#well make a post about them in the meantime

[jeonstudios]

fontana di trevi | 01

you seek out a vampire to help you with something.

pairing: vampire!jk x sadgirl, blood donor!reader

genre: vampire au, angst, fluff (really a sadgirl fic lol)

word count: 7.6k

warnings: blood, needles, talking about how you euthanize cows and such? suicidal thoughts (not graphic or elaborated? very straightforward?)

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/2

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© between takes is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

It’s a freezing cold December night when you step into the dark alleyway, your thighs having gone numb under your jeans a while ago. The sun set hours ago, and the only light present is that of a few scattered streetlights. 

Your pulse quickens as you take another cautious step. Something moves further in, where the light barely reaches, and since there’s no snow yet, you hear the slight crunch of frozen fall leaves under… footsteps. From the dark, a tall figure approaches slowly in a way that would have anyone’s blood chilling.

“I have a proposition,” you state, trying to stand somewhat tall.

"A proposition?” a low voice inquires, and you have to tilt your head up to look at the face that emerges from the shadows. “I’ll fuck you, but I’m not turning you for sex.”

“That’s not what—I don’t want sex or to be turned.”

He directs his full attention to you, and in turn, you get a better glimpse of his features. He looks like a man; incredibly handsome with jet black hair, eyebrows, and eyes, but his skin is paler than anything you’ve seen, and there’s the tiniest smudge of something red tinting the corner of his mouth. Though his eyebrow is raised, he doesn’t look very entertained.

“You can have my blood. All of it, if you just take it quickly.”

He lifts his hand to slowly wipe the red from his face. The outfit he wears—a black leather jacket and black pants—looks human but is definitely too cold to wear this time of year.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t simply take it if I wanted to? Why would I need your permission?”

“I’m just saying. Take it if you want it?”

He looks at you, seemingly at least a little intrigued by the odd human in front of him. You definitely understand that most people run the other way at the sight of this big, intimidating being. 

“You realize ‘all of it’ means you’ll be dead, right?”

You nod. “Do we have a deal?”

“Regardless of if I wanted to or not, I literally just… ate, so I physically can’t. Not for another week or so.”

You feel your shoulders drop slightly, and you blink, trying to improvise a plan.

“Okay, well… Do you want to meet here in a week, then?”

At that, he tilts his head. “You want to die here, in a dirty alleyway?”

“I don’t care. So yes or no?”

“If you want me to do this, give me something in return first, okay?”

You look at him in confusion. “You’re getting my blood?”

“Who's to say your blood is even good?”

Trying not to let his words discourage you, you look around, thinking. Maybe you should’ve played harder to get? At least in the sense of giving him a hunt? You don’t want to waste any time, but he might not be your best option. 

“Fine, do you know if there are other vampires around here? How do I find them?”

It took you three weeks to even find this one, and maybe it was more luck than anything, so setting off on another search doesn’t sound too exciting. These creatures really do live in the shadows.

“No, listen. Whether your blood is delicious or not, it would certainly be helpful to have it. But…”

“But?”

“Let me stock up on it first. Meet me at my place and let me take some every week for two months and then I’ll take the rest.”

You look around again, unsure if you should just try to find someone else. Two months is not ideal; it’s too long, and you’re sure you could manage to find someone else in the meantime. 

The vampire senses your hesitation and takes a step closer.

“You want it to be quick, which means you’re scared of pain. People around here, my kind, tend to drag it out. Pain and fear equal adrenalin, which gives the blood a certain… flavor that some enjoy. Agree to my compromise, and I’ll make it quick and practically painless.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles, barely a hint of one, but it feels wicked and makes a cold shiver run down your spine. You know he’s not trustworthy, but he’s getting a lot out of the deal, and you have nothing to lose, really.

“Okay. What’s the address?”

In the middle of the day a week later, you find yourself in front of a big two-story house. It’s nice, looks pretty expensive but… like a regular house? It’s painted white and definitely not blood-red or even black. Aligning more with your expectations is how the house is partially obscured from the road by huge, towering spruces and how it seems to lie just a little bit further from the neighboring houses. There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground now, but you’re not sure whether it’ll stick.

After confirming that no, there is no door bell, you lift your fist to knock on the door. Vampires have crazy good hearing anyway, right? You’d assume so, given the fact that they’re always portrayed as super fast, super strong, super… attractive, and with super hearing, super vision, just… super all around. The mythical creatures don’t officially exist to the world, but in your little town, everyone knows they do. And they do. You found one. So if they drink blood and are super attractive—at least this one—it’s not too weird to assume there’s more truth to their pop-culture portrayal. 

You can see how the town’s vampire believers and enthusiasts shake their heads in disappointment at your relative indifference, but truth be told, you’d probably be more curious about the vampire whose home you’re about to step into if the situation was different. Or maybe you’d have some self-preservation and run the other way?

The door opens almost soundlessly, and when you look up, you meet those black, bottomless eyes. It really is his color, you think, your gaze drawn to the short-sleeve, black button-down he’s wearing, the top three buttons or so left undone. With it, he’s wearing black pants on the looser side. He looks incredibly handsome, and very effortlessly so. His hair is shiny and looks soft, and like it naturally falls into that slight side-part.

“Are you gonna come in or just stand there and ogle me?” He isn’t smiling teasingly; he just looks at you, unimpressed.

“Sorry.” 

He turns to retreat back into the house, and you’re left to enter through the open door. There are no lights on inside, and when you close the door behind you, cutting off a majority of the daylight, you start to feel like you’re truly inside a vampire’s home. Still, it’s light enough for you to follow said vampire’s back after hastily removing your coat and folding it to leave over the boots you step out of. Since you assumed he needs access to the veins in your arms, you picked out a gray t-shirt and a black zip-up hoodie that’s a little too big on you, paired with jeans. Nothing fancy—you’re not there to impress him.

With quickened steps, you catch up to him as he wordlessly leads the way into his kitchen, a place you doubt he uses much. Vampires don’t actually eat, do they? Either way, the room is clean and feels almost... sterile, despite the walnut cupboards and dark gray countertops.

On the short end of a wide, matching walnut dining table, a bunch of supplies are laid out. He gestures to one of the two chairs positioned around the corner of the table, but as you sit down, he turns to leave.

“Uhm, I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, pulling the zipper of your hoodie down and slipping one arm out. “I mean, I’m sure it can’t be that complicated in… theory, but I don’t think I can do it on myself.”

“I’m just gonna wash my hands,” he explains, and there seems to be a very slight trace of emotion in his voice and on his face that you interpret as amusement. He thinks you're dumb.

Oh. Well… does it really matter if his hands are squeaky clean or not?

Water hits the sink with a familiar sound as you focus on the table, inspecting the supplies. There’s a needle with a tube attached to it, a tourniquet, some syringes, antiseptic wipes, and a few empty blood bags. A voice in your head wonders if maybe he changed his mind and will simply take everything at this moment because those bags look pretty big, and you’re not sure you can fill them and still walk out of this place. 

The water stops, and you sit pretty and wait until he positions the other chair in front of you, a little to the side. You’ve never been a fan of needles or having your blood drawn, so you focus your eyes the other way, to a specific part of his kitchen window and the overcast outside. You hear the sound of paper and plastic ripping, and you feel his cold fingers place and tighten the tourniquet around your upper arm and feel for your veins before he wipes the area clean.

“Scared of needles?” he teases arrogantly, and you see how he reaches for the sharp object on the table.

“Bodily reaction. I can’t help it,” you explain before holding your breath and waiting for the poke.

It comes soon after; an uncomfortable but not too painful prick. With one hand, he moves some things around on the table, and you try to keep as still as possible, loathing the feeling of a needle jolting around in your vein.

“You’re not curious as to why I know how to do this stuff? Or worried that I don’t?” he wonders, releasing the tourniquet and seemingly fastening the needle to your skin with some tape.

“No. I guess it doesn’t surprise me; blood and vampires seem to go hand in hand.”

He surprises you by letting out a quiet chuckle before placing a red stress ball in your hand. “Squeeze this. I’ll be back to change the bag in a few minutes.”

Nodding, you watch him rise from his chair and leave the room.

Left to your own devices and with the filling blood bag taped to the chair’s armrest by its thin tube, you close your eyes. 

The house is entirely silent, and you have no idea where the vampire went. After he moved the stuff around on the table, you were able to count exactly three blood bags with a printed 450 ml on them. That adds up to somewhere between one and one and half liters and around 30% of your blood volume if you’ve calculated correctly. According to your brief research, a human doesn’t typically survive losing more than 40% of their blood unless given emergency medical attention. You probably won’t feel too great after today, but you most likely won’t die. You think.

Slowly, the minutes start to tick by, but you feel okay so far. You’ve got a good rhythm going for the stress ball, squeezing, holding, releasing. Squeezing, holding, releasing. The silence has your mind wandering.

“You can stop for a bit.”

The vampire’s sudden voice has your eyes flying open. He hadn’t made a single sound, returning to the kitchen. Catching your breath, you nod, keeping the ball still in your hand. You don’t look at the needle in your arm, but you see the bag full of dark red that the vampire sits down and trades for an empty one, attaching the tubes before he fastens them in the same way to the armrest. 

When he’s done, he lifts his hand, and you spot one of his fingertips covered in red. For a split second, he observes it, and then he puts the finger to his tongue. At first, it’s weird to see, and you almost want to tell him that it’s not hygienic to taste other people’s blood. That is before you remember that other people’s blood is what sustains him.

He looks to be assessing something, and suddenly, you’re worried he might not like it.

“B positive," he focuses on you, but you give him a slight, confused shrug because you have no idea what blood type you are or what it means in this context. 

“Is that… okay?”

“It’s… meh. Not the most common but also not the rarest. Most of my kind prefer A or even AB, though.”

“Oh."

Of course, your blood is substandard. You nod toward the filled bag on the table. “Will you have any use for this then?”

Truly, it would be just your luck to not even have the scary creatures, who roam the night in search of victims to drain, want your blood.

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter. I can always use it as a backup if I don’t get the chance to feed in time. Squeeze.”

Per his order, you resume squeezing. The rest of the process goes relatively smoothly, although you’ve started feeling a lot… weaker by the time the second bag is full and the vampire is about to switch it for the third. 

There’s a lot about blood and the human body that you don’t know, and you’re silently wondering what the recovery rate is and if you can really give him this much every week. Does he plan on taking less next time or has he not taken it into consideration?

“Why do you want to die?”

You blink at his bluntness, looking at his uncaring face. He obviously doesn’t care to hear the longer story, and you don’t care to tell it, so you settle for a shorter, more condensed version.

“There’s something wrong with me. I don’t belong here.”

“Didn’t taste like it.”

“Maybe not physically.”

He doesn’t dig further, but when your blood starts trickling into the third bag, the vampire stays seated. You still close your eyes, afraid that you’ll stare at his face otherwise, and he didn’t particularly seem to like that. 

You’re not sure if it’s just the blood loss or a combination of having slept poorly for the last few weeks and being in a calm, silent environment, but you’re feeling tired. Really tired. And cold. 

“Squeeze harder,” his voice instructs, void of emotion. You do your best to follow his instructions, squeezing the ball tighter even though it’s getting difficult.

“We’re done.”

You open your eyes, finding the vampire much closer than before and his fingers swiftly removing the needle from your arm.

“Okay, so… uh…” you start, finding it hard to choose words or even think of what you want to convey in the first place. “Do I come back… same time… next week?” 

“No. Make it two weeks.”

You look at him, confusion written across your features, but it’s hard to focus your eyes on his face. It’s blurry, and there are dark spots infiltrating your vision.

“I took as much as I could, and while you won’t have time to replenish everything in two weeks either, I’ll at least get more out of you than in just one week.”

He smiles, and if you had the energy and maybe (mostly) the common sense, you’d be scared by the way he truly looks so wicked. 

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

The vampire takes the stress ball from you and rises from the chair with the used supplies in his hands. You grip the armrests best you can, but your right hand slips, and you stumble a little, trying to stand. It’s so incredibly cold, and you feel dizzy, nauseous, and weak, putting your hoodie back on properly.

Very quietly, you hear him move around the kitchen, and while he hasn’t explicitly told you to leave, you’re very much assuming he wants nothing else. So on unsteady legs, you make your way back to the front door, where you grab your coat to haphazardly put it on, and you step into your boots, unable to bend down to tie them properly.

