#why am I being harassed just because they don’t find me attractive

[valewritessss]

Anyone who’s out of high school or in college, do teenage boys eventually get nicer? They make me not want to go to school.

[thehorrorgirlstyles]

Opposites attract

Part 4

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Find P3 Here!

Warnings: 18+ smut, male masturbation, degradation!kink, pet names, cussing, squirting, little bit of praise!kink, derogatory words, harassment, bullying, public sex, some breeding kink, dry humping

(Note warnings are for the SERIES not the specific chapter)!!!

Minors don’t interact!

Summary: Eddie helps you through a hard time by giving you the treatment you deserve in more than one way...

Recap: Eddie and you moved one step further after your ex boyfriend lashed out on you at the party, things finally getting steamy after longing for Eddie!!!

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

It has been a week since you've seen or heard from Jason. Your mom tells you that he has come by every morning before school to talk to you, but you refuse to ever see him again, telling your mom that you're too sick to talk. Little does she know that you've been sneaking in Eddie Munson every night through your bedroom window, which in your defense is totally valid. With Eddie there you feel save instead of worrying that Jason will come in the middle of the night to KILL you....totally not for the reason of you being horny or anything. I mean honestly it isn't your fault it's Eddie's for being so irresistible. How everyone at school thinks he is a freak will forever be questionable to you. How it took you so long to realize your feelings for Eddie is also questionable.

Today is the day you have been draining for your mom is forcing you to go back to school, she bought the sickness for a week, but she's over the lies now.

"Y/n you're not pulling this again honey it has been a week and your friends and boyfriend are worried about you....Do you know how many times Jason has called this house?" she points to the phone that has been ringing for the past hour. Does this guy ever give up?

"Mom please I really am sick, I swear...Check my temp".

"No, you're going to school and that's final, even if I have to drive you myself".

__________________________

It's your first day back after missing school in your final attempt to avoid bumping into Jason, which you hope will never happen again, considering the guy literally hit you and you've been covering it up with makeup. Everyone still thinks you and Jason are together, not knowing that the past week you've been going out after your mom leaves to visit a certain curly head.

"Hey y/n, where have you been are you okay?" Robin finds you by your locker, "You know it's unlike you to miss this many days and in a row too...Oh and you will not believe it Chance and Chrissy totally slept together at Tina's party...Speaking of which where did you run off to?.. Also the girl from band sh-"

"Robin!" you cut her off, "Please can I just put my books away first and then I'll answer all of your questions I promise".

"Oh yeah your right, I'm sorry...there's just so much to talk about and you've missed so much and we have been worried, but also I'm excited your back because I really need your help with something, oh and Jason he-"

You slam your locker shut, giving her a look.

"Sorry" she shuts up.

"Look, all you need to know is that I will not be seeing Jason anymore" You smile at her and walk towards your class.

As your walking you spot Eddie lecturing Dustin and Mike, "Look you either find a replacement or I'll personally hunt you down myself, Vecna isn't the one you should be worried about little ones" You overhear him say when he looks up and spot you walking his way.

He moves Dustin to the side to get to you, "Hey, there you are", he says smiling at you, "M'lady" he kisses your hand and bows.

"Why thank you kind sir" you play into it and curtsey back.

He pulls you to the side and lowers his voice, "Hey how are you doing, you know being back and everything, I swear if Jason even dares to speak to you I wi-"

You cut him off, "Eddie I'm fine I swear and besides you have definitely been taking good care of me" you wink at him.

He smiles, his eyes darkening "I haven't even showed you the best part" He moves you closer to him, leaning in to kiss you.

"Well isn't this a surprise" you back away and find Jason standing behind Eddie, your smile dropping. Eddie's grip on your waist tightens. "Well don't stop on my account, please continue", He speaks loudly starting to clap.

"Hey man you better leave us alone before I-", he interrupts Eddie, "Before you what, Sleep with my girlfriend, inflict her with your devil worshipping cult..I mean come on freak there's only so much you can do until someone might retaliate and do something back....Oh wait maybe someone already did" he points behind him to the trash which beholds Eddie's guitar broken into pieces the strings standing up.

"Eddie" I look at him to see him in shock not moving or saying anything, completely heartbroken. "Jason!" He stops laughing, "This is too far even for you, Eddie has spent hours saving up for that guitar, you're a fucking asshole" You stomp towards him and punch him in the face.

"OH MY GOD I think my nose is broken", blood streams from his face as he screams out, "YOU FUCKING BITCH YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS Y/N, YOU HEAR ME YOU SLUT, I WILL KILL YOU AND THAT FUCKING FREAK!" you hear him yell as you grab Eddie's hand and run down the hall. So much for a first day back...

NOTE: I'M SO SORRY THIS WAS RUSHEDDDD! I'm starting college so it might take me a few days to post again, I'm trying to get out as many stories as I can, but I may be a little busy with life..... PLEASE BE PATIENT< THANK YOU :))))

Part 5 will be posted soon.... AND WILL BE PURE SMUT FINALLYYYYYYYYYY

last part??? Maybe.....

Tagslist: @itzkawaiix, @lotrefcp, @morganlolitta, @angelluv111, @dreamerjj, @littlemissnightmare, @biijancaposts, @josephquinnsfreckles, @skyesthebomb, @fandom-princess-forevermore

As always I hoped you enjoyed!

[writingjourney]

Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader

Summary: The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

Content: 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, horror, violence, being hunted, harassment, men being assholes, smut (18+ MDNI, biting, blood kink/blood drinking, oral sex r!receiving, penetration, coming inside, unprotected sex)

This was originally intended to fill the “hunted” prompt for the @petrifyingpapas challenge. I am a little late but I hope you enjoy it anyway and give Primo his chance to shine! ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 2 | Secondo's story

“This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: Part 1

Now

He’s been following you for weeks.

Primo just can’t stop himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s overstepping. As he watches the hurried pace you set, carrying you home in the early hours of a cool spring morning, he smells your distress like an overly strong perfume. Jacket tightly wrapped around your tense shoulders, your steps quicken whenever you leave the safe light of a streetlamp. You’re always nervous walking home alone, even more so since the incident at work. 

This is the very thought that calms his conscience – his concern is rightful, necessary even. He has to protect you because you have no one else who will. Not that you cannot protect yourself, he knows you can, you hold your own quite nicely, but why take any unnecessary risks? Four eyes see more than two, especially if two of those have preternatural vision.

Suddenly you stop, glancing around with searching eyes. “Hello?”

Primo stops as well. It’s impossible that you heard him, he didn’t make any sounds that a human ear could process. Your eyes dart in a different direction and he’s on alert immediately. A few rapid beats of your heart pass. You seem to decide that you’re alright because you continue on your journey even if your legs move that extra bit quicker, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

No, Primo knows you don’t need him. You never ask him to walk you home and when he offers, you politely decline every single time. You don’t need him. You don’t need him how he needs you, and yet it feels good to imagine that you do. That anyone does. The thought he will not entertain, however, is that his motive is a selfish one. He’s been lonely for so long that he pours all that he has into this… whatever this is. And why should he not? In all the centuries that passed since he was cast upon this earth you’re the most wonderful thing he ever had the pleasure to behold and his time with you is so tragically limited, no matter what happens. 

“Fuck,” he hears you mutter then, effectively distracting him. Again, you stop very suddenly, glancing vaguely into the direction he’s hiding in but without any real focus. “Who the fuck is there?”

Primo doesn’t sense anyone else. Possibly, you just heard a strange noise which wouldn’t be the first time since the incident. You’ve been on edge ever since and understandably so. Of course you don’t know that there is no danger of the same thing ever repeating. Which doesn’t mean you’re safe from other perils. Primo dares to stalk closer, foolishly so, because he’s too close now and you must have spotted his movements in the dark because you start to run like your life depended on it.

To his utter terror, you don’t follow your usual route home but take the shortcut through the woods. With breakneck speed, you run along the mud path that meanders through thick pine trees and mossy hills. Primo has no issue keeping up with you of course but he worries about protruding roots and sharp stones you may not see with your human eyes. 

His fear is misdirected. He’s so distracted, watching your every step, that he doesn’t notice the odd smell at first, the second strong, comparatively slow heartbeat amongst all the quiet and rapid ones of the forest animals. But this is no rabbit, no deer, no boar. When he finally notices the presence of the strange entity, the spike of panic is clouding every other rational thought.

He is after you – and he’s fast.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Four weeks ago

The man has been attending the late night showings for weeks now, every Friday and Saturday. Every week, he shows up exactly fifteen minutes before the screening starts, even though there are practically no waiting times in the small club cinema you’re working at. His attire was what drew your attention to him that first night, even before you’d seen his face, and his choice of clothing seems deliberate. Most evenings, he wears simple black slacks over expensive-looking Italian leather brogues. Tonight, he combined them with a loose white shirt with frills and an open collar that peeks out of a burgundy tailcoat with black lapels and gold embroideries. It looks old-fashioned but not out of place in the similarly dated establishment.

As he approaches you behind the counter, you’re struck yet again, despite being familiar with his almost ethereal looks by now. He must be close to eighty but his deep wrinkles only add to his effortless beauty. His most notable feature, however, is the skull paint adorning his stern face with two uncanny, mismatched eyes – one iris in green and one impossibly white. With his face framed by long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, silky and curled at the ends, he looks like a man who knows exactly how to present himself. An air of easy sophistication surrounds him as he takes deliberate steps in your direction. You’re not surprised that he shows up on weekends when your boss screens his beloved classics. At least that’s what he calls any movie that came out before the year 2000.

“So, Dracula today, yes?” It’s not a question as much as a statement, dripping with distaste. “And the 1992 one at that.”

“Do you not enjoy vampires, sir?” you ask, taking the money for his ticket. Every single bill looks pristine, like it’s been freshly printed, and again, he won’t accept the change you hold out to him, waving off with a gentle smile. Buy yourself a drink on my behalf, tesoro, he’d said once, and you aren’t questioning him anymore, you just pocket the money since there is no one you could split it with.

He regards you with interest. “I enjoy them, sì, though I never found their portrayal in cinema quite believable.”

You chuckle. “Well, perhaps that is because they’re not real.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he says unfazed. “Or perhaps it is the clichés, no?”

“I really like the movie,” you admit. “Though I wish she would just get with the vampire. I certainly wouldn’t hesitate.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow. “Davvero?”

His thick Italian accent makes you blush on any given day, even more so when he speaks plain Italian. There is something about the timbre of his voice that changes, like gold melting in the heat of a forge, the syllables fused together with a flick of his tongue.

“Mhm,” is all you can answer.

“Will you watch it as well, little flower?” he asks and you smile at the nickname he chose for you weeks ago when he caught you arranging a bouquet in the foyer.

“Oh, no, I’m not allowed to leave the register unattended. Or… well, watch movies while I’m supposed to work.”

“I see.” He smiles again, the black lines over his lips shifting so that he looks almost gentle, the severity of the paint watered down by the kindness in his eyes. “That is a pity.”

Is he flirting with you? You can’t tell. Surely, he is just being nice, a polite older gentleman. Would you want him to be flirting with you, though? No, of course not. You couldn’t even flirt back. Your boss might fire you if he found out that you even so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“Can I offer you a snack or a drink, sir?” you ask, remembering your actual job.

“You know, I will take a whisky today,” he says. “If you have it.”

“Of course we do, sir, you can choose your seat and I will serve it in a second.”

The stranger heads off towards the screening room with its soft, polished leather armchairs and moody lighting, jazz tunes wafting from the speakers. You look after him, his long hair gently swaying with every step, and the door to the backroom springs open. It’s your boss, Max, a man in his mid-forties, so unremarkable with his shaggy black hair and his blatant misogyny that he could be any man you ever met. Only that he practically owns you by way of paying for your every bill while you finish your degree. Jobs in small towns are hard to come by, decent men even harder.

“Go serve our customer, come on,” he urges. “I heard him ask for something”

“The register…”

“I take it. Move your pretty ass over, perhaps wiggle a bit when you do, the old pervert is going to love it.” 

You make to leave without wiggling, heading towards the small serving station in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” Max calls after you. “I need you to clean up tonight. Cleaning lady called in sick. Feeling faint or whatever, broke down in the supermarket if you can believe it. They say she’s anemic, that’s their excuse for everything women have these days.”

“Okay,” you reply, hoping he chokes on his tongue one of these days. “Of course, Max. I’ll clean up. No problem.”

“Be a good little thing, don’t forget to check under the seats, always tons of junk down there after the evening showings.”

You nod and try not to run into the screening room and away from him. By now, all anger towards him has been numbed by the sheer amount of obnoxious remarks but you’re never sure if he’s above trying to actually touch you one day. So far, he’s all bark and no bite, but with men like him you never know. Being the only employee who works the night shifts doesn’t help but there is just not enough demand to bring in the others.

You find the stranger in one of the top rows, comfortably seated in what is your favourite spot as well. A smile creeps onto your face. “Here is your whiskey, sir.”

The man peers up at you in what looks like ingenuine surprise, his white eye showing a glimmer of sympathy. He must have heard you and Max but is clearly trying not to show it. You wonder how – you can’t even hear Max outside right now over the jazz music. 

“Grazie mille,” he says as he takes the glass from you.

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your movie.”

“Thank you, fiore.” He smiles, always such a kind smile. “You are a wonderful host.”

You can’t help but smile back, looking at him for just a little longer than is appropriate. But Max must have started the film because the lights dim suddenly until it’s fully dark and you hurry back outside right as the title music starts playing.

Your stranger is the only guest tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now 

You run. You run so fast that your lungs are burning in the cold night air. There is no palpable explanation for why you feel so panicked. For most of your way home you’ve felt almost paranoid in your constant fear of being followed. You felt like someone was watching you right from the start but when you came close to the woods your instincts just told you to run. By now, your legs carry you almost automatically despite the fatigue in your limbs. There is a tiny voice in your head that tells you you’re in danger. Big danger.

Halfway through the forest, the track gets steeper. Less feet have trampled it flat as the usual walking path ends and you struggle to keep up your pace. Unsettling noises grow louder to your right – panting, hurried steps, moans and whimpers. Two seconds later you suddenly hear an echoing growl that puts any wolf to shame. Your head whips around but before you can make out anything in the pitch dark your foot gets caught on a root. The impact is suffocating. Your lungs empty out and you think you’re choking on nothing. Only after a long moment in which you struggle for breath do you feel the sharp pain in your arm where it hit a rock, warm blood seeping into your sleeve until its wet and sticky.

Meanwhile, the steps hurry closer and even in the full moon light it’s hard to tell where you are right now. But then you see the trees swaying at the edge of the path and all you know is that you need to keep going. Everything hurts but you manage to get to your feet. As the world sways around you, you leave the safety of the trail in favour of the cover of the trees, their canopy shielding you from the moonlight and hopefully any following eyes.

