#(or else: vampire adjacent)

[hitlikehammers]

unforeseen complications 🩸 steve/kas!eddie

“What’s wrong?” Steve doesn’t try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this because…they’d pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because they’d skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. It’s not a foreign feeling, though: the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recover— “We can’t keep doing this, Steve.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, kas!eddie, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, as in: eddie angsts about his new vampiric tendencies while steve has none of it, true love, blood drinking (just a little), terrified eddie (that he did steve any possible damage), long-suffering steve (who knows it’s all completely fucking FINE and also they’re dumb in love forever)♥️

for @steddielovemonth day eight: "I'll take care of you." "It's rotten work." "Not to me. Not if it's you." —Euripides

Steve is groggy, his head’s a little fuzzy and unevenly weighted in that way he can already tell will make him dizzy when he opens his eyes and tries to lift it—so he doesn’t, not just yet—but normally he sleeps this part off. Normally the side effects aren’t as sharp as this is already shaping up to be, because his body keeps him blissful conked out long enough where it’s all a little more of a dull roar that he can ignore while he gets through the day and slides slow back to normal.

And it’s not like it gets this intense that often; it’s in extenuating circumstances. Sometimes one’s they create for themselves, sure, but usually it’s some world-threatening shitfuckery that pushes the limits this bad. Like…at least eight times out of ten.

At least.

So it’s weird that he’s waking up before he’s due to shake off the worst of it, when said worst-of-it is still clinging to his skin, his eyeballs, the linings of his veins.

He tries to make sense of what he can feel through the fog: weight, mostly. Something heavy that’s not just his own body rebelling against regaining consciousness too soon. There’s…something on top of him.

Heavy.

Shaking.

There’s a sound, maybe, like…breathing but that’s shaky too and—

Oh.

Oh no, it’s not just shaky.

The weight on top of him’s fucking crying, and trying real hard not to be found out for it.

Steve would goddamn know what that sounds like, specifically. From a whole-ass lifetime of experience in his godforsaken family.

And Steve knows what his own fucking boyfriendsounds like in distress, so—

“Eds,” Steve doesn’t even have to push to open his eyes and sit up too fast because there no dizziness, no nausea he can’t work through when Eddie in need is on the other side of it; “what’s wrong, what happened, I—”

The hand on his chest is firm but awkward, because Eddie is still splayed over his chest, doesn’t seem to have any intention of moving at all.

“Lay back down,” Eddie’s voice is muffled in Steve’s skin; “save your strength, you’re still,” and yeah…muffled, but too rough, cracked down the middle; “you’re…”

More than cracked, fuck. Shattering.

“What’s wrong?” Steve doesn’t try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this because…they’d pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because they’d skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. It’s not a foreign feeling.

And the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recover—

“We can’t keep doing this, Steve.”

—is also not unexpected. Pretty fucking routine now. Steve’s even practiced enough to swallow down the urge to sigh.

Because, considering that Eddie is skin-to-skin, blanketed on top of Steve under about seven blankets, more than Steve even knew they owned as he shudders through something suspiciously close to sobbing while the tone of the words screamheartbreak: Steve would have every right to be concerned when it sounded a whole hell of a lot like his boyfriend was trying to break up with him.

The first time was a fucking doozy, sure. Second time even, that sucked too.

Now though, with it being fairly fucking routine for…close to a year, now, especially after rough runs like last night?

Steve’s kinda learned to take it as the sign of affection he’s come to understand it stems from, deep in Eddie’s too-soft, too-tender chest, always having been ready to feel so fucking much—Steve wishes he’d known it sooner. Maybe they could have felt less alone, together.

Whatever. They’re here now.

Though it’d been a pretty free-and-clear couple of months—Eddie had only crumbled so far as to have shaken in a corner in Steve’s arms for close to probably five hours one of the three or so times they’d had to stretch too much time between regular feedings—because when Eddie came back, when he appeared in Steve’s living room dripping the black sludge the Upside Down seemed to specialize in best—trembling and stammering and…be-fanged.