You’re able to make it to your old but trustworthy car that you parked on the street, but when you sit down in the driver’s seat and close the door behind you, you realize that you definitely can’t drive as it’s proving more and more difficult to even keep your eyes open. You can’t walk home, you have no one to come pick you up, and even if there probably is a bus stop somewhere around here, you don’t think you’d make it there. 

So with your last burst of energy, you pull the lever under the seat to push it back a little, leaving your boots on the floor as you bring your feet and knees up. Your coat finds a new purpose as a makeshift blanket, and you cover as much of your body as you can with it. Fully knowing that as you close your eyes, you might never open them again, you don’t care that much. Dying is what you want, anyway.

Surprisingly, you do open your eyes again. It’s dark when you do, and it’s so, so cold. Your heart is beating hard as it tries to circulate blood that just isn’t there anymore, and it’s with a low groan that you move, trying to reach for the phone in the pocket of your coat.

It’s seven p.m.. You met with the vampire at two p.m., and the visit took less than an hour, which means that you got into your car at maybe a bit before three, and so you’ve been passed out for four hours. It takes you a while to come to properly, and even when you do, you feel weak, groggy, and stiff. Ideally, you shouldn’t drive, but you have no other means of getting home, so you decide on a route consisting of smaller roads with lower speed limits and less traffic.

It’s no wonder you feel like you’re on death’s doorstep because when you do some further Googling on blood donation and blood volumes at home, you calculate exactly how much someone of your size would have. And you find that the vampire took 38% of that.

Three weeks later, you’re knocking on his door again. He opens it, an eyebrow raised and looking even more unimpressed than last time. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t show last week, but I was sick,” you inform, hoping he’ll accept your apology. “Didn’t think you would’ve wanted to see… that.”

“You’re right.”

That’s all he says before he turns, leaving the door open for you just like last time. Well, you take that as a sign that you’re forgiven, and so you follow him inside. 

Trying to keep up with him, you’re feeling even smaller and weaker around the tall vampire than before, and truth be told, you are. Because according to those Google searches, while it takes the body only approximately 24-48 hours to replace the blood plasma, it takes four to six weeks to replenish the red blood cells and recover fully. And that’s from having one bag of 450ml donated; you left three and it’s only been three weeks since. Essentially, the vampire is taking your blood a lot faster than you can produce it.

Like last time, you sit down on the same chair in his kitchen, but since he wasn’t expecting you, he has to retrieve the supplies from elsewhere. You remain quiet while he organizes everything, stealing a few glances at him in the meantime. This time, he’s wearing a black t-shirt and black shorts, and you’re amazed at just how… ordinary he looks. In the best way possible, of course. 

Without being too tight, the shirt does a very good job at showing off his physique: it hangs wonderfully off his shoulders and dips slightly between his pecs. It exposes the prominent veins stretching across both his arms and hands, and you wonder if vampires also ‘live’ in the way that he has a heart that pumps blood around his body. Or if he’s really ‘dead’ or ‘undead’ like some media describe them?

“What?” he questions, having caught you staring.

“You look very human,” you say quietly. “Like a college guy.”

An athletic college guy. The one who’s just a little too handsome to be exact.

The trace of amusement that flashes across his face is so faint that you’re not sure you didn’t simply imagine it. He doesn’t respond to your observation, only sitting down and reaching for your arm. His large hands feel a little warmer against your skin than you remember them doing last time, and you turn your head when he prepares the needle. There’s a pinch and then the immediate relief when he loosens the tourniquet.

“Here,” the red stress ball is placed into your hand again. Looking down briefly, you watch your own hand squeeze it, but the red fluid flowing through the transparent tube is too off-putting, and so you close your eyes again.

A minute or so passes while you keep squeezing the ball to some sort of rhythm tied to your breaths. It won’t be long. Soon, everything will be over. 

Somewhere, you lose track of time, and to regain some sense of reality, you flutter your eyelids open. Only to see the vampire stare coldly at you. You freeze.

“I thought you left,” you admit, the surprise clear in your voice.

“I’m keeping an eye on you,” he explains, face still stoic.

You look at him dumbly. “No offense, but why? The point is to kill me, anyway?”

“No, it’s to take as much as possible,” he corrects you. “To a reasonable extent. And then kill you. Here, let me change the bag.”

You close your eyes once more as he switches the full bag to a new, empty one. The dizziness comes a lot quicker than it did three weeks ago, but then again, you’ve been feeling more or less weak and faint ever since that first donation.

“Okay, we’re done.”

You look at him, surprised. “Already? But you didn’t even fill the second bag fully?”

“I took too much last time, and like I said, I want to get as much out of you as possible.”

For the first time, you think you see a hint of a discreet fang when he gives you a blood-chilling smile.

The process of removing everything is quick, and before you know it, you’re putting your feet into your boots again. You feel faint, like your knees might buckle under you any second, but you don’t feel weak to the point of passing out for hours in your car; you do that when you’re home in bed instead.

Suffering from what you gather is immense anemia, you don’t have the energy to really do anything between your visits to the vampire besides lie on the couch and watch TV. You quit your retail job the Monday after finding him in that alleyway, confident (and correctly so) that you wouldn’t be able to handle really any job at all. 

Even rotting away on the couch with your eyes glued to the screen, you can barely understand what the shows are about. Your brain struggles to place the people and remember the plot lines, and you find yourself almost daydreaming instead. Though it’s mostly just flashing images of the vampire whose name you still don’t know.

If your heart wasn’t already so strained, it would beat harder for him in some kind of fear-filled attraction. He’s absolutely gorgeous—and there’s definitely something almost drawing you to him—but he’s also so, so intimidating. If the end goal wasn’t to die, you’d for sure be running for the hills and looking over your shoulder late at night.

Next time, there’s a slight smile pulling on the vampire’s lips when he opens the door.

“Still alive?”

You chuckle quietly, looking down at your boots. “Unfortunately.”

Taking off your coat reveals another simple outfit with no other purpose than granting the vampire access to your arms while keeping your freezing body warm. This time, it’s a thick, brown cardigan over a t-shirt, paired with somewhat baggy jeans.

The contrast between your clothes is almost funny. Even indoors, you’d be freezing in the half-open thin, white dress shirt he wears messily tucked into black, also thin-looking slacks. The gap in his shirt makes you want to reach out and touch his pale chest, but of course, you keep your hands to yourself.

Once again, you follow him inside, and while you don’t need him to, he guides you to the same spot in his kitchen where the stuff is all laid out. 

Sitting down, you slip your arm out of the cardigan and place it on the armrest. The vampire washes his hands and then comes to sit down in front of you, reaching for the tourniquet to position it around your bicep. With the elastic band tightened, he rips open an antiseptic wipe to clean the inside of your elbow, and then, he prepares the needle like always. 

You look away, holding your breath until the pinch comes and for a few seconds after. 

“The whole thing about vampires losing control around blood… I take it that’s just storytelling?”

“Depends,” he answers, and despite not looking at him, you just know he’s got one eyebrow raised and a hint of a cocky smile on his lips. “If we’re hungry and someone happens to bleed around us, yeah, it can be more… tempting. Also depends on what sort of blood we prefer.”

“And you don’t like mine,” you state, your foggy brain concluding it the reason he seems to not care about the vulnerable blood right in front of him.

He laughs this time, a really nice sound that has your strained heart almost skipping an important beat. “I changed my weekly feeding to Thursdays, so I’m still quite full. And your blood isn’t vile, it’s just not what I personally go crazy for.”

“Oh,” you let out, looking at him before something dawns on you. “Wait. You eat once a week only? How much do you eat then? Or… drink?”

He nods toward the bag he just secured to your arm. “Someone of my size typically only needs about two of these a week to survive and not maniacally hunt and kill, but to really thrive? Between two and three liters, so four to six bags. I usually go hunting Friday or Saturday night when most bars and pubs are full. It’s surprisingly easy to find a few drunks stumbling around who won’t even realize what happened the day after.”

“So you don’t… kill?”

“Not if we can help it. There’s been… an increase in vampires around here, and if people drop dead? No, it’s less suspicious and only a little more work to find a few victims instead of draining one dry.”

“Makes sense.”

“Mhm. I typically don’t have to beg women to come with me, either.”

Something ice cold travels through your body at that last sentence. You wonder whose blood was on his lips that night when you found him.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this, though? You seem like you’d tell me to mind my own business.”

Even more, you can’t believe you asked.

He smiles. “I don’t know. Like I said, people will occasionally find out what I am, find me fascinating, and ask a thousand questions. I’ve always thought it to be incredibly annoying, and I’m not really supposed to tell them anything even if I wanted to—which I don’t—but it’s been… odd, not being questioned by you. At all. Almost boring, like I’m not interesting to you.”

His answer surprises you, and for a moment, you imagine teenage you, not bubbly per se but at least a bit more naive than the current version. Would she be the type to annoy him? You don’t think so. 

“Objectively, you are interesting, but I can’t believe how brave people are? If things were different, I wouldn’t have gone out looking for a vampire in the first place. And if I somehow stumbled upon you, I would’ve run the other way because you’d terrify me.”

Slowly, he smirks at your honesty. 

“I scare you?” 

You’d be lying if you claimed the cold, calculating aura around him didn’t.

You’re not sure if he has any super powers like in the movies, but honestly, he wouldn’t need to be able to lift a bus to kill you. The scariest thing about him isn’t how he could end your life in a hundred different ways either way, it’s how he could drag it out and extend your suffering before doing so. Of course, your body and instincts find him scary, but in a way, your mind… doesn’t? Then again, you’re here because your mind wants him to kill you.

“I don’t know.”

“Hm,” is all he says, his eyes falling to the blood bag. “I have to change it. Hold on.”

“Okay,” you mumble, finding it hard to concentrate. Your heart beats so hard it hurts, but at the same time, your breathing is slowing down. Closing your eyes, you feel him move stuff around.

“How are you feeling?” he suddenly asks, but it doesn’t sound like he cares too much.

“Honestly? Terrible,” you admit, keeping your eyes closed. 

You keep still when you feel his hands on your arm, but then you hear a little… rip.

“Fuck.”

Curiously, you open your tired eyes, seeing the vampire hold the empty bag up to inspect it. 

“This was the last one I had. This brand is fucking terrible quality; how do you make blood bags so weak they rip?”

“You don’t have anything else to collect it in?”

He sighs defeatedly, “No, it needs to be in these kinds of bags so I can store and freeze it properly.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll have to stock up on them and maybe take more next time.”

You nod slowly and understandingly. That will probably be the last time, then.

About a week and a half later, you find yourself on a bench downtown, your hands in the pockets of your coat to keep them warm. It’s Saturday, and on the other side of the street, a few people are standing in line to be let inside your town’s best version of a nightclub. You’re not certain what exactly brought you here, and you’re sure that if the happy, club-dressed people took the time to observe their surroundings, they’d notice you staring and look at you weirdly in turn.

“Hello?”

Registering the almost rude-sounding voice, you blink as you turn your head. It’s a guy. 

“Huh?”

His face looks skeptic, and he’s got his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He’s not wearing a jacket or coat of any kind over his white t-shirt, so you gather he’s in the middle of a night out. Probably left a bar for a smoke and spotted you.

“I asked you what your name is? Like three times?”

He’s good looking with black hair and dark eyes, but the tone of his voice is very unattractive, and you have no interest in him whatsoever, knowing he isn’t just looking to be your friend.

“Oh. Uh…”

You don’t say it. It’s not that you don’t remember your name or that you’re making a conscious effort to deny him the information, but it’s like your thoughts are at a standstill. 

“Beat it.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. His lips didn’t move.

“And who are you?” he asks, irritation dripping from his words, and this time, his lips are moving. However, his eyes are not on you but on something behind you.

Just as you’re about to turn around, the man in front of you leaves. His steps are quick, his mission abandoned.

“What are you doing here?”

Of course. It clicks the moment the vampire comes into view, and you’re surprised you didn’t immediately recognize his deep voice. He’s wearing that same leather jacket and some black pants, an outfit still very much inappropriate for winter. Though, something about him feels… wilder, almost a little uncontained? You can’t put your finger on what exactly.

“Uh, people-watching,” you inform as he rounds the bench, sitting down next to you.

Because he’s beautiful like no other, you glance discreetly at his face. He’s so masculine, but in certain lights, you glimpse something softer. You particularly like his nose and its rounded tip. It gives him such an attractive profile, you think, gaze traveling over his features and lingering on his dark eyelashes.

