘Hobie, change back and stop scaring the kids!’ Is what you would've said if not for Hobie's happy screeching. Instead, you join in on the fun. “Pav! Watch out, it's gonna get you!”

Their simultaneous screams have you guffawing in place. Hobie will change back in front of them later for sure, but until then, he's gonna have his fun.

—

The security camera sits stationary in the living room, pointed directly at the rubble filled floor where Pavitr fell in. The footage is grainy and in black and white, but clear enough to see everything that's happening.

“Keep it still, Pav!” Hobie's muffled voice can be heard from upstairs, followed by some rustling.

“I'm trying! Miles, help me!” Pav answers back, tone muffled from the security camera.

“It's slipping!”

With a yelp, Hobie falls into the hole, plunging down on the living room with a harsh thud.

He groans, Gwen rushing towards the crash. When she sees him lying on the rubble, her loud laughter sends the camera's mic into a scratchy audio that would rock your hearing.

—

Miles leans against the kitchen island, head placed on his palm while you and Hobie help each other with the dishes. If someone told you that you have to actually read a proper cookbook, and shop for ingredients that aren't instant ramen or coffee, you would've told them to get back inside their alternate dimension. But here you are, washing the dishes with a thousand year old vampire you were supposed to kill years ago. Together with a teenage werewolf who can see dead people, a former witch apprentice, and a clairvoyant who probably knows when you'll die but remains quiet about it. He's nice like that.

“So still a no on me being your familiar then?” Miles asks again, and you're sure that he's only doing this to annoy Hobie now.

“No!” He says, towel flipped on his shoulder, and hands placed on his hips.

Miles smiles, getting the reaction he wanted. “Okay, dad.” A chorus of laughter floats around Hobie as he looks down at his very dad-like posture.

If you're not honed in on his micro expressions, you'd think he's proper annoyed or embarrassed, but with the slight tick on the corner of his lips, you know that he's amused and endeared by it all.

“Does that make Y/N our mom?” Pavitr chimes from the dining table, helping Gwen wipe down the oak.

You feel their stares right on your back. Turning around, you face a very smiley Hobie, and a trio of teasing grins. “Get back to cleaning or you're all grounded.”

—

“I heard my name!” Pav saunters inside the living room, flour still sticking to his cheek.

“We were telling the crew how bad of a driver you were.” Gwen teases as Pav sits next to Hobie with a pout.

“We made it didn't we? You didn't even wake up from the bumping!” He argues over you and Hobie, Miles hears the whole thing, following right after Pav.

“It was because of Mr. Prince.” Miles says, falling on the couch with a groan. He sits next to Gwen, pointing at the bunny plushie’s head that's peeking from her back pocket. He makes sure that the cameras zoom in on it.

“Shut up, Miles.” Gwen says through gritted teeth, hiding the bunny with her cardigan.

Pav and Miles snickers in their seat, while you and Hobie look at eachother affectionately. The producer behind the camera tries to ask you a question above the arguing from the three.

Hobie chuckles before shaking his head, he tells you his plan in your mind. He sniffs at the air, fingers snapping together. “Oi, what's that burnin’ smell?”

“Wait, the sourdough!” You play along, acting as if the loaf you made with them is burning inside the oven.

“No!” The trio jumps off the couch, scrambling towards the kitchen and leaving you and Hobie once again.

With a grin, Hobie scooches closer to you, arms pushing you closer to him. You've given up on hiding the affection from the cameras, hell they even captured the kiss, no matter how grainy it was, there was obvious lip locking happening in the cemetery.

You lean your head on his shoulder, that's the line you're willing to cross in front of them. Lest they have to change the content rating on the documentary.

“What happened with the HOA?” The producer asks clearly now.

“I honestly forgot about them.” You glance at Hobie, finding that he's already beaming at you. “They never came back to the house. I guess your payments went through this time.”

Hobie furrows his brows, side eyeing you. “I didn't pay for jack shit, lovie.”

You blink, thinking. “I pay for the electricity and the groceries just like we talked about.”

“Yeah, and I pay for the other shit like the internet and the water—” he points at the camera, “which should be free by the way.” Then he returns his attention to you. “I'm not payin’ for some membership so that the old coots would judge our bloody lawn.”

“That's true, they always complain about the lumpy soil and the wildflowers.”

“Where else would I bury the bodies? The thames? It's already nasty enough.”

“Wait,” you place your hand over his mouth, which based on his eyes, he's fond of it. “Who's been paying for our shit?” You two look at eachother with confusion.

—

“Why did I leave my apprentice with my favourite goddaughter?” Felicia is being interviewed right in front of Hobie's house. Platinum hair blowing in the wind, still in her witch attire, and hand holding onto a broom. “He's too happy for me, literally, his mood is changing my aesthetic.” She grabs a handful of her bright pink cloak. “This used to be black.”

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[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 18) tw: minor character death, injuries, and misogynistic language

masterlist

-

He’s far off still, the smoking gun held tight in his hand and aimed up at the sky. A warning shot.  

At first, you don’t quite believe it. He appears like a mirage in the distance after wandering through the desert for days, on the brink of starvation. Like a trick of the eye. You squint against the light, sure that you’ve mistaken the familiar felt pinch front hat and the speckled Appaloosa he sits astride for someone else, a stranger come to save you instead of the man you’ve been desperately pining for since Graves stole you from your home. 

But the longer you stare at the man coming towards you, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face save for the grim set of his mouth, the harder it is to deny that it really is John. 

Your chest is fit to burst. Heart pumping wildly against your ribcage. The sight of him is revelatory—a burning bush, a stream of light through storm clouds, St Elmo’s fire. The euphoric high is almost overwhelming.

“Son of a bitch,” Graves hisses beneath his breath, hand reaching for the revolver on his belt. 

John is quicker though, firing off another round, this time at the ground between them, alarming Graves enough to make his arm jerk away from his side. Even you yelp. The gunfire cuts your swell of adulation short, bringing you back flush to the surface of the real world again. Graves’ horse scrambles back a few steps, nearly rearing up before Graves gets control of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, now—” Graves booms, right in your ear, so loud that you wince, curling into yourself. 

The gelding chuffs at John’s approach, unsettled. Graves digs his spurs into the horse’s side when it takes a few nervous steps back, making it whinny in pain. You’d tell him off, but you’ve learned by now to hold your tongue around Graves. He only knows how to impose his authority through pain. 

“Easy, alright—” Graves calls out, holding out the hand not tangled in the reins to show that it’s empty, the revolver still sheathed in its holster. “No one’s gonna do anything stupid.”

The horse John sits astride is the one he never dared to train you on. The one you know would buck you straight off if you tried to hoist yourself up on its saddle. He’s bigger than Buttercup, all muscle and broodsome aura like its owner, and he doesn’t take kindly to strangers. 

When it breathes out, you imagine its breath should smell sulfuric. Fire and brimstone. 

Closer to you now, you can see his eyes under the brim of his hat. He glowers at Graves, the same look you’ve seen only once before, staring through the window of the general store at the scowl carved into his face when he dragged a man across town, but intensified. Not so much as a glimmer of sympathy or understanding in his eyes. Just cold rage. 

The lines in his face are deep from lack of sleep, dark troughs under his eyes. Shoulders stiff; every muscle of his tensed, poised to react. You wonder how long after Graves took you John realized and followed the two of you in pursuit. 

“I’m gonna say this once and you best not try my patience: let the lady go.”

The sound of his voice rumbles through you, making the hair on your arms raise. Seldom have you heard him use that tone of voice, more man than sheriff. 

Graves’ hand tightens on the reins, knuckles going white. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he has the same obsequious look on his face as he did back in town, indignation relegated to his extremities. You can see it in the tensed muscle of his forearms.

“Now Sheriff, you may have the run of this county, but I’ve got the power of the law on my side. The state of New York has issued a warrant for this woman’s arrest.” Graves’ smarmy evocation to the legality of his actions rankles you. He acts like the whole situation is out of his control, that he takes no joy in your apprehension. Simply a matter of duty. 

Not that it seems to make a difference. Even you could tell Graves that. 

“I won’t ask again.” John’s voice is threaded with fury, angrier than you’ve ever heard him speak. 

And true to his words, he doesn’t. The silence stretches between the two men, fraught with tension. Graves is a rigid line at your back. 

He’s the first to break the silence; the first to give. “At least let me show you the warrant, Sheriff,” Graves implores. “I ain’t just some vagrant that’s come and taken the sheriff’s wife without cause—and I assure you, there is cause.”

John doesn’t say a word, blue eyes still severe. Colder than the waters of Cocytus. 

Graves must take his silence as permission because he reaches a hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He holds it out to John at first, perhaps expecting the man to come close enough to take it from his hand, but John doesn’t even glance at the hand offering him the arrest warrant, eyes still locked on Graves. 

“See now, I’ll even read it out—” he says, clearing his throat and half turning the paper back to him. “‘Whereas it has been represented to Government that—’”

“Give the letter to my wife,” John cuts him off, gesturing towards the warrant in Graves’ hand with his gun. “She’ll deliver it to me once you’ve handed her over.”

The interruption stuns Graves into silence, the warrant still held in his outstretched arm. He must not be accustomed to men deferring to women instead of him, much less a criminal like you. Your stomach cramps with nerves. The blow to his ego worries you more than John getting his hands on the arrest warrant. His behavior up to this point has been predictable—violent, but unsurprising. You aren’t interested in finding out if losing his temper changes that. 

John’s eyes flick to yours. The first time he’s really looked at you since arriving unannounced, just a quick glance over you to ensure that you’re well. He must not like what he sees because the skin around his eyes tightens. 

The moment of inattention is all Graves needs, eyes trained on it like a hunting dog. John’s eyes barely twitch away to meet yours and Graves draws his gun, his aim wild when he shoots. 

You don’t see what he hits, but the gunfire drives John’s horse into a panic, throwing its head back and rearing up onto its hind legs. Graves fires again and the ground between you explodes, dirt and debris erupting into the air. The horse roars, the sound deep and throaty. 

Graves grabs you by the back of your dress, forcing your back to arch and shoulders to pull back, using you, for all intents and purposes, as a meat shield. You can hear John try to take control of his horse, but it’s near mindless with fear, braying and bucking when Graves fires again, white smoke billowing from the muzzle. Panic seizes you by the throat when John’s horse bucks him right off, bellowing a curse when his body slams to the ground. 

A scream bursts from your throat, but Graves holds you in place before you can slide off the saddle, spitting a tense shut the fuck up into your ear before digging his heel into his horse’s flank and steering him around, beating a hasty retreat. His horse moves in a wide arc until his body is turned back in the direction that Graves was originally heading. 

You struggle against him until the horse moves at a speed too dangerous to chance falling from its back. It covers ground fast, moving at a breakneck speed. 

“Stop—let me down!” you scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The howling wind carries your voice away. 

The violent toing and froing makes it impossible to cast a backward glance and see if John is in pursuit. All of your senses narrow down to what’s in front of you; from the saddle horn digging into your stomach and the air whipping past your face to the feeling of Graves’ breath wafting over the back of your neck as he pants. 

A booming crack fills the air and you scream, fear soaring to an unfathomable height. 

Graves grunts and tenses behind you, his hands spasming around the reins and letting go involuntarily. Then you feel the body behind you slump to the side, his weight almost unbalancing you until he falls off the horse altogether, feet slipping out of the stirrups. 

The blood in your ears masks the sound of his body hitting the ground. Your head whips around to follow the trajectory of Graves’ body, but a wave of vertigo slams into you, a head on collision that forces you to dig your fingers into the horse’s mane and turn your body back around. 

The horse barely notices the body slipping off its back though, tunnel vision on the road ahead. Legs pumping furiously beneath it, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt. You’d have thought the horse would’ve slowed up with the sudden unburdening of the other person astride it, but if anything, it picks up speed. 

You can’t calm down enough to catch your breath; it gallops ahead of you as well, your vision growing spotty with the short, jagged breaths you take in. Lungs collapsing under the weight of your chest. Eyes squinted against the piercing wind. Sunspots brighter than light itself. 

Your instinct is to make yourself small; shield yourself from the impending pain. That inescapable reality rushes towards you as quickly as you race towards it. You’re going to fall. It’s almost certain. You whimper when a particularly rough stride makes you slip an inch to the right, your fingers gripping into the horse’s mane ever tighter, desperate to keep yourself astride.

Someone’s voice breaks through the noise and you open your eyes. 

In your fearstruck state, you almost don’t recognize the man riding beside you and keeping pace until he says your name—your real name—and you snap back to yourself. No time to contemplate your name in his mouth though, no time for anything except keeping from slipping into total panic.

“Pull up on the reins!” John roars over the clamor of hooves. 

You peel your face from the horse’s mane to meet his eyes. The parallel of a memory from long ago. It flashes before your eyes and you remember yourself. Numb hands fisted in the horse’s mane unclench. 

“Pull up!” he shouts again, and this time you comprehend. It’s the same as the time before. 

Summoning every ounce of courage in your bones, you tighten your thighs and belly to lift yourself up, gathering and bridging the reins in your manacled hands. Half halt, release, and half halt again. 

“Good—now circle!” John’s voice booms in your ear and through your blood. 

You flinch when you try to steer your horse into a wide, sweeping turn and he resists at first, but on your second try, he follows your pull, his strides gradually slowing, easing up. When your horse finally comes to a standstill, walking its last few strides before coming to a stop, you sit with that bubble of tension until it bursts. Under your thighs, you can feel your horse’s ribs expand and contract with its labored breath. 

The world blurs for a moment. The adrenaline flooding your body dissipates more with every breath you take, but the crash is just as intense as the rise. You can feel the shakes that wrack your body in a way that your mind can’t quite yet take in, still outside of itself. The first thing you truly register is your husband suddenly at your side, coaxing you down from the horse, your handcuffed hands braced on his chest as he helps you down and then holding on to him when your knees nearly buckle under you.

“Thank Christ,” he growls, pulling you into his chest. 

The smell of tobacco and cloves is woven into the fabric of his shirt and you breathe it in zealously because it’s his. The reassurance that your husband has you, that he’s with you now, and the bad is over, nearly bowls you over. Makes you shake all the harder.

When you finally pull your face away from John’s chest, he cups your cheek with a gunpowder dusted hand, tilting your head up so he can press his lips to your forehead. Your gaze flits up and you stare at him with bleary eyes, wondering what he sees when he looks at you. Messy hair and a fleeting breath that quivers out, breaks to pieces, illuminates the sky when you glance over his head and it’s so blue that you could swim in it. 

John frowns when you accidentally roll your shoulder back and wince. “You’re hurt.” 

There’s no use in lying when he'll find out the truth soon enough, so you just nod. 