But of course the creature chasing you doesn’t rely on their vision to find you. Before you walk another mile you can hear rapid footsteps and panting breaths behind you. Too scared to look around and risk another fall, you just run and jump and run even faster. The woods grow thicker, harder to navigate. You try to fish for your phone but when you finally pull it out, it slips from your grasp. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter but you keep running. You can’t stop. 

A familiar boulder appears somewhere in your peripheral vision and you wonder if you’re running in circles. You’re so lost. Even if the creature doesn’t get you, you’re doomed. But the thought is distant as a branch strikes you in the face like a whip. You run but more fallen branches block your path and as you try to jump, you get caught. 

A shriek tears from your throat, so loud and drawn-out that your voice gives out before it ends. The steps are so close now that you know you’re going to get caught any second now. Cowering, trying to get as small as possible, you slowly shift around, ready to beg for mercy. An enormous shadow sprints towards you and suddenly, a bright streak of moonlight falls through the trees. You cry out again as your eyes take in the sight: Spit-coated fangs, claws, thick rough fur on what you can only describe as a giant made of muscles and the horrors of the night. Its facial features look familiar, shaggy hair falling into its cruel eyes. Whatever it is has no merciful bone in its body, that much you can tell. This is your death, you realise. This is it. 

But before you feel the fangs sink into your skin or the claws tear you open, the monster loses balance. All you can see is a vague human-like figure pushing it aside into the shadows with a strength that is impossible to comprehend, two tall silhouettes wrestling for a moment before the huge hairy creature lets out a bone-chilling scream. The giant body slumps in on itself, lifeless, silent. You breathe in gasps, swallowing air that does nothing to calm you down. You fall over, sobbing silently in short-lived relief.

The monster is dead. But you’re not alone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Three weeks ago

“So, are you a big movie fan?” the stranger had asked you today when you served him his whiskey. He always orders something now, almost like knowing you serve him permanently changed his ’no thank you’-attitude. Whenever you bring him his order he asks you questions and you end up chatting with him for longer than you should.

“Oh, I like them, yes, but the reason I work here, if that’s why you’re asking, is that it’s one of the few jobs I can do on weekends that pays extra for night shifts.”

“So do you have a day job as well?” he asks, taking his first sip. He’s wearing all black today, black leather gloves, a black shirt and black tailcoat. The only pop of colour is a red rose that he has tugged into a buttonhole of his open jacket.

“Finishing off my degree,” you explain. “I don’t think I’ll work here after that.”

His brow furrows in surprise. “No?”

You chuckle. “No, it doesn’t pay that well. It doesn’t pay well at all, actually.”

“I see.” He turns the tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid twirling inside. “I have to say I am glad. I do not think he treats you well.”

You glance towards the door but Max seems to be busy behind the counter still. “He’s… okay.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “No, è un stronzo.”

The smirk that tugs at your lips is hard to shake off, especially with the way he rolls the R in the word. “Yeah, he is. But I have to pay rent and get groceries, so...”

“I understand.” Another sip, slow, barely coating his lips. “Fiore, I do wonder… what is it that you truly burn for? What would you do if no restrictive invention like money mattered?”

You take a deep breath and then you start to tell him about your real interests, your passions. He listens with the avid attention of someone who genuinely cares, who doesn’t just ask out of mere politeness. It’s addicting, the way his intense eyes are glued to your lips, how his whole body is angled into your direction. You get so lost in his gaze, in your explanation, that you forget yourself for a moment.

“Eh!” Max suddenly calls out from the doorway and you jump at the sound of his voice. “Come over for a second, will you?”

You reluctantly leave the stranger in his armchair with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your movie, sir.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you, fiorellino.”

Max watches you with a scowl, roughly pulling you aside as soon as you’re within reach. “Do I pay you for chitchat?”

“No, Max, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just what?” he snaps, clenching his jaw. “Flirting with the old men won’t get you higher tips, it only screams pathetic whore. You think he can still get it up?”

You stay silent, waiting for him to calm down enough to notice the impropriety of his words and actions. The urge to kick him is so hard to fight that you have to actively push your feet harder into the ground. Your fists ache with how hard you’re clenching them.

Eventually he simmers down, smoothing out his shirt as he clears his throat. “Anyway, you need to clean up again today. The cleaner still hasn’t shown up.”

“What happened?” you ask.

He shrugs but it’s an ingenuine, uncaring gesture. “Apparently she ran away or something. She’s been missing for a while.”

Missing? Wasn’t she anemic? Before you can ask any more questions he leaves you standing right there to start the movie. You head back to the register even though you know no other guests are going to be coming in tonight. For the whole duration of the movie, all you do is wait, scrolling on your phone from where you’re hiding it underneath the desk. No local news site is able to tell you anything about the missing cleaner other than the fact that she just left over night exactly a week ago and hasn’t been found ever since.

“Oh, did we miss the movie?”

You look up to see two men strolling into the lobby. They sway slightly, probably drunk, and smoke despite the big no-smoking sign at the entrance that’s impossible to miss. They look familiar in how unremarkable they appear, one is blond, the other one dark-haired, jeans and crumpled t-shirts betraying their status even though they move with the confident audacity only mediocre white men have.

“Yes, I’m sorry. The movie is almost over,” you say. “By the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here, sir.”

“Are you off soon, then, sweetheart?” the blond one asks, taking another drag of his cigarette

“No, I have to clean up.”

“Ah, cleaning up… whatever, can’t be that dirty in there, huh?” He grins. “Unless… we make it dirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty one!” the dark-haired man says. “That’s how you treat your customers?”

“You haven’t bought anything.”

They whistle almost in unison, though their tunes are slightly off-key. This is not the first time this happens, it’s not even the first time these exact men show up here and try to harass you.

“Come on, maybe you can show us where you keep the liquor?” the blond man asks. “Have a drink with us?”

“I don’t think so, sir. If you don’t want to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.” You try to stay polite, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”

He chuckles, tries to round the counter to touch you but there is a sudden shift in atmosphere. It’s almost like all of the warmth is sucked from the room, like the charged air of a thunderstorm is crackling inside its walls. The men seem to feel it too because they suddenly stop in their movements, giving each other nervous glances.

“You were asked to leave, signori, no?”

You look up to find your stranger entering the lobby. The movie must have ended because the lights are on again and he looks so menacing that even you feel a chill running down your spine. His white eye glimmers dangerously, the other one shimmering almost red now but it could be a trick of lighting. They’re narrowed, the skull paint and severity of his features giving him the air of a predator. When the blond man takes another step into your direction, out of spite or stupidity you’re not quite sure, the stranger is on him in a second. You’re surprised by how agile he appears in his age, wondering briefly if he just looks older than he is or if you’re just prejudiced. But the man backs away immediately, joining his buddy by the door. A second later Max enters as well from the backroom, looking mildly irritated but unbothered by the weird atmosphere as he slams the door shut.

“Any issues here?” he asks, taking in the two loiterers. 

The men slowly backtrack, holding up their arms in pretend innocence. While the dark-haired one slips out the door, the blond man lingers. “No issue, no. Just had a question about your schedule.”

Max gives a dismissive wave of his hand and when the man is finally gone, he turns to you. “Were you rude to our customers?”

“They weren’t customers,” you say defensively, angry that he’d even assume something like that. “They were drunks.”

“Hmpf.” He gives the stranger another glance, still unimpressed, then grabs his bag from under the counter. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget to clean and lock up.”

“Yeah, see you,” you say, trying to swallow the lump of anger in your throat.

As soon as Max is gone, the stranger’s whole demeanour changes. His expression softens and he reaches out, his hand hovering right by your arm. 

“You are alright, little flower?” he asks.

You nod but it’s hard to fight off the tears. Situations like that make you feel helpless and you hate it. Being at the mercy of these men is frustrating, especially with a boss who just lets it slide instead of protecting his employees. You could have handled the situation, you tell yourself, you’ve had to handle so many similar ones before, but it just feels so incredibly good that someone cares.

“I think so,” you finally choke out. “I just… This is not uncommon and I’m so fed up.”

“I understand,” he says. “Did these men bother you before?”

“Yeah, but other people as well. Even Max treats me like a piece of meat just because I’m young.”

There is a hidden anger in his face, a barely noticeable clench of his jaw, his brow slightly pulled together. You’re not scared anymore, though. The menacing energy he exudes is directed at something else, not you, and you can’t bring yourself to wonder how he manages to command a room like that.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks.

You nod and he reaches out, running a gloved hand up and down your arm in silent comfort. You take a step closer and he lifts his other hand as well, gently cradling your cheek. When a fat tear of anger falls from your eye he catches it, telling you it’s okay if you need to let it out. But you don’t cry, you don’t want to feel weak or fall into his arms like a sobbing child. Nevertheless, his comfort feels like a gentle hug, calming you so easily.

For a moment, he lets you breathe in the same air, a leather-clad thumb swiping over your cheekbone with a calming steadiness. You smile at him and he smiles back, so softly that not even the skull paint can hide the gentleness of his features.

“I have to clean up now,” you say. “Thank you for being here.”

He simply nods, slowly pulling away from you. Only when he’s gone and you smell a faint flowery scent do you notice that he’s tugged the rose from his jacket into your hair. You press it to your chest, right above your fluttering heart, and pray that he never stops coming back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Their blood tastes like shit. 

Not literally but it’s by far the worst he’s had in a while, certainly worse than that of the cleaning lady he’s been feeding on last month. Admittedly, he did not consider that losing her would prompt your boss to just make you work longer. At the time she was just an easy victim on his way home, sweet young blood that was easy to obtain, the blue veins shining through her pale skin like they were begging to be used. But as he cleans his jaw with a handkerchief, Primo thinks that perhaps he can linger after the movies now. Any more time with you, however long, is of immeasurable value to him.

A groan. Primo looks down at the man, the blond stronzo who tried to touch you. He feels no sympathy, no reluctance. Full moon rolls around in three weeks and if they happen to die before then… well, bad luck for his partner. Though he can’t say he’s very tempted to drink from them again with all the junk in their blood – cheap alcohol, so much nicotine and other poisons. Perhaps he should just end it now, they’re at his mercy in any case. But no, they deserve to be punished for what they did and he knows bleeding out is not a very painful death.

Primo is not a cruel man, he likes to think. The nature of his being prompts him to act cruelly sometimes for self-preservation but unlike some of his fellows he finds no enjoyment in the kill. Not anymore, not after his initial lust for blood was quenched centuries ago. Nevertheless, he has to admit that his obsession with you is testing those limits in ways he’s never felt before. For you, he thinks, he could turn into a killer.

A gurgle. The second man is starting to wake up and Primo decides to leave. He placed the wounds in unobtrusive spots, never using both fangs to puncture their skin, too obvious. They’re going to think they’re hungover and move on but he’s going to find them again, slowly drain them until the next full moon is here and they’ll find their demise in a different way.

Primo is not a killer, no, but he chooses the killer’s victims.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You’re frozen in your spot amongst the thicket, branches and rocks digging into your body, the throbbing pain in your arm slowly spreading out. The sight before you is absurd. A giant dead body, a monster, a… a werewolf? You can’t bring yourself to properly think the word and yet you know that’s what it is. Not that it matters anymore. The smell of death mixes in with the earthy scent of the woods and spreads out in the air around you. The second figure hovers above the body for as long as it takes you to gather your thoughts. Why, you cannot tell. Are they shocked by their actions? Making sure the creature is really dead? There seems to be a hesitation in their every movement as they slowly back away and move into your direction, their frame blurring with the surrounding darkness.

“Stand back,” you yell. “Don’t come closer!”

Your voice is high-pitched, unrecognisable in its trembling state, hoarse from screaming into the emptiness around you. Your fear has your senses heightened and every snap of a twig, every howl of the wind makes you flinch. The being before you now is smaller than the one before, human-shaped if your eyes don’t betray you. The canopy is so thick here, the trees surrounding you so close to one another that you struggle to see anything. And yet you can feel them moving.

“Stop,” you yell again. “Fucking stop!”

A sudden sliver of light catches their face and you can see two glowing eyes, the one that you know as a deep green shimmering red like it did in the lobby of the theatre the night the two men harassed you and the other one is still as white as bone. “It’s okay, fiore mio. You’re safe now,” he says and you immediately recognize the Italian accent, the nickname. “I’m here to help you.” 

You slump in on yourself, not quite relieved but still a little calmer.

It’s him. It’s your stranger.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Two weeks ago

“It’s nothing personal,” Max says. “But I’m losing money here.”

You nod like you understand. You do understand, just not why it has to be now of all times, so close to when you would have been done anyway. A few more months.

“Just not enough people coming in,” he continues. “And the old guy doesn’t pay that much no matter how often you flirt him up.”

Again, all you can do is nod. Your boss wants to cancel the night showings and lay you off. Supposedly, no other shifts are in need of any more people and he can’t keep you on. It’s a cheap excuse, you know it is.

“So, I’m off then,” he says. “You can manage on your own one last time, right?”

You nod at him once again, watching him whistling a merry tune and twirling his keys on a finger on his way out. The tears come only after you hear his car driving off. You have no idea how to find another weekend job for the next few months and the sheer surprise of his decision has your stomach in knots. If he’d at least given you some time to prepare…

“Buonasera, fiore. Can I… uhm…” You look up into the stranger’s eyes, trying to wipe at your tears but it’s too late, his expression has already changed into what you can only assume is pity. “Scusi, is this a bad time? Can I help you, perhaps?”

“I’m so sorry… I just… Ugh, Max wants to cancel the late night screenings,” you explain, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I guess this is our last night here.”

“Cancel?”

You sniffle, your voice scratchy when you speak next. “Well, as you may have noticed, you’re kind of our only guest.”

The stranger takes your hand, soft leather pulling you from the desk and towards one of the run-down couches in the waiting area. He’s so gentle when he beckons you to his side, never letting go of your hand.

“He wants to fire you, sì?” 

You nod, staring at your intertwined hands against the velvet upholstering of the couch. His thumb draws lazy circles into your skin, his hand so big it almost swallows yours. You want him to swallow you as well, his whole body wrapped around yours, engulfing you with his safety – but you’re not sure that you could ask him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not your problem. I mean, you’ll lose your weekend activities but I’m sure you can just get Netflix or something.”

“Netflix?”

You look up with a smile. “Or… I don’t know, buy a DVD.”

The stranger smiles back, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “Now, my little flower, do you really think I am just here for the movies?”

When your eyes meet it’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum. You don’t know whether to focus on his white iris or the burning need that’s visible in his green eye. The decision is taken from you when he leans in and captures your mouth in a kiss. You reciprocate without hesitation and yet he’s holding back, a suppressed moan bubbling in his throat, despite the tenderness of his lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You press against him, opening your lips for him, and then the moan finally spills out as his tongue vibrates against yours. His free hand pushes into your hair and settles at the back of your head, angling your face in whichever way he wants to taste you. His lips feel surprisingly cold just like his cheek as you bring a hand up to touch him. The makeup smears under your fingers, at your jaw, mingling with your spit.