“Why? Isn’t it cold as hell for you?”

“Uhm, I don’t know? And I guess?”

From looking straight ahead, he turns his head, redirecting his full attention to you. The light from the closest street lamp reflects in his dark eyes.

“Is there any truth to that whole ‘vampires are designed to lure humans in’ thing?”

He grins. “I lure you in?”

“You’re more intimidating than you are attractive, actually,” you admit earnestly, wincing a little on the inside at how it came out a bit like an insult. He’s definitely attractive, and maybe the fact that he is so attractive is part of why he’s also so intimidating. “I’m just wondering what you looked like before.”

“I’ve always looked like this,” he explains casually, once again peering out over the cold, dark street. “Vampirism doesn’t change anything besides, like, skin impurities and conditions. I would’ve shown you a picture, but there were no cameras around when I was human,” he smiles cheekily.

“Anyway, you should go home. It’s really cold and not really safe at this time either,” he encourages.

You nod, realizing that he wants to protect his backup supply. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll see you next week.”

“Mhm.”

You expect him to get up and leave, confused when five seconds pass and he hasn’t moved. The feeling seems to be mutual because he turns his head to look at you again.

“So, are you leaving or not?”

“I am.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You look away, clearing your throat a bit awkwardly and realizing that you might just have to tell him, since he doesn’t seem to be leaving before you. “I don’t think I… can. I walked here, but I think I overestimated myself.”

The vampire looks you over briefly, probably just to be sure, but you both know that your main health concerns aren’t visible. 

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, not that far. Like less than a ten minute walk, but I…”

“What’s your address?”

“124 Conch Street.”

“Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up.”

Puzzled, you follow his instructions and slowly rise to your feet. Though you’ve been sitting stranded on the bench for almost two hours, the dizziness returns the moment you stand.

But the vampire isn’t satisfied. “Get up on the bench and undo your coat up to your waist.”

This time, you give him a skeptic look.

“Just do as I say,” he holds his hand out for you.

Slowly and still confused, you take it, and with his aid, you step up onto the bench.

To your surprise, he lets go, and before you know it, he’s unzipped your coat from the bottom up to your waist, positioned himself in front of you, and grabbed your thighs. Instinctively, you place your arms around his neck as he hoists you onto his back and starts walking.

“What are you doing?” you breathe quietly.

“Taking you home in an inconspicuous way. It looks like we’re a couple, does it not?”

“Definitely an odd and unexpected couple if so, but I guess?”

“You’re a pretty girl, you know?”

Your lungs hold your breath for an extra second before slowly releasing it, and then you hum, but it’s only to actually provide him with an answer. You definitely don’t think you’re anywhere near pretty enough for someone like him. He doesn’t call you out on your vague answer.

You’re not the most common sight, couple or not, and people still watch you as you pass them. Unsure as to how to meet their curious gazes, you don’t; turning your head forward instead. When you’re so close, you inevitably catch his scent, only to find that he doesn’t smell like a whole lot. There are traces of soap, laundry detergent, and maybe a hint of cologne, but not much else. No lingering smell of sweat or anything like that.

He walks you through the city and past the alleyway where you first found him. It’s quiet, except for the muted sound of his footsteps as well as those of a man a bit ahead, evidently hurrying to get home and away from the cold.

“Are there more vampires here?” you wonder, looking around the silent street and thinking it might not be as empty as it seems. 

“Yes,” he confirms casually.

It has your brain working, and the surroundings reminding you of why you’re with him in the first place.

“How are you going to kill me?”

If he’s caught off guard by your straightforward question, he does a good job of not showing it. 

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. But I’d rather not bleed out,” you say, body aching at the mere thought. Although you’re certain there are much worse ways to go, you really don’t like the feeling of severe blood loss.

“It’s the easiest way though,” he explains. “It’s not as easy to drain a body without a heartbeat to move the blood around.”

“Are you familiar with livestock?” you ask, thinking back to what your three-year-older cousin once told you as you biked past a field of cows one summer when you were ten. “You can kill the animal and then ‘deblood’ them by hanging the body upside down and cutting their throat. The blood will drain easily. Do you have a bathtub?”

“You’re… a person though, still,” he says, and though he doesn’t falter in his steps, you can tell your words don’t sit quite right with him. “There’s no dignity in an ending like that. And don’t you care what happens to your body?”

To say you’re surprised is an understatement. You thought vampires were all bloodthirsty monsters, only biding their time until they can rip someone new apart. The messier, the better. The vampire, who’s carrying you on his back, made no effort to appear nice either. At least not at first. Now, you don’t even know.

You shrug slightly. You’re not a spiritual person, and you’ve never believed in something like an afterlife. “It’s just meat and bones. I won’t be here anymore, and no one’s going to be looking for me, anyway. There’s no use in keeping things ‘pretty.’”

He doesn’t say anything in turn, and you wonder how much about you he knows. How much about your life he realizes.

The vampire’s smooth movement lulls you further into relaxation, and you lean your head partly against your own arm, partly against him. He doesn’t say anything.

Way sooner than if you would’ve walked with your own two legs—if you would’ve made it home at all—he puts you down in front of your apartment complex. You search your pockets, locating your keys in the left one. 

“Going home now? Since you can’t enter without permission,” you joke tiredly, unlocking the front entrance with the key fob. 

The vampire raises his eyebrows. “I might as well make sure you don’t somehow trip and spill all my blood on the way to your apartment,” he smirks, grabbing the door and opening it wide without breaking eye contact. “And you shouldn’t believe everything you see or read.”

The smile he’s wearing as he makes a show out of stepping inside the building is another chilling one. You can’t say that you expected him to hit an invisible wall or anything, but for some reason, it would’ve almost felt… nice if that were the case. Considering your situation, you’re not sure why. 

The elevator is empty and waiting for you, and after getting inside, you press the button for floor two, the vampire coming to stand beside you.

“Is there anything that is true regarding vampires?” you ask quietly as if someone would hear you inside the elevator.

“Besides the fact that we drink blood?”

“Yeah. Are you like, immortal and stuff? Super old?”

He chuckles. “Kinda. I don’t think anything’s truly immortal, but we do have a longer life span, yes.”

“What about senses? Can you hear my heart beat right now?”

“Yes. It sounds like it’s about to burst through your chest.”

Yeah, because it’s strained to hell and back, trying to keep you alive even in the condition you’re in.

“And super speed, super strength and all that?”

“Mhm, although we’re not so fast we go blurry. Are you impressed?”

“I don’t know? What do you use it for? I can’t think of even one thing having those powers would improve in my life.”

“Tough crowd,” he chuckles, avoiding your question as he follows you out of the elevator. 

You understand that being physically superior is helpful when you’re a literal predator, and yeah, maybe being able to walk a tiny bit faster to work every morning would’ve saved you some time, but what else? Oh, yeah, one time, you had to throw away a jar of pickles because you simply could not get it open. Being stronger would’ve definitely helped you then. 

Reaching your door, you’re quick to unlock it and pull it open to head inside, ignoring the two envelopes lying on the floor in your hallway. The vampire stays at the door, watching as you start to remove your coat two or so steps away from him.

“Are those… bruises?”

Turning your head as you make your way to the wardrobe to put the coat away, you see the vampire looking almost worried. You look down at the skin on your arms. 

“Yeah.”

“Let me look at them,” he urges, holding his hand out.

“Why? They come with anemia; why does it matter?”

“Still, I want to see. Come over here.”

Despite looking oddly insistent, he makes no effort to actually enter your apartment.

Your eyes widen as you look at him. “You really can’t come inside without an invitation, can you?”

He sighs exasperatedly. “Technically, no, I can’t step inside unless you give me permission.”

It makes you laugh a little in wonder. “Wow.”

He rolls his eyes, but you can tell it amuses him a little too.

“Listen, I’ll be fine until we meet again and if the bruises are still there, you can look at them then. I kinda don’t actually want to invite you in, is that rude of me?”

“No, it’s not. Very reasonable, actually.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you Friday?”

He nods politely and steps back. “See you.”

You watch him leave, his footsteps sounding through the hall as you bend down to pick up the envelopes you’ve been ignoring for days. They’re probably bills, and you’ll be dead soon, so who really cares if you pay them or not?

Mindlessly, you approach the door to close it, your focus on the white paper in your hands. You put your finger under the fold to rip the first envelope open, wincing when the paper cuts through your skin instead.

Holding your finger up, you inspect the damage and the little bead of red that’s forming next to the invisible cut. You look at it, furrowing your eyebrows at how you feel like something’s… missing? A moment later, you realize what it is, and your body freezes. 

The footsteps have stopped.

It dawns on you, as you look at the blood, what the vampire was actually doing tonight and why he looked wilder than usual. Early Saturday night, lurking around the clubs until he found you and had to abandon his plans. 

He was hunting.

Your eyes widen and your heart stops as you hear it. One footstep. Then another. And another. They’re speeding up, and soon enough running toward you.

Before you’ve had a chance to shut the door, it flies wide open. Panicked, you move farther into the apartment, but you fall backward and by pure instinct, crawl back as quickly as you can.

Despite claiming that he couldn’t enter without your permission, the vampire falls to his knees, then all fours, to reach you. You’ve never seen anything as scary as the bloodthirsty creature grasping the air, trying to get you. He moves so quickly, and his hand is just about to grab your foot when it’s like… he’s held back by something. 

You're breathing heavily, trying to understand what’s happening. Why doesn’t he just move another three centimeters? He licks his lips in frustration, exposing fangs that are definitely longer than you remember. Meeting his eyes, they’re cold like never before, and he exhales angrily. He’s still reaching for you, and frozen in your spot, you look over at him, briefly wondering if his feet got stuck or something when it hits you.

He can’t step inside.

You sit there, your feet mere centimeters from his grasping hand when there’s a sound down the hall, and in a split second, the vampire seems to snap out of it. He looks at you, appearing to realize what he’s doing and somehow gaining control over himself. Looking around, he gets up, and he leaves. Quickly and without a word.

Wide-eyed and with your heart beating painfully, you remain on the floor, wondering what the hell just happened. Even when his footsteps are long gone, you’re too afraid to get up and close the door, worried that he’ll return and be able to reach you. 

You’d like a very serious word with whoever established the ‘no entering without permission’ rule but also decided that the vampires could cheat it by keeping their feet outside and crawling inside.

You sleep a little uneasy the following nights, thinking a lot. Of course, your thoughts are mostly occupied by those cold, black eyes, thirsty for your blood.

<previous | next> happy halloween <3<3

[hetacon]

Linktober 2024 Day 31: Free for All

Nothing like a few bandages and a whole lot of kisses to help Ravio’s Mr. Hero recover after a scuffle with some monsters!

It’s arrived, the final day (dun dun). We’ve officially made it y’all, the end of Linktober for this year and I thought what better way to celebrate it than bringing things full circle with some more Ravioli art!! I’m honestly really surprised at how much I’ve been able to get done this month, and that I’ve finished on time for all of these pieces (for my time zone at least), because I wasn’t even sure if I was going to do all of the prompts. Some of them were a bit difficult to think of ideas for but I’m proud of everything that I’ve made! Naturally some pieces turned out better than others and I did have to simplify or downscale some of my initial ideas for certain prompts, but the fact that I actually managed to make 31 unique pieces is so impressive to me and I’m amazed with myself for persevering!

Also speaking of recovering, I’m going to be taking at least a few days break from drawing because my hand has started hurting a bit, but hopefully I can keep working on some more stuff soon, there are a lot of things I want to make! In the meantime, I might actually try to work on some of the fic ideas that I have (because yes, I’m also a fanfic writer :D) and see if I can get any of those posted

It was a bit intimidating to join a new fandom on here, especially one as popular as the Zelda series, so I just wanted to thank all of you that have been liking, reblogging, and commenting on the art I’ve been putting out as well as those of you who’ve started following me, and just overall being so kind and supportive. It means the world to me and I hope you’ll stick around for more LOZ and LU stuff! :))

(Also sidenote about the actual drawing itself, I love how Legend's just a big fluffball when his hair gets messy, it's so cute!)

[dontcallthedoctor]

TEMP CHARACTER THEMES!!!