“His doing, was it?” he assumes more than asks, inspecting you closely now and noting all the fresh abrasions immediately visible to his eyes.  

Most of your injuries are surface level, more than apparent to him after a quick perusal. A split lip and plenty of scrapes just beginning to scab. You’re too tired to recount the events of the day before though, so you just shrug. Then hiss, the pain so intense that your bones go cold for a split second. 

His forehead pinches with his frown, ghosting his hand over your shoulder as if to hold it in place. “I’ll look at it later, okay, darlin’?”

Every inch of you aches. You wish it could just be over now and you could be back in your bed by sundown, but you know the way home will be just as long. No rest unless you want the journey to be twice as long. The exhaustion alone might have you keel over before night falls. 

Then someone coughs and drags you back into the real world. 

You follow the sound with your eyes until they land on its cause. The crumpled form of the bounty hunter that dragged you out of town lies a quarter mile back. It’s difficult to make out the state of him from so far away, but you can tell it isn’t pretty, mangled and bloody from the fall he took off the horse. 

“Oh God…” you murmur, eyes widening when the man twitches against the grass. 

John’s hand falls away from your cheek. His anger is so palpable that you can feel it fill him back up, blue eyes going steely and jaw tightening as he stares at the man that tried to take you from him. 

“Stay here,” your husband growls, hand reaching down to draw his pistol again.

John leaves you by the horses some distance away as he makes his way over to Graves’ prone form. Blood seeps from a gunshot wound in his shoulder, saturating his shirt and wetting the dirt beneath him, and even from where you stand, you can see the odd angle of his ankle from where he hit the ground. 

With no small amount of effort, Graves props himself up on his good arm, the other hanging limp against the ground. Even the sight makes you wince, bile churning in your stomach. He has to be in tremendous pain. Even John limps a little as he approaches the other man, hip likely sore from his own fall. 

Against your better judgment, and your husband’s command, you take a step towards them. And then another.

You have no reason other than the sinking feeling in your belly. If it were you with the gun, things would be different, you think. You’d do it again, without a second thought. Anything to keep Graves from opening his mouth. 

The gun in John’s hand makes clear his intentions in no uncertain terms. Out on the plains in the middle of nowhere, even taking pity on the man and bringing Graves to the nearest town might not be enough. It’s a rough world out there. Tougher still with a wounded shoulder and sprained ankle. 

More to the matter, John’s face says it all, jaw clenched and lips drawn into a tight line. 

“It doesn’t have to go this way, sheriff,” Graves wheezes when the other man draws close enough to hear. 

“You know I haven’t got a choice now,” John says, gazing up at the sky for a moment before looking back down at the man on the ground. “Not after you laid a hand on my wife.”

Despite the distance, Graves’ voice carries when he speaks. “You think you know that bitch? You don’t know this woman from Eve. What makes you think she won’t butcher you like she did that man back east?”

So casually he says it that you almost miss it. And then you don’t. The words pour over you like a sudden rain and you are back in that room, dread so potent that it chars the flesh, leaving cratered, necrotic holes wherever it touches. The worst moment of your life. 

And Graves says it like a sin of your own making, like it was something you wanted, not a moment in your life haunting you from beyond the grave. 

Your heart stops when your husband looks over at you assessingly. The truth lours over the two of you now, out in the open at last. All those months of hiding it, squandered in a moment by an injured man’s words. All you can do is stare helplessly at the man outlined by the blue sky, the horizon forever etching him into your memory. It’s the first time since you stumbled into the sheriff’s office all those months ago that you haven’t wanted him to think that you weren’t the woman that was supposed to be his wife.

“Shoulda listened to me, sheriff,” Graves laughs, his voice pained and raspy. “That Jezebel needs to answer for what she did.”

You can see it in his eyes that he believes Graves. And why wouldn’t he? The man has committed no crime; spoken not a lie to this point. 

John looks at you in such a strange way though. There’s no surprise there; just a glint in his eye meant only for you. A glint that says darlin’, this ain’t nothin’ new; you never could’ve fooled me. 

He knew your name after all. And you wonder how long he’s known. If he found out sometime in those first days or somewhere down the line or if the arrest warrant fell across his desk in recent days and he knew it would come to this, someone hunting you down across state lines to bring you back. If he knew he’d always have to come after you and rescue you from the jaws of death. 

Everything comes all at once, each moment flashing across your mind barely long enough to leave an impression. Everything is proven immaterial in seconds. 

There’s so much between the two of you. History, obligation, duty. Tenderness shouldn’t even be the half of it, and yet it bears down twice as hard. It’s the only thing that matters when you look at him—not the thought of being dragged back east and forced to stand trial, not the injustice of being made to atone for protecting yourself against a worse fate, but the thought of being taken away from him, of never seeing him again.

You can feel that worry evaporate the longer you hold his gaze. There’s something intentional there, something he is saying without words. 

These days, you do not think to tremble when his hands are on your lips. You tilt your head instead, wait for him to make his next move. Your trust, implicit, underlying everything. Knowing he’ll break the bread and feed you from his hands if need be.

Though you can’t unhinge your jaw enough to ask him to promise that he’ll keep you, his eyes say that it’s a foregone conclusion. How could he ever let you go? You’re everything he’s ever wanted, the only thing even duty could never take from him. 

John looks back down at the man lying at his feet. “Couldn’t help runnin’ your mouth, now could you?”

Graves opens his mouth, but John doesn’t wait for a response. He pulls the trigger.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 5

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺."

summary: the rhythm of your days blends with the vibrant backdrop of your church’s dance preparations. Beneath the soft glow of Houston’s city lights and the gentle hum of Joel's truck, your deepening bond with him unfolds amidst stolen moments and whispered confessions. As you navigate the delicate dance of your emerging feelings, Joel’s own transformation remains veiled from his family.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 5

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 4

next | chapter 6

The anticipation for the church dance troupe's performance was building. The whole town was buzzing with excitement as the event drew near, only two weeks away. The performance would be a grand spectacle attended by everyone in town, including all the elders, and it was scheduled for the same day your father was set to return.

The first week of preparation was filled with rigorous rehearsals. You and your friends gathered at the community fellowship building, a bustling hub of activity. Jemima, Pastor Ben's wife, along with a few other church members, coordinated the practices. The adults were always around, providing guidance and encouragement.

The church dance troupe was more than just an extracurricular activity; it was a lifeline, a vessel of hope and validation that you clung to. Each dance step, every twirl, and every leap was a silent plea for recognition, especially from your father. You had always loved dancing, finding solace in the rhythm and movement. It was the one place where you felt free, where the world and its heavy expectations seemed to melt away.

This performance was different. It was not just another event; it was a grand spectacle that could potentially alter the trajectory of your family's standing in the community. The mayor of the town would be there, along with other influential figures and elders. It was an opportunity for your family to be thrust into the spotlight, a chance to shine and, more importantly, a moment to make your father proud.

Your father, a man of stern demeanor and unyielding expectations, had always demanded excellence. He often showed you off, his actions speaking louder than his words. To him, you were a reflection of the family name, a testament to his own efforts and discipline. The thought of this performance being a success was not just about personal achievement for you; it was about carrying the weight of familial pride and expectation.

The rehearsals were intense, each session a blend of sweat, dedication, and the relentless pursuit of perfection. Jemima and the other coordinators pushed you and your friends hard, knowing the significance of the event. As you practiced, you imagined your father watching you, his eyes scrutinizing every move, his expression a mask of stern judgment.

During breaks, the atmosphere was filled with the usual activities of a church community—people chatting, sharing snacks, and discussing the upcoming performance. Pastor Ben often made an appearance, ostensibly to support the group's efforts, but you couldn't help but notice his lingering gaze on you. Jemima was always busy coordinating the rehearsals and offering guidance, leaving Ben with ample opportunity to keep an eye on the group.

You and Emma had both noticed Ben's attentiveness, though it was you who seemed to capture his interest the most. His questions and small talk were frequently directed at you, and his presence seemed more pronounced whenever you were around. Despite the attention, you tried to remain polite and composed, responding to his questions with the same courtesy you showed everyone else.

As the day's rehearsal came to an end, you bid farewell to your friends and began gathering your things. Just as you were about to leave, Pastor Ben approached you, his steps confident and his smile warm.

"Hey," he greeted you.

You looked up, slightly startled but quickly masking your surprise. "Oh, hey, Pastor Ben."

He chuckled softly. "Please, just call me Ben. Using 'Pastor' makes me feel old."

You smiled politely. "Alright, Ben."

"So, how did the rehearsal go today?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes attentive.

"It went well, I think," you replied, then added with a light smile, "You were there, well, what do you think?"

Pastor Ben chuckled softly, leaning against the doorframe. "You’re right, I was there. And from what I saw, you all are doing a wonderful job. There’s a real sense of unity in the group, and that’s something special."

You nodded, feeling a mix of pride and a little awkwardness under his steady gaze. "Thanks. We’ve been working hard, trying to make it something memorable."

Ben’s eyes softened as he looked at you. "I can see that. And you, especially, seem to put your heart into it."

You felt your cheeks flush slightly, unsure how to respond to the compliment. "Well, I love dancing, so... it’s important to me. And I want to make my family proud, especially my dad."

Ben’s expression turned thoughtful, and he nodded. "That’s a good motivation. I’m sure your father will be proud of you when he sees what you’ve accomplished."

"I hope so," you said, the weight of your father’s expectations pressing on your shoulders. "It’s not always easy to meet his standards."

Ben tilted his head, studying you for a moment. "Parents can be tough sometimes, especially when they have high expectations. But you should be proud of yourself, too. It’s clear you’re giving it your all."

You smiled politely, feeling a bit more at ease. "Thank you, Ben."

There was a brief pause, and Ben seemed to hesitate before speaking again. "Well, are you gonna go home? Do you need a lift?" he asked, his voice casual but with an undertone that made you feel slightly uneasy.

You hesitated, glancing toward the parking lot. You were supposed to meet Joel, and he had made it clear he’d be waiting for you at the back of the school, out of sight from anyone who might be watching.

"Oh, thank you, Ben," you began, choosing your words carefully. "But I’m actually meeting someone. I’ve got a ride, so I’m all set."

Ben raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Someone from the dance group?"

You forced a smile, shaking your head. "No, just a friend. We’re heading out for a bit."

"Boyfriend?" Ben asked, his tone casual, but there was a hint of something more behind the question—curiosity, maybe even a touch of jealousy.

Your heart skipped a beat at the word. You weren’t sure how to answer, not wanting to give away too much. "No, just a friend," you repeated, trying to keep your tone light. "We’re just going to hang out for a while."

Ben nodded slowly, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. "Well, be careful, alright? It’s getting dark out there."

"Of course," you replied, maintaining your polite demeanor. "Thanks, Ben."

With that, you turned to walk away, your heart beating a little faster. As you made your way around the side of the building, your eyes darted around, searching for Joel’s truck. You spotted it parked in the shadows, just as he had said it would be.

Joel was leaning against the truck, arms crossed, waiting for you. The moment you saw him, a sense of relief washed over you, dispelling the lingering unease from your conversation with Ben.

"Hey, doll," Joel greeted you as you approached. He pushed off from the truck and opened the passenger door for you. "Ready to go?"

You nodded, climbing into the truck. "Yeah, let’s get out of here."

Joel shut the door behind you, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in. As he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, you couldn’t help but glance in the side mirror, half-expecting to see Ben watching from a distance. But the street was empty, and soon the school was behind you as you and Joel headed out of town.

"Everything okay?" Joel asked, noticing your pensive expression as he drove.

"Yeah," you replied, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts. "Just... Ben offered me a ride, and it felt a little weird."

Joel frowned slightly, glancing over at you. "Weird how?"

You shrugged, trying to put your feelings into words. "I don’t know. He just seemed...just forget about it," you said, hoping to brush it off, but Joel wasn’t letting it go that easily.

"Wait, what do you mean?" he asked, his tone more insistent.

You hesitated, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "It’s nothing important."

Joel’s gaze remained fixed on you, his concern evident. "Doll... is he making you uncomfortable?"

You bit your lip, feeling a bit foolish for even bringing it up. "No, it’s just... he’s more interested in me than he should be. Like, he was paying a lot of attention during rehearsals and then offering me a ride. I don’t know, maybe I’m just overthinking it. Maybe he was just being nice and polite."

Joel’s frown deepened, his protective instinct kicking in. "If he’s making you feel uneasy, you need to tell me. Okay?"

You nodded, appreciating his concern. "Okay, I will."

There was a moment of silence, the tension from the conversation lingering in the air. You glanced out the window, watching as the town faded into the distance. The trip to Houston would take a while, and you wanted to shift the mood to something lighter.

"Joel," you asked, turning back to him, "can we listen to some music?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Sure, darling." He reached over to the radio and tuned in to a familiar station. As he did, the opening chords of "Harvest Moon" by Neil Young began to play, filling the truck with its soothing melody.

You couldn’t help but smile. "I love this song."

"Me too," Joel replied, his voice softening as the music enveloped the both of you.

As the song played, you let yourself get lost in the moment. The gentle strumming of the guitar and Neil Young’s tender voice seemed to wrap around you like a warm blanket, easing the tension that had settled in your chest. There was something timeless about the song, something that made you feel safe and understood, like everything was exactly as it should be, at least for now.

The lyrics spoke of love, of dancing together under the light of a harvest moon, and you found yourself wishing for that kind of simplicity in your own life. Being with Joel felt like that sometimes—like you were both in a world of your own, where the complications of your life couldn’t touch you. It was just the two of you, killing time on the road, the open highway stretching out before you like a promise of something more.

You look at Joel as he drives, your eyes tracing the lines of his face in the soft glow of the dashboard lights. The music played quietly in the background, creating a serene atmosphere that made this moment feel almost dreamlike. You couldn't help but admire him—how he looked so effortlessly handsome, even in the simplest moments.

Joel had a rugged and weathered appearance that only added to his appeal. His strong, muscular build was a testament to years of hard work, and the deep-set wrinkles around his eyes and mouth told stories of a life lived through hardship and survival. His dark hair, graying at the temples, and the scruffy beard he often wore gave him a rugged charm that was impossible to ignore.

His eyes, though—a striking, soulful brown—were what truly captivated you. There was a depth to them, a mix of sadness and wariness that hinted at the burdens he carried. But in this moment, as he drove with a steady hand, those eyes held a quiet intensity, softened by the comfort of being in your company.

Joel wasn't like the boys you knew from school or the men you saw in town. There was something about him, something that made your heart skip a beat whenever you were near him. Maybe it was the way he seemed so strong yet so gentle, or how he always knew just what to say to make you feel safe. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, not as a child or a preacher's daughter, but as someone who mattered, someone worth protecting.