And Steve had just looked at him, gaped a couple minutes—which he stands by being wholly fair and justified—and then did the only genuinely sane thing he could have done, given the givens.

He’d pushed Eddie toward the nearest fucking bathroom, under some hot water, and cleaned him the fuck up.

And didn’t think—yet—about how warm it made Steve: the sight of Eddie’s naked frame under the spray as it slowly siphoned off the goo.

Nope. Not the time.

He was sick, though, that was clear, but Steve…he can’t explain even now how he knew to be cautious in letting anyone in the Party know that they’re friend, this singular lost member of their family had somehow crawled back to the land of the living. Because yeah, it could have been the fact that Eddie was cool to the touch. Paler than he’d been before. Barely had a heartbeat but was definitely alive enough to insist he was pressed into Steve’s heat every night, in Steve’s bed; to keep shaking, to wretch more of the black slime up until it was just dry heaving, and…

There were plenty of reason to have caused the hesitance. But it wasn’t any of that.

It wasn’t even how, after Steve slit himself on an envelope, Eddie had scurried to his side, made to lunge then cowered back, cried like he was in pain before saying the first words Steve had gotten out of him yet:

Please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry Stevie, please—

And Steve wasn’t immune to what spending every fucking night wrapped up in another body. A definitely not unattractive body. A body belonging to a personality that Steve was getting pretty interested in getting to know better—literally and…intimately, y’know, Steve crossed the bridge of being totally shocked by that after he’d less-than-half-mourned Billy fucking Hargrove for the sake of his and and literally no other reason—but. Yeah.

He’d have given Eddie anything, at that points while he was hoarding and harboring him, safe as much as selfish in this house. He’d have—

What Eddie wanted was the blood from his papercut. And…well.

The fangs make…wel, they made a lot more sense all of a sudden.

Eddie fought it when Steve dragged him to the couch and offered his wrist because the guy was sucking kinda pitifully, like, way too desperate on Steve’s fingertip and not in a sexy way—and Steve would actually really like to reach the point of it being a sexy way someday, specifically with Eddie, he’d already stopped trying to deny that to himself—so he pulled his hand away, cupped Eddie’s cheek (warmer, more color in it), brushed by accident against his jugular (a real pulse, and racing, but overtaxed, like it needed…more to work with and yeah, if Steve hadn’t made up his mind already that would’ve done the job, flat out)—and when Eddie whimpered, Steve pushed his advantage of having a full blood supply, dragged Eddie into his lap, tore his own bloody strips from above the veins he could see under the heel of his palm straight down and Eddie gasped, cried out, tried to scramble away—

But Steve shoved his wrist to Eddie’s lips—knew it was maybe dirty pool but…he wasn’t stupid. If Eddie needed blood, he…he needed blood.

And Eddie was reluctant, at first, didn’t try to pull away once he realized that Steve had got him in a pretty solid hold from the waist down, and he just was not strong enough right now, not yet but he could be, if he’d just—

Steve hadn’t been worried, but if there’d been reservations, like, if Robin had had any idea he was doing this and voiced her innumerable concerns: if Steve have been worried, Eddie’s presence of mind to even think to resist, to look at Steve like he was in pain to avoid the blood waiting on offer, specifically for him, it’s all he would need.

But seeing that Steve hadn’t even thought to be worried, he ultimately caught Eddie’s frantic eyes, leaned in and brushed his lips to Eddie’s, tasted his own blood as he whispered:

It’s for you, I want you to have it so that you’re okay, and his hand had braced on Eddie’s chest where that heartbeat was struggling, but wild, and he didn’t even dare to blink until Eddie’s tongue lapped accidental at the blood steaming down.

And the rest is…history.

Eddie had tried to set his own limits, but Steve’s old hat at being the victim of the Upside Down’s bullshit, or Russian spy craft at that; he knows when the blood loss is actually a concern. He keeps his hand to eddie chest, makes his own call when that pulse is strong enough to ease his wrist away.