HIYA, FELLAS!!! This is gonna be a loooong post, so strap in!!! (I've srsly been writing this post for four days end me)

Yesterday, I announced that Kinger had won the music poll and that he shall be next to get his own theme. Sadly, yesterday was also the day I realized I've been hit with musical writer's block, so it might be a short while before I come up with anything good—I REALLY wanna get something out for Halloween tho!!

Since people may be curious abt what's in store for the other characters, I thought it'd be fun to present my ideas to you all, and give u all a little insight as to how my dumb little music brain works lol

Obviously, I haven't written much of anything original for anyone but Pomni yet, so in the meantime, I've picked out some temporary themes for each respective character that I feel fit them well, and hopefully they'll give you all an idea what I wanna achieve with them musically! A lot of thought went into figuring out each character's respective musical identities, so I hope these example pieces resonate with you as much as they did with me!

That said, if you have other ideas as to how these characters' themes might sound, I'd definitely love to hear about them! Feel free to comment em below or DM me if you wish! Feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

Just as a disclaimer, barring ofc Pomni's Theme, NONE OF THESE ARE MINE, NOR DO I CLAIM AUTHERSHIP OF THEM! That out of the way, let's begin with...

Pomni: I briefly explained my process behind this one in the original post, so I'll elaborate a little more here for those unaware, alongside this slightly extended version of it (a whole twenty seconds YIPPEE)

Pomni’s Theme kinda ended up being a homage to the music of Danny Elfman. I came up with the melody one night just by playing around on my piano. It was this weird, off-kilter, sorta sad-sounding tune that really resonated with me, and thought it sounded perfect for Pomni, so it became her motif. My friend @pasta-yy worded it perfectly when they said it sounded like "Pomni-flavored despair" lol

It wasn’t until I decided to make it a full song that I realized “WAIT THIS MAKES ME THINK OF DANNY ELFMAN”, who I’ve always admired, so I took to his early work for inspiration. I’ll cite Simone’s Theme from Peewee’s Big Adventure as the main influence in terms of "musical flavor" for this one. It helped me find / flesh out the circus-y style I was aiming for!

This composition isn’t quite finished yet, but I plan to post updates on it the whole way! I’m really excited for you all to see where this one goes!

Someone said that Pomni’s Theme sounds like the opening theme from Laimin! Anmin! Suya Rhys Seikatsu (Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle), an anime I haven’t seen, but I kinda hear it in some parts, at least in terms of chord progression!

Ragatha: For the rag dolly, I envision a sweet, somewhat-haunting tune. Imagine if a music box melody was arranged for orchestra. Very lush, very beautiful, very mature first and foremost, but with an undercurrent of sadness. Like Ragatha herself, the pathos is well-camouflaged beneath the happiness and the optimism, but is still undeniably there and perfectly in line with what we know about her character so far.

This particular track is led by accordion, which I'm not entirely sure fits Ragatha, but everything else is a pretty good representation of what I hope to achieve with her!

Jax: Prolly my favorite thing about Jax is how differently he carries himself in relation to everyone else. He's maliciously annoying, self-aware, and ironically more of a jester than the character who's avatar is a literal jester. He embraces being stuck in the circus like it's his first choice, instead of something he's settling for. He's an intriguing character and i'm curious to see how he'll evolve (or de-volve if Goose's comments are anything to go by)

In writing this, I'm struggling to put into words how exactly I want his theme to sound, but this track is a pretty good encapsulation of it! There's a sort-of confidence in it it and a jaunty forward-momentum that carries through the whole piece. I think that vibe really suits Jax. There's also an air of non-chalance that parallels how lackadaisical he is with everything. I feel that, since Jax doesn't take much of anything seriously, neither should his music lol

It almost reminds me of the music Vince Guaraldi composed for the Peanuts specials. His character themes always had this hip, carefree vibe to them, especially tracks like Peppermint Patty, which will also be an inspiration on Jax's tune.

Gangle: In case anybody hasn’t caught on, Gangle is my faaavorite character from the show, and I really want to do her justice, so it took me a good while to figure out just what I wanted to do for her.

That being said, the genre I'm gravitating towards most for her (at least while writing this) is gypsy jazz. For those who may not know, gypsy jazz (or jazz manouche) is a French style of jazz that uses solely string instruments; mainly violin, guitar, and double bass. It's a beautiful genre of music, and I think it's a perfect fit for Gangle <3

I imagine something playful, gentle, unassuming, and a tad saucy, at least when she's wearing her comedy mask. For her tragedy mask, I think it'd be fun for the tone to turn dramatically sad, and have the music structure fall apart, much like her mask. I'd really like to integrate piano in some way to highlight her sensitivity.

If anyone has any other ideas, please lemme know in the comments or DM me if u wish! Gods know I could use some inspiration ^^

Kinger: And now we come to Mr. Poll Winner himself! I'm honestly really glad that Kinger won, because I have more confidence in the ideas i've come up with for him than I am for a great majority of the others.

Knowing what we know now, I see Kinger as a very sweet, sentimental, yet ultimately tragic figure, so like with Ragatha, that's definitely something that's going to influence how his theme will sound.

This is probably my favorite of the temp themes, and definitely the one I want to stick closest to when I start writing for him. Everything about it just screams "Kinger" to me and I think is a near-perfect musical summarization of his character; the plodding simplicity, the almost-dreamlike surrealistic quality to the melody, the subtle melancholia, the chord progression, all of it. I think it gels with Kinger exceptionally well, which is why I've included two versions; one light, one dark.

The question is: do u all agree? ovo

Zooble: In searching for the right genre for Zooble, I've settled on what I call “aggressive lo-fi R&B”. Something that gives off swanky 90s “cool��� vibes. Funky, mellow, bluesy, with a lil extra punch. Zooble is mostly low-energy but very much a plain-speaker, so I think this kinda music of music pairs nicely with them!

Amon Tobin’s Like Regular Chickens is another good example of what I'm going for. This one's very strange, kinda abstract, and prolly not most people's cup of tea, but I think it's neat and a pretty fitting sound for Zooble (maybe a little less intense in parts lol)

Caine: The logic behind Caine's theme is that it should be "annoying to everyone else, but he would love it". Something that he'd have no problem listening to every day on repeat, but nobody else can stand.

My first idea was really garish, campy carnival attraction music (more generally, Hammond organ music), represented in the first half. That stuck for awhile, but then I thought abt doing a pastiche of 80/90s sitcom intro type music, represented in the second half, which I think also works.

I feel like both could work, maybe even together, but I'm still undecided. I think wacky obnoxious organ music is PERFECTLY in line with Caine as a character, but the 90s route might be the more appropriate way to go, since it would to share some continuity with Digital Days from the credits (one of my fav songs from the soundtrack along with Not Alone and Somebody Real) We'll see what happens LMAO

Bubble: I’d always jokingly entertained the notion of making a theme for Bubble, but never put much serious thought into it until @mikiib asked for it, so here he is on this list.

The idea I settled on was “underwater Mario level?”, and the more I thought about it, i’ve decided that’s the direction i’ll probably go with Bubble��s tune. I imagine it being very "spacey" and floaty. Very peaceful and relaxing, but still rich with untamed weirdness, which is what makes Bubble fun :3

Mik also had the idea of using bubbly noises as percussion, which I DEF want to try! I've never really been experimental with percussion before so this'll be a fun opportunity to branch out!!

Other Characters: Last month I wrote a sweet militaristic-y march song for the Princess and the Candy Canyon Kingdom, but as far as other characters, I can't think of many I'd like to dedicate entire fully-fledged arrangements to, at least not presently. Maybe little ditties tho, that'd be fun!

I kinda wanna write something in tribute to Gummigoo since I really like him and think he deserves it. I have one for Baron Mildenhall that I haven't posted yet, and I've got a spooky lullaby I wrote for Ghostly (as well as for @mikiib) that I'll probably post tmrw for Halloween. Martha might get one too, she seems fun :3

[bigboysteveharrington]

Eddie lowkey outing himself by accident but Robin’s the only one that’s even certain that’s what’s happening

Eddie’s finally graduated and he’s having a celebratory bonfire with the Hellfire Club and Steve and Nancy and Robin at it. They’re out by Skull Rock so that they won’t get shit or noise complaints from other people in the trailer park. They’ve already ceremonially burned 6 years worth of Eddie’s notes and homework and failed tests by the time Eddie goes off on his own

Which later, he’ll realize wasn’t a great choice. But it’s supposed to be safe in Hawkins with all the gates closed now and in the moment, he just knows that his bladder has caught up to all the drinking and he really needs to take a leak. And okay, maybe he goes a little further away from everyone than is strictly necessary, but he has a shy bladder

And it’s fine at first. He takes a piss and zips his pants back up and goes to head back to where everyone else is but then he gets cut off by the latest kind of demo-monster to be on the loose in Hawkins and he has nothing on him but his wallet, his lighter, and a pack of cigarettes so he is certain that he’s really dead meat this time

He stumbles backwards in his rush to get away from the demo-thing and ends up falling over a broken branch and landing on his ass. The things still moving closer and they’re not supposed to like fire, so he pulls his lighter out and holds the pathetic little flame at arm’s length and yells at it to keep back as if that’s going to do anything. He shouts at it as loud as he can, but he’s the one that brought the boombox and set the volume at the highest so he’s not holding out a lot of hope about being heard and he doesn’t know that it would really help if any of them heard him anyway. So mostly he just thinks he’s dragging out his own death by making the thing come after him slightly more hesitantly because of the fire

But Steve notices Eddie sneak off on his own and it hasn’t been that long, but he thought he’d be back by now, so he’s already contemplating going to check that he’s fine when he hears something off in the direction Eddie went over the shitty music

And clearly Nancy heard it too because she’s already rushing off in that direction and while Robin and the kids rush after her to see what’s going on and Eddie’s out of the loop friends look at each other confused about what’s going on, Steve grabs a big ass stick off the ground and pours the last of his drink over the end and dunks it in the fire and then grabs a big ass bottle of vodka for good measure because even though he couldn’t totally hear what Eddie called out and even though this might just be Eddie up to his usual dramatics on the way back, Steve knows there’s a very real chance that it’s not and that once again the nightmare with the Upside Down isn’t really over like they thought it was and there’s no way he’s risking rushing in as weaponless as everyone else and putting them all in danger. He’ll be the weird guy that chased Eddie with a flaming tree branch to his Hellfire friends if he has to be because he’ll take that over risking anything happening to anyone there

Eddie’s lying on his back on the ground with the full body weight of the demo-thing on him and he’s got his eyes clenched shut and he’s holding on tight to his lighter with his hands up with to protect his face as if that’s going to do anything to stop this thing from ripping him to shreds, but then suddenly there’s a squelching thwack and then an awful ear-splitting screeching and there’s nothing holding Eddie down anymore. He opens his eyes and sees Steve beating the thing with a flaming tree branch and Nancy grabbing an equally large not flaming stick to join in while everyone else rushes over to check that Eddie’s okay. And then Steve warns Nancy to back up and throws the vodka bottle at the demo-thing and lights it fully on fire

It takes a bit for it to burn and Eddie to remember how to stand back up, but by the time he does, Eddie’s adrenaline is still running wild and he’s floating on the natural high that comes with narrowly escaping death. He tells the kids he’s fine and gets up and then turns to Steve and starts heading toward him while he laughs and gushes, “That was incredible. I was sure I was sure I was a goner and then there you were just casually pulling off the most badass move I’ve ever seen out of anyone. Seriously dude. That was awesome. I swear I could kiss you right now.” Which he emphasizes by grabbing Steve’s face in both hands and then planting a quick dramatic kiss on him and he only really realizes what he’s done in front of everyone after he’s already let go of his face so he quickly rushes to add, “Seriously, I could kiss all of you right now” but then nope, that’s not a good cover either and he realizes as soon as the words are out of his mouth, so he quickly adds, “I mean not any of you kids because that’d be weird, but” and thankfully Robin chimes in with “I’m good without” and Nancy quickly adds that she is too so Eddie doesn’t have to start kissing all of his friends near his age just to try to cover for the whole heat of the moment kissing Steve before thinking it through thing. And Steve hasn’t hit him, so that’s a good sign that he might get out of this with people just assuming this is another one of his eccentricities and nothing serious

The kids and Nancy just assume that the kiss was just an extension of his dramatics and that he thought it would be funny. Robin is onto Eddie, but not about to say anything about it. Steve’s too busy with his internal huh, okay… apparently I like that to even start considering Eddie’s motives until long after the kiss has actually happened

[coquelicoq]

when you're the only person who keeps living through the time loop, the people around you cease to be people and become mere characters. your treatment of them doesn't matter because they're not real and they won't remember. the only way to give anything meaning is to end the loop; their actions don't affect the loop and therefore are meaningless. you're the only one who has the ability to change the future, so anything you do in service of that goal is justified.

but. kim dojka looks at yoo joonghyuk and says no, actually, these characters are people. whether they remember or not is beside the point because they are real right now. and you don't give your life meaning by achieving some accomplishment that retroactively makes everything that came before worth it - you give your life meaning in the living of it.