And yet it’s not enough, not until you’re half in his lap, until his hands roam your body with reverent desperation, searching, exploring. The kiss never loses momentum. He sucks in a breath and you push your tongue into his mouth, running it along his upper lip until you can feel his teeth. You frown into the kiss when you feel something pointy, pulling your tongue back, but there is no time to think before he sucks at your bottom lip. A sharp sting as he punctures your flesh with his teeth. He moans as the taste of your blood settles between your joined lips, sucking whatever he can into his mouth. You allow him to drink you in, offering yourself up in a way you haven’t done with anyone else before.

There is a moment in which you think, hope, that it never ends. But then he pulls away and you gasp for air. You stare at him, traces of red blood fuzing into the grey smears around his mouth. He’s a mess, equal to how you feel, but his eyes are focused, his gaze sharp.

“Do you want to see the movie?” you ask, hoping he’ll say no, hoping he’ll just take you away.

But he just chuckles, his hands slowly disappearing from your body until you slump into the soft cushions on the couch.

“Actually, I think I have to leave early tonight,” he says. “I will see you next week, fiore mio. Please, per favore, do not worry about your job, I will set things right.”

You want to ask what he means, if he’s going to talk to Max for you, but before you realise that he’s leaving, before you even finish blinking, he’s already gone. Furrowing your brow, you walk outside and enter a clear moonless night. Your flushed face soaks up the cool air and you look around, searching feverishly, but there is no sign of your stranger. You expect to see him along the sidewalk, perhaps he’s in one of the cars getting ready, but even after a few more minutes none of them roar to life. Nothing disrupts the soft silence of your sleeping small town and you shake your head in wonder as you make your way back inside, the metallic taste of your blood still lingering on your tongue.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo is livid, furious in a way that he hasn’t felt in close to a hundred years. You are not part of their deal and yet this feels like a violation of conduct. Making you cry should be a criminal offense and he wants him to pay for it, in what currency Primo is not sure yet. He knows he can’t let his anger win but when he smells the creature from two streets away, even in his human form, he’s ready to sink his teeth into his throat. And of course he finds him in a nearby bar, nursing a beer while he watches football videos on his phone without a care in the world.

“You won’t fire them,” Primo spits out.

Max looks up in pretend confusion. “Huh?”

“You heard me, stronzo.”

“Your little flower?” He pouts, mocking him, then huffs out a laugh. “It’s business, man.”

“The job is important,” Primo says calmly, trying not to get too riled up. “A few more months.”

“Cry me a river. Just do with them what you want, fuck them, suck them dry. Whatever gets your blood pumping, Count Dracula.” A sardonic smirk. “Oh oops, I forgot.”

Primo won’t be provoked, not from the likes of him. “You’ll give them time,” he says calmly. “Or I have to rethink this… agreement.”

Max sighs in annoyance. “Fine. A little longer. And don’t think I haven’t smelled you on those two assholes yet. I only get to feast once a month and I expect the vampire to have better taste, that’s why I agreed to this in the first place.”

“I do have taste,” Primo says. “And we both know that’s not the reason or why are you sitting here all alone, lupetto, eh?”

Max snarls but says nothing to this painful reminder. Primo doesn’t feel bad. Their agreement serves the sole purpose of attracting less attention and would not work if Max wasn’t an outcast. Their solitariness saves them and keeps their peace intact. For now.

Primo leaves with an aching heart, hoping the werewolf stays true to his word. He comes back to the cinema only to see that you got done in the meantime and left. It’s not like he actually planned to continue what you started earlier but he really wants to catch another glimpse of you, see how you’re feeling after what happened.

He finds you two streets away, hurrying home even faster than usual. You’re scared, he can tell immediately as he hears your rapid heartbeat, the blood rushing through your body like a raging river. Since the two men tried to corner you you’ve been especially on edge. He knows it’s because you expect them to try again and he wishes he could tell you that they won’t, that he’s watching over you, that he’s been slowly draining them ever since despite the awful taste of their blood. He can handle it, he can handle anything if it’s for you. 

Only for you. 

Primo relaxes after he sees you closing the door to your apartment and your heartbeat slows down. That’s when he leaves – always. He’s promised himself that he never lingers, that he doesn’t stalk or overstep, only makes sure you get home safely after your shifts. Tonight, it’s harder to leave. He can still taste you on his tongue and what a taste it is. Never before has he savoured blood quite so sweet, quite so rich in aroma, and the violent hunger inside of him tries to keep him by your house for more. 

But the kiss was a mistake to begin with and he’s not sure yet how to proceed because he never expected you to respond quite so enthusiastically to his advances. Of course he could immediately tell that you wanted him, the smell and taste of your excitement so overpowering that it cut off any reasonable thought while it happened. He hasn’t lost control of himself like that in over two hundred years and now he set things in motion that may cost him this precious connection that he has with you if he’s not careful.

For now, however, he allows himself this small pleasure and lets the happy, giddy feeling settle in his hollow chest. If he wasn’t aware that he was a few centuries old he would promptly assume that he’s a lovestruck teenager. And he could get used to it, he realises, because with you he’s quite ready to start this empty life all over again and fill it with everything that he’s been missing.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

“You’re a vampire,” you state, twigs and stones digging into your butt but you feel to weak to stand up.

The stranger approaches you slowly like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to tame, the roles reversed now in your agitation and his calmness. “I am, sì.”

The urge to back away, to run for your life, continues to simmer in your belly but you fight it because you know there is no escape now. You want to trust him but you feel like you’re in a fever dream. It has to be a hallucination, maybe you were drugged at work today, maybe you inhaled the fume of some rare mushroom when you fell.

Your eyes meet the dead creature again. “Is he-”

“Yes, Max is dead.”

“Max?” Your shrill voice betrays your shock. “My boss?”

“Yes.” He sounds oddly calm, not like he just killed a werewolf. “Please, allow me to take you home with me.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, my little flower. I want to look at your scrapes and cuts. Allow me, please.”

You hesitate, even as you see the shape of his outstretched hand, the same black leather gloves now ripped and torn, revealing slivers of his pale skin.

“I understand you don’t… trust me,” he says. “But I promise, I will explain everything to you in as much detail as you want and then you can decide for yourself. I just want to make sure you are okay first.”

You swallow, your throat still painfully sore from screaming. “Are you going to… I don’t know, drink from me? Eat me?”

“I will not eat you. And I will not drink from you either,” he says. “All I want is to look after you.”

You suck in a deep breath, ready to collapse on the forest floor. He could lure you into a trap, he could have been plotting this for weeks now, and yet you still feel the butterflies in your belly stirring at the sound of his voice, your body aching to be with his, even now in its weak state. Reluctantly, you place your mud-smeared hand in his and when he lifts you up with ease, his arms wrap around you tightly. You have no strength to lift your arms but you let him hug you anyway, slumping against his frame.

And perhaps you’ve lost your mind. Perhaps you should use the opportunity to kick him, to fight, but instead you start to sob into his shoulder. The world you thought you knew comes crashing down around you and he holds you through it, whispering that it’s going to be alright.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

One week ago

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The week passes slowly but you do get a text message from Max telling you he’s extending your employment for as long as it takes you to find a new job. You have no idea how your stranger convinced him but you never wanted to get back to work so urgently before – to thank him, to ask if there is a chance that you could see him outside of this place. 

Any thought you can spare is spent thinking back to your kiss, extending it in your mind for hours and hours, exploring the fantasy alone in your bed at night with your hand between your legs. You ignore any of the worries that this intimate moment conjured up. So what if the stranger has a bit of a blood kink and conveniently sharp teeth? You certainly don’t mind doing it again. He can bite you wherever he wants, you realise, and you’d gladly let him suck on the wound.

He’s back Friday night and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not ghosting you after his sudden disappearance last week. Maybe it’s because of your intense crush on him but you swear he looks more beautiful tonight than ever before. His long blond hair is shiny and smooth as it falls into his face, the paint more pristine than usual. He’s wearing his usual black slacks but today he paired it with a deep red shirt under a black tailcoat with a red pattern of embroidered roses. His tall, slender frame leans against the counter as he regards you with a smile.

“So, what am I watching tonight?” he asks.

“Hitchcock,” you say. “The Birds. Max is a big fan.”

“Hm, I haven’t watched that one since it premiered,” he says and then he removes his gloves. You watch as he slides his now bare hand over the counter until it touches yours. 

“Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t born yet back then.”

“No, fiore.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His skin is cold and pale and wrinkly, the lines and bumps revealing a map of his life that you can’t wait to explore. His long fingers slide under yours, surprisingly sharp black nails raking over your palm until he holds you comfortably. They look almost manicured, his hand dwarfing yours as he closes it. “You’re such a young thing and yet our souls have found such a deep connection, no?”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, a fondness in them that makes your heart beat faster. As if he can feel it, the corners of his painted mouth curl upwards into a smirk until you can see the crow’s feet under his eyes deepen despite the dark paint. 

“Yes,” you finally say. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to–”

You’re interrupted by the door to the backroom opening. You jump, pulling your hand from his as you see Max casting you a curious glance. He’s been in a bad mood all evening so you’re not taking any risks tonight.

You cough. “Ugh, here’s your ticket, sir. Enjoy the movie.”

The stranger doesn’t seem offended by your reaction. Instead he smiles at you, accepting the ticket from your shaky hand. “Grazie, fiore. I will let you know if I enjoyed it.”

As he leaves for the screening room he doesn’t even look at Max. You remain frozen behind the counter, watching his elegant form with a rapidly beating heart. Mindlessly clenching the hand he just held in his, you desperately hope you get to ask your question later.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The werewolf won’t leave earlier tonight. As he lets the movie run in the background, only vaguely paying attention, Primo listens for any signs. It looks like he has to sit it out today, though, even as his patience slowly wears thin. One more week until full moon, so Max must be getting antsy, and Primo made sure to keep the prey alive despite his protests in the bar. Every time he feeds from them, he is tempted to bite into an artery instead of a vein, watch them bleed out, not even drinking their blood. But having Max go hungry will piss him off and since he is already aware of you, Primo can’t risk not providing him with any easier targets.

After the movie concludes, Primo lingers but he doesn’t spot you in the foyer. When Max finally heads out he sees no reason not to look for you and conveniently, the only place you could be at is especially private.

The backroom houses a tiny kitchenette and two desks for computers with displays that are already black. You’re standing in front of the open door of a supply closet to gather your cleaning materials when he approaches soundlessly.

“Don’t be scared,” he says from a safe distance. “It is just me, fiore.”

You spin around, your beautiful face lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello.”

“I owe you the money for the ticket,” he says. “You never gave me a chance to pay.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry… It’s not… I’m not embarrassed or anything, it’s just that Max…”

“Oh, it is quite alright, fiore mio, I know.”

A grateful smile. You don’t flinch when he steps in front of you, taking your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your palm. How lovely you are, Primo thinks, a pure, honest sort of beauty that he doesn’t deserve but wants with every fibre of his ancient being. He could show you a whole new world of pleasure and he knows it’s always the quiet ones who are so proficient in the art of sin. 

“I was hoping I would have some more time with you,” you say and he perks up.

“Were you?”

“The kiss…” A hint of red dusting your cheeks as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I really enjoyed it.”

Primo can’t help but smile. “Me too, my little flower. Perhaps we should try it again?”

He can hear your heartbeat quickening at his words, can feel your skin heating up with the rush of your blood. Even now he is surprised by the evidence of your returned affections, struck by how perfect you are for him, your trust just another sign of hope that you can find it in you to love him back if he allows you to.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says and then he effortlessly pulls you into his arms. To his surprise, you kiss him first, standing on your tiptoes and melting into his body. Your mouth is insistent, soft and sweet and so eager for him. Primo’s hands explore the shape of your body, memorising your curves for eternity. Impatient now, he pulls you over to the kitchenette that consists of nothing but a mirror over a sink with a few cupboards housing a coffee machine and snacks. There is enough space for what he’s planning to do, though, and he grabs you tightly before he removes his tongue from your mouth.

He can’t see his own image in the old silvered mirror as he hoists you up but he can see the dips of his fingers in your ass as it hits the counter. You hold onto his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and chin. He skips your neck, skips the temptation, and drags his mouth down your chest instead, ripping the button of your shirt open as he goes. No complaint leaves your lips, only soft gasps and tiny whimpers. Primo pauses to pull at his gloves and then at your pants and then at your underwear, impatient, urgent, until he can finally feel your hot skin burning against his fingertips. Goosebumps form where his cold hands touch you and you shiver against his palms.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

He knows what you’re begging for and under different circumstances he might make you beg  until your voice gives out but with the smell of your arousal in his nose there is really no way he can hold back now. His hands on your hips pull you to the edge of the counter and he kneels between your thighs, placing two open-mouthed kisses that leave blotchy grey marks. Your eyes are half-lidded, hazy with lust as he gazes up at you and that’s enough to break his resolve. As he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, your head lolls back in pleasure. You’re so hot, so sensitive, reacting to even the softest of stimulations, and it’s addicting in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You cling to the edge of the counter as his mouth works on you with violent passion, urging you higher and higher with his lips and his tongue, carefully avoiding his teeth. The taste of your arousal is so intoxicating that he can’t stop himself from moaning and he can feel a shudder tearing through your body. Primo increases his pace and you move your hips as well, following his rhythm and chasing your pleasure without shame.

You cum with a scream. Your hand digs into his hair, tugging, holding on with surprising force and it’s the most delicious pain he’s ever felt. He runs his fingers through your cum, licking them clean with a soft hum as he tastes you once again. But he needs more, he needs so much more–

“Do you want to come home with me?” you ask breathlessly as he gets up from his knees, the pain in his joints distracting him momentarily. “Spend the rest of the night?”

He looks at you in surprise but then a soft smile forms on his face. You’re so eager, so fearless. “You should be careful who you invite into your home,” he says. “You may find yourself hosting guests other’s would not deem welcome.”

You huff out a laugh. “What, like the devil?”

A chuckle and he presses a kiss to your forehead, longing to feel your warm skin on his cool lips again. “I wish I could, fiorellino, but I’m afraid my schedule is a little different from yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have to do this another time,” he explains, despite the painful tightness in his pants. “Preferably, I want to invite you to dinner. I don’t like that we did this in here, it is not very… classy. Maybe next Saturday?”

“Oh, okay sure,” you say, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “Of course.”

He stands to his full height, his frame towering above yours and it takes him every ounce of self-control not to just take you right here. You’re pliant, needy for him in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, and while it tempts him to no end he suddenly becomes painfully aware of his responsibility. He needs to get your full consent before he gives in to a possible relationship with you. But right now is not the moment to tell you what he is.

“This… this is not you turning me down, right?” you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh no, tesorino, this is just the start of what I want to do with you and now that I got a taste, I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

You smile, the bliss of your high still evident on your face, and he rubs your thighs in small circles for a moment, the softness of your skin a gentle reminder of how fragile you are. Primo leans in to kiss you and fights a grin when you lick into his mouth to taste yourself. Maybe not so fragile, he thinks, maybe your hunger matches his after all.