His flannel shirt and worn jeans might have been simple, but on him, they looked perfect. The sturdy jacket he wore only added to his rugged appeal, making him look like the kind of man who could take on anything the world threw at him and come out on top. But more than his physical appearance, it was the way he carried himself—the quiet confidence, the steady calm—that drew you in.

As you watched him, you realized that Joel was the first man you'd ever looked at this way. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t demanding or harsh. He was just... Joel. And for the first time since you were a child, you could see a man who wasn’t angry.

Joel was everything you hadn’t known you were looking for—strong, protective, kind. And as you sat there, in the passenger seat of his truck, you couldn’t help but feel that whatever this was between the two of you, it was something worth holding onto.

The miles continued to slip away as you let yourself get lost in the rhythm of the road, the steady hum of the engine, and the quiet comfort of Joel's presence. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

As you approached Houston, the city lights shimmered in the distance, a glittering array of orange and white against the dark canvas of the night sky. The sight of the city, so vibrant and alive, filled you with a sense of excitement. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, small-town life you were used to, and the thought of exploring something new with Joel by your side made your heart skip a beat.

Joel navigated the truck through the streets, eventually pulling up to a house on the outskirts of the city. It was still a work in progress, but even in its unfinished state, you could tell it was going to be beautiful. The structure was modest yet elegant, with clean lines and a minimalist design that felt both modern and warm.

As you stepped out of the truck, Joel gestured towards the house. "What do you think?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of pride.

You took a moment to take it all in, the smell of fresh wood and the faint scent of sawdust lingering in the air. "It's beautiful, Joel. Minimalist, not too big, not too small. It feels... cozy."

Joel nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I wanted to keep it simple, but still make it something special."

You turned to him, curiosity getting the better of you. "So, who’s this house for? A client, or...?"

Joel shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "Not sure yet. The land was sold cheap by someone I know—he was in a tight spot and needed the money. I felt bad for him, so I bought it. Figured I’d put a house on it instead of letting the land just sit there. It's only about halfway done, still a lot left to finish."

He paused, glancing around the space as if seeing it for the first time through your eyes. "Maybe for Ellie one day. Or... maybe for you if you ever decide you want to leave that small town of ours."

His words left you momentarily speechless, a warm flutter spreading in your chest. You tried to play it off with a lighthearted joke. "Houston’s still too close to our town, Joel. If I ever leave, I might need to go much farther."

Joel chuckled softly, the sound deep and comforting. "Fair enough."

He led you through the house, showing you the different rooms, each space still in varying stages of completion. It was clear he had put a lot of thought into the design, making sure every detail was just right. Finally, he stopped in front of a set of glass doors. "The balcony’s almost done. Want to see it?"

You nodded eagerly, following him out onto the balcony. It was a stunning space, with a transparent roof that let you see the sky above while keeping you sheltered from the elements. The city lights flickered in the distance, but here, under the open sky, it felt like a world of its own.

"It’s taken almost a year to get it to this point," Joel admitted, his voice soft. "Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep going or just leave it as it was."

As you stepped further out, you noticed a couch on the balcony, neatly set up with blankets and pillows. It looked well-used, like someone had spent a lot of time there. You glanced at Joel, raising an eyebrow. "You come here often?"

Joel smiled, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, when I need to clear my head. It’s quiet up here. Helps me think."

Before you could respond, Joel started straightening out the blankets on the couch, making it more comfortable. He then lay down, looking up at the sky. He patted the space beside him, inviting you to join him. "C'mere"

You smile and then lying down next to him. The couch was surprisingly comfortable, and as you settled in, you felt a wave of calm wash over you. The sky above was a blanket of stars, each one twinkling like a tiny beacon of light in the darkness.

Lying there beside Joel, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in a long time. The worries and expectations that weighed so heavily on you seemed to fade away, replaced by the simple joy of being in this moment with him. It was just the two of you, under the stars, sharing a quiet connection that didn’t need words.

After a while, Joel broke the comfortable silence. “So, you really want to get out of town after you graduate, huh?” His voice was low, almost contemplative.

You nodded, your gaze still fixed on the stars. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I just… I don’t know exactly where yet. Maybe the East Coast or the West Coast. But I’ve always wanted to visit the West. Maybe California, Los Angeles… It’s just something about it, you know? All those Hollywood movies make it feel like a dream.”

Joel listened quietly, nodding as you spoke. You could feel his eyes on you, his presence a comforting weight beside you. After a moment, you turned the question back to him. “What about you, Joel? If you could go anywhere, where would you go? What would you do?”

Joel took a deep breath, as if considering the possibilities. “I’d like to live a simple life. An old farmhouse, some land, maybe a ranch,” he said thoughtfully. “I’d raise sheep. They’re quiet and do what they’re told.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “Farmlife sounds very nice, Joel. Peaceful.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that warmed your heart. “Yeah, I think it would be. But for now, construction pays the bills.”

You turned slightly to look at him, curiosity piqued. “But why construction? I mean, you’ve got a lot of money. You could leave town and move to the countryside if you wanted to.”

Joel sighed, his expression turning more serious. “Maybe. But it’s not just about the money, y’know? Construction... it gives me something to do, keeps my hands busy. After everything that happened, I needed something solid, something that made sense. Building things, working with my hands... it keeps me grounded.”

You could hear the weight of his words, the unspoken memories that lingered just beneath the surface. “And besides,” he continued, “leaving town isn’t as easy as it sounds. There’s a lot tied up in this place, a lot of memories, good and bad.”

You nodded, understanding more than you could ever say. “I guess I can relate to that.”

Joel turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, doll. You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Take your time, figure out what you really want.”

You smiled softly, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for him, for how he made you feel understood and safe.

Without overthinking it, you leaned in closer, your gaze briefly locking with his before you tilted your head up to kiss him. The kiss was soft, sweet, and gentle, an extension of the warmth that had been building between you two for weeks. Joel responded in kind, his arms tightening around you as if he didn’t want to let go.

But as the kiss deepened, a thought crept into your mind—Emma's words from the other morning, about how you could show love to someone you really liked or loved. The idea lingered, urging you to be bolder, to express just how much you cared about Joel in a more intimate way.

You hesitated for only a second before kissing him again, this time with more passion. Joel seemed surprised but played along, his lips meeting yours in a way that made your heart race. You let your hands explore, moving over his broad chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. You were nervous, but the thought of showing him how much you cared kept pushing you forward.

Your kisses trailed down from his lips to his jaw, then lower to his neck, your hands beginning to wander further down his body. As you continued, you could feel Joel stiffen slightly beneath you, and just as your kisses were about to travel even lower, he suddenly pulled back, his voice firm but gentle.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he murmured, his hands coming up to hold you still. “What are you doing?”

You blinked up at him, confusion written all over your face. “I just... I want to show that I care about you and want to thank you,” you said softly, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, trying to find the right words. “Emma told me that... that when you really like someone, you can show them by, you know, doing things like this. I just wanted to... please you, I guess.”

For a moment, Joel just looked at you, his expression a mix of surprise and something else you couldn’t quite place. Then he sighed, his hands gently cupping your face, lifting your gaze to meet his.

“Listen to me, sweetheart,” he began, his voice low and earnest. “I appreciate that you care about me, more than you know. But this? This isn’t how you show that. You don’t need to do anything like this to prove how you feel, okay? Not to me, not to anyone.”

You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you, realizing that maybe you’d misunderstood what Emma had meant. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a little foolish.

Joel shook his head, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. But I want you to understand something: love, real love, isn’t about doing things to keep someone around or to make them happy. It’s about respect, trust, and caring for each other, no matter what. And I care about you, doll, more than you know. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. There was something comforting in knowing that Joel wasn’t expecting anything from you, that he cared for you just as you were.

Joel pulled you back into his arms, holding you close as if to reassure you. “Just being here with you, that’s more than enough for me,” he murmured, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

You snuggled into his embrace, feeling a deep sense of relief and gratitude. In that moment, you realized that what you had with Joel was special—something that didn’t need to be rushed or defined by anyone else’s expectations. It was enough just to be with him, to share these quiet, intimate moments under the stars.

And for now, that was all you needed.

The morning sun filtered gently through the transparent roof of the balcony, casting a soft glow over you and Joel as you lay curled together under the thick blanket. The cool air of the dawn was a stark contrast to the warmth shared between you two. You felt the steady rise and fall of Joel’s breathing behind you, a comforting rhythm that made you feel secure.

You had called your mother last night, fabricating a story about staying over at Emma's place to work on a group project. Your mother, trusting as ever, had accepted your explanation without question. As you lay there, the peaceful silence of the morning was occasionally interrupted by the faint chirping of birds and the distant hum of the city waking up.

In your spooning position, you were nestled snugly against Joel, feeling his strong arms wrapped around you. The sensation was soothing, but as you relaxed, you became aware of something pressing against you—something firm and unmistakably intimate. You realized it was Joel’s growing arousal, a testament to his restraint and the powerful emotions he was holding back.

Joel had been incredibly patient with you, giving you the space to understand your feelings and the nature of your relationship. He had made it clear that he didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t ready for, especially after the recent emotional turbulence with Jamie. Yet here he was, still responding to your closeness despite his efforts to respect your boundaries.

You could sense the internal struggle Joel was facing. His body betrayed a desire he had been meticulously controlling, striving to honor your readiness rather than his own needs. It was a poignant reminder of his deep care and the complex layers of your relationship.

You gently shifted in his embrace, turning slightly so you could look up at Joel. His features were softened in sleep, and he looked almost serene. There was an undeniable tenderness in the way he rested, the soft lines of his face illuminated by the early morning light. His rugged charm was softened in this moment, and you couldn’t help but admire how peaceful and handsome he looked.

“Honey,” you called softly, nudging him gently.

Joel stirred slowly, his eyes fluttering open. He looked at you, a bit disoriented at first. “Hmm?”

As he fully awakened, he immediately noticed the situation. A flush of realization crossed his face, and he muttered, “Fuck, I didn’t mean for this—”

You cut him off before he could finish. “Joel, I can fix it,” you said firmly, your voice steady.

Joel's eyes widened with a mix of panic and confusion. “No, no, wait. What are you doing?”

“I can fix it,” you repeated, your tone insistent yet gentle.

Joel’s expression shifted to concern. “It’s okay, but you don’t have to do this. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

You shook your head, trying to reassure him. “It’s okay. I want to.”

Joel’s face softened, and he shook his head slowly. “No, you’re not ready yet, sweetheart.”

“But,” you continued, your voice carrying a hint of determination, “you’re a man, and you’re going to need—right? Don’t you sometimes feel...horny? How do you handle that?”

Joel’s eyes widened at your directness, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite his attempt to remain serious. He looked both surprised and touched by your concern and curiosity. “Well, doll, it’s not always easy, but you learn to manage it. You focus on other things, or you just...take care of yourself.”

You nodded, absorbing his words. “So, it’s like...not something you can just ignore?”

Joel chuckled softly, his voice rough with sleep. “No, it’s part of being human. We all have needs and desires, but it’s about finding a balance, respecting each other’s boundaries.”

You looked thoughtful, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of understanding and curiosity. “So, there’s a time for everything?”

“Exactly,” Joel said, his voice softening. “It’s about finding the right time and the right moment. And right now, it’s important that we both understand and respect where we are.”

You smiled at him, feeling a sense of clarity and comfort in his words. “Thank you for being honest with me, Joel.”

He gave you a gentle smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Anytime, doll. We’ll figure this out together. No rush.”

You settled back into his embrace, feeling a profound sense of connection and trust. The conversation had brought a new level of intimacy and understanding between you two, reinforcing the bond you shared.

***

As Joel drove you back, he navigated the familiar streets with a thoughtful expression. The quiet between you was comfortable, punctuated only by the soft hum of the truck. When he finally stopped a few blocks away from your home, he turned to you, his eyes reflecting a mix of warmth and something more profound.

"See you later, doll," he said, his voice gentle. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. It was a tender gesture, full of unspoken promises and affection. You smiled at him, feeling a sense of contentment that you hadn't experienced in a long time.

"See you later, Joel" you replied, your voice soft but filled with emotion.

As Joel’s truck rounded the corner and vanished from view, you felt a mixture of elation and contentment. The previous night had been a rare and comforting escape from the pressures of daily life. The softness of Joel’s embrace and the quiet intimacy of the starlit balcony had left you feeling more at ease than you had in months.

You took a deep breath, savoring the lingering warmth from the night before, and headed inside to prepare for the day. A quick shower was in order to shake off the remnants of sleep and to ready yourself for the dance rehearsal later at the church. The routine of getting ready felt almost meditative, a gentle counterpoint to the excitement and nervousness building inside you.

As Joel pulled up to his house, he felt a rare surge of happiness. The morning sun cast a warm glow on everything, and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of how things had been lately. He parked the truck and headed inside, the familiar sound of the front door creaking open greeted him with a sense of belonging.

He dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and called out, “Ellie, I’m home!”

From the kitchen, Ellie looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Where the hell have you been?"

Joel’s eyes widened when he saw Tommy sitting at the breakfast table with Ellie. “Oh, Tommy, I didn’t see you there. What are you doing here?”

Tommy glanced up from his plate. “I’m here to pick you up. We have a meeting with clients about a big project. Remember?”

Joel’s heart sank. “Oh shit, I forgot. I’ll be ready in a minute. Just need to change clothes.”

Ellie watched Joel, noting his unusually bright demeanor. “Joel, you okay?”

Joel grabbed a pancake off the plate and took a bite, standing by the counter. “Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

Ellie gave a puzzled look, then shrugged. “Nothing. Just seemed like you’re in a good mood.”

Joel, humming softly to himself, replied, “Just give me ten minutes, okay? I’ll be right out.”

He headed to his room, still humming the tune of “Harvest Moon,” the song that had been playing during his time with you. His steps were lighter, his mood buoyant.

As Joel disappeared into his room, Ellie and Tommy exchanged glances, both intrigued by Joel’s recent behavior.

“Did you see that?” Ellie asked, her tone a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Yeah,” Tommy said with a chuckle. “He’s definitely different lately. Happier, more upbeat. It’s like he’s come out of a shell.”

Ellie nodded, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve noticed it too. He’s been going to church more, cracking jokes, and just generally being...more alive.”

Tommy took another sip of his coffee, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Well, good for him. Finally, thank God.”

Ellie leaned forward, her curiosity evident. “Did he tell you anything? Like, did he open up about something that’s made him happier lately, or maybe someone?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Ellie leaned in, “Did he ever, you know, confide in you about something? Like what’s made him so... different lately?”