[goldies-cryptobitch]

Tfw you keep seeing the same person vagueposting about your friend, whom they treated shittily, and the overwhelming urge to post the entire conversation of them being an abhorrent, boundary-stomping jerkwad for the Trollhunters fandom to see in case this person has been badmouthing said friend to others, and to only be held back by the knowledge that it might make friendo upset if I were to post the screenshots without her approval...

Just let it be known that if a certain villain stan in the Trollhunters fandom is talking any sort of shit about Goldie in people's DMs, please know that this person is an unreliable narrator and is literally the only person Goldie's ever had to straight-up block due to them CONSTANTLY overstepping boundaries and trying to twist her words in an attempt to make her sound horrible. Normally I wouldn't comment publicly on this at all, since it happened over a year ago and there should be no reason to still be bringing it up, but the fact that I just saw ANOTHER vaguepost about the situation that was posted merely a month ago makes me worry that they might also be talking shit about her in DMs if they're still hung up about it after THIS long. And I don't like the idea of somebody doing that to my friend with severe mental health struggles who isn't even around to defend herself these days. :/

[automatonknight]

art posted whatever. time to fucking. sew!!!!!!!!!!!

[red-elric]

omg someone in my tags is soo mad about me saying I liked davepeta like what are u doing theyre just a little guy (gender neutral)........ cat girl bird boy claw claw meowtherfuckers theyre sooo much cooler than you. die mad about it or smth idk

[herotune]

guess who! 👽💃

[lesbeamofsunshine]

in a really fucked up way its absolutely fucking infuriating being like "whaa I have nothing to live for" while quite literally having something to live for

[charliemwrites]

A Thought™️ that I had yesterday after watching those AITA videos and babbling in the discord:

(This is also babble to be clear. I’ve been writing this throughout the morning so it might be a bit incoherent)

The 141 is shopping for a new team member, someone to round out their four person squad into five. They have a dozen candidates, pick one that looks promising, and transfer him over under the military equivalent of “probationary” status.

Pretty quickly they decide his personality alone might not make him a good fit but whatever, if he’s good at his job, they’ll suck it up. The “alpha male” posturing bullshit is kind of amusing in the meantime at least.

Well, first mission comes and goes. The guy isn’t too bad, honestly — apart from almost picking a fight with Gaz. Skills-wise he’s as advertised, so he gets to stay a bit longer while the 141 decides if they can stand him.

Post successful mission, though, they go out for drinks at the guy’s insistence. He invites his girlfriend — who he dragged along with him — to the bar to meet his new squad. (Because he thinks there’s no way they’re not making him a permanent teammate.)

And the 141 may be barely tolerant of him, but they decide almost instantly that they adore his girlfriend. She’s incredibly charming and bubbly, doesn’t even blink at Ghost’s mask. One of the first things she does is thank them for the opportunity they’re giving her boyfriend and for keeping him alive.

Which is about the time the real issue starts.

The boyfriend says some rubbish about “an alpha doesn’t need protecting, he does the protecting. He looks out for his pack.”

And you smile a bit awkwardly, looking embarrassed, and try to usher the conversation along.

It doesn’t take long for him to quickly fall out of what little favor he accrued. You’re a bright spot in their group, laughing and chatting with them all like you’ve known them for years. Incredibly sensitive to asking any hard questions and sort of forcing the conversation through the weird patches where your boyfriend interjects with some inane comment.

Eventually, your boyfriend gets sick of your chattering and tells you to fetch them more drinks. Soap instantly sits up, saying you don’t have to do that, but you gently wave him off. Chirp that you don’t mind doing it as a thank you for their service, and weave into the crowd.

The table goes uncomfortable quiet — apart from your boyfriend, who makes some ghastly comment about how you have a pretty face but an annoying laugh. When you get back, drinks expertly balanced in your hands, Ghost goes out of his way to drop puns that get you giggling like mad.

As the night ticks later, and your boyfriend gets drunker, he reaches the point you always dread.

“Garrick, le’s arm wrestle.”

“Baby, I don’t think that’s…”

“This is between us men.”

You groan a bit and sit back. Gaz looks befuddled but shrugs and agrees. It’s not even a contest; your boyfriend’s arm is flat to the table in all of ten seconds. Flustered, your boyfriend demands a rematch. And when he loses again, scoffs and demands a go with Soap.

You practically sink deeper and deeper into your seat before the secondhand embarrassment starts to weigh and you have to excuse yourself to the restroom. When you get back, the impromptu arm wrestling seems to be over, though your boyfriend is sulking in his corner of the booth.

When you gingerly slide back in, Price nudges you with his calf.

“Would you like a go, luv?”

You grin and shake your head. “I don’t fancy a broken wrist, Captain.”

“C’mon luv, you might surprise yourself,” he teases and you can’t resist the playful glint in his eye.

So you lock your thumb around his, elbow on the table, and push. And his arm incrementally goes down… down… down…

“Well would you look at that,” he muses.

You burst into laughter, flattered and endeared by his indulgence.

“That tough, eh?” Soap muses, arching an eyebrow. “Let’s see it, then.”

So you roll your eyes, fully expecting to get trounced. But just like with Price, he starts to relent when you put up resistance, making a show of straining and panting as he “loses.” When you’ve won, you finally play into the joke.

“Serves you right,” you tease.

By your side, you hear your boyfriend huff derisively. “Oh, come on.”

Before your fun can be ruined, though, Ghost is offering you his hand, dark eyes sparkling. You bite your lip, but it doesn’t hide your grin as you accept the unspoken challenge. His hand is huge around yours, but shockingly gentle. He goes down easiest of all, whistling in amazement.

“Look’it that, you’re a pro,” he says, “think we should all be buying you a drink.”

“She doesn’t drink,” your boyfriend interjects.

You huff and settle back into the booth. “Maybe some other time, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Count on it.”

You get into an argument with your boyfriend that night. He thinks you were “challenging his dominance” and “stirring the pot,” trying to sew discord and strife amongst the men to get them fighting over you. He says something about being the alpha of the group and that he would win but it’s insulting to him as your “provider” that you would question his authority.

He’s tipsy as he says it though, working himself up. You just follow the usual routine of soothing, reassuring, simpering — and then considering leaving when he’s finally asleep. But you’re far from home, don’t have the means to leave, and besides, you won’t be finding any support from your family on this front so…

Well, it’s not so bad, you remind yourself. He can be an asshole, but so can you and it takes two to fight. Besides, he only gets really bad when he’s been drinking and that’s only once a week? 1 out of 7 isn’t a bad ratio.

—

The 141 pretty much collectively decide that they adore you though. You get regularly invited to team outings, wherein your boyfriend keeps challenging (and losing) arm wrestling, while the boys coax you into “winning.”

They’ve also become rather adamant that you don’t bring them drinks anymore.

“You’re not our personal beer wench, yeah? We’re able to get our own pints,” Gaz soothes.

Your boyfriend chuckles and shakes his head, imparts his “wisdom” that it’s a female’s job to serve her man and his friends. As a sign of respect or something. You know it’s not an argument worth having and just sip at your drink in silence.

But you love going out with them. Love knowing the men keeping your boyfriend alive and they’re a good bunch. Respectful and funny and disciplined — you’re kind of hoping they snap your boyfriend out of this weird “alpha male” phase he’s been going through. On the other hand, you’re thrilled to be making something like friends. Sure, your boyfriend has made it clear that the 141 are his friends, but they’re always so conscious of keeping you involved and comfortable.

Then one night your boyfriend mentions what a “good little cook” you are and that instantly has all the boys perking up. Smiling, you offer to host during the Saturday League matches. They gleefully accept over your boyfriend’s protests about other men in his territory or something like that.

But when they do come over they’re horrified by the unspoken expectations. You tell them to sit, that you’ll bring them all drinks, with snacks on the way. They’ll be having none of it.

Ghost helps you with drinks, Gaz chops the veggies for snacks (and dinner). Soap pops in to keep you company while you babysit simmering pots. Price helps to tidy as you go, despite you’re fussing that he really doesn’t need to, he should be enjoying the games!

They end up spending more time with you in the kitchen than out in the den with their own teammate. You barely notice, swept up in the busy currents of playing hostess. When your boyfriend shouts that he needs another beer, you come back to find Price getting plates and utensils for dinner. It’s so thoughtful you could cry.

Even worse is when they help you clean up afterwards. Each of them taking and clearing their own plates. Soap on washing big dishes, Gaz on drying. Ghost is packing up leftovers. Price is turning over the dishwasher, asking you where dishes go and tutting when you insist you should be helping.

All the while, your boyfriend stands in the doorway telling you all the ways you could improve the meal next time. And how you definitely ate too much for your body size, etc.

He only stops when Price makes a pointed comment about standing around looking pretty.

When they leave, they each sweep you up in a hug and drop a kiss on your cheek, praising your home and cooking and hosting. Soap promises that he’ll get you a little souvenir on their next mission as a thank you.

And sure enough, three weeks later, the boys are coming by. Except your boyfriend is nowhere to be found — out with some other guys from the base that he says he hit it off with. The 141 insist that he agreed to a football watch again, the empty headed muppet.

And of course you’re not going to turn them away! They’ve brought you flowers, a little matryoshka set from their last mission, chocolates and wine. Not one of them is empty handed.

“Do you even like the game?” Gaz asks as you put it on.

“My favorite team isn’t playing until tomorrow but I don’t mind watching,” you answer, shrugging.

But somehow no football is watched at all. Instead they convince you to tell them your top three favorite movies, then claim none of them have ever seen any of them and they have to watch all of them.

Which is how your boyfriend finds his whole team enjoying a little movie marathon with you. You’re on the ground with Johnny (it’s Johnny now, for you) doing his eyebrows. Gaz is braiding your hair. Ghost (Simon) is sharing a bowl of candies with you. You’re sat against Price’s shins, the captain sitting in your boyfriend’s chair, lounging like a king.

When you welcome him back, telling him the boys are staying the night, he tries to throw a fit about it. How dare you let four strange men stay alone with you?! You calmly remind him that he promised he’d be home by 11 and it’s already nearly 1. And besides, he trusts them with his life, you’re allowed to trust them to be polite in your own home.

With all four of his teammates watching, tense and nearly hostile, he mutters something about being tired and storms off to bed. You end up falling asleep on the couch with ghost despite yourself.

And your boyfriend becomes absolutely haunted by his team’s (is it even his team? It feels more like yours!) affection for you.

They always invite you out even if he doesn’t plan to invite you. (When did you get any of their numbers?! Never mind Ghost’s. He doesn’t even have Ghost’s number.)

They stop by the flat constantly, sometimes dropping in. Other times staying for hours. Soap tells him that they’re all one big family; that includes you. (“Alright then why don’t we go hang out with one of your girlfriends?!” He had an actual nightmare about the laughter that gets him.)

And the fucking gifts. It’s not just soap bringing you things anymore. It’s all of them. Magnets, mugs, sweets, pretty rocks. Just garbage to your boyfriend but you treat it all like treasure. They’ve even got you sending them on hunts for specific things. Something blue, something with nuts, something with the flag.

Then there’s the base.

They bring you on one day — Price picks you up, the boys greet you at the barracks with coffee and breakfast. You’re put into a big 141 hoodie that says “Riley” on the back and toured around. You’re supposed to be “surprising” your boyfriend, but he’s busy with recruits and generally seems uninterested in being around you.

Not to worry though, the 141 is happy to show you a good time around base! Gaz and Johnny walk you through one of the obstacle courses, Simon lets you sit on his back for pushups during the last of his workout. Price takes you to the range and shows you the basics of shooting, then lets you catnap through the adrenaline drop in his office.

Your boyfriend only bothers to find you when Johnny and Simon are teaching you basic self-defense. Your boyfriend scoffs that you’re plenty protected by him, but you point out that he’s away too often to be of any real help — at which point Johnny tags you and bolts before your boyfriend can get all up in arms.