“I will see you next Saturday, fiore mio,” he says. “I’ll be here to pick you up and we can dine at my home.”

You nod tiredly and he feels bad for leaving you like this after what just transpired. He can smell your cum on his fingers even as he waits for you to finish work and probably will for the next few days. But Primo needs to collect his thoughts. This is the start of something big, something messy, and now that he tampered with the forces there is no going back. The regret that comes with it is excruciating. He can invite you to dinner, treat you like you’re the stars in the night sky, make love to you until you both pass out in exhausted bliss – but it won’t change what he is. And what he is might scare you off. The thought pains him but he tries to cling to the small shimmering light of hope inside his heart that perhaps you can accept him.

Until he figures out the logistics of having you over for dinner without giving you the scare of a lifetime, he decides to keep away from you. The temptation is too strong now, his need, his hunger, a quickly expanding black-hole inside of him that might eat you alive if he’s not careful. 

His resolve is strong, he tells himself, and it remains strong all week. Well, that is until he sees you running into the woods a mere day before your date, chased by a starving werewolf.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

He lives in the old castle at the edge of town.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise but as he carries you through candle-lit hallways and multiple small chambers, old is the last thing that comes to your mind. Everything looks well-kept, orderly, the old-fashioned style of his attire translating to the interior as well. You never stay in any room for too long, the castle so big that you have to climb several staircases until you reach another long hallway. Several men in black hooded robes that look like monk’s habits pass you on your way. They don’t turn into your direction as you pass, some of them carry books, some carry laundry.

“Who are these men?” you ask.

“They’re my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t ask any further questions but cling to your stranger’s neck even though there is no need to. You’re safe in his arms, his strength limitless, and he does not seem tired even as you finally enter a chamber that appears to be his bedroom. Big arched windows make up one whole wall of the room and a double glass door that seems to lead to a balcony. The only light source is the full moon outside, casting milky white rays through the old windows. A huge wooden bed with silky white sheets dominates the room from the centre, most of the old hardwood flooring covered by a burgundy rug with a floral pattern, two chests of drawers lining the opposite wall as well as a desk covered in what seems to be his correspondence.

“You’re safe here, my flower,” he says as he sets you down on the bed. “I promise.”

You sit, watch him as he kneels down beside you. His face is nothing but kind, so full of concern and affection, but you can’t help but feel out of place. Knowing what he is now, while it doesn’t change the core of your feelings, still circles in your mind and you have to fight your disbelief.

“You still hesitate?” he asks.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, fiore, I do no such thing.” He takes your hand, covering it with his broad ones. “I would not abuse your trust, even if I could. And we have trust, no?”

“I feel like I can trust you,” you admit, tears of overwhelm pricking your eyes. “But I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Primo.”

You exhale and let the word roll off your tongue. “Primo.”

He smiles at the sound of it, a soft, recognising smile, as if he hasn’t been called by that name in a long time. “All I ask is that you let me look after you right now, sì? I will explain and we can talk in depth later, amore.”

“Amore?”

His brow softens, giving his smile a sad quality. “My affections for you have not changed. Though I do fear that yours might have.”

You shake your head at him but before you can say anything profound, two of the black hooded ghouls enter the room. Another one joins right after, rolling a big copper bathtub inside, and you don’t even question their magic when they lift their arms and the tub fills with water. One of the other ghouls lifts his hands as well and suddenly the water starts to steam. The third ghoul places a piece of soap and a washcloth on a nearby stool, then hangs a soft-looking cotton bathrobe over the edge before they all leave without uttering a single word.

Primo helps you out of your shirt and you gasp when you see the blood covering your forearm. The bleeding has stopped but the scrape is still burning, the pain a distant throb. When he sees it, his gaze hardens but he just leads you to stand without any commentary, helping you undress, radiating tension and concern.

“It is okay that I am here?” he asks when he sees you unbutton your pants.

You nod in reply. After everything that happened you can’t say that you feel very embarrassed being naked in front of him and you feel safer in his presence, safer when he helps you. 

The water is scalding and you have to take a moment to get used to it before you can fully let the heat ease the tension you hadn’t even noticed before. Primo pulls up a chair, sitting right by your head, and picks up the cloth. You watch his brow furrow in concentration when he cleans your cuts and scrapes and his eyes meet yours a few times throughout, gazing at you with barely hidden hope. You want to tell him that your feelings are the same, if not stronger, but you can’t find it in you to disturb the silence with anything other than the occasional hiss when he touches a painful spot. It feels too fresh still, too many uncertainties plaguing your mind.

Once you’re clean and the water has cooled significantly, Primo helps you out and immediately wraps the soft cotton robe around you. As you sit back down on the bed, he walks over to his desk and fetches a small brown leather bag. Inside, you find multiple small vials in different colours and an antiseptic that looks just like any modern ones. He uses a cotton pad to clean out your wound before he grabs one of the small bottles, holding it out for you to see.

“Let me apply this to your cut,” he says. “It’s a tonic, it will help you heal.”

You roll up your sleeve to grant him access. “So, are you a healer of some sort?”

“Well, I am more of a pharmacist.” He chuckles and lets a small amount of the white liquid drop onto your arm. “Not a doctor.”

“It feels good,” you admit, the cool tincture sticks to your wound, easing the pain.

Primo smiles and wraps a bandage around your arm, tight but not too tight, like he’s done it a hundred times before. You can’t help but stare at him, his eyes and his whole face so beautiful and mesmerising, barely hiding his emotions in the depths of his features. When he catches your gaze, he tugs his hair behind his ear like he’s flustered and you spot a small cut above his left brow.

“He got you as well,” you say, grabbing a new cotton pad and reaching out for his face.

“It’s nothing, it will be gone within the hour,” he replies but he still lets you clean the scratch with careful dabs. “I suppose that I am not as powerful as I need to be to truly protect you.”

“What do you mean? You seemed very powerful to me earlier.”

“I am not ugh… how do you say? In my best years.”

You furrow your brow. “I always thought vampires stayed young forever.”

“Well, you see, I was turned well into my old age. I am not as strong and agile as someone who is born with it or turned earlier in their life,” he explains. “Usually, vampires do not like old blood, they prefer the young and healthy. But mine was… very hungry and very cruel.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Is it painful to talk about this?”

“No, fiore mio, this was many centuries ago.” He regards you with caution, letting his eyes roam your body for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” You reach out for his hand again, fiddling with his long, spindly fingers. “So are we… I mean, do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes, I do.” 

“But we won’t…”

“No, I will not touch you intimately again before we speak,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “But perhaps you need some rest before we do. You can sleep in my bed, amore. The sheets are fresh.”

The exhaustion is too strong to fight for much longer, he’s right in that, and you crawl under the sheets, careful not to strain your arm. The silky material feels cool and soft against your skin but you keep the robe on for some warmth. Primo sits by your side, watching you with the fascination of a scientist observing the bacteria in his petri dish. You wonder when he last spent time with a human like this, if he was ever intimate with a human before, but that is a question for another time.

Instead you smile at him. “Do you want to join me? Or do vampires not rest?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I would really like you to hold me,” you admit.

He visibly fights off a happy smile as he rounds the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s only in his pants and his white frilly shirt. Hesitating at the edge of the bed he pulls off the shirt as well and you can’t help but stare as he reveals his pale chest to you, speckled with light grey hair that runs all the way down to his waistband. He’s slender, bony around his ribs but with muscular shoulders and a soft belly, his slightly saggy skin the only real sign of his body’s physical age. You wonder how long he has now looked exactly like that. Centuries he’d said but that is a surreal thought you don’t quite grasp.

When he finally joins you in bed, you sink into his embrace, feeling his cool skin against your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. It’s odd, the quiet, the lack of a heartbeat, but with his fingers running along your spine, his nails scratching softly against your skin, you’re lulled to sleep in no time.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You wake up in cold sweat – and alone. The bed is empty but you immediately spot Primo with a glance through the wide arched windows. He’s right outside the now open double doors you saw earlier, wearing a heavy, dark red robe, his blond hair softly swaying in the wind. You rise from the silken sheets and grab his wide shirt that lies as a puddle on the floor. The frills cover your hands when you slip it on and it’s long enough to cover you, his smell still clinging to the fabric and tickling your nose as you breathe in the fresh night air. 

The doors don’t lead to a balcony like you initially assumed but to a small garden, surrounded by the castle walls and illuminated by the full moon. You have no idea how long you slept but it seems to be the middle of the night. You don’t take the time to fully admire the garden, instead wrapping your arms around Primo and burying your face in his back.

“Oh fiore, did I wake you?” he asks, covering your hands with his.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Come here.”

He wraps you up in his robe, pressing you tightly to his chest. You feel his lips ghosting over your forehead, then he presses them more firmly to your temple. His skin feels smooth and you turn your head enough to take in the surrounding area.

“What were you admiring?” you ask, your eyes caught on a plant that’s blooming despite the lack of daylight, long white blossoms opening themselves towards the night sky.

“Datura,” Primo explains. “They call it the devil’s trumpet. Highly poisonous. Many night-blooming plants are but of course they offer more to see to me than others.”

You smile. “The rose you gave me, was it from your garden as well?”

“Yes.”

He hugs you tighter and the pressure on your arm brings back enough pain to make you hiss in surprise. Primo tenses and you look up, only to find him staring at you with his brows drawn together. His anger isn’t directed at you and yet you feel a hint of anxiety. You know you won’t like the conversation you’re stearing towards.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You’re hurt because of me.”

You raise a hand to his cheek. “No, no, it’s not. He attacked me.”

“But he attacked you because of my carelessness,” Primo says, leaning into your touch but avoiding your gaze. “I marked you. When we first kissed, I bit your lip and marked you.”

“Marked me for what?”

He swallows as his eyes finally meet yours. “We had an agreement.”

“An agreement? To… to kill people?”

“No, I don’t do the killing,” Primo says. “It is not my style. I am too old for carnage, amore. Or at least I thought I was.”

You furrow your brow, his explanation not helping you understand what he means. “So what is the whole deal with Max?”

“He was a werewolf,” Primo explains. “We ugh… we had this pact, I want to say. My victims, I don’t kill them, I just drink what I need and he… he gets the rest. He can smell me on them, so he knows who to target once he turns and loses most of his rational thinking. When I bit your lip, I must have marked you without my intent.”

You feel your blood rushing through your body now. “So what, he kills your victims?”

“He eats them, sì.”

“So the guys who…” You swallow hard, balling your hands to fists against his chest. “The guys who harassed me who never came back, the cleaner who disappeared… did you…”

“I never said I am innocent. But I did not kill them.” He takes your hand, softly uncurls your fingers before he looks at you with so much sadness that your heart shatters in your chest. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore now. I know it is a lifestyle you have to condemn but it is the only way I survive.”

You feel tears welling in your eyes, uncertain whether you can accept the man you love harming other people like this. Of course it keeps him alive but handing them over to be killed is not very different from actually killing them. There has to be a different way, a way without murder.

“If we… if we were together… could you just drink from me instead?” you ask. “No more innocent people?”

“Have you ever donated blood, fiore? They will not let you give it too often, half a litre every three months.” He pauses, smiling sadly as he squeezes your hand. “That is to say… you do not produce blood fast enough. I would either starve or kill you.”

“But you could drink from me? And perhaps a bit from someone else and no one has to die?”

He nods. “I can but you might not like it, you might regret agreeing to this.”

“Try me.”

Primo furrows his brow. “Try you?”

“Show me what it’s like. How does it work? You bite my neck and suck?”

He shakes his head. “I will puncture your vein and drink until the bleeding stops.”

“You won’t suck?”

“Not when it’s you. I will just drink what spills out,” he explains. “Sucking would make the wound very bad, it would hurt you more, even though it is faster and gives me more of you.”

“It’s… it’s okay if you want to suck,” you say. “I want you to do it to satisfy you.”

“No, not this time, but thank you, amore.” A deep sigh as he relents to your request. “Va bene, but if we try this we have to go inside.”

Primo calls one of the ghouls as you settle back in bed and tells him to get you some fruit and a sweet drink for later. You’re buzzing, partly with anxiety but partly with sheer excitement. You remember the intense pleasure you felt when he bit your lip and wonder if this is going to be a similar experience.

As soon as the ghoul is gone again, Primo settles in bed behind you, ridding you of your robe and pulling you between his legs as soon as you are naked. You hold onto his thighs, the fabric of his black slacks rough against your palms.

“I will stop if you tell me to,” he whispers against your ear. “We go easy, I will not drink too much, yes?”

“Yes.” 

You sink against his solid chest, unclenching your muscles. His fingers run along your neck, brushing any stray hairs aside and gently positioning your head how he wants it. A moment passes before you feel his lips trailing over the exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to the tendon at your neck that make you shiver.

“Relax,” he mumbles. “No sudden movements, amore.”

You try your best to follow. Primo positions his mouth so very carefully that you almost anticipate the bite. His fangs poke at your skin and he gently increases the pressure until you can feel them puncturing it. The pain is not unexpected but you’re still surprised by the impact, moaning softly. His hands grab at your thighs, a deep groan leaving his throat that vibrates against your skin. You can hardly feel the blood leaving you with how tightly his mouth is attached to the violated skin. At some point, you can feel his tongue swiping along the curve and his grip tightens, long fingers digging into your flesh.

The more he drinks, the more he’s stirring behind you and then he’s suddenly rutting against you in his chase for more friction. You can feel his hard cock against your lower back and you can’t help but grind back against him. Primo stops to moan, his hands roaming your form all the way over your hips and up to your chest. His cold fingers feel heavenly against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Drinking from your… from your love can be a very intense, intimate feeling.”

You hum in agreement and his tongue laps at your neck again, leaving a wet trail all the way from your shoulder to your ear before he attaches his mouth to the wound. He doesn’t drink for long before his hips buck again. Subconsciously, you follow the movements, gripping his thighs so tightly that your fingertips dig into the firm muscles.

“Can you feel it, fiore? Can you feel how our bodies long to become one?”

You only whimper in reply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as a sick sort of pleasure tears through you, a throbbing need settling in your core.

“I want you,” he says, his voice resonating deep inside of you. “I want you, my love. Will you let me have you?”

“Please,” you whine.

His mouth leaves you altogether. The bleedings has mostly stopped, his spit and your blood cooling against your skin in the still brisk air. Primo slips out from beneath you, urgently pushing the red robe off his shoulders and his pants from his legs before his weight pushes you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his now bare cock digging into your thigh, and you moan when his bare skin touches yours. He feels warmer now, not hot but definitely more… alive. 

“You are the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” he says and it’s beautifully grotesque, those pretty words leaving such a feral creature after he just drank from you, his face still showing the evidence of his attack. 

Your heart clenches with unspoken love for him.

You lift your hand to his jaw, dark red blood dripping from his open mouth and onto your chest. He’s breathing heavily with his fangs bared to you, staring at you in wonder as you cradle his cheek and run your thumb over his skin. His eyes close and there is something so heartbreakingly intimate about the way he’s melting into your touch. A predator, a being who spent centuries on this earth, who hurt and fought and killed for you softens at the mere touch of your fingertips. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him in this moment and you already know that you won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to be his.