Steve hadn’t been a fucking lifeguard, after all. He does know some things.

And so that had been…that.

They’d told the others, eventually, but just that Eddie was back. It was enough to prove Steve’s fears in and of itself—they already suspected Vecna, Eddie as a sleeper agent or some shit, two guns trained on him in an instant: and that’s without the blood…thing.

So they keep that to themselves. It’s definitely a contributing factor to how they end up in dire enough straits that Steve’s laid up a little after just some casual bloodsucking until eddies heartbeat finds its strength of rhythm again.

It’s not a big deal. Steve’s had so many migraines worse than this ever is.

Except for when it gets to how Eddie reacts. How he falls apart for fear, for Steve.

That’s the worst pain Steve’s ever known, every goddamn time.

“You were cold,” Eddie’s voice shivers as he raps into Steve’s chest hair; “to me, you were cold to me.”

“You’d just fed, and you were hurting for it,” Steve reasons; it takes Eddie time to warm back up when they spread the feeding out too long. “You’re still not evened-out,” he reasons; Dustin would have a good science-y name for it, but they…they can’t risk it.

Steve won’t fucking risk it. Risk Eddie.

He cranes his neck, keeps his eyes closed to make sure he doesn’t aggravate the feeling of being off-balance, but he needs to press his lips to Eddie’s temple, test the heat.

“Close though,” Steve smiles into the skin, then kisses with intent. He…he loves that he can give this to Eddie. He doesn’t think Eddie gets that part, thinks Eddie only sees it as taking, rather than a gift for Steve in return just as strong.

“Steve,” Eddie moans, shakes his head as more a messy swirl of matted curls; “we can’t.”

Again: it stopped being convincing months ago; but Eddie does sound particularly distressed.

Steve brings a hand to run through that unruly hair, careful. Gentle.

“You weren’t moving,” Eddie finally whispers; “I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear,” and Steve knows his limits, knows that Eddie didn’t hear or see even with his enhanced senses now because he’d been frantic, and his own heartbeat and shot quick to pounding after being so weak—it always sets him off kilter for a second or two.

Steve cradles Eddie to his chest rig he re, so he can hear clear the heartbeat Steve knows is steady now, strong.

They’ve both evened out. They’re both okay.

“I can’t risk you,” Eddie breathes into the space where the beat hits hardest; “I can’t lose you.”

“So,” Steve nods, tucks Eddie under his chin a little tighter; “losing me by design instead is your solution,” he sucks his teeth, hums as if he’s actually consider such fucking nonsense:

“Yeah, cool, makes sense.”

He thinks the sarcasm drips just the right amount.

“Stevie,” Eddie whines, like it hurts, and Steve never wants that. But he might…need for it to, a little at least, to get the point across.

“We’ve been through this, Eds,” Steve breathes low; “I’m not actually looking to kick the fucking bucket here,” he knows Eddie won’t appreciate the levity but he can’t help it, pressed the curve of his lips to eddies scalp. “I’m much more interested in making sure you’re not ell enough and strong enough and safe enough,” and he reaches, then, to lift Eddie chin, to turn him, to look, to see:

“To stay with me.”

And like clockwork, Eddie’s eyes widen, darken, narrow and Eddie scrambles up, takes Steve’s face in both his open palms:

“Always,” he hisses; “nothing could make me want to be anywhere else, not ever.”

And Steve knows it. Knows he means it

“But Steve—”

And because Steve knows? He’s happy to cut this the fuck off at the stem, nip it in the bud, press a the same fingertip eddies sucked the blood from so many nights ago, that first time that started the rest of Steve’s whole goddamn life—

Steve’s more than happy to press that fingertip to Eddie’s lips, to shut him the fuck yo when he needs it.