You only recognize that this little hurdle in your relationship has become a chasm when something happens. A big argument with your parents over the phone — you barely even remember what about. But instead of calling your boyfriend afterwards, your first call is to Gaz. (Because you know he’s the most likely to be free and paying attention to his phone.) You’re almost shocked when he picks up on the second ring. Your boyfriend has never answered on the first call.

When you try to explain through poorly-restrained tears, he coos at you to find a warm coffee shop and that they’ll be right there. “They” ends up being him and Johnny, since Simon and Price are locked up in an important meeting. They buy you hot chocolate and pastries while you vent to them, and end up leaving feeling better for once.

But you can’t break up with your boyfriend. Because if you do, the 141 will surely stop hanging out with you, and you value their company enough to put up with it.

At least until you come home one day to find all your little gifts gone. When you ask through a tight throat where everything is, your boyfriend says he was just making space. That you’ve been complaining that you two need a bigger flat, but now he’s solved the problem without wasting money.

You actually raise your voice for once, throwing an entire fit because this. This is the last straw. You storm into your bedroom, slam and lock the door, and call the 141.

A small part of you expects they’ll take his side or something. But nope. Simon soothes you on the other end, that the whole squad will be there in fifteen and to pack your stuff.

You do so while Price takes over and keeps you level. Reminds you of essentials to pack and explains that you’ll be coming to stay at his place, since he’s got off-base housing. It’ll be quiet and cozy and safe while you recover.

Five minutes away, they promise to be right there and end the call.

You could absolutely scream when your boyfriend — ex boyfriend — starts banging on the door. Demanding that you open the door to him. That you’re being over dramatic and blowing everything out of proportion. Using the “your emotional and irrational” line that you’ve heard a thousand times and are just about sick of.

Your heart stutters with relief when you hear the knocking at the apartment door, confused silence as your ex goes to see who it is. You take that moment to slip out, packed suitcase in hand.

You startle a bit at some commotion, round the corner to see your ex’s shirt bunched up in Johnny’s fists, looking ready kill him. No one seems inclined to pull him away; neither are you.

“How are you holding up, luv?” Gaz asks gently as Simon takes your bag.

“Been better,” you admit, sniffling as Price wraps you up in a hug.

“It was just things, luv,” he soothes, “we’ll get you a million more, if you like.”

You pull back to give him a miserable look. “But they were my things and they didn’t have to go anywhere. He just threw them out.”

Johnny snarls something out, but Gaz is already ushering you out the door. You tell your family about the break up through text and then shut off your phone, bundled into the backseat of an SUV with Gaz in the backseat. Price is in the front, all of you waiting for Simon and Johnny to come down.

“What now?” you ask quietly.

“Well, about time we cut that knob loose,” Price muses. “But that’s not your problem anymore.”

“Oh…

“And you, luv.” He looks at you through the rear view. “You get whatever you want.”

[plumipal]

The Tattoo (prolouge)

Please note that this is a prolouge! I wanted to show the beginning of my huge upcomming post(s)!!

It all takes place after the scarabia chapter. Ever since the scarabia overblot incident and Ace and deuce trying to be your heores and save you from the dorm, you realised just how much you care about them. They are your first and best friends in this world! You just had to get something to remember them forever (and your wonderful times and adventures with them!)

Ace and Deuce are of course confused why you're suddenly so happily greeting them. Have you gotten a boyfriend? (No you couldn't! They made sure no one could be able to confess to you!-) Have you come to confess to one of them? Well they sure hope it's that more than the other option!

You can't hide your wide grin as you show the healed tattoo! You're so happy over it, liking the sleek design that just easily shows off your bestest of friends!

Ace and Deuce feels the world stop. You, you have them.. tattooed... on your beautiful body....

They can't believe it, they have truly won th lottery. They will make sure to smash this in EVERYONES faces, they are yours! And you are theirs! They just gotta get rid of the other so they can propose to you and get their happily ever after with you!

.. of course though.. The others just HAD to hear about the tattoo as well, and they sure ain't happy bout it. They want THEM on your skin, not the dumb Adeuce duo!!

... gahhhh.. I feel like a 14yo writing on watttpad for the first time... but here is the prolouge for the tattoo! It is taking way longer than I imagined.. so I hope yall can be patient, otherwise send me spme silly easy to do requests i can do in the meantime cuz holy hell this taks sm timeeee

[im-sleepdeprived]

do u think u can do a Peter Parker x reader where reader is gone for a while and has her phone off, and Peter gets super scared only to find out she’s alright?? I love ur work u’re the best xx

'No location found'

pairing: peter parker x reader

a/n: thank you for the request !!!! i had this written, then I decided to rewrite it lmao. I pictured college pete but Im not sure if I specified, also not sure if anyone saw my post abt writing a fic inspired by ‘peter’ by taylor swift but i think im going to start working on that and that its gonna be a mini series👀.... so stay tuned and request something in the meantime !!

warnings: none

masterlist, requests are open !!

“That’s not what I said!”

“Oh? Well, that’s what I heard.”

You two had been going at it for a while now. Peter had missed yet another date you’d both planned. It’d been a while since you both spent time together, and you thought he was finally going to change that. Until he just stood you up again. 

You’d thought after moving in together, you’d see him all the time. The opposite was true. He was always out, either on patrol, at Stark Tower, or wherever else his Superhero duties took him.  The problem was, that place never seemed to be with you.

“Y/N please-”

“No, Peter! I’m sick of it! I try to be understanding, I really do, I try to give you grace, but every time I do it’s like you just make it worse.” You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, “Honestly at this point, it feels like you don’t even care anymore.”

His face fell. “Come on baby. You can't seriously think that! It was just a mistake, I won't do it again.”

You nodded, “Right. Think I’ve heard that one before.” You turned around and walked towards your shared bedroom.

“Woah, hey. Wait a minute, where’re you going?” His voice was hurt, and you almost felt bad for turning your back.

Shaking your head and looked down at your dress. You’d gotten all dressed up, expecting a nice dinner followed by a walk in the park. You said, “I’m tired, I’m gonna change and get ready for bed. Sorry, but hey, at least now your schedule is freed up,” you gave him a weak smile, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Y/N you know it’s not like that. Look you’re all dressed up,” he reached for your arm, “we can still go out. Please, let me make it up to you”

Looking into his eyes, it took everything in you to pull away. 

“Peter,” you whispered, voice so quiet, yet so full of emotion. 

“I don’t want us to fight,” he begged. 

'We’re not fighting, not anymore. I just want to be alone.”

“Okay.” He nodded, but still kept his hand on you, reluctant to let go. “I’ll sleep on the couch?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice right now.

He deflated. He wasn’t exactly expecting you to object, but still. It hurt that you wanted to be away from him so bad. 

“Good night,” he muttered, watching you walk towards the door with sullen eyes. “I’m right here if you need anything.”

You gave him the tiniest tip of your head, not even bothering to turn around, “Night.”

There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight.

You slept in that day. It was Saturday and you didn’t feel like doing anything. Even after you woke up, you stayed in bed scrolling on your phone, heart pounding a little harder when you saw messages from Peter pop up, before effectively sliding them away.

After a few hours of doomscrolling, you stepped out of the room. You could see a throw blanket neatly folded on the couch, you have no idea if he’d even used a pillow. Your heart thrummed with guilt and you decided that tonight he was definitely sleeping on the bed. Or at the very least, you’d sleep on the couch. 

Walking into the kitchen, you noticed a tray with a note sitting atop a covered plate. When you got closer, you saw that the note held a cheesy breakfast pun. So Peter.

I love you a waffle lot! With a bunch of hearts around it. You couldn’t help it, you cracked a smile. He was such a dork. And you loved it. 

You heated up your breakfast and had gotten well into eating when your phone started ringing. Was it Peter? You didn’t really want to speak to him, not yet at least. You’d kind of hoped you wouldn’t have to until tonight-

You picked up your phone and almost let out a sigh of relief when you realized it was just one of your friends, Maddie. Then you felt bad for feeling relieved. 

You answered the phone. “Hey Mads, how's it going.” 

“Hi Y/N! Good! I was just calling to see if you wanted to go out tonight? Listen, before you say no-”

“No that sounds great actually,” you cut her off quickly, eager for an excuse to get out of the house. You’d been canceling plans for way too long in hopes of spending even a moment with Peter, and it seemed as if even your friends had noticed. But no more.

“Really? Great! So there's this raging new club,” she went on, giving you all the details of who was going and who might be there and you listened but barely felt a hint of excitement. You weren’t sure if it was because it was a frat party, and those things rarely appealed to you, or if it was lingering feelings from your argument with Peter. Which reminded you why you’d wanted to go out in the first place. 

“We’re gonna pregame at my place though, so stop by here and I’ll take you!” She finished, making you smile. Maddie was always sweet, a little more wild than you, but that’s what made you like her. 

“Sure Maddie, thanks for the invite.”

“Of course, can’t wait to see you, I feel like it's been forever since we went out together.”

You let out a small laugh, “I know what you mean. But we’re gonna change that tonight. 

You said your goodbyes and hung up. You needed to start getting ready soon, despite you just eating breakfast, you’d stayed in all morning and it was pretty late already. 

You got ready quietly, only a playlist you’d turned on droning in the background as you did your hair and makeup. You walked over to the closet to pick out an outfit and felt a little sad. Usually, Peter was here during this part, helping you pick out something, annoying you when he said you looked beautiful in everything. 

“Peter! I need real criticism!”

“Well, I can’t help it if my girl looks stunning in everything!”

You picked out a nice outfit you deemed fit for clubbing before grabbing a pair of heels and stepping out of your room. Looking around at the empty apartment you realized you should probably let Peter know you weren’t going to be home tonight. You didn’t feel like calling him though, and if you didn’t want to open his messages from earlier either so you decided to take a page out of his book. 

Grabbing a sticky note, you wrote down the briefest of explanations, before sticking it on your fridge and leaving. 

He had sent texts saying Good morning!, Do you need anything?, and another explaining he’d be out for a while but he’d made you breakfast, all in hopes of you responding to him. You didn’t, but that wasn’t too shocking to him. It didn’t make it hurt any less though. 

He knew he fucked up. He knew he’d disappointed you again, let you down again. He knew he deserved this and more. He should be grateful you weren’t giving him the more. And he was! But he couldn’t help the small selfish part of him that just wished you would let him take you out tonight, or give him something else he could do to make up for it because there was nothing he hated more in the world than when you were mad at him. And he did not want to sleep on the couch again. Sure it was uncomfortable but that was the least of his worries. He hated not sleeping next to you.

That had been his favorite part about the two of you moving into your own place, that he got to hold you every night. After a rough night of patrolling, or working too long on his studies, or a new gadget, he got to go home and hold you, get lost in your touch, and that always made everything better. And it killed him to know you were just down the hall, and he wasn’t with you. 

He tried his best to rush everything, trying to get all his work done for the day so he could spend the whole night with you. He was planning a movie night, bingeing all your favorites. He was gonna give you a proper date, soon, but right now, all that mattered was you two spending time together. 

On his way home, he stopped at a corner store to grab snacks for the two of you, making sure to get all your favorite ones. He even stopped at a flower shop not far from your apartment to grab you a bouquet and his heart fell when he realized how long it’d been since he’d done this. He definitely deserved the more. 

He knocked on the door of your apartment a few times and his heart fell as he realized you were either dead set on ignoring him, or you weren’t home. When he pulled out his keys and let himself in, he realized it was the latter. 

Sighing, he set down the bags of snacks and placed the bouquet down as he ran a hand through his hair as he walked around. He entered the kitchen and felt a little better when he saw the dishes he’d used to plate your breakfast were washed and on the drying rack, meaning you’d eaten. 

He was about to pull out his phone to see if he’d missed a text from you when he saw something on the fridge. 

“Went out. Be home late.”

His brows furrowed as he read. He didn’t know you had plans. Hell, he didn’t even know if you had plans now, your note barely explained anything.

All he could do was wait until you came home to sort everything out.

Peter could handle the silent treatment (barely), but what he couldn't handle, was not knowing if you were safe or not. No. That wouldn’t fly. 

He’d sent you a text when he got home, letting you know he got your note and to have fun and be safe. 

An hour later, he sent another text. Just as a little check-in. Still no response. 

It had been about three hours since he’d gotten back when he noticed that his messages had lost the little mark that indicated they were delivered. Weird. 