Tommy scratched his chin, thinking back. “Hmm, now that you mention it, I do remember one time he showed up late to work. He had this... I don’t know, a woman’s perfume on him. I teased him about it, you know? I said something like, ‘Hey, look at you, smelling all fancy. Got a date or something?’”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “And? What did he say?”

Tommy chuckled. “He just brushed it off. Said I was imagining things. Tried to act all nonchalant, like it was nothing. But it was pretty clear he’d been somewhere—or with someone.”

Ellie’s curiosity was clearly piqued. “So, he really didn’t say anything more? No hints or anything?”

Tommy sipped his coffee and shook his head. “Nope, not a peep. He’s pretty tight-lipped about his personal life.”

Ellie looked thoughtful for a moment, then her face brightened with a mischievous grin. “I need to know if Joel’s finally dating someone or going out with someone. Because, hell, whoever she is, I don’t want an evil stepmother!”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. “Give your old man a break, Ellie. He’s not exactly the type to jump into things without thinking them through.”

Ellie’s expression turned serious. “I’m serious, Tommy! I don’t want a stepmother coming in too quickly. I’m really happy with how things are now—with Joel, you, Maria, and little Luke. It’s been nice.”

Tommy’s smile softened. “I get it. It’s a big change, and no one wants to feel like they’re being rushed into something. But Joel’s been through a lot. If he’s found something that makes him happy, we should be supportive, right?”

Ellie nodded earnestly. “I know. I just want to make sure that whatever happens, it’s for the right reasons. I don’t want anyone coming in and disrupting what we’ve got here.”

Tommy placed a reassuring hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “Well, as long as we’re all here for each other, I think we’ll be okay."

[cardboardclownery]

CRASHES THROUGH A BRICK WALL

HI HI IM ALIVE!!!! sorry for the relative radio silence on here ;v;

on the topic of that actually!!!! finally have a proper folie a deux au update for you!! though its slightly different than expected?

me and professional buddy and fellow au creator @cookiecaker decided to share a summary of the story we're making for the au beforehand since we'll be taking a whileeee to finish it,,, got a lot of life to live and horrors to create "-v-

after this though you mayyyy or may notttt see some out of order chapter drafts posted for the story as well,,, or atleast one? eh youll see ;Pc

ANYWAYS!!!! this is gonna take a while so lets get on with...

THE FOLIE À DEUX DOAI AU

a summary!!

or story pitch? idk-

(cookie please lemme know if i miss or improperly describe anything here feel free to correct me-)

PART 1

the first three chapters follow alex just after the end of volume 1 as theyre abducted by lankmann and confined to his asylum as a "patient." eventually they get sent to winfrey as food, but winfrey refuses to eat them. theyre left to die in room 66 by lankmann for a Long While, until eventually he gives up and just puts alex back in their room

while alone in confinement, alex starts noticing strange things happening... dark patches start appearing on their skin, they get random pains as if someone were kicking them, and they hear a voice... a much clearer voice than the ones they used to hear while working in the asylum, and it seemed to be able to read their thoughts. though they originally just assumed it was due to being part of their thoughts as well, they find that they start knowing things they had no way of knowing and never learned prior to being confined. when lankmann typically entered room 66, how long hes inside, certain areas of the asylum patients found that theyd never heard of before...

this "voice" managed to help alex find a way to escape, leading to them running away and moving to another, smaller town in eastridge than the one they originally lived in to avoid lankmann's pursuit

PART 2

[ ! tw for cannibalism. yes you heard me- ! ]

so after getting far away from the asylum, alex assumes that their hallucinations and weird symptoms of... Something would wear off, since subject 02 was no where near close enough to affect them

well uh. nope! theyre still there!!

so eventually alex figures out "oh shit that thing is in my head somehow" and is obviously quite concerned!!! to say the least!!!! but theyre also oddly comforted by the idea of having The Voice in their head, since now theyre not entirely alone while on the run and i mean it helped them escape so it cant be that bad?? either way theyre not exactly excited about the whole ordeal and theyre starting to look different and theyre really hungry all the time and its not fun

so! at some point (with winfreys suggestion) alex decides to run off to another town a bit farther away just to be safe. but Uh Oh theyre all out of food!! so theyre extremely hungry, forcing themself through it so they can get food when they arrive but. they see someone in the woods while walking

and for some reason that makes them even hungrier

they try to ignore it and keep walking but they cant

and the next thing they know

theyre looking down at a person

chewing off the flesh on their leg

covered in blood

even after regaining their senses they cant stop themself from eating. it tasted... so good... they were so hungry... they felt awful but it really did taste so s o g o o d .

in a haze, they discard the body, clean themself off and reach the next town. just after unpacking in an apartment, they collapse, flooded with the emotions they fought off on the way there

the next day, alex finally confronts winfrey (or winfreys voice rather-) about all their grievances and they eventually reach an understanding, as winfrey opens up about fearing the outside of the asylum despite longing to escape through alex, so they eventually agree to let winfrey pilot their body for a few days to get a feel for how the world has changed since the time winfrey had been free

in doing so, winfrey realizes how small and helpless humans are in comparison to them and how terrified the patients they devoured mustve been. this allows them to appreciate human life (specifically alex's) much more and want to escaped in their own body to join alex outside and introduce clyde to what they learned after finding it again

while piloting alexs body, winfrey is suddenly forced back into their own after lankmann inflicts enough pain to wake them from the dissociative state that piloting alex left them in. soon after this, winfrey overcomes the fear that was originally keeping them from escaping the facility and breaks out

PART 3

this section is a lot less figured out than the rest so uhh bear with me please ;v;

essentially this couple of chapters just follows alex and winfrey as they get used to life on the run, figuring out where to go from there and how they could potentially find clyde, along with just talking face to face and getting used to that. its a weird feeling talking to someone that you share thoughts with yknow? like talking to yourself but its... not... yourself...

around the start of this section winfrey also expresses that they feel drawn to feminity as a human concept, thus being referred to with they/she from this point on in the story!! transfem winfrey yippee!!! it just makes sense in our head idk-

PART 4

alex and winfrey start noticing news broadcasts and posters asking around for a "dark figure" lurking around, as well as warnings about alex being missing from lankmanns asylum. this fuels alex's paranoia, leading them to seeing lankmanns caretakers everywhere, feeling as if theyre being watched wherever they go... until eventually their home is ambushed and theyre taken back into lankmanns custody

alex is essentially used as bait to get winfrey to come save them from the asylum, since lankmann couldnt find a solid lead on where winfrey could be. alex tries to convince her not to fall for it, since they can both tell this is what lankmanns trying to do, but winfrey eventually caves and breaks back in to help alex, getting trapped inside once again

PART 5

depsite the circumstances, winfrey and alex do their best to stay determined and keep looking for a way out, but they dont make much progress. to make matters worse, lankmann tries "live feeding" patients to alex in the same way he did with winfrey due to realizing that alex has veldigun traits and assuming that theyd have the same appetite as her. this isnt the case, and eventually lankmann switches to dead patients as food for alex, which theyre forced to accept due to lacking any other options

both winfrey and alex are miserable in the situation, the helplessness sinking in fairly quickly as alexs body begins rejecting the growing veldigun portions of itself, decaying under the immense stress

during their final moments, winfrey pilots alexs body to allow an atleast somewhat peaceful death as their consciousness fades away, leaving winfrey alone to reflect on all that had happened...

...and thats the official end of the story!! i had like,, a hypothetical epilogue/alternate ending where lankmann forces a Mind Merge with winfrey somehow and then gets killed and she breaks out again but like. idk the logistics of that are iffy and i kinda prefer the more melancholy end for something like this ":]c

ANYHOW!!!! hope that was!!! something!!!! please feel free to ask questions or provide feedback or anything else im always happy to engage with my fellow freaks (affectionate) :]

ALSO IF YOU MAKE CONTENT BASED ON THIS AU LET ME KNOW I WILL DIE FOREVER alright thats it for real this time- stay safe broskissss BP

[orqheuss]

Orqheus(s)' Masterlist!

🔥 - Smut, 🌸 - Fluff, 🩸 - Angst, 🎭 - Comedy, 🎀 - Hurt/Comfort, 💗 - Romantic,✨ - Platonic (💥 - gore/blood, 💀 - main character death)

All fics are cross-posted on Ao3, Tumblr, and (some) on Wattpad

If there's a particular headcanon you'd like to see, please message me! I am open to requests!

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT TAGGING ME.

Fandoms are listed in alphabetical order!

Any trigger warnings present are posted on each fic.

Hazbin Hotel

I do not own the characters depicted.

One-Shots

Alastor x Reader

Journeys end in lovers meeting (🩸💗/✨💥💀) - Tumblr x The battle was over and the residents of the Hazbin Hotel had won. What would have happened, though, if Alastor wasn’t able to heal himself? What would have happened if you were also on the verge of dying?

Alastor Character Study

Stamped on these lifeless things (🩸💥 💀) - Tumblr x With his final moments quickly drawing near, something approaches Alastor that has him questioning everything. (Human!Alastor meets Demon!Alastor AU)

Hogwarts Legacy

I do not own the characters depicted, nor do I condone J.K. Rowling's actions.

One-Shots

The Shadow trio (Ominis x Sebastian x MC)

May I feel said he (🔥🌸) - Tumblr x Studying in the Room of Requirement can get quite tedious, especially with NEWTS around the corner. What is one to do when you're trapped between your two bored, ravenous, and incorrigibly competitive boyfriends? (Inspired by the poem "may i feel said he" by E. E. Cummings) A Fish to Water (🎭✨) - Tumblr x Becoming an animagus is not an easy feat. As much as you love your two best friends, sometimes its more fun to play a prank and take the absolute piss out of them. How would they react if they found out your animagus form was a little bit...fishy? Seven new ways that you can eat your young (🔥) - Tumblr x Slytherin's are known for their end of the year parties. On the eve of their graduation, though, Ominis hears something that makes his blood boil with jealousy. (Inspired by the song "Eat Your Young" by Hozier) Mallowsweet Bliss (🌸🎭✨) - Tumblr x “Oh, you lovely, hopelessly naive thing. Yes, mallowsweet has a great smell, but it also has an even better taste when eaten, and an absolutely enchanting effect on the mind when you smoke it.” AKA, the three of you get incredibly stoned on your stash of mallowsweet. My darling, my sweetheart, I am in your sway (🌸💗) - Tumblr x The Founder's ball only comes around once a year, and with your graduation fast approaching, you knew two things. One, you knew absolutely nothing about ballroom dancing, and two, you were irrevocably in love with both of your best friends and wanted to go with both of them. Was there a way to kill two birds with one stone? Not yet corpses (still, we rot) (🎀✨/💗💥) - Tumblr x Tremors were wracking through the entirety of Hogwarts, and you were nowhere to be found. Little did Ominis and Sebastian know, the repository had been opened, and you were the only thing standing between the wizarding world continuing to thrive or falling to ruin at their very feet. Mingle our ashes and bury us together (🩸✨/💗) - Tumblr x After everything that had happened in your fifth year, your mind was becoming too much for you to bear on your own. After a rather dreadful conversation with yourself, you knew there was only one way to stop your personal torment. (TW! Attempted Suicide) Insatiable Gravity (🔥🌸🎭) - Tumblr x When it rains, it pours, and when your trapped in the downpour with your two best friends, the only option is the inn down the road. The bad news? There's only one room left, and in that room is only one bed.

Ominis x MC

In the pursuit of knowledge (🔥🌸) - Tumblr x When you and Ominis are alone in the Undercroft, it isn't uncommon for some secrets to come to light. After revealing that you've never been kissed, were there some sparks flying between the two of you, or was it just the firewhiskey talking? How could I fear any hurricane (🎀💗) - Tumblr x After almost severely injuring Ominis during a duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts, you retreat into yourself far out of the reach of your closest friend. There's only one thing Ominis can think of to do to bring you out of your turbulent mind. (Inspired by the song "Francesca" by Hozier) In any version of reality - Soulmate!AU (🌸💗) - Tumblr x Ominis was sure that he didn't have a soulmate. That is, of course, until he hears you sing one winter night in the desolate music room and is transported through the past to the first time your souls ever met. (Inspired by the song "Epic iii" by the Hadestown 2017 Original Soundtrack) Clumsy Love (🌸💗) - Tumblr x A relaxing day in the Room of Requirement takes a turn that you never expected. Not that you were complaining, though. Who doesn't love a little bit of dancing? If only your heart would stop trying to pound its way out of your chest whenever a certain blond Slytherin was near. I would know him blind (🔥💗) - Tumblr x You'd been with Ominis for some time, and as much as you loved your intimate times together, you wondered what it would be like to be in his shoes for a change. Your darling husband is more than happy to help you satiate your curiosity. Snake Charmer - Greek Mythology!AU (🌸🎭-ish) - Tumblr x Why was everyone so interested in the new girl? Ominis Gaunt was about to find out.

Ominis Gaunt and the Sallow's

Free and young and we can feel none of it (🎀✨) - Tumblr x Ominis knew that he had to leave his family home. The abuse would only get worse if he stayed. One winter night, he fled to the only place he felt safe, and into the arms of an unlikely friend.

Sebastian x MC

A duel most desirable (🔥) - Tumblr x Emotions are running high, and a friendly duel between you and your best friend, whom you're completely and entirely infatuated with, takes a very...steamy turn. Anything to make you smile (🌸💗) - Tumblr x Sebastian, remembering you lamenting about not being able to experience going to Hogwarts as a first year, decides to take you on a romantic boat ride so you could enjoy the journey from Hogsmeade like he did as an eleven year old. Too bad he forgot one crucial thing: he was terrified of the Black Lake.