Primo shifts sideways, moving one of his hands between your legs. He probes at your entrance, slowly stretching you open until he can slide two of his fingers into you, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back, every muscle in his face clenching. But he holds your gaze, watching your lips part as he curls his fingers, fucking into you until you’re whimpering with every thrust.

“Primo,” you whine.

He nods like understands your need for more but he doesn’t stop yet. Running your hand over his jaw you collect all the blood and spit around his mouth that you can get and reach down to find his hard cock. He gasps at the contact, more blood spilling from his lips and pooling between your bodies. You pump a few times, spreading the wetness, and he unravels, hips bucking into your hand as he moans.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t hold back.”

His pupils dilate and he removes his fingers from you, gathering more blood from your chest to spread on his cock. He aligns himself and slowly pushes in, watching as he his length disappears inside of you. The stretch is incredible. You keen when he bottoms out, one of your hands fisting his hair and then he finally kisses you. The metallic taste of your blood startles you at first but then you can’t help but want more of it, pushing your tongue into his mouth. Primo won’t indulge you for long before you can feel him losing his restraint, battling for dominance over your mouth. He sucks at your tongue as his hips start to move, slow thrusts at first but he quickly loses patience. 

His mouth slips from yours as he speeds up, leaving a mess of drool, face paint and cooling blood behind. He drives himself into you without holding back, just like you wanted, his gasps and moans filling your ears over the sound of his wet skin meeting yours. You tug at his hair, wrapping your legs tightly around him to get even closer, spreading the blood all over your bodies. Primo nibbles at your jaw, not breaking the skin but running his teeth along the edge before they settle at your neck again.

“I want more,” he growls against your skin. “I need more, amore mio, please. J-just a little bit.”

In reply, you angle your head to expose your neck to him. He immediately latches on, sucking the wound back open. He was right, it hurts more this time and perhaps it’s a figment of your imagination but you can feel your blood rushing out of you in a way that is dizzying, intoxicating. Everything feels more intense now, the deep thrusts, his sharp nails digging into your flesh, the throaty moans in your ear as he drinks.

You clench around him and the orgasm hits you without warning. You cry out in pleasure, raking your nails down his back as you ride out your high with a few rolls of your hips. Primo falters, his hips stuttering into yours as he approaches his own release. His mouth leaves your neck with a pop and he pants desperately. You’re overcome with emotion when you hear his needy sounds, when you feel him twitching inside of you, so close to letting go. The last few drops of your warm blood run down your clavicle as the wound slowly closes, stopping right at your heart.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I love you, Primo.”

He shudders, his cock jumping wildly inside of you before he freezes, spilling his seed with a deep, drawn-out groan. You hold him through his high, stroking his hair and back. He gives two more slow pumps, drawing out your pleasure until he collapses on top of you.

“I love you, fiore,” he mumbles, then he props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. “I love you.”

A surprisingly gentle kiss. A hand caressing your wet cheeks. Primo rolls you onto your sides and you can feel your mingled cum, blood and sweat glueing your bodies together. It’s messy and sticky but you’re not ready to let him go either. His gaze falls to your bruised neck and he frowns, grazing the skin with his thumb until you groan in pain.

Primo shakes his head in displeasure. “I am sorry, amore. I made it worse.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wanted it, my love, and I have no regrets.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You want all this, fiore? You want this old man?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your lungs burning and your head still dizzy, but there is not a hint of doubt in your mind. “I want you and all that comes with it. I’m not scared, Primo.”

“No, you’re quite fearless,” he agrees with a smile. “We will have to take care of your wound, clean up this mess, sì? But maybe we can wait a few more minutes, I am quite exhausted.”

You hum in agreement and pull him closer. He doesn’t object as his head comes to rest on your chest this time. The blood loss seems to register now because your vision starts to swim, and so you close your eyes for a moment to let the wave of dizziness pass. Your thoughts are jumbled, so many questions, so many things to consider.

“Primo?” you ask after a moment.

He hums. “Yes, fiore mio?”

“Will you ever turn me?” 

A scoff, bitter and sharp, like it’s the absurdest thing he’s ever heard. “No, amore, I will do no such thing.”

“But if I wanted you to?”

“No.”

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you and lift a hand to smooth out the stern crease on his brow. “We’ll have to talk about this.”

“No,” he says again, then buries his face in your neck with a deep hum, wrapping his arms around you tightly. A moment passes. Then another one and he seems to mull the thought over in his head. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“We will talk about it but not soon. We have many years to come before this ever matters.”

You’re satisfied with that for now, giggle when he presses a plethora of bloody kisses all over your neck and chest, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. You know he’s trying to distract you and it works. Your feelings for him flutter to live inside of you like a colony of bats and you breathe a kiss to his soft blond hair. As he falls asleep, he slowly exhales with his lips against your windpipe. You close your eyes and savour the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, thinking that if you’re lucky, this is a moment you’re going to remember for all of eternity.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire primo – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Read now Part 2: Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!reader

Masterlist – My Ao3

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

A New Sheriff In Town

Summary: The reader takes over as acting Sheriff when Beau is forced to be out on leave. Except the normally friendly Beau is anything but when he finds out it’s up to the reader when he comes back to work…

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Marshal!reader

Word Count: 3,500ish

Warnings: language, mentioned kidnapping/betrayal

A/N: Was missing Beau over the hiatus and came up with this little glimpse of him!...

________

“Hello?” You popped your head up from your laptop, smiling at the handsome, albeit tired, looking man in front of you.

“Sheriff Beau Arlen,” you said, standing from your chair. He nodded, a confused smile crossing his face.

“Not that I normally don’t mind finding an attractive woman in my presence, but do you care to explain to me what you’re doing in my office, at my desk?” You smiled and pushed your jacket away from your hip, showing off your badge. 

“US Marshal Y/N Y/L/N. I’m the interim sheriff while you are on medical leave.” His face flashed between alarm, anger and back to alarm in the span of a second. “Take it up with your boss if you have a problem with it.”

“I am fine. I-”

“Beau Arlen,” you said, picking up a file, flipping through a few pages. “You were kidnapped for the past two days, correct? Rescued yesterday afternoon with minor injuries.”

“Exactly. Minor,” he said, snatching the file out of your hands. You looked him up and down. He was handsome when he wasn’t scowling at you like you kicked his puppy. “Now call your damn boss and let me get back to my job.”

“Funny. Everyone around here tells me you’re as sweet as can be, a nice, happy guy. But you’re being a bit of a dick. You know why?”

“Because you’re in my fucking office!” he said. 

“Some injuries you don’t see. Now I am sorry but I’m in charge and-”

“Why isn’t Deputy Hoyt interim sheriff?” he said, tossing the file on the desk. “She’s my number two. Why-”

“Deputy Hoyt is visiting her son at college. She has too many unused vacation days and she was far more willing when I told her to take a leave of absence.”

“She would never-”

“She would because she did. Don’t be the fucking tough guy. Go home. Talk to a therapist. Binge watch Netflix and eat junk food. I don’t care. But know you do not get back in that chair until I authorize it and you are far from it.”

His eye twitched and he huffed, storming out, slamming the door along the way. You groaned and sat back down, the door opening after a moment, one of your deputies poking his head in. “Yeah Poppernak?”

“He’s really nice when you get to know him,” he said with a sheepish smile. “He’s just…”

“I know.” You held out the file Beau had thrown down, Poppernak walking inside to take it from you. “What’s he like? Hobbies, food, stuff like that.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me deputy.”

“Are you going to harass me at my home too?” scoffed Beau the second you were out of your truck, approaching his air streamer that evening.

“Anyone ever tell you that you live in the most gorgeous trailer in the world? God, you could charge newlyweds a whole bunch of cash just so they could bang for the night under the stars.” He grumbled as you reached inside your truck across the bench and pulled out a bag, smiling as you approached him. He was wearing a jacket and jeans, feet barefoot as he sat in a lounge chair in front of a nice large fire pit. 

You stepped up onto the deck, offering the bag to him. 

“Go away.”

“Wow. You really are being a jerk. It’s a good thing I’m here then,” you said. You sat the bag down on his table, pulling out a pair of containers and a DVD. You carried one over to him, setting it in his lap. He eyed it suspiciously before flipping it open, a large sandwich and side of fries inside.

“This is a meat lovers from Donno’s diner,” he said, voice rough.

“I don’t know who Donno is but I did some recon and it turns out Beau Arlen, you are a man that appreciates a good meal. I love a fellow foodie,” you said, holding up the DVD. “And because I know you love your movies too, I brought my favorite romance, The American President. Now I know, not a classical romance but you’ll like it.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked. You pushed up your jacket and shirt on your right side, exposing your torso where a faded pink scar shown bright on your skin.

“My spotter fucked up on one of my cases as a Marshall. I got kidnapped and only a little hurt like someone I know. But it fucks you up and it’ll keep fucking you up until you deal with it. Now that’s the job of your department therapist but at home comforts help too.”

“That’s a scar from getting your appendix out.”

“Alright,” you said, sitting down in the chair beside him. “You caught me. But that did happen to my old partner so I know it’s true.”

“Listen,” he said, setting the food aside. “I appreciate the dinner and while normally I’m a much more pleasant person, can you leave and let me have my station back?”

You sighed, Beau rolling his eyes. “Sorry bud. Enjoy the forced vacation.”

“I don’t like you!” he called as you headed back for your truck.

“Never met a cop who has!” you shouted back with a wave. You kept a smile until you were back in your car, slowly closing your eyes.

This was not the relaxing vacation you were hoping for.

“Marshal,” said Beau the next day, trying to walk past you into the station.

“Sheriff,” you said, curling a finger at him, enjoying your cup of coffee on your morning break. “Take a step in that building and I’ll have you arrested.”

“I’m sure you will,” he said, walking straight on inside. 

“I warned him,” you said to yourself, finishing off your coffee before going in after him. He was in his office when you got there, adjusting the height of his chair. “Beau Arlen you’re under arrest for violating direct orders from your superior.”

He chuckled, grabbing a pad of paper. “That’s real cute. Why don’t you-Hey!”

You shoved him down on the desk, cuffing him and dragging him out the side entrance, avoiding most of the other officers. “I told you.”

“Oh I swear I’m calling your boss and getting you fired,” he growled. You just whistled, guiding him outside and over to his truck. “Marshal-“

“Be anywhere but here. The more you resist, the longer I stay. Period.” You uncuffed him, Beau rubbing his wrists, faded red marks marring his skin. He huffed, opening his door when you put a hand on it. “Please listen to me.”

He simply jerked the door open, driving away without saying another word.

Two Weeks Later

“Oh come on,” said a gruff male voice. You turned around from where you were fishing, perched on a rock along the river, Beau meeting your gaze. He had a baseball cap on and a fishing pole in his hand. “Are you stalking me or some shit?”

“We can share. Plenty of fish,” you said, Beau grumbling before he walked over, sitting nearby. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yup. Now when exactly can I get back to work?”

“When I say so.”

“This is a total abuse of power you realize.”

“This isn’t how I wanted to spend my vacation either so don’t be pissed off at me,” you said, reeling in your line a smidge. 

“Then why are you acting as sheriff?”

“Because I have experience and I wasn’t personally affected by your kidnapping like all of your officers were. You came from the outside. I know you understand that.” He hummed, the air quiet save for the sound of running water. 

“So…what exactly do I have to do to convince you to let me back to work and you finish your vacation?” You reeled in your line, packing up your tackle box and standing. “Hey. Where-“

“Because I want to have one relaxing fishing trip and you just don’t stop.” You started to leave when Beau hopped up, chasing after you. 

“Marshal, wait.”

“My name is Y/N,” you said, walking across the rocks carefully, unfortunately giving him a chance to catch up. “Beau just-“

“I’m sorry for being an ass.” You stopped, dropping your head. “I get…I don’t handle trauma well.”

“Who does?” You spun around, Beau smiling softly. “It’s not a punishment. I’m trying to help you.”

“I know. I know I have to deal with it to process it and move past it but it’s…I’m not in a big rush to feel vulnerable like that again.”

“I understand but until you do, I’m in charge around here.” 

“The Marshal service is going to just let you stay here however long you tell them?”

“Yes.” He raised an eyebrow. “Oh sweetie, playing on the federal level is a whole other game of office politics.”

“So who fucked you over?” he asked. You breathed slowly, even.

“You know that story I told you about my partner getting captured? That was really me and my partner fucked me over on purpose after I expressed concerns to my supervisor. No internal case and I get to do whatever the fuck I want now. My pick of cases, my choice of vacations, whatever I want I get all to cover up for his fuck up of a son.” Beau blinked, smiling softly. “What?”

“You let me go off on you when you’ve gone through shit that I dismissed. You’ve been nothing but nice and it sounds like you keep getting surrounded by dickheads,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re not a dick. You’re processing,” you said. He nodded back at the river. 

“It’s a big river. We could share.” 

“Alright. But keep the gabbing down. Fish’ll hear ya.”

Three Hours Later

“So did you make some sort of deal with the fish devil?” asked Beau as you headed back towards your vehicles, a storm rolling in. “Because you caught close to twenty by my count and I caught a whopping one.”

“You’re right,” you said, packing up the back of your truck. “I’m part of the trout cult. We sell our souls to be able to catch and release some fish on our days off.”

“You’re joking, right?” You rolled your eyes, shutting your lift gate. “Hey, you never know what people are into.”

“This job has taught me one and that is that you definitely cannot judge a book by it’s cover.” 

“Marshal.” You pursed your lips, Beau stepping closer. “Y/N. Do you want to get out of the rain, grab a cold beer in a warm bar?”

“Follow me. I know a place.”

Twenty minutes later you were sat in a corner booth near a fireplace, Beau looking around the small bar. 

“How’d you find this place?” he asked after you had your drinks, a basket of fries between you. You took a short sip, leaning back.

“I was feeling pretty shitty a number of years back after the partner betrayal thing. Just drove and drove for days. I wound up in Helena, drove around until I found a bar and then proceeded to get shit faced in this booth.” 

Beau munched on a fry, taking off his jacket while he chewed. “You’ve been in Montana all this time?”

“No. The bartender called me a cab and booked me a motel room when I broke down. I stayed there a few days feeling sorry for myself before I sobered up and went back to Knetucky. That’s when I gave my boss a list of demands for not saying shit about his son. After that, I bounced around working solo cases, mostly money trails, until I came back here. Now I work a remote desk job, help out local law enforcement when needed. Found some peace and comfort along the way.” 

He nodded, fiddling with his beer bottle. “You should work for me.”

“Beau.”

“I’m serious,” he said, green eyes flickering over to you. “If you’re a Marshal you could easily pass the exams. You could work the field again with people you trust. My people are clean.”

“I know. I can tell you run a tight ship,” you said, his head tilting. “I don’t think I’m cut out for field work anymore.”