“I grew up not knowing what love was,” Steve says simply, and eddies eyes flash red—only when he’s incensed do they do that, and Steve not-so-secretly finds it hot as fuck. “Except for knowing that what I got wasn’t it,” he shrugs; “or else, not the kind it was supposed to be. Benign neglect,” he flinches a little as other, harsher memories buck their heads and he knows he has to say something because Eddie sees him, Eddie will draw it out himself otherwise and…

“Until the times it wasn’t,” Steve murmurs and, well.

At least he gets another sexy-as-fuck flash of crimson in those eyes he adores.

“But I knew what I did have wasn’t right,” Steve’s quick to press on; “so even though I kinda started from zero on the learning curve, it wasn’t,” he bites his lip and it’s not even weird anymore, to revisit the journey even if it started less-than-happily.

Because Steve knows the ending. And how it’s not even an ending at all.

“I knew I was looking for something that sat at the opposite end of the spectrum from what I did know. What I had been taught,” and he grabs for eddies hands and gathers them under his chin to rest on, to just…look his fill of this impossible man he’s fallen for, that he’s more than happily given his life to all the ways he knows how.

“And once I unlearned the bad shit, and started finding the real deal?”

He waits for Eddie’s eyes to glitter just so, waits for his head to tilts just the tiniest bit before he leans up:

“Love is this,” Steve breathes against Eddie’s lips with real fucking meaning:

“Love is exactly this.”

“Nearly fucking dying because your freak-ass boyfriend has to drink your goddamn blood and—” Eddie tries to deflect but is pretty fucking shirt with it. Not least because there are tears running down his cheek. Not least because Steve knows now. What love is.

He’d just spoken on the truth.

“Not even close to fucking dying at all,” Steve reminds him with a playful eye roll and a squeeze of his hand; “save maybe how much it killed me when I thought I’d lost you before we had a chance,” and honestly: Steve hates thinking about how all of this was almost never know, never had, never felt.

Yeah: that fucking kills him, just to think.

“So add that into the love-column,” Steve grins a little, imagining the upgraded version of a ‘YOU RULE’ board; “this is love because you’re breathing,” and Steve kisses the little divot above Eddie’s top lip; “you’re safe,” and then he kisses, nibble Eddie’s neck;“your heart beats when there’s enough blood for it to move around,” and Steve’s not strong enough to resist nipping at the heady pulse between Eddie’s collarbones.

“You’re as alive as anything or anyone in every way that could ever count,” Steve breathes; “you’re here. With me.”

Then he leans back again, looks Eddie in the eyes:

“You care enough—”

“Love.”

Eddie’s tone is this sharp, unquestionable thing. It’s thrilling every time it comes out.

All the more, said around that one word.

“I love,” Eddie’s hands hold closer, more dear at the sides of Steve’s face again; “whether it’s enough or not, whether it ever could be, I fucking love you—”

“Then you love,” Steve picks back up, pecks Eddie’s lips because he can; “enough to check that I’m okay, when we do this, and it’s just a little more of a challenge than normal.”

Eddie looks like he’s about to choke on something.

“Challenge?”

Ah. About to choke on that word specifically; that tracks.

“I like a good challenge,” Steve reminds him, reaches to pinch his cheek, delights in how blood—Steve’s blood—rushes to the surface; “fills the gap from all the sports-playing.”

Eddie’s mouth moves around silent words for a few seconds and then:

“Normal?”

Steve doesn’t even try not to laugh. With glee, even. With wonder.

“Wild, ain’t it,” he asks, kinda fucking joyful; “who’d have ever thought Steve Harrington would find a love this big,” and he runs his hand over Eddie’s arm, shoulder to wrist; “this perfect, for everything he is, not what he’s gotta twist himself in knots to try and become,” and Steve’s voice gets lower, more earnest, more genuinely fucking grateful for…all of it.

For his Eddie.

“Who would have thought Steve Harrington would fall into a love that held his whole fucking heart in its hands,” he brings those hands to his chest, where they clutch automatic; “to do with what you would, to take as far as you liked,” and his voice goes low—they don’t know what’s been done to Eddie beyond the obvious, what life and death mean for him;

“To keep as long as you decided to want.”