Chapter Fics

The Shadow trio (Sebastian x Ominis x MC)

Life is not a paragraph, and death, I think, is no parenthesis (🩸💗💥) - Ao3 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 (All fic titles in this series come from various E. E. Cummings' poems) Victor Rookwood kidnapped you, in broad daylight, on the streets of Hogsmeade, and Sebastian is willing to do anything to get you back. Will he and Ominis be able to find you before it's too late? (TW! Graphic depictions of torture)

For whatever we lose (like a you, or a me) (🩸💗💥) - Tumblr x The Scriptorium called your name, and who were you to ignore its song? At least, that's what you told yourself as Sebastian pushed you and Ominis deeper and deeper into the mausoleum. (Pre Parenthesis!Universe)

Awake, chaos: we have napped (🩸🎀💗💥) - Ao3 x After everything that happened to you that night in the poacher camp, it was only normal for you to have nightmares. After a particularly rough one, will your partners be able to pick up the pieces? (Post Parenthesis!Universe) (TW! mentions of attempted rape/non-con)

I like my body when it is with your body (🔥🌸💗) - Tumblr x Sebastian believes that he doesn't deserve to be happy after everything he's done. His partners don't agree, and are hellbent on proving him wrong the best, and most effective, way they know how. (Post Parenthesis!Universe)

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) (🔥🌸💗) - Tumblr 1 2 3 The finale of "Life is not a paragraph, and death, I think, is no parenthesis." It is a beautiful day to get married, and you couldn't ask for better partners. (Post Parenthesis!Universe)

The sun does not weep for Icarus (🩸✨/💗💥💀) - Tumblr 1 2 3 4 The arrival of the Daily Prophet brings the news of Sebastian Sallow's fate after the events of his fifth year. Ominis and his new friend can't help but feel guilty for their decisions. (TW! Child abuse, suicide)

Even the iron still fears the rot (🩸💗💥) - Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 It was supposed to be a normal trip to Hogsmeade. But, when Sebastian and Ominis are kidnapped by poachers determined to seek revenge against the one who killed their fearless leader, will you be able to save them in time? (TW! Graphic depictions of torture)

Ominis x MC

How to ask for help - 5+1 Times (🌸💗) - Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 The five times you helped Ominis, and the one time he helped you.

Headcanons

Sebastian x MC

Sebastian Sallow headcanons

Misc

HL boys as things my students have said - Part 2 Sebastian and Ominis wand headcanons

[lol-jackles]

tumblr /jenmishperceiver/747567018487726080/i-think-if-anything-put-the-final-nail-in-the> I've seen this assumption before and imo it's spin: Jensen said repeatedly that he told the group he wanted to think about the script, went home TO HIS WIFE and said he was uncomfortable, who then suggested calling Kripke, ect // In all the retellings, I've never actually seen it said Jensen fought with the writers OR EVEN TOLD THEM and Jared he was uncomfortable until AFTER he'd changed his mind to agreed

Bitter Destiel shippers are those kinds of people who fall for IRS telephone scams.

You're correct, Jensen never said in any of his retellings that he fought with writers nor did he tell them or Jared he's having a hard time "digesting" until AFTER he talked to Kripke and was convinced by Kripke that "Carry On" was the right ending for fans. You know, the real fans who watch the show for what it really is: Sam's hero journey with his beloved brother, Dean.

That said, while you're correct that it's Jensen's job to sell the concept, he has also been pitching a Dean-led spinoff for years. Remember his "dream" (X) that he pitched during the SPN press junket?   I didn’t side-eye his PCA campaigns or his pursuit for Dean-centric storylines, but I did raise my eyebrows at his ballsy move to publicly pitch his post-Sam projects in front of Jared and Misha. What does the jenmishperciever's Anon say about that? Hummm?

Actors are always pitching their project ideas, they're just a bit more subtle about it. I'm certain Jensen had hoped the "dream" would catch on with the fans and they would campaign for it. Except not even AAs were down with the idea. Casual fans even less so. Lucky for you I saved the screenshot from the article:

Reading through jenmishperciever's Anon's self-soothing fanfiction is like watching bread grow old right before your eyes; same delusions we've seen for the past 12 years. Blame Jared for playing Sam who was in the way of a fake fetish ship from becoming canon that Less than 1% of the SPN audience ships. Said Jared's drunken arrest (I refuse to call it a bar fight, it was a group hug gone wrong) could have threaten the ENTIRE filming of the SPN final season while ignoring Anthony Starr's drunken arrest, which by the Anon's logic, would have threaten the ENTIRE filming of The Boys.

Lol they still pretend to believe that Kripke gave the SPN rights to Jensen when Kripke is SUEING WB over profit participation over SPN.

The only thing Jensen cared about with his SPN spinoff was lens crafting, which was why The Winchesters was a Shein version of an AU fanfic. Remember when Jensen told TW cast “don’t fuck it up for me”? After 15-20 years, Jensen is used to lead actors/Jareds doing the heavy lifting in carrying the show and being leader of the cast and crew and he benefitted from the sweet spot as #2 on the call sheet i.e. the good guy who is friends with everyone.

If Jensen keeps trying to be in charge of SPN projects, SPN fans’ reaction is going to be the same as today Marvel fanboys’ reaction every time they hear Kevin Feige’s name: “What did you did do this time you Son of a Bitch!? What train did you derail this time?”

Since Supernatural ended 4 years ago, the bitter Destiel hellers and AAs are stuck in a time loop of step 1 through 4 of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression). S tep 5 is acceptance, which is long delayed due to Jared’s continue success i.e. Walker in it's 4th season and #1 scripted show for CW.

[lalunanymph]

Riding on the nanami brainrot!!!! dawn as a bewitched!au enthusiast, it had me thinking about retired army general!nanami and a geisha!reader 🫶 what if after leaving the gojo clan, he settled down and became reader’s patron and they lived happily ever after 🥰

- 🍎

i couldnt get this idea out of my mind and had to write something for it grrr thank you sm apple nonnie ily and your beautiful brain

tw for love making and suggestive themes

The ex-general of the great Gojo clan should be a man who was intimidated by many.

For truly, his countenance, stoic mien, and even the shock of fair hair on his head (so unnaturally light and a contrast to every common passerby on the street) would’ve marked him as a man who would not be into foolhardy pursuits.

But, in your months of living under his roof, you had come to find that General Nanami Kento was indeed an incredibly kind man.

“What are you doing?” 

Kento had awoken from his slumber, padding into the kitchen to find you standing by the stove, hair still in a disarray. A light scruff shadowed his chin, and his face was pinched with fatigue.

In answer, you tightened your silk sash, a teasing grin pulling on your face. “About to surprise you, of course.” 

The general is not a man to be trifled with. Hence, when he tilted his head to the side, unsure of what your coy entendre was supposed to mean, you were slightly terrified of his rejection.

What would he say to your next plan? Would he ridicule you and find it foolish? 

“Surprise?” His rough, low voice involuntarily sent shivers down your spine. “What kind of surprise?” 

The general does not like to be blindsided. Your answer was meek, almost like a girl who was about to be berated by her superior.

“I wanted to… I wanted to dance for you, Kento-san.” 

Now, his attention was piqued. Nanami’s back went ramrod straight, those dark eyes widening infinitesimally. “Dance for me? Why ever for?” 

He did not sound disappointed or peeved. Instead, you detected a note of curiosity in his genuine question—the first stirrings of a man who had never been indulged in such finery.

You had to hide a smirk behind your fall of hair. Only General Nanami—a man who brought an infamous geisha under his wing—would be taken aback by her natural want to charm and appease him. 

Your smile was partly patient, partly abashed. “Because,” you started, and walked over to him slowly. Nanami did not cringe back or let himself be bowed over by your sudden proximity; keeping his reactions fastened to his chest. “I want to do it.” 

His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. You could see the ripping flow of emotions erupting across his handsome features; a thread of desire overshadowed by his strict samurai stolidity.

“You do not have to do this.” His voice was soft, cottoned with gentleness. Giving you a route of escape should your mortification catch up with common sense. 

You shook your head. “Please, Nanami-san. Let me do this for you. I wanted to show you some lessons I remembered.” 

It had been a considerable amount of time since you last put on a Natsu wa Hotaru for men. Your nerves were getting the best of you, but you strapped on your armour of gratitude towards this man who had housed, fed and clothed you with little to no expectation of any returning sentiments. Why General Nanami had chosen you—perhaps you may never know. But, you had learned to never question providence whenever it fell into your lap like a sleepy, curling kitten. 

Kento was in no obligation to give into your whims, but he eased himself into a cross-legged position onto the tatami floors, the split in front of his striped blue yukata showing off a web of whitened scars. 

You didn’t have any music to accompany you, but Mama-san always did say you had a beautiful humming voice. 

Graciously picking up the uchiwa fan—one of the only items you had taken from your old life in the okiya into your new one as part of his household—you held it above your head, warming up with a low hum. 

Your arm arched overhead, easing in front of your body with a slowed, graceful swoop. You recounted the steps perforated deep into your subconscious from Mama-san’s rigid lessons—spinning on your heel, lifting your head and eyes to the sun to give thanks for the summer. All the while, your voice never broke or petered off, rich and warm like the rays streaming through the paper thin shoji windows. 

Nanami did not move nor you suspected, breathed. He was hewed of stone, fists clenched atop of his lap. The only sign of movement were his eyes, steadily following every motion of your body. Men would often compliment how you moved like water—Mizu no Megami—they called you. 

The water goddess.

There was a fluidity to your motions which would put rainfall to shame, and Nanami was starting to believe why his comrades used to say geishas were the spirits of grace put right onto this earth. 

From the arch of your back, to the curve of your arms in midair, spinning the fan in your lithe fingers like you were one with its fluttering disposition, made him firmly believe you were an otherworldly being. 

And your voice… it never faltered. A sweet, rich octave which brought goosebumps to his skin.

All too soon, your performance ended. You were bright-eyed and warm in your cheeks, waiting for him to thaw, frozen in your ending position of knees bent, arms curved close to your waist. 

Instead of applauding, like rowdy men were wont to do, Nanami slowly got to his feet. 

He approached you, careful not to scare you with too quick of a movement, and soft as down, his large, scarred palms cupped your face. 

You were petrified, not with fear, but with baited desire. He stroked your cheeks, rough pads of his thumbs soothing on your far softer skin, and there was a look you knew all too well on his dear face. They reminded you of watching your onee-sans stagger back into the okiya, drunk and whispering that they would kill you if you told Mama-san of their evening whereabouts. Not much of where they had been, but who they were with.

Older men. Soldiers. Politicians.

Everyone of them wore a secret, satisfied smile like they were sated from a huge meal after starving for decades. Now, years later when you were free from the constrictions of tight obis and etiquette, you could see desire plainly in the open air—finally free to indulge in it.

His lips touched yours in the softest of caresses, and you didn’t fight him off when he swept you into the seam of his embrace. Your body fell against his—like two pieces of Go flushed together, slotting perfectly in each other’s spaces, finding a clear path towards a release of intensity which brimmed and brimmed; eventually bubbling over.

Nanami removed your obi, pulling down your simple, sakura-patterned sobe panels, revealing the tender rise of your shoulders to his touch. He kissed a pathway down your neck, marking his territory right on your collarbones; bold enough to touch his tongue to your pulse point.

Your soft gasp thrilled through the morning air, drops of unfettered desire clinging between both of your bodies like a film of sweat. 

“Tell me to stop,” Kento’s gruff voice breached through the fog in your mind, drawing you down into deeper depths of rapture. “Tell me to stop whenever you want me to.” 

“I do not,” you replied back, heavy in breath and intention when you softly rested your palms on his scarred chest. Without a lingering second for him to chart your intentions and misconstrue them, you unwound his own yukata sash, feeling more of his rough, pale skin under your wandering touch. “I want you, Kento. I want you, it burns.” 

That was enough for Nanami to discard years of training to tame his emotions. The beast within was roaring to claim you, his blood singing like it would whenever he was about to rush into a battlefield. But, this time, it wasn’t severed limbs or broken bones awaiting him, but the terrains of your body drawing him to unleash his brute desire. 

Nanami was brash when he lifted you up, your feet dangling in midair, only to be swept into the crevice of his arms. He brought you to the bedroom with barely any effort exerted, not a droplet of sweat rolling down his sharp cheekbones and sunken temples. 

Gently this time, he laid you on the futon, covering your entire body with his bigger build. You had never noticed how starkly a man towered over you, until you were in this position to look up at him. Wonder stained your sighs, those wide eyes gleaming with a girl-like innocence charming as it tugged on his soul. 

Kento felt a warmth unlike any other he had ever encountered in his arduous life; like a thousand bees were swarming in his chest, warming up the cavities of his austere ribcage housing his equally stony heart. 

His large hands swept down your shoulders, parting your kimono further apart, until the panels were splayed around your naked body. Those dark eyes appraised the crease in between your thighs, memorising them like it was his next terrain to conquer. 

Nanami was never a man who gave into the screamings of flesh, but in this instance, he felt like his veins were sparked with gunpowder—igniting from the base of his spine to the tips of his toes. 

“You are beautiful.”

That lavish praise tumbled freely from his parted mouth, burying itself underneath your blooming affections. 

However, his next words sent you reeling, like a bare branch tumbling in a storm, when he uttered: 

“I want to ruin you.”

His lips descended back onto yours, kissing with an ardour that would’ve frightened a more modest woman. Modesty—thankfully—was not part of your script, and you returned his kiss with an equal zeal that many men would find loose and unbecoming. 

From the ends of your hair to the crest of your toes, your body pulsed with an unbridled heat for him. You were soaked in between your thighs. 

Such simple kisses were making you unravel, unlike a tapestry whose loose thread had the power to undo the striking masterpiece. You were crumbling for Kento, relenting to his relentless passion. 

The taste of sleep and his skin was strong with every curl of his tongue on yours. Something hard and foreign was poking your thigh, and Kento’s strong hips undulated, his mind losing control of his body.

“Fuck,” he swore lowly, eyeing the lines between both of your bodies with a gleam in those dark, unfathomable eyes. 

You cupped his face to yours, admiring every instance of those beautiful features with their scars and faint wrinkles. A part of you wondered—as he shoved his yukata off to one side of the room—if your children would have his blonde hair. 

Nanami’s cock was imposing and resting on your thigh. His kisses were unhurried now, and they were traversing lower and lower down your body. He nipped your collarbones. Kissed your jaw and scraped his teeth on your pulse point. That same mouth roamed in between your breasts, finding the peaks of your stiff nipples and sucking on them tenderly, mouthing on them like he was attempting to extract some deeper essence from your willing body. 

Your breathing hitched when he dared to roam lower—right towards the apex of your body where your lust was undeniable. 

Kento gently parted your thighs, resting deeper in between the promised crease. His mouth touched your pelvis first, sending what felt like hot flashes up your spine. And the moment you felt his mouth on your tender parts, you were sure you moaned loud enough to wake up the old teamaker next door. 

“Kento,” you gasped, disregarding all of your etiquette training to succumb to the lust like you were no better than the harlots walking down cobblestone pavements at night. “Oh! Oh…” 

His tongue was working you into a frenzy, and those thick fingers ran through the seam of your sticky heat, parting your folds to get to the heart of your desire. One thick, calloused finger rubbed firm circles on your sensitive nub, eliciting a tremble in your thighs you had only experienced when standing for too long on a hot day. 

“Kento,” you gasped out, almost purring his name like a wanton whore. “Oh—I-I’m—” you broke off, unable to speak past the pleasure knotting underneath your sternum, making you stutter and choke. Your eyes watered, tears dripping down your cheeks; smeared by loving kisses from the man above you who watched your fall with pure rapture. 