He tried to call you, he’d refrained from doing so before because he thought he should let you have your space (which was why, he assumed, you’d left in the first place) but it didn’t even ring, he just got sent straight to voicemail. 

What made him really start to panic, however, was when he went to check your location, which he felt so stupid for not doing before, and it wouldn’t load. It kept saying ‘no location found’ making his heart beat harder.

This was worse. You were ignoring him, his messages and calls weren’t going through. Something was wrong, was your phone off? Were you mugged? Or even worse-

He stopped himself before he could spiral too hard. That wouldn’t help, right now, he needed to figure out where you were and if you were okay.  He knew you weren’t the kind of person who would go out to bars or parties alone. Maybe you went out with a friend? Or maybe you were at a friend's? It was a place to start. 

He started calling your friends, people he knew you might go out with, and on the fifth call he finally got answers. Or…something like that. 

“Hello?” Maddie yelled into the phone, making Peter pull his phone away. 

“Hey Maddie, it’s Peter.”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s dude,” she slurred. 

“Yeah, yeah, Y/N’s dude. Hey listen, is she with you? She went out tonight but she forgot to tell me where, and now my messages aren’t sending.” His pulse was racing. It sounded like Maddie was out, if the blaring music in the background was anything to go off of, and he was desperate to know you were okay. 

“Sorry Patrick, what’d you say,” she asked making Peter’s brows furrow. They weren’t exactly friends, but he’d met Maddie a few times. Enough times for her to know his name was not Patrick.

He shook his head, that didn’t matter right now. “Y/N. Is she with you, do you go out together?”

“Oh!” She exclaimed as if she’d just remembered something. “Yeah, she is!”

Peter let out a sigh of relief. 

“Or, she was.” He held his breath again. 

“What do you mean ‘she was’? Where is she?”

“I dunno, she left I think.” Maddie let out a little hum as if to say ‘too bad!’ and Peter was sure she must be extremely intoxicated, otherwise there was no way she could be so casual about something like this. He could barely keep himself together.

He ran a hand over his face as he tried not to raise his voice. This was getting frustrating. “She left? Where’d she go? Where are you right now?”

“I don’t know…she was bored I think. She was off today. S’shame, she looked so hot.”

His heart clenched when he realized the reason you were off, was because of him. You didn’t have fun, so you left, now he had no idea where you were and it was all his fault. 

“Where are you, Maddie?” He repeated. 

“That new club on 27th! Get down here Paul, it's so much fun!” She gushed and Peter rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. 

He hung up quickly, not bothering to say goodbye before he got up to put his suit on. He couldn't stand the thought of something happening to you because you were upset and distracted because of him. That you weren't even speaking to him.

There was no way he was going to let anything happen to you. 

You were walking outside, up and down the sidewalk. You knew it wasn’t the safest decision but you didn’t really care. The club was stuffy, humid, and way too loud. You just needed to breathe, and then you’d go back. Maybe. 

You considered hailing a cab and going back home right now. You’d send Maddie a text, but she probably hadn’t noticed you’d left in the first. She’d been having a blast, unlike you, drinking shots and dancing with every guy she felt like. You weren’t sure she remembered you stopping her to tell her you’d be gone for a bit. 

On second thought, you were kind of hungry. You hadn’t eaten anything other than Peter’s waffles for you that morning and there was an amazing smell floating from a food cart at the end of the block. You could help yourself to something before going home. 

Before you could reach the food cart, you were flying. Or rather, swinging. You knew who it was right away. 

Just as fast as he’d snatched you up, Peter put you down on an isolated rooftop, leaving just you and him high above everyone else.

You were about to reprimand him, about to demand an answer as to why he’d just done that, but there wasn’t a chance before he was pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Pete?” Your voice was soft, you sensed there was something wrong and suddenly any anger or annoyance you held, from now or the night before, disappeared.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled as if that was his way of an answer. 

Your brows furrowed. “Well…yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He pulled away then, taking off his mask, and you saw just how terrified he looked, scaring you as well. There might’ve even been a little red rimming his eyes, making you wonder if he was holding back tears. “I came home and I brought snacks and flowers and I thought we could spend the rest of the night together but saw your note. So I texted you and I get that you’re mad at me-”

“I’m not,” you said, and you meant it. You weren’t mad at him, especially right now, seeing him all shaken up like this. “But what's wrong?”

“My texts weren’t delivering, my calls went straight to voicemail, and I couldn’t track your location. Y/N, I got so scared something happened and you weren’t talking to me.” He sniffled and your heart broke a little. 

You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, but when you tried to turn it on—dead. 

“God sweetheart, never do that to me again. Please.” He looked at you desperately, “Yell at me. Fight with me. But please never ignore me anymore, I can’t stand it.”

“I’m so sorry Petey, I had no idea my phone died. I would’ve said something I swear. I never want you to worry like that.” Your hands went up to hold his face. 

He brought a hand to hold your wrist. Gently running his thumb up and down your hand he said, “I always worry about you sweetheart, it’s my job.”

You shook your head, “You worry about all of New York, I don’t need to add on to that.”

“No,” he said quickly, looking offended you’d even say that, “No. Never think like that. You are the most important thing in my life, okay? You’re my first priority and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, that I don’t show that or say it enough.

“But I’m going to do better, I promise. I’m going to make it up to you because I can’t lose you, I need you Y/N.”

You didn’t reply, instead just smashed your lips onto his. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you tight. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of second chances, and new beginnings.

He pulled away first, but not before pressing multiple kisses all around your face. “Heels off baby,” he said as he knelt down and started working on your heel straps, lifting each foot onto his thigh before undoing each one. You didn’t even realize how much they’d been hurting until they were off. “I’m swinging you.” He picked you up swiftly, one arm wrapping itself around your ribs.

You groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Peteyyyy. You know the wind tangles my hair too much.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning over to kiss you on the top of your head, “I’ll be careful, c’mon.”

You move your head to peck his cheek and then hug him tight, “I love you.”

He grinned, pulling you in closer. “I love you more sweetheart.” He leaned back and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “Hold on tight, Spider Monkey.”

You burst into laughter, “You did not just say that!” 

“Oh I totally did,” he gave you the goofiest smile, making you laugh again. 

“Ok, just…don’t let me go,” you said as you wrapped your arms tighter around him. 

“Never,” he replied, and something in his voice told you he wasn’t just talking about swinging. 

[causticsunshine]

.

[bunny-lily]

Satoru, who...

Did you ask for more fluff? I did, ehe~

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

CW: pure fluff, just fluff, no angst, only happiness | proposal, marriage, pregnancy, husband!Gojo, dad!Gojo, soft!Gojo, categorically fucking whipped Satoru, domesticity, kinda slice-of-life, mildly suggestive at the end

The starstruck boy, Gojo Satoru, who is utterly obsessed with you in every way possible.

AN: while I’m in the middle of writing an absurdly long fic, I wanted to post some shorter stuff to 1) keep my hands loose and brain active/busy, and 2) post something while I’m working on the fic to come. I won’t post much about it rn because I want to actually finish it first and not make any promises, so enjoy a lil fluff in the meantime <3 just something short and sweet

WC: 3k

Satoru, who is smitten with you from the very moment he first lays eyes on you. Sure, he's had infatuations before, but they were short-lived and typically lasted no longer than a week. A quick fascination, then poof. You, on the other hand – you are different.

And it is plain to see for pretty much everyone. He is normally cocky and outgoing, even during the little fads he’s had, he never let down his façade of bravado. You, though? You melt all his walls until he’s a goopy puddle of a blushing, giggling school girl.

He is whipped, almost to an annoying point. He rambles off Suguru's and Shoko's ears enough times for them to know when he’s about to start singing your praises and avoid him, or distract him somehow (which is a monumental task when his ditzy head is full only of thoughts of you).

Even so, they are conflictingly bewildered and happy for their friend. For him to have found someone that he is interested in for longer than a week – let alone several months, now – is a riveting change of pace. He seems so genuinely delighted any time you two interact, bubbly, dreamy sighs leaving him as hearts dance in his eyes.

He has fallen for you bad.

Satoru, who’s a stuttering disaster when he tries to ask you out on a date, and damn near collapses in relief when you’re able to decipher what the hell he’s going on about and agree to go to the new café that opened up near campus with him.

One date turns into two, then three, then a dozen more that become routine for you. You meet up after classes let out, then head to the café side by side. Or, if one is running late, you have each other’s orders memorized. You even go the extra mile and order him a sweet he hasn’t tried yet to surprise him with when he bursts into the establishment, panting like he ran a marathon. He might as well have, he booked it for the café as soon as he was free, dying to see you.

Satoru, who is somehow in even more shambles when he gets the nerve to ask you to go steady with him, despite the two of you being borderline boyfriend and girlfriend by now. He’s jittery, sweaty, downright vibrating with tense energy when he brings you to the sakura tree near the back of school that you two had laid claim on. Oh, and when you say yes? He’s certain he’s died and gone to heaven. Nothing can explain how an angel like you decided to grace him with your existence as is, let alone love him – even while you called him an idiot and said you thought you two were already dating.

Satoru, who was already protective over you when you first met, dials it to eleven after you agree to being his girlfriend. Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive, could inspire fear and respect simply by being in the room with his confident and brash nature, completely relaxed and faithful in his skill. But if, gods forbid, something happens to you? Gone is that cocksure attitude. Gone are the coy smirks and passive-aggressive taunting meant to rile others up. Gone is everything but his one track mind that focuses solely on two tasks: protecting you, and destroying whatever harmed you.

Satoru, who spoons you to his chest and watches ASMR, random videos, or movies on your phone with you 'til you both fall asleep. It became routine shortly after you began officially dating. You'll climb into bed first and decide what you want to watch while he finishes his nightly regimen, then he'll slip under the blankets and pull your back flush against his front, prop his chin atop your head, slide a thigh between your legs, and off to cozy dreamland you two go as whatever you choose acts as white noise. 

It brings him an immense amount of comfort, and though he doesn't need as much sleep as normal folks, he'll refuse to leave bed until you're awake (with the exception of any needs he might have to take care of that will only see him away for a couple minutes at most before he’s cradling you in his protective hold again).

Satoru, who salts and peppers your face with endless, ticklish kisses to wake you up, saving the best kiss for when your sleepy, pretty little eyes open: right on your lips. He always wakes up before you do, and spends hours watching your blissful, precious face as you snooze, content and relaxed like a cat with full trust in its human. The comparison always makes him smile, because he, truthfully, envisions you both as being cats all the time. Lazy ones that cuddle in the sun, your smaller form using his ridiculously fluffy and larger one as a pillow-slash-blanket. His tail twined with yours, your ears twitching as he grooms you with kitten licks, ah, the dream.

Satoru, who wants to slap a ring on your finger the very moment he can. You two spend so many days and weeks raving about your imaginary wedding that he so desperately wants to be real, setting up plans, picking out what you would want for decor, scrolling through forum boards for ideas on a wedding dress for you. He is practically more excited at the prospect of getting married than you are, eager to help in every step of the process and more. 'Let me handle all the hard stuff, baby,' he nearly begs. 

He won’t tell you the cost of anything, and insists you go all out. Get the dress you want, don't you dare look at the price tag. Choose the perfect venue, he doesn't care if it's in Japan or fucking Dubai, he'll handle paying for everyone's travel and hotel needs on top of the whole wedding. Only the absolute best for you, nothing less, everything more.

Satoru, who is a train wreck of nervous excitement, anxious anticipation, and giddy trepidation when the day comes for him to propose. He takes you to the perfect location – up a short and easy hiking trail that leads to a cliffside with the most magnificent view of the ocean and setting sun. You think it's just a sweet date trip, until you see the path of tea candles guiding you to a romantically set up picnic blanket, a basket resting atop it, waiting to be opened.

When you turn around to express your shock and confusion, you find Satoru on one knee, looking up at you as if you are the most gorgeous and divine creature to ever exist. He's confident and boisterous, as always, as he plays out his little speech about how much he adores you and wants to keep you by his side, forever and ever, but he's a shaking trash fire inside. A shivering little dog that's relieved he didn't stutter or screw up the speech he practiced a hundred times over and then some.

Satoru, who's thanking every god to ever possibly reside above (and even below) when you throw your arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder as a flood of yeses pours out of you, slurred as you ramble through your tears and tell him you love him, how happy you are, and a plethora of other things that make him genuinely the most elated person to ever live.