Basically, Steve isn’t too concerned about the whats. He’s more concerned about Eddie having no shred of doubt, that Steve wants whatever it means, to be something they share. He wants whatever it means to mean the same for both of them, if it can. However it can.

Whatever it takes.

“Steve,” Eddie shakes his head, face ruddy, tear-strewn and mouth agape.

“I don’t deserve you,” he exhales, then breathes in, sharp and shaking; “and you deserve so much more than this.”

“Let me make the decision,” Steve says, sure in it. Maybe for the first time in his life, he has no doubts for anything involving what he feels for Eddie, and the truth of what Eddie feels for him.

“And since I made that decision fucking months ago already, I’ll save you the suspense,” he turns Eddie’s chin on the tip of a finger, one more time.

“There is no more than this.”

And Eddie blinks; blinks.

And then his strings are cut, and he collapses full into Steve again, this time gathering him in by every limb he can tangle, gasping and grasping and needing and desperate and kissing every inch of Steve he can reach.

“Fuck, I love you baby,” Eddie moans deep from the center in his chest: “forever.”

It’s a true thing. It’s a promise.

It’s an acknowledgement of what they don’t yet know, but can agree with all they are to share, together, equal.

For always.

“I know,” Steve tells him simply, pulse pumping only joy; “and I am always gonna know. I’m always gonna be here, to make sure you never forget.”

And Eddie’s face falls for half-a-second, before it steels with resolve, before his hands lace with Steve’s and smack them flat to Eddie’s heaving chest.

To Eddie’s pounding heart.

“Never forget here,” he vow sir; “it’s never a matter of not loving.”

And Eddie’s scared, still, in his eyes; Steve knows.

It almost means more, that he’s promising it all, nonetheless. With his whole goddamn heart.

“I know,” Steve reminds him the best way he knows; pressing closer, tighter to that beat.

“And I’m always gonna be right here.”

Eddie nods, closes his eyes and holds Steve one breath closer to that pumping blood:

“Right here.”

And that?

And that suits Steve more than fucking fine.

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divider credit here

[true-bluesargent]

SEEING NOSFERATU TOMORROW YIPPEEEEE

[potentially-an-art-blog]

Finally drew our poly queen

[planetveensz]

RETRIBUTION — vi (arcane)

— you are pitfighter!vi’s newest devistating lesbian situationship. tw: fem!r, angst, sapphic longing, sapphic heartbreak, mentions of drinking/alcohol/being drunk, mentions of sex (mdni 18+), lowercase intended i'm a sadboy rn, wk 1.4k, art cred an: act two hurt me bad guys, had to take a breath and sit down to write out my feelings. please send any trauma response ideas or otherwise if you have them, i needa write this pain out fr. (i listened to vampire empire by big theif while writing this)

you’re jerked from sleep by a loud pounding behind your door.

blood turning to ice, a trickle of fear runs down your spine as your heartbeat picks up. the banging begins again, a loud rapping so violent you imagine the wood of your door bending from its force. you slide out of bed as quietly as you can; avoiding the weak, creaking spots on your floor.

you pick up the bat placed next to the threshold of your front door, fingers sliding up the handle as you inch towards the door knob. there are another three booming knocks that make you jump back with a small ‘eep!’ before gaining up the courage to rip the door open. other hand reaching to grip the bat handle, you raise it above your head, prepared to strike.

you don’t.

violet wobbles in your doorframe, a sly smile creeping on her lips when she sees your vicious state. “hey, sweetheart,” she croons, stumbling to the side and barely catching herself on the trim of your entryway.

great. she’s belligerent.

“vi,” you say her name like a statement, “what are you doing here?”

you met vi months ago, amidst the beginning of her winning streak in the pit. she spotted you on the dancefloor adjacent to the bar she frequented after her fights. she’d approached you with one thing in mind. the sex was amazing, passionate and fiery, it would have been perfect if she didn’t keep calling you by someone else's name.