How your brows knitted together, how your mouth fell open, a scream rebounding across the room…

“Shit,” Kento cursed, unable to help himself from driving his hips deeper and deeper into your body. “Shit, shit, shit—I’m—”

His stuttered moan was heralded by a well of warmth filling you up. The ecstasy of belonging to Kento; of feeling him melt into your walls, was the sweetest sin unlike any other. You lived for his flushed cheeks, his feral snarl, his handsome face contorting like it was in pain…

He slumped atop of you, pushing you further into the futon until your chest was smothered from the full weight of him. But, deprivation of air was not your main concern, not when Kento was kissing down your forehead, cheeks and jaw like you were a precious jewel he had just found out was real. 

Your giggle was a sweet sublime balm for his soul, and he smiled like the first warm rays of a summer morning. 

A tenderness unlike any other rooted itself in your soul, and for the first time, you figured out why men would go to war for love; why women sacrificed parts of their souls and bodies for a mere sliver of hope that their love would bloom eternally. 

Your eyes were open, and your heart welcomed every drop of his presence. 

Kento brushed the back of his knuckles down your cheek, expression softening when you began to grin.

“I did not hurt you?” 

Soft as down, you pressed his knuckles to your lips, kissing them softly. “No.”

The stoic samurai tried his best to hide how pathetically his heart raced at your tiny gesture, but his growing smile told the full truth, slowly coming to light like the indentations of a secret message upon paper being shaded in with charcoal. 

“We should be getting up for breakfast.” Ever the worrier, Kento was concerned about your lack of nutrition; if you were already starving and he had overtaxed you. 

But, your returning grin was part deific and part exasperation for the older man before you; filled with a gentleness your scarred and scared heart had never felt in her lifetime.

“We should,” you hummed in agreement. Neither of you made a move to leave each other’s embrace, and the morning sun continued speckling dancing shadows of waving sakura branches against the shoji windows.

©️ LALUNANYMPH

[msfbgraves]

Did you see that horrific Happy Hanukkah tweet featuring an AI Terry and Daniel in a cage from Hayden on Tw*tter??? So awful in every single way. Acknowledging a Jewish celebration in this disrespectful way with the character who is evil and the villain of the show—and who is apparently Jewish! YIKES. What was he thinking??

Anyway, Terry is always going to be Irish Catholic to me and I don’t care what The Big Three think. What a gross thing to do and I’m not even Jewish.

I minored in European medieval history and majored in 19th and 20th century European history. The Wikipedia page on antisemitism explains it better than I ever could but the cliff notes version of antisemitic stereotypes we all walked away with went like this, stereotypes, mind, that were used to continuously justify genocidal violence against Jewish people:

You, as an anti-semite, can recognise a Jew, among other things, by their

-Dark hair

-Name connected to jewels and or money

-Sophistication; they're dangerously smart even

-Rich by money made in trade or banking or illicit pursuits, they don't do 'honest' work

Jews were said to be untrustworthy, disloyal, backroom dealers who whisper in the ears of power to get their way

They were said to spefically target Christian children to harm in blood rituals

Whenever there is a sickness, it is because a Jew poisoned the water

...

Does this possibly remind you of a certain antagonist in The Karate Kid III? The one who heads a company called Dynatox?

So, you know, if you were going to write a dark haired, duplicitous, murderous rich guy who makes his money by bribing judges with money made by poisoning nature, who goes by the name of Silver

A man whose sole raison d'être is targeting young boys; and who does this primarily by deceit

You would have been very strongly advised not to make this character canonically Jewish when he wasn't said to be so in the original.

Just, no. NO. Please, for the love of all you hold dear, don't fucking do that.

But, apparently Hayden is Jewish, so then it must be fine. I mean the only cultural framework for a series based on a film that was released internationally and is streamed worldwide is the American one, obviously, so, sure, take the dark haired billionaire by the name of Silver who targets children and bribes officials with money made poisoning nature and make him not only rich but sophisticated rich, just to hammer the point home that he is a dark haired Jewish intellectual that harms nature and preys on children by tricking them before making them bleed and I'm just like, why didn't you give him a hooked nose while you were at it. To tick the last box on your antisemitic bingo card.

And what is it with the crush on the goy bully who looks like a literal poster boy for the Hitler Youth?

So, again, is it OK to make Terry Silver a wandering antisemitic stereotype of a villain when you're Jewish yourself? Again, I'd advise against it, really I would.

Is it absolute text that Terry is Jewish? No. It is very strongly implied but not text. And maybe it will fly over people's heads but then to keep hammering that point home? Feels like rage baiting. But you know, this is Hayden we're talking about, even his co writers were like, "Oops, maybe you shouldn't deny depicting the sexual assault of a teenage boy when that is clearly what you did, even perhaps unwittingly." So consider the source here: that man is a steaming pile of dog shit on the best of days.

When Thomas wrote his own Terry Silver AU he called him Terry McCain and made him very explicitly Irish, and I have written better posts than this one on why I headcanon that Terry was raised Catholic because his Irish American mother married his Jewish father. His father would have had another reason to see his son as less than because as a rule of thumb by Jewish law, only children born of Jewish mothers can be Jewish without converting and certainly not all practitioners of Judaism are accepting of converts, feeling that only those born of nonconverted Jewish mothers truly count as Jews. (It is far more nuanced than that, obviously, depending on individual circumstances, do look it up rather than simply take my word for it... Yet it comes up in media dealing with Jewish life with regularity.) And certainly in the 80's, Terry would style himself into a living antisemitic stereotype because fuck you, Papa, for dragging me to yet another bar mitswa I would never have, fuck you for hosting all those minyans I could never join, fuck you for the fact that even though I am your only son, I will never be able to say kaddish for you, I'll never be styled a true man in your eyes, Fuck. You. I'll show you Jewish! Which, you know, is insane, but this is Terry we are talking about, and it compels me, the son full of Catholic Guilt about not being Jewish enough. There really has to be a reason why he is Like That and I think that background might just do it.

So for a Watsonian reasons, I can work with it, but would I have strongly implied that Terry was Jewish, given his backstory in The Karate Kid III and possible lingering antisemitic stereotypes the audience may have been exposed to?

No I wouldn't have. Not in a million years.

Dickhead.

[nyoomfruits]

And There Goes That Plan...

(For the made up title thingy)

and there goes that plan lando/oscar, 15k, completed

Oscar’s been an international art thief for long enough to know shit goes tits up sometimes. “A plan,” Mark Webber, the man who taught him everything he shouldn’t know, had always said, “is merely a guide line.” And it’s true. There’s always parts unaccounted for, small little details missed no matter how many hours they’d put into planning. He is starting to suspect, however, as another bullet pings against the door of the car, that Lando tries to seek out these small little details on purpose. “Fucking gun it!” The man in question yells delightedly, twisted around in his seat so he can point his gun through the shattered back window at the car in pursuit. “I am fucking gunning it!” Oscar yells back, jerking the steering wheel to narrowly avoid and oncoming car and sending his own car skittering over the side walk, nearly hitting a trash can in the process. It would be easier, maybe. To stop working with Lando. To stop getting himself in these situations that make him feel like he needs a three year vacation in the Bahamas after every successful heist. Or, well, it would be, if he wasn’t so goddamn deeply in love with this man. Next to him, Lando cackles loudly and delightedly as there is some kind of ruckus behind them. Oscar jerks the car around another corner and pretends the loud beating of his heart is because he’s being chased by a guy with a flamethrower and not because of the bright flush on Lando’s cheek and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

tags; thief au, getaway car driver!oscar, absolute menace to the international thiefing community!lando, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, tw: mentions of an injury

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)

Navigation

Hobie's Masterlist

The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.

He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.

The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.

The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.

He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.

The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”

The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.

“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”

Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.

“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”

Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.

The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.

“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”

The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.

“Fuck you, Hobart!”

He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.

The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”

Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.

“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.

He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.

“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”

The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.

“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.

Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.

“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.

“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”

“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.

Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”

—

The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.

“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”

—

Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.

Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”

You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.

“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”

A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’

You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”

The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.

“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”

He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.

“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.

“Good times.” He chuckles.

—

“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.

“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.

—

“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”

The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.

“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.

“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.

Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.

“Good for you, finally saved up then?”

Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.

“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”

“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”

Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”

Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.

“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”

He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”

You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”

He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.

Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.

Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”

—

You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.

Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.

“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.

“Who's giving you a bad time?”

You audibly groan. “No one.”

He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”

Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.

He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.

With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”

Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”

You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”

He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.

“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”

Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”

“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”

“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”

You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.

“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.

“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.

“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”

Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”

“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.

“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”

You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.

“Because they turned into a bat?”

He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.

“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”

He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.

Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”

The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.

—

Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.

He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.

“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.

—

The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.

In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.

The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.

“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”

The camera shuts off abruptly.

—

The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.

He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.

With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.

His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.

Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.

“What's the watermelon saying?”

“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.

Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”

Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”

“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.

“Augh, they're still following you?”

“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.

“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”

“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.

“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”

“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”

You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”

Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”

The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.

You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.

He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.

—

Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.

“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”

He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”

“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”

Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.

“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.

“Because it attracts—!”

You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.

“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.

“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.

“What are you a Pokémon?!”

Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.

The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.

“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.

Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.

Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”

Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.

You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”

“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.

It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.

Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.

The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.

But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.

“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.

The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.

He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.

“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.

Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.

“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”

Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.

“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.

You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”

Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”

The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.

—

The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.

You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.

The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.

“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.

“It was for your great great uncle—”

“Ew!”

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”

“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”

He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.

“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”

“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.

“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”

“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.

“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”

“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.

“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.

“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.

You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”

“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.

“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”

“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”

Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”

He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”

“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.

“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”

That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”

You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”

“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”

“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”

Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.

“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”

“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.

His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.

“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”

With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.

Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.

You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.

He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.

“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.

He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.

Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.

Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.

Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.

It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.

He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.

Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.

You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.

Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.

“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.

You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.

“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”

You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.

“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”

“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.

“Lookin' forward to it.”

Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.

“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.

They all nod frantically.

With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.

—

You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.

“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.

“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.

“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”

Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”

Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.

“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.

“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.

“Uh—”

Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”

You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.

Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”

“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉

[the-maddened-hatter]

Some Hazbin Hotel death symbolism theories/headcanons

So yeah this is gonna be darker since the show literally revolves around characters in hell

Tw for drugs, suicide, murder, cannibalism, mentions of racism & and idk what to call it like in-character cultural insensitivity (if anyone knows how to tag that better lmk) , and various forms of abuse under the read more

Also I know these will probably get disproven within like 5 minutes once the show comes out, but I think they'd still be cool for an AU or something!

Vaggie: I'm gonna start out with a potentially controversial theory here: Her death X eye could be more symbolic than literal, with her choosing to "turn a blind eye" to something in life that eventually lead to her committing suicide out of guilt, and her moth features symbolizing her having been focused on a certain goal or priority to a selfish or harmful degree in life like a "moth to a flame". Putting these together, maybe she allowed something to happen either to someone directly or in such a way that they ended up being harmed/killed in the pursuit of a goal or belief and once she realized the scope of her actions she committed suicide. Maybe once she's in hell she's all but forced into a career of a bodyguard for the ruling families of hell as some kind of ironic punishment (though in her particular case it ends up working out well for her since she and Charlie fall in love)

Since her moth features are much less pronounced than Valentino, perhaps it serves as a reflection of how she realized the harm her selfish focus caused before she died.

Speaking of him, Valentino's highly pronounced moth features could suggest that his selfish focuses were much worse and more self-serving than Vaggie's were (unsurprising given his character) and his addictive smoke powers could mean he died in a fire (my theory is he went into a club that he ran during a fire to retrieve a stache of money and drugs he had hidden inside and perished due to smoke inhalation (meaning he 1 has no visible death x, 2 has a death x on his chest that we haven't seen yet, or 3 his death x shows up sometimes in the red smoke he breathes).

I wrote a fanfiction about a headcanon for Sir Pentious's backstory But the main takeaways from it are I think that he worked with poisons, became paralyzed prior to his death by them, his drug addicted son killed him in a fit of withdrawls with a shattered vial of snake venom, his death X is on his chest where he was stabbed and is hidden by a large fake eye that he wears over it. The other eyes across his body are because he became paranoid after becoming paralyzed. He knows his son went to hell along with him so he's continually searching for him, but doesn't realize that his daughter did as well several years later.

With Niffty, I theorize that her mother died when she was relatively young and she was expected by her male relatives to take up the duties of a housewife and surrender any degree of ambition she may have held about school or a career (even those that fell within the limitations of the time period). Her one hope was that if she was able to get married she'd at least be able to have some degree of freedom from her abusive controlling relatives. Given as many housewives commonly used stimulants that would be considered dangerous and illegal today to increase their productivity and lessen their desires to eat, it's hardly a stretch to think that Niffty would have tried (or been pressured into trying) them as well. It's my belief that she died due to a heart condition that was made much worse by taking the stimulants and her death X is over her heart (and this is why she has speed related abilities). Her large cyclopic eye could be symbolic of her feeling like she constantly needed to be vigilant while still being aware that there were things she wasn't getting to see in life Perhaps her small size is due to her being younger when she died (roughly 18 to 20) and that her death name is taken from the brand of the stimulants.

With Cherri Bomb her cyclopic eye that is functional despite the X may be because she, like Vaggie, chose to allow people to be harmed when she had the power to stop it, but her connection to it was less direct than Vaggie's was (perhaps she created weaponry for an extremist organization, but she didn't realize civilians would be harmed). Within this theory, she may have died sabotaging the organization, perhaps blowing up a bomb within their headquarters o unsuccessfully attempting to dismantle one on the civilian site (with her cause of death being the shrapnel impaling her). She is not ashamed of her death X, and chooses to wear clothing that implies its location.

I headcanon Vox as having been a corrupt journalist in life, overlooked due to a severe stutter in childhood and left with something to prove, he was willing to write false (but convincing) news reports for people about their competitors (ranging from small-scale businesses to political candidates) and come up with convincing doctored photographs. He wanted to quit the lifestyle and settle down with a lady he had convinced to be his fiance (she didn't really love him, but she had a daughter to care for and he genuinely cared for the both of them), so he accepted "one last job" that he believed would leave him with enough to live comfortably in anonymity. The job ended up being a set-up by someone he had previously wronged or their friends/family and was drugged, beaten, and left for dead in an alley. In his final moments he weakly tried to call attention to himself but was unable to get anyone to notice him due to a display window full of new televisions drawing a crowd and drowning out his pleas for their notice.