“This is Helena, not Detroit,” he chuckled. “You’d be a deputy, have seniority, get to run investigations. It wouldn’t be all that different than what you do now I’m sure.”

“You offering me a job so you can get back to work sooner?” you teased. He held up his hands, smiling proudly.

“Nope. I know a good cop when I see one is all.”

“I’m a US Marshal, Sheriff. I outrank you for all intents and purposes.” 

“Well…I don’t have a good reason to give that up,” he chuckled. “But we could find a desk space for you in the office, when I do eventually go back to work. It’d be nice to have someone with such superior expertise at our disposal.”

You flipped him the bird, Beau laughing against the rim of his bottle, taking a long drag. “Offers on the table is all I’m saying.”

“I work better alone Beau. But, when you are back in charge, call me up if you need a local Marshal.”

“Will do,” he said, tipping his bottle towards you. You clinked it with your own, the air turning warmer, heat from the fireplace spilling out. “Any advice on how to get over the whole…you know.”

“Accept that you were afraid, that you could have died, and that you aren’t weak because of it. The people we help every day aren’t weak because something bad happened to them. They just had bad shit happen and that’s it. That’s all it was Beau. Something bad. You’ll feel better with time and the more you start to believe that.”

He nodded, gaze fixated on the table in front of you. “Sorry for being a dick before.”

“Sorry for being pushy.” 

“I needed it,” he said with a smile.

“Oh I know,” you laughed. He chuckled, stealing another fry from the basket. “So. How’d a Texas boy like you wind up here?”

“Like you don’t already know,” he said, face softening. You shrugged.

“Yeah but I’d rather hear your version.”

“Alright. Be careful what you wish for though.”

Two Weeks Later

“Marshal Y/L/N,” said Beau behind a pair of sunglasses, badge back on his hip. You smiled behind your own, crossing your arms as you stopped beside him, looking into the back of the overturned truck on the highway. “I think we found the money from that bank robbery in Washington last week.”

“Looks like you did. You got to love when criminals are morons,” you said, peeking your head into the back. You cocked your head, scanning the scattered bills. “You’re missing about five million.”

“How can you tell?” he asked, looking inside with you. 

“One duffel bag fits about five million. The bank reported fifty stolen. But you only have-”

“Nine bags,” he said, straightening up, lips pursed. “Let’s talk to the driver.”

“Mind if I take lead?” you asked. He waved you forward, letting you approach the man cuffed at the end of Poppernak’s squad car. “Hey Joe. I know you know you’re in deep shit so let’s skip the small talk. I know you crashed on purpose and I know you’re supposed to take the blame and we’re supposed to assume you have the other five million stashed somewhere. But we both know that’s not the truth. So why don’t you tell us who is actually behind this and we will go find your girlfriend for you, maybe even find a bit of leniency for you. What do you say?”

Thirty minutes later you were in Beau’s truck, tapping your fingers against the door panel. “Okay. How the fuck did you do that?”

“Marshal service suspected the bank manager was behind it. Joe Niven is a guard at work there, been missing several days. But so has Joe’s girlfriend. Now one could assume they were on the run together but Joe’s girlfriend didn’t show up to work for two days before the robbery happened. I had a gut feeling it was coercion. Joe confirmed that.”

“How can we trust his word?” he asked, turning down a road, a trail of police cars after you. 

“His knuckles were scrapped up and he had bruises on his biceps like someone dragged him back. They showed him the girlfriend, Joe got pissed and they separated him from her before he had a chance to get her out. He couldn’t have grabbed himself like that, fingertips are all wrong.”

“Why would he trust us then?”

“Because the robbery was days ago and Joe wouldn’t still be doing what they asked if the girlfriend was free. It’s going to leak soon they found the money on the highway. When it does, that girlfriend is dead which is why we’re going to Elden pass. He said he heard howling in the background. Wolves migrate through Elden pass this time of year and yes, the only reason I know that is because I’m a documentary nerd.”

“You have no idea how much I want you to take that job offer.” You smirked, nerves crawling up your spine. “You got my back in there?”

You turned in your seat, brow furrowed. “You want me going into the scene?”

“You have more tactical experience than any of my people and it’s my first run back. I could use a steady hand with me.”

“Beau, I haven’t been-”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could handle yourself.” You closed your eyes, nodding to yourself. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed out. “I got your back.”

“Nice job in there,” said Beau an hour later, the sunset making his hair seem golden. You were leaned against his truck, Beau sliding over to stand beside you. “Thank you. I know it was dangerous going in to get Jane out.”

“I was scared to death,” you said, running a hand over the thick, heavy vest you wore. “But as soon as we went in, that went away. I’ve been terrified of real field work for years and I thought it was because of what had happened but really, it’s because I didn’t trust anyone after that. But I did today. I trusted you and your people and because of that, we were able to save that woman.”

“I’m not joking when I say I’d love for you to work with us regularly, even on a consultant basis.”

“Maybe I do need a change.” You looked over at him, Beau smiling wide. “I’ll think about it. No promises.”

“That’s all I can ask. In the meantime, you want to come to movie night? We can watch my new favorite drama chick flick.” 

“You watched it!” you said, eyes wide. “What did you think? Tell me everything.”

“I think it is the most random ass excuse for a chick flick I’ve ever seen yet I really enjoyed it. So you want to come over and watch? We could order a pizza, unwind after a long day.” 

“I’d love that, Beau.” He tucked your hair behind your ear, a spark rushing up your spine.

“See you at my place in an hour.” He didn’t walk away though. Instead he smiled, leaned down and placed a soft, lazy kiss on your lips. You were surprised to say the least. You knew you were getting friendlier but you weren’t expecting that. He pulled back, letting the kiss linger before his eyes were taking in your face. “You know what I liked about that movie? She doesn’t give a fuck that he’s the president. He’s just a guy she likes. And he goes for it despite how horribly wrong it could all go cause he comes with a lot of baggage and that should scare her but it doesn’t. And even though he’s got to do something that goes against her, they still find a way to make it work in the end. Reminds me of this idiot guy I know.”

“Beau,” you whispered as he played with the end of your hair. “Is tonight a date?”

“You tell me.” You put a hand on his chest, tapping the spot where his name was woven into his vest.

“Make it a supreme pizza,” you said. “I ain’t a girl that hides how much she loves to eat on the first date.”

“You got it,” he said, his smile faltering only slightly when someone called his name. “Let yourself in if you get there before me. Key is under the patio chair.”

“You’d trust me with a key to your house?” you asked as he walked away.

“I trusted you the whole time, Y/N. Just took a while to admit it to myself,” he said, spinning around with a grin. “See you later, Marshal.”

“Yes you will, Sheriff.”

__________

[windvexer]

Hi chicken! Apologizes if this is something you have answered in the past, but how would one get rid of entity attachments? Why do they occur and how do you identify if it’s attached? Additionally, for example, if something followed you home and won’t leave even after banishing and it got through your protections and wards, what do you do in this case?

(Entity attachment anon!) I forgot to ask, is it possible for entities to attach even if you’ve layered personal protections on? I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anyone having this problem but I’m deeply curious.

Hi, Anon! Major UPG post alert ^-^

So this is a huge topic and I'm afraid there are no easy answers. If we're talking about entity attachments, what I've mostly experienced are entities who are just targeting people because they've already got a foothold.

I find the "energy cord" theory to be more effect than cause. In other words, if a linking energy cord is present it's because the spirit is haunting a person; the cord doesn't cause the haunting, but rather reflects and demonstrates the relationship between two or more things.

I don't know if I really believe in "attachments," specifically. Sometimes, certain spirits can become fixated on a person in the interest of causing harm or for deleterious personal gain, but this doesn't necessarily mean there is any special magical link between the spirit and the person being haunted. It's not an attachment so much as it is targeted harassment.

But I'm also a little hesitant on the topic because IME, it's very easy to interpret "a spirit is upset in my vicinity" to "I am being victimized by a negative spiritual attachment."

Also, if it sounds like something the Warrens would say, I'm extra hesitant to adopt it into my worldview.

For example, plenty of unpleasant spirit encounters happen because a spirit accidentally got trapped inside of a household. It's upset and it wants to leave, but the practitioner is taking steps contrary to solving the actual issue. If a spirit is trapped inside the house and the practitioner responds by redoubling wards and commanding the spirit to leave, the issue becomes intransigent; the practitioner doesn't understand why the problem is happening, so they are taking actions that seem rational, but in actuality can't solve the problem.

My take on resolving unwanted spiritual intrusions is therefore a pretty practical, but boring one: resolving them requires an understanding of why they are happening, and how to form an appropriate action plan centered around effective sorcerous techniques.

There are plenty of reasons why a person could have attracted unwanted spiritual attention, and they're all boring stuff too: You stole something from nature that wasn't yours to take, you worked magic in a place you shouldn't have worked magic in, you targeted someone who has their own spiritual protectors, you're behaving like someone who needs to learn a lesson and the lesson has arrived, you accidentally opened doorways that spirits stepped through, you modified the spell without understanding the steps, you started getting involved in things that were none of your business and now business is getting involved with you, and so on.

It's never "an evil spirit followed me home for no reason and walked through all of my wards and now it's attached to me."

It's always "oh yeah, last year I made a promise to a nature spirit in that park to bring it offerings every week, but I forgot, but trees are supposed to be cool, right? No, I don't remember the promise ritual I performed, but I do remember that I invited the spirit to come visit me whenever it wanted. Hey, wait, is that why it could walk past my wards?"

From time to time, the exact cause of an unwanted spirit haunting can't be discovered, or doesn't matter. Some times unwanted spirits kind of just do float in and start causing problems, but those problems are resolved through effective sorcery. This means not only casting effective spells, but also employing an effective strategy.

If the banishing didn't work, it was either an ineffective spell, or an ineffective strategy. The angry dryad isn't being banished because the jar wards you put up 18 months ago have a clause about always protecting invited guests from harmful magic. It doesn't matter if you're casting a good banishment; it's a bad strategy to resolve the situation.

This is probably going to sound a little mean of me, but if someone said that a spirit just walked through all of their protections and wards and can't be banished, my immediate assumption is not that it's a powerful spirit who has become specially attached. My assumption is that the person is working with ineffective magical techniques.

So a lot of dealing with unwanted spiritual intrusions isn't just attack and defense. It's also investigation, diplomacy, and strategy.

You ask if it's possible for a spirit to become "attached" to a person even if they have lots of personal protections, but I'm not sure my beliefs agree with the question itself. Could a spirit force a harmful connection with someone who is extremely well-protected? Maybe, but I doubt it. At a certain point, a point not even very difficult to reach, protection becomes so all-encompassing that it is transformative.

But also, having many protection amulets isn't the end-all, be-all of protection against unwanted spiritual attention. I suffered from unwanted contact for years that my strongest banishing and protection couldn't touch, and then immediately resolved it with a basic spell that employed an entirely different strategy.

At the end of the day, though, effectively dealing with unwanted spiritual intrusions can be complex and require a lot of different skills to appropriately tackle, even if the situation is easy to resolve once you understand what's going on.

So if you've found yourself in a pickle and there don't appear to be any doors leading out of the fun house, then I'd recommend just hitting up a spirit doctor. Not to speak too broadly, but it's the job of such folks to remedy problems caused by spirits.

Various doctors have various specializations, but many of them are able to directly intercede on your behalf or at least provide the information necessary to resolve the issue.

[mommyclaws]

look as a lesbian I don’t get why it’s so awful to just want lesbian spaces?? We as queer people all have different experiences and we can have smaller spaces while still embracing the whole community.

Lesbians go through different experiences than bi non-men do. That DOES NOT mean “we suffer more” or whatever because I hate the whole oppression olympics shit. We are not attracted to men neither sexually nor romantically, and that’s what makes us oppressed in this heteronormative world. We go through harassment, corrective rape, violence, and conversion “therapy” because we are homosexual. If my dad ever found out I was exclusively attracted to women I would get kicked out. Why is it suddenly so awful and “gatekeepy” to ask us to have our own spaces? We still have sapphic spaces! We even have bi spaces and pan spaces! Heck, I see gay non-women are allowed to have their own spaces!

It’s harmful to be treated as a monolith. I’m not attracted to men, and saying im an “exclusionist” for this is lesbophobic. I’m not evil for being exclusively attracted to non-men. I’m not evil for saying we should have our own spaces while we’d still have sapphic spaces!

Words have meanings, and the lesbian label is important to me, for all of its history and all of my struggles. I’m tired of us all being seen as “big mean lesbians who hate men” so so much. It reeks of misogyny to me.

I am heavily disappointed, and I ask everyone to please understand why bi lesbians are harmful.

I'm disappointed you've missed the point of my post. I was talking about the history of different lesbians and sapphics being excluded and hated in our community through generations. The conversation wasn't about bi lesbians specifically, it was about the butches, transfemmes, Pan/Bi, Aro/Ace, nonbinary, and countless other identities that were or ARE still considered not "valid" members of our community at point or another. I was pointing out how this "Bi Lesbian exclusion" is just a repeat of past mistakes and in the retrospective it is rooted in radfem/terf ideology that claims sapphics have to present and feel a certain way to be accepted. I didn’t say anywhere that being attracted to non-men is evil, I didn’t call anyone a “big mean lesbian”. You’re putting words into my mouth. That entire post was about defending sapphic’s right to attraction and expression.

Lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, non cis women and etc can all be oppressed, harassed, hate crimed, rejected by friends/family and other terrible things for their non heteronormative attraction.

Some people are failing to realize these exclusively “one identity spaces" they feel are being threatened don't actually exist in real life. Sure someone can have like, a "nonbinaries only" discord server or a meet up with friends who are all the the same identity. But a majority of queer spaces in real life? They don't have those rules because theres no way to separate queer identities neatly like that- There isn't a need to. You're going to find bisexuals and pansexuals and nonbinaries and trans people and all sorts of other identities at the same lesbian bar, the same sapphic support group, the same circle of friends.

So what exactly are these "spaces" that every other identity has and lesbians supposedly don't? Maybe ask why bisexuals, pansexuals, etc also being in a sapphic space feels so threatening to some in the first place? They have a right to be there as well. We are a community.

A label can be used and defined as whatever the owner of the label is comfortable with! "Lesbian" has always been an umbrella term. It can be a singular identity or it can describe any sapphic experience or it can do lots of things, labels have always been flexible in this way. Someone using the label differently than another person isn't harmful. It's expression.

[cow-dyke]

The Lesbian Paradox

Lesbian. Homosexual. Gay. Queer. Dyke. Femme. 4Butch.

These are some words I describe my sexuality as. But I am not sure that any word will fully be able to illustrate what I really feel inside.

Yes, I am a lesbian. I am a female homosexual. A woman who is exclusively attracted to other women. Yet, because of my exclusive attraction, my "womenness" is hard to reconcile with.