“‘cmon, sweetie, don’ be like that,” she slurs, “i missed you.” you roll your eyes, but can’t help the fond smile that responds to her words. you'd kept seeing her after that first night despite every red flag, showing up at her matches just so that she could find you again. you cherished every drunken night with her.

you knew what you were doing was going to get you hurt in the end, but you supposed you just didn't care. and it wasn’t just the sex, there was something else about her that you couldn’t ignore.

among the moments of intense lust, you saw her for what she truly was. lonely. broken, sad. kind.

rubbing at your forehead, you sigh, then step aside so that she can make her way into your apartment. “i thought you said we couldn’t see each other anymore.” you tell her, manipulating your voice into a teasing lilt, but silently begging her to say what you wanted to hear. she slips past you and inside your home like she has dozens of times before.

“you know that was bullshit,” she laughs drunkenly, “i can’t stay away from you.” she says it matter-a-factly, like it is something well-known and studied. you scoff, disbelief sinking into your gut.

some nights when you ended up together, long after you first entangled, instead of sex, you would listen to her drunken rambling. while you attempted to feed her grilled cheese sandwiches and water to soak up the alcohol in her stomach, she would reveal things to you that stunned you into silence.

her father, her sister, mylo and claggor. silco, the lanes, her time in stillwater, she told you all of it. when her name — caitlyn’s name — first tumbled out of her mouth, you nearly vomited. that is what she had been calling you the first few times you hooked up. “caitlyn,” she’d whisper it into your collarbone, murmur it against your breast.

you couldn’t see her for a couple weeks after that revelation, avoiding the bar, the pit, wallowing in your self-pity. it didn’t last long. she’d shown up, much like this, begging for you to tell her what she’d done wrong. tears streaming down her cheeks as she sunk to her knees in front of you.

you just couldn’t abandon her after that night, no matter what she did. it didn’t matter anymore what she’d call you or what she wanted from you, the empathy you had for this suffering person overtook any self-preserving thoughts you had.

she was going to break your heart. you accepted it.

vi flops onto your beaten couch, laying her arms along the cushions and tipping her head back until she’s staring at your ceiling. the last time she was here it was more than three weeks ago, the longest you’d gone without her since you met her. she’d told you that she couldn’t see you any longer; your time with her was up.

you guessed it had something to do with how close you two had gotten, emotionally. not only were you discovering every way to make each other shiver in bed, you were also exploring each other's deepest thoughts and highest dreams.

your heart races in your chest as you settle yourself next to her on the couch. she lazily turns her head to set her eyes on you, the glimmering gray of her irises makes every emotion for her you’ve tried to dissolve come flooding back. “you’re so pretty,” she whispers.

you immediately feel sick, wondering if she’s having another hallucination of caitlyn. how had you gotten into this mess, fallen so deeply into the chasm that is violet’s grasp? you turn your head away from her, resting your cheek on your shoulder while you contemplate your next move.

she says your name, your name, with such clarity it shocks you. you whip your head back around to see her leaning forward, looking at you with a sobriety you haven’t seen from her before. then she kisses you.

you melt into it, allowing her to pull you against her, on top of her lap and into her arms. you sigh, it feels like coming home. she’s gentle with you, cradling and stroking your neck and arms. you sag into her.

her pouty lips are soft and warm, her tongue swipes along your bottom lip and a shudder runs down your back. when you open your mouth for her, it’s heaven.

it’s retribution.

you pull back, stumbling over your feet as you remove yourself from her lap. her chest is heaving, and you catch yourself watching her ab muscles clench with every breath. you scrub your forehead.

“this is wrong,” you say.

“what?” she scoffs a laugh, “baby—”

“this is wrong and you know it.” your voice cracks, the emotion you’ve been shoving down all these months finally coming back to suffocate you. “you’re in love with her.”

violet flinches.

“you’re in love with her, not me, and i—” a sob leaves your throat, “i’m falling in love with you and i can’t keep sacrificing myself for-for this.” you gesture between the two of you. “it’s not enough.”