He has no visible death X due to dying of internal bleeding, but he still bears marks of his death with his eyes always appearing mismatched from three red lines that frequently appear in the lower left corner serve as his marker no matter how often he changes his features. Deeply saddened he was unable to be a father to his fiancee's daughter back in life, he views Velvet as an adoptive daughter. He waited hopefully for many years to see either of them again and his both relived and distraught that they seem to avoided hell.

With Alastor I'm like 99.99% certain this is already fully incorrect, but fuck it this is a headcanon post (also this one is long bc unlike Sir P I didn't get around to writing out the fic before now: Conceived through wealthy white man's abuse of a cook he employed who was of mixed race, meaning her abuser was fully unpunished for his crimes. Though unmarried and in poor health, she kept Alastor, viewing him as proof and hoping he would one day deliver vengeance upon the people who wronged her. He grew up in the care of his ailing mother who, sadly viewed him more as her poised dagger than as her son, and his grandmother who loved him dearly, but lived primarily in her own memories and passed away by the time he was 10 years old. Before she died would tell him lengthy stories about the family he'd never gotten a chance to meet and he would listen, enraptured by the rich tapestries of lineage she described, with his favorite stories being the ones about the Native American man who had been in love with her father's mother, and, she suspected, was well more than just a friend of the family. She didn't know much about the man, but that only served to fuel Alastor's imagination.

Though he hated the man who had given it to him, his lighter skin brought him advantages that were not typical to those in his situation, the most prominent being that he was able gain employment at a rather prominent local radio station in the next town over, and, given time, talent, poor studio lighting, and a false last name, work his way onto the airwaves. He put up with a lot during those long years, forcing himself to stay silent and keep a smiling face through his bosses & colleagues flippant racism, promising himself that it would be worth it one day and that hey'd be "singing a different tune" once he'd worked his way up to the top. He was right, but not in any of the ways he ever expected to be.

Short version, he was found out and fired (despite a degree of public outcry, as his program was quite popular) and he found himself unemployed and, one night, drinking alone. His mother had passed away of a violent seizure a month ago to the day and he was drowning his shames of failure in both his career and of her (she'd had her high expectations of him clear from the moment he was born).

Another man came into the bar, small, tan, scruffy, limping, with some tattoos visible. He hobbled over to the bar stool next to Alastor and with evident glee recognized his voice from the radio and with a bit more effusive praise dolled out between the pours of liquor they became the fastest of friends. When the bar shut its doors, well why didn't they continue their lively chat in Alastor's kitchen? Neither of them had anyone waiting for them at home or much business to attend to in the morning. So that was precisely what they did.

Though he tried his best, Alastor could not seem to pronounce the young man's name. It sounded to him almost like the gecker of a fox (though he blamed this on the copias amounts of bourbon swimming in his brain), and after his third slurred attempt the young man waived his apologies away and said to call him Shilo.

Shilo proved to be a very good listener that evening and, as it happened, in the coming weeks. Most would have balked at the rantings and declarations of vengeance of a total stanger, but not him. He followed each word earnestly, soaking everything in until he was finally ready to make his move.

It was truly such a shame Alastor knew so little about his lineage and about his great grandfather's culture, perhaps he wouldn't have so readily accepted Shilo's claims that he could be granted power, vengeance, and justice through a "dark magic ritual". Maybe if his mother had seen him as someone to love instead of something made to avenge her he would have been harder to talk him into performing 7 so-called "rituals" of murder and cannibalism. Who's to say? End the end the decisions were his own.

He chose people adjacent to his mother's abuser (Shilo was clear on this point, that he mustn't yet strike his target directly, that the ritual was about "absorbing the lights in his life to let you see beyond and leave him blind in the dark". Alastor took down

His uncle (his father's brother) first (a horrid man who, in Alastor's defence, reached for his pistol solely in response to his approaching him)

The house's head butler who had turned out Alastor's mother for "causing trouble",

His own half-brother (he took more pleasure in this than he cares to admit even now, knowing so little and so much separated their respective fates)

His half-brother's fiancee, as she became a convenient next victim

His father's bank broker

His father's chauffeur (for suspecting and confronting him).

And finally, the cook who replaced his mother. That's where things went wrong.

Shilo instructed Alastor to take the body of the victim into the woods once night had fallen, and he complied as he had each time before, but this time as he ate he became overwrought with the guilt of what he'd done, to murder someone fully innocent, whose position was nearly identical to his own mother's all of those years ago.

Shilo was furious when Alastor began to plead to back out of the ritual, insisting that he could well have his vengeance for it all, that once he slit his throat with the so-called ceremonial blade of bone he would awake a spirit of vengence, brimming with all of the power of his ancestors. He tried to press said blade into Alastor's bloody and shaking hands, but he swatted it away as waves of bile doubled him over and he purged most of his night's kill from his stomach.

Alastor watched Shilo's easygoing facade melting away along with his human form, morphing into a snarling canine with a mouth of sharp fangs that dribbled bloody foam. Interwoven between the creature's rage filled huffs and undercurrent of a fox's chitter slipped the words "Oh, Al. You really shouldn't have done that."

He ran for hours through the forest. Shilo, or whatever called itself that anyhow, kept pace at his heels, sometimes overtaking him and ripping away a fresh chunk of flesh or snapping a bone with its massive jaws before falling back to keep the chase going.

Horrifically bloodied and mutilated but somehow still moving he eventually managed to attract the attention of some hunters, who seemingly managed to scare off his pursuer with a few warning shots. Needless to say, Alastor collapsed the moment the beast was no longer on his heels.

One could argue that they meant well, doing what they did. He was very plainly in agony, with his neck and limbs lolling grotesquely, and they really could do virtually nothing to care for him. He wouldn't even let them touch him to try and staunch the bleeding (though for pain or delirium they couldn't tell), doing his best to strike out with a broken appendage or, when one of them tried to at least stabilize his neck with a folded coat, bit down on his would-be-healer's arm and kept locked on until he lost the strength to continue.

He regained a bit of sense for those last few seconds. He saw that horrible beast's wicked eyes and gleaming teeth lurking in the edges of the firelight and he saw one of the hunters kneeling beside him and promising it would be quick and everything would be over in just a moment as he readied his handgun.

[itsgrimeytime]

Magnolia in May (Part Twenty Eight) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Parts 1-20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @curlycarley @queenie32 @mgparker

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TW: none.

[[A/N: He's so pretty in this gif. Girl... Thanks for reading !!! ]]

Fragrant, every time you so much as shared space with Mr. Grimes, he smelt wonderful. Tones you couldn't quite name and scents that made your head spin -some you question if it wasn't just him. Such scents followed him so closely, that you wished to replicate such a smell -perhaps spritz it on his handkerchief to remember it was his.

Although, you were sure it to be quite odd to sniff a handkerchief.

Which brought you to now, sitting closely by his side as you reread the same page and he shuffled through papers -he'd just requested for your company. And you, being you, eagerly complied.

Mr. Grimes hadn't said anything about it, so you hadn't either.

"Do you use any perfumes?" you echoed out before you could think about it too much.

"Perfumes?" he questioned, looking up to give his full attention -like he always did.

"Like," you stuck to such a topic, "-Like scents? Headmistress gave me one that smells like sweet citrus, but they make them for men as well-"

You were rambling, a nervous ramble -had he ever seen one of these before?

"-It's not a womanly thing wholly, and well, I was just wondering if you used any?"

He blinked at you, with a tiny soft chuckle, "Perhaps. I couldn't tell you what kind, because I'm not certain. Why do you ask?"

You blushed a certain type of crimson, admitting, "Your fragrance is quite wonderful is all. I was only curious if it was entirely you or..."

"A perfume," he finished with a small, teasing little smile -oh, he was not going to let go of this, was he?

"Do you always do that?" he questioned, in reference to the nervous ramble, you gathered.

"The rambling?" you poised, placing your book into your lap, "-Only when I'm unsure of such an approach."

"And why haven't I seen much of it, then?"

"Well," you began, carefully, "-I'm rather certain with you. I don't question my words, I know intently what I'm to say. It's... It's natural to me, I suppose."

"Such a thing is heard only by certain ears," he hummed in understanding, "-I'm rather happy you are so certain upon speaking to me, Ms. Greene."

"I'm sure you must know much more eloquent speakers," you relented.

"No," he added, "-you are quite direct in your pursuit of knowledge. You aren't afraid to get right in a reporter's face, or ask a man of his scent, it's wonderful."

"Some would say it unladylike," you echoed out, fidgeting with the pages between your fingers.

"Some would," he agreed, turning fully to face you, "-but I find it rather interesting. 'Have since the day I met you. Most women are afraid to speak to me, you know. But you are the opposite, I've always wondered why."

"Handsome men do not scare me, Mr. Grimes," you tsked, "-if they did, I certainly wouldn't have made it this far. I'd be married and unhappy, to the tune of a handful of years."

"You believe me to be handsome?"

"Oh, please-" you started with a smile, "-don't tell me you haven't heard such a thing before. The whole town of Alexandria-"

"Not from you," he echoed, a grin biting onto his lips, "-I believe it to mean a lot comin' from you."

"Well, I apologize for not saying so sooner," you smiled, "-I find you entirely too handsome. As does the rest of Alexandria."

"Too handsome for what?"

"For me," you hummed, a bit playful but something else settling in your heart,"-such a man should never reach as lowly as the eldest."

"You speak as though you aren't wonderful," he reiterated, "-do you truly not believe it so?"

"I-" you echoed, a little hollow, "-I believe you."

"When I say you are wonderful?" He repeated, "-You just believe me? You don't believe such a thing yourself?"

"Isn't it brash to believe you're beautiful?"

"No," he stood from the desk, joining you on the couch, "-entirely not. To believe you are beautiful is a thing many wish to, for their own sake. I suppose I'm askin' if you are one of those."

"I... I never thought about such a thing," you exhaled, "-I suppose, being in the prettiest dresses and with the most beautiful ribbon made me beautiful, not-"

"Not yourself," he hummed, using a finger to tilt your finger up to match his eyes, "-Darlin', you are as pretty as a magnolia in May, and one day I will make you certain of such words."

"You seem to be trying very hard now," you softened, "-What makes you certain you can do such a thing?"

"Because," he smiled, fingers still gently under your chin, "-I have the rest of our lives to do it."

The next few days were uneventful, Headmistress on her outings and Father working -it was just you and the sisters at home. You were just about to make breakfast for them when the door was knocked upon -a familiar sort of knock you knew by now.

Beth and Maggie were by your side in moments, eagerly awaiting you to open the door -like they knew such a thing was coming.

You spared a glance at them, perhaps they did.

You swung open the door with a gentle sort of swish, revealing the one and only Mr. Grimes at your doorstep. You knew so upon his knock, but it was still a delight to see him.

"Lovely to see you, Mr. Grimes," you smiled brighter -as you always did, "-What are you here for today? Did I forget plans?"

"No, no," he answered, "-This is a spur-of-the-moment gift, actually. If you shall come with me?"

"Uh, certainly," you spoke, "-but what of my sisters? They haven't eaten breakfast-"

"Allow me," he clarified, "-my chef is still in the process of makin' breakfast, and a few extra faces are certainly welcome."

"Yes certainly we are," Maggie grinned, slipping by the two of you and out the door -it was all rather suspicious. You gently guided Beth out the door, a small hand over her back, leaving you and Mr. Grimes.

"You're certain it's alright?"

"'Course," he whispered, "-the more the merrier. It was goin' to be a rather empty meal without you, anyway."

"I don't have to be there for every meal, Mr. Grimes," you laughed.

He stayed decidedly silent on that, and you were caught a bit off guard. It was quickly righted, however, when he extended his arm to you to get seated in the carriage -your hand touching his warmed you in a way only he could.

Sitting beside you, you found the familiar brush of sleeves was rather lovely -gathering a little flutter from your heart. It reminded of you when such touch was the extent of it, when dancing was what you daydreamed about.

The ride was rather short, Beth filling the silence with her newest read -all the details presented eloquently but still Beth. You enjoyed her synopsis, and always made time for them -especially when she was so openly willing.

You loved your sisters, something in your heart warmed once more. It was a day of affection, you decided.

You squeezed Beth's hand across the car, and patted Maggie's leg -smiling. It was a wonderful morning.

"Before we go to eat," he interrupted, as you gathered outside his home, "-Ms. Greene, will you walk with me?"

They didn't have to ask which one.

"Yes," you answered simply.

The walk wasn't outside, not like you had assumed -perhaps to his garden, or just away from the others. He waltzed you through the door and stopped, the girls walking ahead of you -toward the dining space, you realized.

But Mr. Grimes had stopped in the foyer. Arm tight around his, you hummed out a soft concern.

"Everything alright?"

He merely smiled, eyes lingering on the open spot of the wall -the one you'd seen before on your visit with Father. You curiously wondered what he was so lost in.

"What are you going to put there?" You asked, trying to garner his attention.

"A new portrait," he hummed, turning to you, "-once it's made."

"Oh, lovely," you echoed, smiling, "-It shall certainly be beautiful."

"Certainly," he grinned, eyes lingering on yours for a second longer, before he led you down the hall.

You'd always thought such an estate was wondrous, all billowing velvet and beautiful decorations -it was something you'd never dreamed of seeing. Never dreamed of having-

You realized he'd taken you to the ballroom, then and suddenly, you were rather confused. It was a beautiful room, certainly, with pillars of grandeur and the white marbled floors. But, you weren't sure what you would do here-

"What-"

And then you saw it, a painter. He was set up just off to the side, where the light so wondrously hit everything elegantly -canvas large, far too large. Like... Like some of the portraits out in the foyer.

You stalled in your footsteps, Mr. Grimes tripping for a moment when you didn't move. But he neatly guided you further, carefully a few steps into the painter's space, where you now saw the billowing fabric. A background, you realized, and under it a stool, one that looked rather comfortable. Foods off to the side, as if to prepare for company. It was prepped for-

"Mr. Grimes-"

He took you closer and you realized such foods to be your favorite, all little things you'd offhandedly mentioned to him. And it suddenly set in, smoothing across your shoulders.

It was for you. All of it.

"Mr. Grimes," you whispered, a bit astonished, "-I cannot believe such a thing-"

"One more thing," he hummed, guiding you into a room -where as you opened the door, Maggie resided.

In her hands, your lavender ribbon and hanging behind her-

Your lavender dress.

"Mr. Grimes-" you spoke, rather breathlessly, "-I cannot accept such... How did you even-"

"I asked if she could make one," he answered, barely behind you, "-perhaps not an exact one, but one quite similar."

"Mr. Grimes-"

"Please accept it," he spoke, tone slow and open, "-just this once."

You hummed, stopping and turning to look at the dress -it was somehow more elegant, stitching so detailed and a golden thread around the edges. The lace remained much the same color, but its uses differed only slightly -the ends of the sleeves and the bit of a ruffle in the front over your chest. You believed it to be the prettiest dress you'd ever seen.