Girls are often taught to like boys and girls are taught that boys like us. Moreover, girls are taught to respect boys who are mean to them because of said likeness. Heterosexual women are tormented for not tolerating such behavior but can ultimately have their womanhood left alone as long as they like men enough to have a defined affection for them. Lesbians, on the other hand, are harassed for turning down the attraction all together while society tries to paint a picture of what version the lesbian makes them comfortable. It is hard for me to call myself a woman for many reasons, and this is one of them.

Of course, this isn’t to say that women who are attracted to other women cannot identify as such but rather to explain why some lesbians like myself don’t do so. From this, I often find myself being more attracted to women loving women who are not women (confused yet?).

Something about the queerness of gender in a lesbian context is just so, safe. I think many things that I don't say out loud in fear that straight people (and even some queer people) will see me as odd or a threat to our binary norms. But I feel like the non-binary lesbians give me a sense of understanding without having to say any of those words. We don't base our sexuality off of the orthodox traditions of the heterosexist, cisnormative world we are in. We don't copy and paste our rules off of the way straight society has formed there's and just switch around some of the wording. Instead, we make our own rules, which are none. We use labels but there is not much more to them as what feels right from our own experiences.

Transgender lesbianism is beautiful. Non-binary lesbianism is beautiful. Butch/Femme lesbianism is beautiful. Even if one word can't truly be defined to describe me, all I know is that being a Genderqueer Lesbian is complex, mystifying, but also simply beautiful.

I am beautiful. We are beautiful.

[barbedwirechain]

hi!!! I've been questioning some uncertainty in my identity and you were the first person on t I saw when I looked into the "butch fag" tag, I'm really curious about what it means to be butch and on testosterone, or being butch and navigating the world passing almost as a cis man? for lack of better terminology, sorry if it's not right.

I've been out as trans since I was a kid (almost 22 now.) and I've always went back and forth on my identity bc I don't relate with other trans men or cis men in general but I knew transitioning was what's right for me. detransition doesn't feel correct at all, I'm so happy being on testosterone. im uncertain in my sexuality but have always found comfort with lesbians and butches, and I've always felt the explanation of butch dysphoria sounded more clear to me than wanting to wake up with the body of a cis man. what I mean is I think I'm a butch fag but I don't know what that means, I don't know how or if I'm ready to come out with that. I'm afraid of my future with dating or navigating queer spaces if I claim to be butch or lesbian aligned while still presenting full beard and no desire to change that.

I don't know how to navigate exploring this at all, especially because lesbian spaces online kind of scare me since its so easy to end up following terfs if you don't know what to look for. I don't want to be harassed or make anyone else uncomfortable with my presence. I want to connect with other butches on T. do you know of anything I could do to reach this kind of understanding?

i’ll say if you already see uh butch fag in yourself or find whatever it is in me, in you you’ve already started to reach that understanding. exploring online spaces where you have unprecedented access to people with these more “complicated” identities (more accurately—identities that are generally less referenced than others or not recognized outside of the community for better and for worse) and hanging out in adult oriented city spaces helped extend my understanding of myself as butch.

the longer i understand myself as trans the more i’m comfortable frankensteining my identity (for uh lack of uh better term). i say this to explain why i call myself the most appropriate word for me “dykefag” but butch fag… or faggot butch (on T or not) has uh community precedent. there’s articles and quotes of people saying that term or uh form of it and they’re also transsexual and/or lesbian, although this was something i found only after seeing myself in the phrase.

i understood myself as uh dyke for most of my life and uh lesbian as the most neat version of my sexuality; dyke is something i’ve reclaimed being called that as uh child and call/ed myself that for over ten years now (aside from uh brief period of bisexuality). after being on T though for almost two years i noticed people are less likely to see me as uh dyke so that word begins to feel more personal and intimate for me. but butch?

butch is always exactly right. its not something i reclaimed or have complicated relationship to, i just am.

i am and i mean it with no irony or “meh”-ness; i am butch and i think i’ll die butch.

uh good two years after beginning to call myself butch and right after starting T I leaned into my lifelong attraction to butches, already holding an interest in “‘queer’ masculinities” via research in college. eventually i realized i wanted to be that. i wanted to be masculine ina way that never didnt hold uh layer of unspoken queerness. even in my current “mostly cis-man passing” form (i don’t take it as an insult, i present more masculine than androgynous like i used to for comfort and safety) i’m always butch. most people assume ima cis gay man or uh very hairy bulldyke and at some point i was like… these lines are so easily blurred because of how i decide to embody butchness, on purpose, and (what’s read as) faggotry through my attraction to other butch and queer masc people. i experienced the difference between dyke and fag fade away and began to tag my shit with dyke fag and butch fag to be in the same spaces as other gay trans people who had this line also fade away.

maintaining my attachment to being butch and loving butchness led me to follow “butch4butch” pages and explore butch4butch tags and see myself as a butch4butch gay more and more solidly. and the more i searched for butch4butch, the more i came across trans fags and nonbinary butch lesbians (and both!!). similar to going on tumblr in 2011 and finding out there were people who didn’t believe in the christian god, lex and tumblr specifically led me to uh set of trans people who embodied this faggot butchness, whether dyke (lesbian) or faggot (gay boy) identifying— not to mention all the gay boy dykes and the fagboy trannies. i found/find myself relating to their appreciation of masculinity and consideration of transness and gender noncomformity more than any other space, including ones that are for lesbians which, in my honest opinion, always end up catering to terf-bubbles or narcissist echo chambers that define themselves through gender essentialist ideas about masculinity/men of which i no longer see any viability in.

inside, exploring tags online or apps for Gay people who do Gay shit and have Sexy and Fucked up understandings of gender can help you understand yourself further by identifying and also dis-identifying with others without having to “conflict”. outside?… i rarely explain what i am. and for better or worse, i don’t try to. i let people think i’m whatever they think unless someone directly asks or when cis men try to approach me and to conceal my agab and also deny them i kinda just straight up lie and play cishet man. i recognize we exist under 20 million ___ or ___ binaries, both imaginary and tangible, new and old, outside and inside—shit even nonbinary and binary began to feel like another binary to me recently and the only thing that alleviates that is 1) going through butch(4butch) tags and seeing cis, trans, and who knows butches loving each other in coexisting without pretending they’re at war and 2) being in community with other dykesfags, or fagdykes, and butch faggots irl. and like, lesbians in person are also jus way more awesome. *whispers* like most people. i understand this is, unfortunately, only as easy as your access, space, transportation, and work and personal life allows. most of my adult queer experience is in non-sober spaces ina city that i lived around or in and that can't be disregarded or forgotten.

to wrap this up, i didnt look for em (us haha) til i felt i was one of them but We’re Everywhere. not uh majority but uh presence, and that’s enough. and if i’m being honest even if i never found any of these people, i felt so intensely about being uh butch faggot and uh dykefag i saw myself simply going with it—but going with it with the knowledge that it’s near impossible to make anything up at this point. someone has almost surely shared the idea or identity regardless of if they publicized it or let it be archived. and even as much of this response IS about that, i can’t overemphasize that even if it’s something you did made up, all alone, 200% you, the feeling is true, yea? the beauty of frankensteining your [trans] identity is seeing that you can kinda be whatever the shit you feel as long as it’s truly comfortable and honest to the time with reasonable respect to yourself and your community.

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Love your response about that Luke and Nicola thing. I appreciate how realistic but respectful you are to the people who felt… upset about it.

I didn’t fall completely into it, but I understand why people romanticized Nic and Luke because I felt the excitement too. It didn’t help that the PR world tour served it up on a platter. I can see why people felt like their emotions were used. The point of PR is to make people believe, otherwise it wouldn’t work. It felt like they wanted people’s emotional investment when it mattered to the marketing/pr team, but made them all feel stupid when they no longer needed the clout and dropped it with unfortunate timing. Particularly after Part 2’s drop, which some felt underwhelmed by. But that’s PR for you.

I can also see how our personal projections leaned into it as well. For many, having a romantic lead and actress who represented beauty outside the mainstream perception of women was refreshing and hopeful. So although no one’s at fault, I truly do get the tinge of sadness many felt after seeing what the GF looked like.

It’s ok to feel the way that you do about people, some of us are just romantics and love when human emotions are palpable because love is infectious. I felt a little stupid getting into it too, but you cross a line when you start harassing real people based on what you believe. It’s sort of embarrassing and I hope Luke and Nic are able to come back with that chemistry strong for Season 4 without being deterred.

Oh, I’m very open about how I fell (am still falling, really) in love with them. I’m not over it yet, tbh, but I think my being self-aware about crossing boundaries is extremely important in situations like this. (I try not to engage in platforms where I know Nicola frequents, to protect the fourth wall.)

Because frankly, I see them struggling now, to balance their comfort with each other while managing expectations from the fans, and I really don’t want that for them. I hope the frenzy dies down and they find their footing with each other in the public eye again.

On our personal projections, boy, do I get it. Seeing Nic bloom into this undeniably sexy, desired, beloved romantic lead has healed me in ways years of therapy could never. Plus the public love for her has very directly changed a lot of my perceptions about how truthful other people are in their positive view of me and also my own view on my capacity to be sexy and desired and attractive, and that’s priceless to me.

So I was also quite er, wounded, by the pap photos. It did, honestly, pop a very very beautiful bubble for me, because let’s be honest — Luke Newton is gorgeous, and they are gorgeous together. But then I realized that I was falling into the trap of assuming, once again, that she was the one being rejected, instead of the multitude of other equally possible realities (e.g. it really is just platonic between them, or she’s in a relationship, or she doesn’t want a relationship, or the timing is off, or she doesn’t want it to get messy with someone who’s so important to her, or her career comes first, or literally any reason it could be under the sun).

I think it’s important to honor the idea that she means so much to many of us, and that the fantasy of them together means a lot to many of us, and that is valid and okay. That’s what romance is there for, you know? For us to see the possibilities of what could happen for us and retrain our brains to genuinely believe in good outcomes.

But I think it’s important to reframe this narrative that she’s somehow losing out in this, because that’s factually incorrect and really undoes a lot of the confidence she’s given us.

I don’t blame anyone for getting attached, and I don’t blame anyone for feeling hurt. Those are emotions — you can’t control them and they’re all valid. But, I guess, when it gets tough, take a second look at her and what she’s doing, for herself and for everyone, and focus hard on the fact that that’s not born from her and Luke. That’s born from nothing other than her being entirely and unapologetically her.

[heretherebedork]

Sorry I’m sort of late to the wedding impossible discussion, but some of your posts inspired me to watch it. I just finished episode 3 where it ends with jihan telling ahjeong he’s going to steal her away and….am I supposed to like jihan? Because I don’t, at all. He thinks dohan and ahjeong are in a real relationship right now doesn’t he? He thinks they’re actually getting married bc they want to? Did I miss something where he knows it’s fake? Am I supposed to root for him to destroy his brother’s relationship and life so that dohan can inherit a company and jihan can profit? I recognize I’m early into the show but how are people calling dohan selfish when every single thing jihan has done for the past 3 episodes has been for his own gain? The only redeeming thing he’s done is recognize he was wrong for getting ahjeong that role, but then he kind of messed that up for me by being violent to that worker on the drama. Because sure that guy was an asshole but so are you jihan!!! I don’t think that makes it ok or attractive (it felt like the show wanted me to find it attractive) for jihan to be physically aggressive. At this point I dislike jihan more than i even dislike the older siblings who are clearly supposed to be the villains lol.

I have no idea, anon. None. Don't ask me, I'm part of the Do Han defense squad who's barely watching the het parts of this show frankly.

Ji Han definitely feels like a selfish asshole for the vast majority of the show and, yes, he has some trauma that explains some of his actions but dear lord is he an asshole to Do Han.

From pressuring him to get married and take over the company which Do Han obviously doesn't want and is clear that he doesn't want to trying to seduce the woman he thinks his brother loves to just generally harassing Ah Jeong every chance he gets.

But he's the male lead, so a lot of people are going to just decide that he's Right. No matter what. Apparently.

Or they just assume that being in the closet automatically makes Do Han selfish because that's lying and we can't lie! Nope! No lying here! If you lie to protect yourself, that makes you selfish. /s

Yeah, I hate that.

Do Han was protecting himself and we get to see that he has a reason to do so when his grandfather literally stops him from coming out! There was a reason Do Han stayed in the closet and ran to New York. I still don't understand why his grandfather wants him to inherit the business. He's a gay artist who's been aboard being a gay artist for five years!!! Why should he be any good at business?!

(I saw someone complain that Do Han never let Ji Han visit him in New York and it's like... no fucking duh? Man was living his best gay life out there, he was no about to invite the little brother he was in the closet to into that life both to protect himself and not to force Ji Han to carry his secret as well.)

But, yeah, Ji Han's an ass. And the show tries to redeem him but not for what he did to Do Han until much, much too late for me. And Do Han deserves better.

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

HAIIIII omg I love ur writing. Pretty pls do an outsiders fandom ship for me?? You’re so amazing pretty gorgeous intelligent ethereal bewitching pooks<333 mwah /platonic

ok so I am 16 and I think average height (idk how tall I actually am lol). I have straight black hair that goes down to my waist, and my eyes are almond-shaped and almost black-brown. My skin tone is pale with a few freckles on my shoulders and legs!! My style is a mix of coquette, lovecore, rococo, romantic academia and Lolita. I’m always wearing some sort of light pink + white, and my fav jewelry to wear is pearls and rose quarts!!

Personality wise, I think I’m pretty friendly! I’m not super extroverted, but most ppl at my school like me and I don’t get involved in drama a lot since I just do my work and daydream. People have told me I’m a lil creepy- I have really big eyes and a wide stare, so when I zone out I accidentally stare into people’s souls a lot lmao. Besides intense eye contact, I also have a habit of forgetting to breathe and randomly freezing in place when I’m really focused on something. My default expression is kinda like a deer in headlights, except I’m not really scared, I’m just standing there unmoving (I’m amazing at statues :D)

As for my hobbies, I LOVE photography!! I take pictures of my food, my school, my outfits, places I go to, etc. I like making scrapbooks and I’m a bit of a hoarder, so I have tons of crafts in my room. Stickers are something I’m obsessed with too, so I frequently collect them and sometimes don’t even use them cuz I prefer to keep them on display

Mwah mwah, tysm pookieee!! <3333

Thank you for the compliment oh em geeeeee 💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Your outsiders ship: Dallas Winston

Explanation: OK so for me I had a hard time picking between Dally and Johnny and the one thing that kind of like separated it was I really like the enemies to lovers tension that you and Dallas absolutely have. I think he would absolutely find you attractive because I personally think that he does like really really long hair and he would absolutely love playing with it. Probably tugging it around and kind of annoying you sometimes but you know it’s mostly friendly and I also think that he would absolutely love your style. I mean he’s never really seen a broad like you since New York and just to have that brought to his boring old town of Tulsa Oklahoma is pretty crazy, and you stand out like a sore thumb in a good way. (you probably would’ve met when he was cat calling you were street harassing you.) I think he really loves your eyes because they kind of remind him of Johnny’s big ones and he absolutely loves that you can just get lost in them even though he would of course never admit that to anyone. As for your hobbies, I hope you give up taking pictures on anything that isn’t Dallas Winston because that is absolutely what you would be doing as his partner. I’m sorry, but you better commit yourself to being his personal photographer because I know this man is a photobomber. (it would skyrocket his ego if you ever took a photo of him because he’s just like that.) I feel like if you begged and pleaded, he would let you put a sticker on him, and if the gang ever found out, he would not hear the end of it and then probably would never let you do it again, which is why you would need to do it when he’s sleeping because it would be funny as hell whenever he wakes up and yells your name. Super cute. I love the enemies to lovers vibes here. 💚💚💚

[ginger-snap-talkin-nonsense]

Not the same anon but If you don't mind me asking why is Bob's Burgers is centrist, uninteresting, and make's you uncomfortable?