Satoru, who slides the brilliant engagement ring he had custom made for you onto your finger; smooth, with an inset blue diamond that shares the same shade as his eyes, nestled in with a dozen tinier crystals in vine-like spirals flowing outward from the center. Swarovski, of course. He made sure that it was all flush with the platinum to ensure it wouldn't snag on anything. 

He was practically breathing down the jeweler's neck during the entire process, needing to guarantee it’s positively perfect for you. And, when he sees the glimmering jewelry cozy on your finger, the evidence of your bond and the next step in your journey to unite as one, he knows he made all the right choices.

Satoru, who only uses the finest material for your matching wedding bands, and has the insides of both engraved with each other's names. Yours in his, his in yours. He has the same jeweler as before (poor guy) design them to have two stripes of platinum within the gold of your rings, delicate and stunning for himself and his wife.

Satoru, who's jubilant and so incredibly ecstatic that you're now his wife that he can't help but tell everyone he knows, everyday, multiple times a day, even those that were at the wedding. He just can't get over it. You're his wife, the girl he's been crushing on since highschool, the girl he swore to make his, and to devote himself to. It feels like an incredible dream, and he worriedly pinches himself from time to time to make sure it's real. 

He did it. He married you, and now you carry his name in yours, in your wedding band, everywhere he could put it to subtly (not really) show you off as the unquestionably precious treasure you are, his wife, and how overjoyed he is that he managed to catch you and keep you.

Satoru, who forgets how to function when you hold up a pair of white and pink sticks on his birthday, from different brands, both showing positive symbols. You. You're pregnant. With his baby. He swears his brain short-circuits because one minute, he's staring at you like you'd grown a second head, and the next, he has you wrapped up in his arms as he showers your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw, lips, neck, ears, anywhere he can reach, with kisses.

He's a babbling, sniffly mess as he practically crushes you to his chest and coos and preens and weeps with elation. He reveres you like a deity and he’s your loyal and pathetic servant who was blessed beyond measure that you decided to give him the gift of life. He's going to be a father, and it's all because of you.

Satoru, who completely spoils the living hell out of you during your pregnancy (as if he hadn't already been), bending backwards for you for everything. Weird cravings? He's on it. Swollen ankles and nausea? He's rushing to the store for medicine, then rubbing your feet to ease the ache. Insatiable horniness? He's your slave for you to use for your pleasure. Hormones swinging wildly back and forth? He's there with a box of tissues and his firm chest for you to beat on when you feel like you're going crazy. It's his fault you're pregnant, after all. You're doing the hard work of not just carrying his child, but of nurturing it, growing it, letting it take from you to develop strong and healthy. Of course he's going to take care of you.

Satoru, who refuses to let you do any work. You're on indefinite parental leave. From the moment you show him those positive tests, he sits your pretty ass down on the couch and tells you firmly that your only job now is to help your baby develop. He'll take care of everything else, don't even think about lifting a finger.

Satoru, who's there at every appointment with you, clutching your hand tightly as you talk to your doctor about everything you need to know. And when you have your first ultrasound, and see your fetus together for the very first time, he's crying right alongside you.

Satoru, who spent meticulous hours packing a duffel bag with everything you'll both need for when it comes time for you to go into labor. Spare changes of clothes, plenty of water, blankets to keep you warm, a couple pillows, anything and everything. He refuses to go in unprepared. As soon as it's all packed and ready to go by the 8 month mark of your pregnancy, it's in the backseat of the car. The baby car seat is in the trunk of the sleek and top-of-the-line SUV he purchased specifically for your soon-to-be family. He doesn't care that it's taking up space, or that it’s too early, he refuses to go in unprepared.

Satoru, who immediately ditches work the very instant your water breaks. Who gives a fuck if he's in the middle of something important, nothing takes precedence over you and the incoming birth of your infant. He's breaking several driving laws to get you to the hospital, but neither of you care. Not when you're panting in the passenger seat, white-knuckling the grab handle with a palm pressed to your stomach, grunting and crying out in pain any time you have a contraction. It's a miracle he doesn't get pulled over, and he's incredibly thankful (and proud of himself) for thinking of calling the hospital ahead of time so that they're ready for you.

Satoru, whose entire world becomes a blur from the second you reach the hospital, to the second you're crushing his hand in your grip, screaming as you fight to bring his baby into the world. He's letting you yell at him and blame him for the pain you're in, easily accepting and agreeing because it is his fault. 

But while your shaking sobs and shrieks of agony wound his heart beyond any possible measure, he also can't help his elation at knowing it's time, all the waiting has been worth it, every minute spent catering to your every need, want, and desire. He'll do it indefinitely, wait on you hand and foot for the rest of his life, treat you like a queen, because you deserve it and so much more.

Satoru, who's shocked by how well he's holding up when the nurse puts the wrapped up, pudgy little newborn in his arms, gazing down at the tiny being. His tiny being, your tiny being, the fragile and priceless life you both created. Looking down at his kin, his reason for being, he knows he'd do anything and everything to protect you and your child.

Satoru, who sees you, a disheveled and tired disaster, with your hair all tangled, frizzy, and astray, strands stuck to your sweaty skin, your body slack in relief as the hardest part is finally over, watching your husband hold your baby, and he thinks you're more beautiful now than you've ever been. 

You look like you’ve been dragged through hell; your legs are sticky with residue blood, amniotic fluid, placenta, and whatever else that needs to be cleaned off (though your legs are covered with a few layers of blankets to keep you toasty warm while you recover from labor), your face is a little pale and sallow, you're barely clinging to consciousness, and he's marveling at how he's never seen anything or anyone as utterly blest and sacred as you. 

A goddess amongst men, the only one the strongest man in the world would ever willingly bow down to without you even needing to ask.

Satoru, who helps place your baby on your chest, the nurse having opened the blanket for skin-to-skin contact as you feed it, and finally lets himself release all his pent up emotions of raw, unfiltered joy. Every cell, every fiber, every atom in him is dancing in overwhelming happiness. He'd do it all over, again and again, as many times as you'd let him, if it means he gets to see you this blissful and tranquil. The glow of maternity suits you like no other, even in all your unkempt and chaotic glory. 

Satoru, who can't believe he's a dad. He goes above and beyond, insisting he takes care of the baby at night so you can sleep – he doesn't need as much rest as others do, after all. He murmurs to his newborn about how much he cherishes and adores you, how much you mean to him, how you're the best wife and mommy a man could ever ask for and more. He reads the kiddo bedtime stories to help it sleep, feeds it, changes it, whatever it is that is needed, he's there and doing it. 

On top of that, he continues to be your doting, devoted, caring husband. He makes sure you're taking your vitamins, takes you to all your postpartum appointments, aids you through your subsequent depression, all of it. He's sworn himself to you for life, not just in this timeline and universe, but in any and every single one of them.

He made and said his vows with purpose and conviction. He meant every word, and upholds them like his life depends on it. Because, in his mind, it does.

Satoru, who is patient with you, and firmly commands you to not push yourself to do things you can't do while you're still in recovery. He doesn't care if he has to wait months or even years for you to be ready to lay with him again, he'll wait it out. He might not be a patient man, but for you, he'd wait until all the stars die. 

Oh, but you, darling little minx that you are, do your best to take care of him, too. Even when he urges you to rest, or not worry about it, or anything other arguments he might have against it, you tend to him in whatever way you can. Touching, sucking, rough and heavy petting, whatever it takes. You refuse to leave him alone to suffer through months and months of dryness with no relief save for his hand and the toy you surprised him with to help take the edge off.

Satoru, who can't be more grateful to you. You're more than his wildest dreams, the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect person as a whole in the entirety of the universe. He really can't help boasting about being the Chosen One, because he really is, if the cosmos decided to gift him with you.

Satoru, who swears to take care of you for the rest of your lives, and does well on his promise.

Satoru, who fights for the sake of you and your kin alone. He refuses to leave you in any way, shape, or form. He refuses to let the world be a danger to any of you. He refuses to have anything happen to his family. Nothing will tear you apart, not now, not ever.

Satoru, who loves you more than the sun, the moon, and all the stars combined.

—-—-•(-•ʚɞ•-)•—-—-

Banner by cafekitsune ♥ thank you for reading

[wonderjanga]

Marvel and Wonder Woman

@actuel-idiot is a major reason I’m writing this! They gave me the idea so the credit goes to them.

Diana has a special relationship with Captain Marvel. They’re family. Technically. But they’re family! The man has no problem treating her like one of his own, and it’s not like Diana has any of her other family in man’s world so she’ll take what she can get. The only downside is that no one knows his actual identity, including Diana. Half the people in the JL don’t even believe he has one, but when Diana asked, he confirmed he did. She hoped that one day he would share his identity with her, but for the meantime, she’d just continue to enjoy their bond.

Like, for example, Diana talks to Marvel whenever she misses Themyscira. The very first time she started missing her home was about a few weeks after the JL formed. (Marvel’s a founding member in this post)

WW: “Captain, do you ever miss home?”

Marvel: “Hm? I guess so?” *confused*

WW: “You guess so? Do you not miss Olympus? I assume that’s where you grew up.”

Marvel: “Oh, no. I’ve never been to Olympus. If that’s what you mean by home. It isn’t.”

WW: “Then where is your home?”

Marvel: “Well, I haven’t had a home in a long time. So, I can’t particularly say. All I know is that I can’t go back, and as the years go by, I hate to say it but I barely remember it.” He only knows what his dad looks like due to his Marvel form, and he only remembers his mom due to Mary’s form. As for what they were like? A lot of the memories are fuzzy. “So, unfortunately… there isn’t really much to miss.”

WW: “Do you think I’ll forget about Themyscira?”

Marvel: “I don’t know. But that’s why it’s important to make a home wherever you go. That, and if you really don’t wanna forget, you can always try and find people who used to call your home theirs.” *shrugs*

WW: “I don’t believe there are any other Amazonians and man’s world.”

Marvel: “Well… not technically.” *little smile* “You know, a few thousand years ago I was an Amazonian at some point.”

WW: “What…?”

Marvel: “Shocking. I know.” *little laugh*

WW: “But you’re a man?” *dumbfounded expression*

Marvel: “Yeah, I know, but I wasn’t always. If you want, I could tell you some stuff about the first island.”

WW: “The first Themyscira? You were alive back then?”

Marvel: “Yup.”

WW: *stares for a bit* “I’d… I’d like that a lot. Please share.”

The two spend the rest of the evening talking about all the lore about Themyscira, Diana’s mother, Diana’s aunts, the culture back then, the dialects, and so on.

Then, there was the incident with Circe. She had cast a spell on Diana, turning her into a child. After it had happened, she left and soon a mini Diana was swarmed by the leaguers.

Marvel: “Wait, so she still knows who we all are, she’s just a little kid?”

Batman: *nods head* “Correct.”

WW: *looking around as the other leaguers fawn over her cause she’s adorable*

Batman: “It also altered her mindset, making her more childish.”

WW: *spots Marvel and her eyes sparkle* “Big brother!” *runs over to Marvel and crashes into his legs hugging them*

Marvel: “Woah!” *slightly startled at her running over* “Wow, Diana, you’re still so strong.” *takes on the tone he uses to talk to Darla (aka big brother/father tone) as he leans down to pick her up*

WW: *nods head* “Yeah!”

Marvel: *moves to carry her like she’s his own daughter*

The two proceed to talk about whatever as the other JL members coo at the two looking like father and daughter. Same black hair and blue eyes. Also, Zeus was gnawing at the bars of his metaphorical cage when he saw this. His daughter was too precious. As soon as the other leaguers blinked, he took little Diana and they proceeded to go fight Mr.Mind together. They then went for ice cream afterwords. Now, they’re eating their respective cones while sitting on the edge of a building.

Marvel: “You did such a good job, Diana. That one punch at that one robot that sent it flying into three other ones was amazing.” *smiles and ruffles Diana’s hair*

WW: *giggles and licks ice cream* “Thanks, dad.”

Marvel: *pauses mid bite of ice cream* (Yes, I’m making Billy bite his ice cream)

WW: *doesn’t even realize she said that*

Zeus: “You… YOU STOLE MY DAUGHTER?!” *thunderclouds in the distance*

Billy proceeded to have to make many offerings to Zeus to make him calm down after the incident. For a week straight, he kept getting little shocks whenever he touched stuff.