“you—” vi starts, standing to meet you, “you—i can’t lose you, too.” you can see her own tears forming in her eyes. “please. i can’t.” the desperation in her voice is unparalleled, you've never heard her so emotional.

the dam breaks. you fall into her arms, wrapping yourself around her neck as you cry into each other’s shoulders. you both crumple to the floor, she is gripping you like you’re her salvation. neither of you say anything.

time passes and she falls asleep in your hold; you eventually heave her onto the couch. tucking her in with a spare pillow and blanket, you watch for a few silent moments as she peacefully breathes in her sleep.

a thought crosses your mind, maybe you could lay down next to her for the night, but you shake it away with surprising willpower. leaning above her, you press a longing kiss against her temple and squeeze your eyes shut. a murmur leaves her lips, it sounds a lot like your name.

when violet wakes her head is pounding in retaliation for how much she drank the previous night. a groan leaves her lips and her eyes flutter open as memories come streaming back to her. she gasps, sitting up too quickly. ignoring the way her stomach turns, she glances around your empty apartment.

she finds you sleeping in your room, curled up in bed, snoozing quietly. her heart clenches. she knows that you deserve better than what she's been giving you, she knows how much damage your heart has taken the last few months. she’s like a parasite, draining you of all the affection she needs and in return inflicting you with the illness that comes with caring for her.

but she can’t make herself stay away.

she knows why, too. she just doesn't have the strength to admit it.

instead, she leans above you, pressing a longing kiss against your temple and taking a shuddering breath. she pulls away and watches as a murmur leaves your lips, her name.

she wipes the crippling onslaught of tears off her cheeks as she approaches your front door. muffling the sounds of her cries with a tight hand over her mouth, she leaves, gently shutting the door behind her.

© planetveensz 2024

[musicallychaos]

Baz growing his hair out "because he's busy"

Baz wearing women's shirts because the floral patterns are better

Baz wearing old timey nightshirts to bed and saying it's because they feel posh, or it gives Simon easier access

But really he stands in the bathroom and spins around so they twirl

Baz says "I need to tell you something" and Simon has a whole panic attack

"Snow, you're fine. It's about me"

"I already know you're a vampire"

Baz can't look Simon in the eye when he says he's not sure he's a boy

But Simon turns around and says "okay, should I call you something else?"

And Baz has built this up so much that he just stares for a bit, because the plan was that this would go badly

But Simon holds his hand until he can sort out all his thoughts and they're okay

"Baz is fine."

"so are you nonbinary, then?"

"I don't fucking know!"

And that's absolutely okay with Simon, he loves Baz no matter what Baz is

Eventually, Baz puts he/they in his email signature

Simon keeps suggesting genders "what if vampire was your gender?"

"fuck off, Simon"

"gender identity: posh"

"I said fuck off, Simon!" But they're laughing

Simon understands because this is exactly how he feels about his sexuality

Baz is not a boy just like Simon is not straight

Honestly, it just expands Simon's list of acceptable compliments

Baz loses their shit when Simon calls them beautiful for the first time

He cries when Simon learns how to braid their hair.

Allegedly. They'll never admit to the tears

Vaguely genderqueer Baz and vaguely queer Simon agreeing that as long as it feels good the labels couldn't matter less

Genderqueer Baz existing, honestly

I headcanon Baz's gender as "boy adjacent" just like mine is "girl adjacent" and every time I think about it smile like a fool for like an hour

[neechees]

Sinners talk under the cut bc spoilers!!

idk how people are saying Remmick "isn't racist", this guy:

Called the Choctaw slurs when he didn't get his way with them

Ran away from the Choctaw and instead of going literally anywhere else, he went to the kkk members' house and used his whiteness (or adjacent-Whiteness) to appeal to people who he knew were violent racists against the Choctaw

Instead of just eating & killing the klan members like an actual ally mightve, he turned them into immortal cannibal monsters and then proceeded to bring them to a juke joint populated by almost entirely Black people

Lied to the twins at their first meeting about 2 of his vampire members being klan members, but then later revealed it to be true specifically to intimidate them with racism to get them to join his vampire coven

Got all pissy when the twins told him to fuck off clearly because he's a creepy White dude randomly showing up at a mostly Black gathering & they already suspect him and/or his companions to be racist (which they are). His annoyance at being turned away is related to him wanting to turn everybody there into vampires, but he still understood why he wasn't wanted there and still acted weird about it. He acted like how racist white people act when theyre told not to culturally appropriate things.