People act like Bobs Burgers is progressively left because of, among other things:

-Characters that feel Autism Coded

-Characters that are LGBT

-Having a girl allowed to go through the weirder, grosser side of puberty like being horny

-Landlords bad

So let’s go over all of these as examples.

1. No character is actively autistic and autistic traits are mocked in the show. I know y’all think Louise wearing a bunny hat everywhere is so “you-pilled” but I’d like to remind you of Courtney, who despite them saying deserved better in her opening episode they certainly never even think to slow down on openly mocking her for stimming in a way people find gross and needed to have boundaries expressed verbally because she doesn’t pick up on cues well. Y’all really hate Big Bang for doing that shit, why does this get a pass?

2. No characters are LGBT. Bob awkwardly saying he’s “probably not gay” to a guy trying to turn him down is not confirmation that he’s bi. Dear lord Family Guy at least had the nuts to say the words “I’m Bi” when making a similar joke about Peter. Oh but they have the trans positive characters right? Oh I’m sorry, not trans characters. Drag Queen Sex Workers who’s opening appearance has them talk about sitting on people’s faces to children at a birthday. Now obviously I am absolutely pro drag, pro sex work, the works. But this reads like a conservative comic about how the libs are grooming your kids. Again, y’all hated Family Guy for the joke about Brian being grossed out when he finds out he had sex with a woman he obviously couldn’t tell was trans, why is this suddenly positive trans rep?

3. Tina’s obsession with grabbing her neighbors ass is gross. When Big Mouth did this shit with a character they spent the next 4 years explaining over and over again the line between being attracted to someone and being allowed to horny during puberty while being any gender, and sexual harassing people. Bobs Burgers never makes this distinction. Tina is just supposed to shoot off about her latest erotic fan fiction about the boy next door and I’m supposed to laugh. It’s giving “its funny because she’s a girl” energy, not positive influence energy.

4. Their landlord is a friend who is routinely shown to be “crazy but also friendly guy who’s actually helpful and gives Bob plenty of rent extensions”.

Now does this mean Bobs Burgers is secretly some right-wing pipeline? No. All of these things are dumb oversights or jokes that went on too long which happens in the best of shows. Family Guy certainly wasn’t immune to taking too long to end Quagmire SA jokes or making anti-Semitic remarks feel a little too unironic. But Family Guy also threatens to break your teeth if you don’t respect Native Americans in conversations about their land, or if you don’t have respect for trans people. Bobs Burgers is too out of politics to say that.

And that’s fine. This isn’t modern Simpsons type “centrism” which is just myopically packaged conservatism, this is Duncaville. It’s easy Gen-X humor that’s just calm and mundane enough that you can relax to it. It’s practically background noise for 40-year-old wine moms, and that’s NOT an inherent negative. But I’m sick of people acting Bobs Burgers is the one and only “truly progressive” cartoon while it does literally nothing in the way of politics one way or the other. You like it? Fine. But don’t come to me about how how it’s the most genius show ever written and “so much better than gross out garbage like Seth MacFarlane makes” or you’re getting popped.

[romanoffsbish]

This is a whole ass man & I’m pulling bets on the fact their mad because they literally have nothing interesting about them that would attract anybody in their right mind.

Not a single thing this person says is truth or makes any sense. Their poor mother probably wishes she actually swallowed that night, it’s okay love, we all make mistakes. I feel bad she’s had to look at them for the past 10+ years.

I’m sorry this anon is pure trash, don’t listen to anything they say 💜 you’re an amazing person, a wonderful write and out of this world beautiful! Fuck them, keep smiling love 💜

Well, I think there’s truth to some things they say, there’s just no reason for it is all. Like, discussing ones identity or size as if that’s a negative piece of them or even representative of a full person. Because like, I am fat, but I’m not made of whale blubber, nor am I this way because I’m just some ravenous glutton lmao. On top of that, it doesn’t make me undeserving to live / breathe. I’m not less than anyone else.

I’m honestly torn between their identity. Part of me imagines a man, likely on our accounts b/c he wants to get off to wlw fanfiction, which is why when he sees intersex characters he loses his shit because he’s stepping into a space that was never meant for him, and is wondering why the pieces don’t accommodate to his needs. As if the world doesn’t placate to his every whim.

I see people headcannoning the anon as a basement dweller, but I don’t. I actually think (if it is a guy) that he has his own place. Probably has a job in tech, or a similar scope, that gets him a comfortable salary — he has it all. Except he doesn’t because he has the personality of a toothpick, and probably makes any women to ever exist uncomfortable so all he has is a hand. So he finds himself infiltrating wlw spaces, then insinuating that we are gay because we were unwanted by his kind, when the truth is, even if we were straight / bi, we wouldn’t want him and that unbearable truth keeps him up at night.

Then, I wonder if it’s a woman who used to be a writer on here, and got shunned for being a terf. Either are likely, but the reason I lean towards this is simply because they are attacking writers who don’t even write or read(never reblogs) intersex pieces. They attacked the person who was blamed(unfairly) for her departure, and they seem vengeful in a way that gives off “has been scorned” vibes. A reason she didn’t go after me from the jump (I presume) is b/c before she left she’d had me blocked (no clue why, but like — thank fuck, right? 😮‍💨)

If so, then to her I say find a different fandom, maybe Harry Potter, it’s obvi more up your alley. Because the majority of the MCU - LGBTQIA+ fandom is not interested in their radicalized (abhorrent) rhetoric. Not everyone on here reads or writes intersex, but from what I can see (and it makes me happy) is that majority rally behind and support the Trans community.

But at the end of the day this is all speculation because whoever it is, they are a faceless coward who gets off on making others upset. Which, btw, isn’t going to work on me because I promise you I don’t care what they think of me. People who actively harass the marginalized don’t garner my respect, and therefore whatever they think / say is nullified to me.

Thank you for reaching out though, I had a good giggle over your meme, and I genuinely appreciate your kind words. I do take them to heart because I actually respect you, ❤️

[finalshaper]

Making my own post about it: proship discourse is fucking stupid and inconsequential until a 13 year old entering proship circles is being asked for nudes by someone twice their age. And in the future whenever that individual speaks up their story is dismissed as “made up” or “pushing a narrative” or that I’m “watering down” terminology like grooming or whatever. what have you. Not very “support victims” of you now is it.

It is a culture that by-nature actively shelters pedophiles in fandom spaces where they have access to victims under a guise of “stupid inconsequential discourse.” These things do not exist entirely in a vacuum.

And people argue that proshipping “has nothing to do with pedophilia” when the culture itself offers a shelter for some of the most vile people in online spaces. If it’s just a truly harmless fandom thing then why is the venn diagram between y’all and predators using fandom as a safe space a circle? And some of y’all are just teenagers making dumb choices and getting yourselves roped into grooming rings.

Proshippers also have a tendency to have a self righteous stick up their asses and it SHOWS — they yell “BLOCK AND MOVE ON” and then when someone does exactly that have a crying fit about it because “oh…… what did I do wrong……” When the other individual is just curating and enforcing their own boundaries.

I’ve had people say “Actshually ANTIS are the ones who groom and stalk and harass!” when I’ve. found absolutely 0 evidence of that. The only “harassment” I could ever find is someone just. Mildly critiquing them for basing their entire existence off of inconsequential fandom discourse or mentioning that they’re not comfortable interacting with them. It is some of the worst projection I’ve ever had the misfortune of seeing and I had to deal with my mother my whole life. Like y’all do realize how serious it is to accuse someone of these things right. Especially when it’s in response to someone speaking up about their actual lived experiences with the supposedly “safe for victims” crowd.

And I’m convinced that y’all are just mad because you were MILDLY CRITIQUED or someone expressed their discomfort with interacting with you. Every accusation is in fact a confession.

While this discourse is stupid and inconsequential it attracts people whose actions are in fact NOT inconsequential. I block people and move on but there is still a self righteous “woe is me” attitude that many of these people have a tendency to carry and I am. So fucking tired. It’s why I don’t ever talk openly about what happened to me because ✨ Sakura 🍖🌈 ✨ will tell me that I only made it up while screaming about how much they love and support and hashtag PROTECC the sweet cinnamwon rowll victims!

[my-makeshift-masquerade]

So, Warren the Worm’s Friendship Episode gave me PTSD Flashbacks and I NEED TO SHARE WHY.

The friendship episode, at least for the first chunk of it, parodies kid’s edutainment that teaches social skills. If you don’t know the specific genre I am talking about, then be grateful. This shit was cringe af and probably led to way more bullying in schools than it ever could’ve prevented.

I defended myself from being beaten up when I was in the fourth grade, using self defense techniques I learned in a class because I was that worried I’d get beaten up. I got punished for it by having my recess in extended day revoked every other day. Instead of being outside, my bully got to play with my friends while I sat in a cramped dark office watching these sorts of videos. My mom moved me out of that school after the year ended, but I still remember these anti-bullying videos very vividly.

The “Okay Stop” format is basically what all of them used, rewinding and showing good/bad ways to handle bullies. Of course, none of these covered what to do if the teachers didn’t help you when you told them, or when you were going to be hurt by said bullies. Instead, all the “solutions” boiled down to the victim saying “Hey, bullying is not cool, man. It is not groovy to hurt people’s feelings.”, and then the bully would magically be like “Oh, sorry, dude. That was lame of me. Let’s go play together instead.” Sorta like how Warren dubs over Yellow and Red to have them say the ridiculous shit he wanted them to.

You can imagine how this sort of scene would unfold if a victim was using this against an actual bully, especially when that bully was trying to punch or kick you in the face… Yet, this is what they taught children was the only “appropriate response” beyond going to tell a teacher. I’m autistic, and let me tell you using the “social skills” I was 1984-style brainwashed with for 50% of my recess time did not end well for me. It taught me there was no use defending myself at all… Many other adults solidified that belief as I grew up.

Warren is interesting to me because he shows just how even in adulthood certain people take advantage of the “rules” of friendship and relationships to sway things in their favor…then they become the exact people who are deemed “experts” on relationships. His backstory isn’t a sad one at all. His friends just didn’t want to be part of his pyramid scheme and he got butthurt. They apparently apologized but Warren said it was “too late for them”, which isn’t a very “good friend” thing to do. There’s even a slide where his friends are just petting a rabbit and he looked jealous!

The fandom simping for this guy is oddly fitting to the meta narrative of the episode, too. Warren drives everyone away from him, acts pitiful despite manipulating and controlling every social situation he is in, and yet… Y’all find him attractive or endearing? This is exactly why people fall for these so-called pick up artists, relationship experts, and similar personalities online, despite them being blatantly unhealthy and harassing people. This is the “Oh he’s just a poor skrunkly wittle meow meow uwu! I can fix him!” mentality at work.

The fandom’s very predictable reaction to this character is only making the satirical message of the episode even stronger! This show is GENIUS.

[oswildin]

The Pedro TikTok Craze…

Warnings: Mentions of sexualisation, parasocial relationships and 18+ themes

I just watched a video by Kuncan Dastner on YouTube called ‘I hate how fast we Objectify Celebrities’.

It discusses the recent flurry of fans of Pedro Pascal and how the media and TikTok/Twitter users have quickly objectified and overtly sexualised him.

As a newer Pedro stan, (TLOU was my Pedro awakening), it makes me uncomfortable seeing the vast amount of comments and edits online regarding the man. Don’t get me wrong, most edits I see are benign and more appropriate, however, there’s been a few I’ve come across using a certain scene of Pedro from Narcos that really makes me feel… Icky. As well as comment sections being filled with inappropriate words and almost verging on sexual harassment.

It’s one thing to find a celebrity attractive… It’s another to write out a detailed comment saying what you would do to them, or how you want them to do such and such to you. The ‘Daddy’ comment clearly started as a joke, but with the sexual connotation surrounding the word, it has quickly taken off into a whole new obscure direction. I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with calling a celebrity ‘daddy’, or ‘mommy’, if they haven’t stated they don’t like it, but using it in any other relation other than ‘they’re attractive and I love them’ personally makes me feel uneasy… So I often wonder how those celebrities must feel.

Another thing I’ve noticed is the VAST amount of smutty fanfics surrounding Pedro’s characters (or even him himself). Whilst I am not against smut, it is disheartening to go to certain tags and see that that is all that is taking them up. Maybe i’m just a prude. This isn’t me ‘coming for’ any writers who do specialise in smut writing (hats off to you, could never be me), or those who read the fics, that isn’t my point. It’s just crazy to me that the majority of fics out there regarding Pedro & his characters ARE smut.

I think the line between the celebrity and the fan has become so blurry that it’s hard to know what it means to love a celebrity. I go through multiple fixations (love that ND trait), of loving certain celebrities and characters that eventually chop and change. Hell, I’ve had/have crushes on Tom Hiddleston, Matt Smith, Benedict Cumberbatch, Oscar Isaac, Sacha Dhawan… Pedro Pascal… But I’ve never seen a craze quite like the one with Pedro recently.

Interviewers constantly asking Pedro the same questions (which unfortunately is just the media industry, they usually don’t do their research and tend to go in with questions given to them), about ‘how does it feel to be the internet daddy?’, ‘why do you think so many people love you?’, ‘what do you think about the tiktok edits?’ And so on… It must become tiresome and overwhelming. Whilst the recent clip of the interviewer asking Pedro to read thirst tweets didn’t come across as him being uncomfortable, he did deny reading them out. Maybe it was because it was a Disney premiere, or maybe it was something else. But I think that’s where the line should be drawn. Having interviewers show these human beings sexual comments strangers have been writing about them on the internet (unless they have specifically agreed or consented to reading them).

I don’t know, maybe I’m rambling and being too touchy. But I know if I was in Pedro’s shoes, I think I would start to become a little uncomfortable with the amount of attention my physical appearance was getting rather than my work. I’m not saying don’t appreciate his appearance, or have little fantasies to yourself, but I think there’s a point where it becomes too… real, when it’s publicly shared online. Let alone shown to him on a red carpet.

The man is a heartthrob, and he deserves every bit of attention he gets for his work and character, but can we please agree that boundaries exist and think ‘would I like someone to say or think this about me?’