"It's... It's beautiful," you wiped at your eyes -tears starting to form now.

"And you'll be beautiful in it," he responded from behind you, and you turned to face him -tears littered down your cheeks.

"Thank you," you curtsied, wiping ineloquently at your eyes -your cheeks certainly flushed.

"Anythin' for you."

He hummed, as Maggie pulled you into the room before he could do much else. Before you could, really-

The dress was perfect, as you glanced upon yourself in the mirror. Each strand of hair perfect and each rose of your cheek even, the lavender ribbon peeking out perfectly matching the dress. The dress-

It was as though you were wearing a piece of artwork, all stitching and details you wished to follow until you couldn't anymore. Your fingers traced them absent-mindedly, as your eyes settled along your face -the dips and curves of your jaw, your nose, and the press of your smile. You couldn't stop smiling.

You did look rather-

"Beautiful," Maggie hummed, head peeking over your shoulder, "-You look beautiful, sister."

You smiled, dabbing at your eyes with his left handkerchief -one of the ones he'd given you.

"Too beautiful," she hummed playfully, "-he's liable to faint, you know."

You laughed, a little watery and teary, but you'd have it no other way, "I don't know, I believe he believes me beautiful in anything I wear."

"Certainly," she spoke, "-but it's another to see you so dazzling. Your smile may just tip him over, Y/N."

The room was quiet then, as you looked over yourself with renewed eyes -his eyes, tried to see yourself in his eyes. Suppose he liked the slight crook of your nose, or the obvious tips of your ears, or the bags laden under your eyes -suppose he liked it all.

He loved it all, something in your head corrected.

You stepped out of the room rather slowly, eager to see him but patient enough to see such a look on his face. You'd never been in something so vivid before, nor had you smiled so wide -you were an essence he had yet to see.

Mr. Grimes didn't see you immediately, chatting away with the painter -eyes derailed from the door, but when he did, it reminded you of a day. A faraway day.

"I believe I've fallen in love with you, most completely."

Letter clutched in your hand you had been so scared, afraid he'd not feel the same as he did, the same as you did. It was such a faraway day from then, but you remembered it so clearly -even the feelings, the emotions.

You could tell he was holding back, the twitch of his hands, the dip of his eyes to your lips -he wished the present company was not rather present. His steps were slow to you, careful and measured, blue eyes hovering over you in a misty sort of way. Was he crying?

"I've never seen someone so beautiful in my life," he echoed, accent strong and voice cracking, "-You must know you're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

You wished to kiss him.

"You're quite handsome too," you smiled, trying to dry up the tears.

He laughed, and something in you fluttered -like it always did. But this time, something settled rather different over his face -something you hadn't quite seen before.

"Marry me," he echoed out like he was lost and you were the light.

"Mr. Grimes, I thought we spoke of this-"

"I'm serious," he spoke through tears, slowly falling to one knee -holding your hands, "-I mean every word. Marry me."

"Mr. Grimes-" you spoke, rather teary once more.

"I ask for your hand," he interrupted, fingers pressed into your skin, "-please. I shall not know what to do if you say no, I can no longer live without you, you must understand-"

"Yes," it bubbled out of your lips, tears choking up through your throat, "-of course, yes."

"I wasn't finished," he laughed, utterly delighted, still on one knee and still darting all over your face, "-I have much more to say."

"I don't need to hear it," you laughed, a sort of unbelievable sort of laugh, "-I love you."

"I love you," he laughed -watery, something shining bright in his eyes, "-more than I know what to do with."

"I'm certain we can find something."

[beanibon]

modern!AU where reader is in love with Vash but it is just one sided. When the reader sees Vash is flirting with Meryl or Wolfwood, it breaks her heart. Nai, who has a crush on reader, wants to give her comfort, but Reader has other thoughts and wants to forget about Vash, so she sleeps with Nai. Afterwards, Reader doesn't feel any better and starts to cry and Nai realizes that he will never have Reader the way he wants. Hell yeah who doesn't love some smut and angst

I LOVE me a good angsty fuck session!

TW: ANGST, implied sex.

Never to Be Yours

Just seeing the way Wolfwood flung an arm over Vash's shoulder hurt, it made your heart squeeze with the agony of never having a chance to confess to the one person you loved. Since meeting Vash in daycare you had developed a silly childhood crush, one you convinced you'd grow out of.

But you were wrong.

For years up until your college graduation you held onto that crush, hyping yourself up to confess the moment you threw those stupid hats in the air. But that was when you discovered someone had bet you, someone already had Vash.

That someone was Nicholas D Wolfwood, your brother.

What hurt the most was that you were the one that introduced them, jealously never looked good on a person and you felt the ugliest whenever you withdrew. Now that Nicholas and Vash were a thing, you were constantly reminded of what you couldn't muster the courage to do, Vash practically living with you, Nicholas and Livio.

Livio was sympathetic, he knew about your one-sided crush after you seeked advice from your second oldest brother, but even he couldn't do much after knowing that Nicholas had already made a move. At least he was there to comfort you, to protect you against Nicholas's unknowingly painful taunts. You didn't hate your brother, at least that's what you told yourself, you just wished things had've been different.

Perhaps maybe then you didn’t have to be forced to drop of Nicholas's laptop off to the lovey dovey couple, who were most likely gonna pirate a movie off his many illegal websites.

The moment your knuckles touched the door it was flung open, unexpectedly coming face-to-face with a fuming platinum blonde.

Knives, or Nai as he allowed you to call him, was the prodigy of the Saverem twins, though he was hardly ever seen. His temper was terrifying, but for some bizarre reason his gaze would soften at the sight of you.

And that's what happened, the moment he tried to leave the disgusting sound of Vash and that home-wrecker, the sight of you cowering made his eyes widen and his body relax.

"What are you doing here?" Blunt as usual, at least Nai hasn't changed.

"Nicholas asked me to drop off his laptop," You flinched at the sight of Vash underneath your brother, averting your gaze instantly. "Could I maybe pass this onto to you, I have...work to get back to."

Nai knew about your crush, he always knew. From the moment Vash shoved his shy new friend before his antisocial twin, sitting beneath the Daycares apple tree, Nai knew you liked Vash. But that didn't stop him from falling for you, longing for you to give up this hopeless pursuit of his oblivious twin and perhaps chose him instead.

Looking back at the insufferable couple, those stunning icy eyes hardening to steel the moment they fell on Nicholas. Nai was tempted to snatch the device, ditching it at bastard that reeked of old cigarettes.

"Nai? What's the matter?" Your voice, meek and clearly holding back several tears, brought him back to you. Clearly the reminder of losing the man you cared for to your arrogant brother was effecting you, Nai wondered how much you cried for the loss.

"Nothing," pale hands reached for the laptop, that same temptation of throwing it against the wall resurfacing. "Wait here."

With the door now closed, you could only gather some idea as to what happened from Nicholas's shouts and Vash's begging, before Nai reappeared. The elder twin had the biggest shit eating grin, offering a hand to you.

Hesitantly you took it, glassy eyes questioning Nai as he lead you away from his apartment. "No need to worry about it, what do you say we get some snacks, drinks and sit down for a movie at yours?" The smile Nai offered looked unnatural on his normally harsh features, yet it suited him.

Your slow nod was enough to confirm, in which the older twin was rather grateful for.

Nai growled against your shoulder, arms caging you hungrily against the plush mattress of your bed, chest pressed against your back. Sweet, needy moans filled his ears, and satisfied smirk played at his lips.

For years he fantasised having you, for years he longed for your close embrace, and now he fina-

"Vash~"

Nai froze, muscles tensed as his wide eyes moved down to your equally stunned face. The world seemed to halt its movements, forcing the two of you into hesitant realisation.

You were still in love with Vash.

He will never have you, not fully.

As tears pricked at your eyes, apologies spilling from your drool coated lips, Nai just hovered above you. Eventually his expression turned to his usual unreadable, emotionless stare, eyes void of any feelings. Was this perhaps what you felt watching Vash chose another?

"I apologise, I didn't mean to force you into anything." Nai spoke quietly, too quietly.

"N-no! You didn't, please Nai I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me!" Your sorrowful pleas tugged at his heart, Nai knew you just didn't want to be left alone, to be left behind as the people around you grow to love one another. But it seemed he'll always fall in his much more loved brother's shadow yet again.

"Nai, please..." A shuddering whine left your throat once he pulled out, sitting back on his hunches as he looked out your window, watching the world go by. You didn't know how to comfort Nai, how to really talk to the man that hardly liked to be seen. So all you did, stupidly enough, was grab some clothes and run out your room.

You ignored Livio's concern as you barged past him, exiting the small house as you fled to your car. Nai watched from your window, holding back his own tears as he dressed himself and walked out. It seemed Livio caught on quickly, that pathetic sad gaze infuriated Nai, but he didn't want to stick around.

"Nai? What are you doing here?" Icy emotionless eyes met with Vash's wide and curious ones, shouldering past him roughly.

Nicholas piped up, oh so diligently by his boyfriends cowering form. The sight sickened Nai, made him want to scream, shout and punch the wall beside his brother, the one who took everything from him. The greatly loved Vash Saverem, no accomplishments, an unstable job at a local plant nursery and nothing noteworthy about him. But everyone praised the ground he walked on, and Nai was furious.

"Congratulations brother," Nai seethed through gritted canines, towering over Vash. "You have lost the only person who cared about you for years, and you haven't even realised it yet."

Without so much as a final glance, Nai slammed the door shut, shaking the entire house at his anger, at his pain. The one thing he longed for the honour of having, was still attached to Vash's heart by an invisible string, blind to the one person that mattered.

So for what is was worth, Nai would remain by your side, apologise for the mistake he made tonight. He would be the shoulder you cried on, the friend you can rely on.

Nai would be patient, he has been ever since you flashed him that smile back in 6th grade, the first time you really interacted with him. For you'll always have a place in his broken heart, whether or not you have a place in yours for him.

Definitely didn't go overboard with the angst, I don't know what you mean. I apologise for the not so smut smut, I kind of wanted to focus on the angst but let me know if you do want maybe a sequel or a oneshot of the actual smut CAUSE I WILL DO THAT.

Hope you enjoyed Anon and everyone else who reads this!

[caughtbetweenshadows]

Caught Between Shadows: @rightyofelix

A Toon and Cartoon Cat Crossover AU

CW//TW involving violence, murder, gore, fighting, horror, sadistic behavior, etc.

An unimaginable nightmare engulfs a beloved character in a world where humans and cartoons live together. Felix the Cat: accused of unspeakable acts by a sadistic creature - the enigmatic Cartoon Cat - an elusive being disguised as a toon. As a consequence of an angry mob's relentless pursuit, Felix is on the run. That's bad enough, but he may not have to search far for his murderer...

Chapters:

Skepticism.

The Long Night.

Character Descriptions:

Mickey Mouse: 27 years, CEO of Disney, Founder of the Toon-Human Solidarity Society (THSS), and overworked. Once bright and hopeful, he has adapted to a more skeptical and tired, even realistic outlook. Mickey focused so much on the voices of the public; intime, he forgot to listen to his own. With Felix missing, he had to ask for more help with THSS, as humans and toons have been on edge towards each other more than ever! He wants to do more to help find Felix but due to his strict schedule and responsibilities, he only has so much time to do so, making 'Finding Felix' one of the main objectives of THSS.

Felix the Cat: 36 years, Former Conflict & Avasion team leader at THSS, suspected of recent genocide, known missing. Reacting to impulsivity, Felix left his apartment complex in a hurry to defend his name. Witnesses currently know no whereabouts of Felix the Cat, nor have they had any contact with him since. He was last seen on a CCTV camera running away from a 'slightly aggressive' group into the woods. The Fire Department was called shortly after due to a fire outbreak in the area, caused by torches falling on the patchy grass. When police searched for the confronters and Felix, they only found the remaining remnants of the confrontational group.

Oswald the Lucky Rabbit: 32 years, Father of over 420 children, helps his overworked brother with THSS, and also has duties in Wasteland. Since Felix disappeared, he has been searching for Felix and taking on their role as Conflict & Avasion team leader, wearing him down. Oswald is doing his best to cope with Felix's disappearance and hopes to find Felix one day and bring him back (hopefully intact). Keeping his friends safe is Oswald's top priority.

Cartoon Cat: [THIS INFORMATION HAS BEEN CLASSIFIED BY THE CIA. FURTHUR INSPECTION WILL VIOLATE THE ESPIONAGE ACT OF 1917 AND WILL CONTACT THE NEAREST POLICE STATION RESULTING TO SEVERE PUNISHMENT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.]

[talesfromtheunknowable]

Blep.

SAME PErSON AS @anulithots <-- talesfromtheunknowable is VERY inactive, @anulithots is my active fandom and writeblr blog

Welcome, fellow creature of nonsense. I write stories to make sense of reality, but as of now, all of them are in their "a full fleshed idea in my head but not a ton actually written and maybe the thing I'm betting my entire life on is not justifying the responsibilities I've avoided...."

Anywho. Any feedback or ideas are very much appreciated. My motivation is never consistent, but my need for validation very much is.

My name's Noorie and I'm closeted genderfluid and aspec. (Queer platonic) Pronouns - they/them/it/its/anything fancy and ridculous-still looking for something that feels right. Some random nonsense that doesn't belong on my other blogs mostly, along with the occasional witchcraft from the baby-est of witches.

_______________________________________

The Land of the Fallen Fairies.

A nature-themed commentary on the pursuit of happiness and fixing yourself to deserve that happiness, told by an overthinking, unreliable, houseplant narrator.

Zine

TW: self-hatred, suicidal thoughts, and self-deprecation.

This Slice of nonsense - Originally a Land of the Fallen Fairies blog, with the occasional rottmnt. This has evolved into 'rottmnt superfan makes an AU and 100+ posts with three followers (one of them being my sibling) and goes insane.' /pos.

Tales from the unknown - I needed motivation for school. Therefore a teddy bear uses statistics and probability to fight nightmares based on quantum mechanics

The librarian from the Writeblr Library, all my writing and marketing rants are on there

---

also also, I learn either with a hyperfixated frenzy, where I'm hopping back and forth between different resources and story-fying it in my head, or with learning little things and getting better at that before learning the next thing, I do get overwhelmed when there is no structure whatsoever though, so for witchy things, I'll be doing it like that. <3

witchy youtube channels

HOW TO BEAT EXUATIVE DYSFUNCTION TO TAKE CARE OF PLANTS

Beginner practices for grounding and energies and suches and suches

Orchids

migraines

pictures

learning things

breath

crows

college stuff