Speaking of, the twins literally told him where he could find WHITE bars and white gatherings, but he specifically wanted the Black people to become vampires. He could have went anywhere else but he chose here (cultural appropriation, essentially). And its made clear that Sammy's ability to connect with ancestors through music isn't only something he or only other Black people can do, so Remmick literally could have just gone home to Ireland to find a community THERE.

After turning the klan members, he found out that the kkk were going to attack the juke joint, but once again, instead of doing something like warning Smoke & Stack (like an actual ally would) immediately upon finding out, or oh I don't know, just violently killing all the klan members (without turning them into vampires), he left them alone and still tried to eagerly kill everyone at the juke joint

Once again used his Whiteness to threaten & sexually harass Grace & her family

There's other stuff im missing im sure but Remmick is very obviously supposed to be racist, and to me its very similar to centrists or liberals who "don't see color" but will weaponize racism when its convenient for them

[bambisnc]

          . . swimming through the cherry sky

° ˖ ➴ “forget whatever you think you knew. vampires exist.”

### . STARRING ⌢ n.rk ⋆ suggestive? + 1.3k // unedited + roommate trope + blood drinking ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ XOXO ⌝ vamki enthusiasts hi + alt vrs hidden somewhere in txt + [m.list]

you've had your suspicions for a while now. the irregular, conspicuous late nights. the stains that eerily resemble dried blood and something else you can’t quite name but feel in your bones. an instinct that something was odd.

but bless your heart, you just can't bring yourself to actually accuse your roommate, nishimura riki, of anything.

besides, what would you have even said, anyway? 

"hey, roommate! what a wonderful day it is today, huh? the weather sure is … happening! by the way, if i may ask, is there any chance that you might be a bloodthirsty, monstrous creature? just curious haha!"

yeah. that wouldn't work. obviously.

not that you had the ability to even stay in the same room as him long enough to put together a few coherent words. but merely the air around him was enough to have shivers running down your spine. and yet, the worst part of it all? 

he’s never actually tried anything to cause harm to you. never once warranted your fears. which only makes you feel like you’re losing your damn mind.

so you do the only thing you can do. watch from a distance; observe. bide your time and keep trying to piece things together while ensuring to stay as far away as you possibly can. which, considering you live together, is pretty much next to impossible.

and then, after months of feeling like the tension would just about eat you alive, something finally happens. 

it had been a relatively slow day. your roommate had kept to himself as usual, doing nothing out of the ordinary. nothing you could consider hard proof, that is. 

having decided on an early night for yourself, you were in bed, adorned with comfortable night clothes. that was when you’d heard it. 

a dull thump! 

followed up, as if on cue, by a low, guttural groan. the pain in the raspy noise was clear enough to make your stomach twist. against your better judgement, curse you for being soft-hearted, you leave the comfort the safety of your room and towards the adjacent hallway. the door in front of you was slightly ajar, ink like shadows spilling out.

and then you see him.

hunched over, collapsed by the edge of his bed, barely able to hold himself up. riki looks too pale – ashen, almost, like all the warmth has been drained from his body. his breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps. he looks like he’s seconds from death’s door.

your entrance wasn’t as quiet as you’d meant for it to be however. he lifts his head, with a considerable amount of exertion, letting his gaze – dark, unreadable – meet yours. when he speaks, it’s hushed. completely unlike the usual confident drawl he uses otherwise. 

“it’s dangerous for you to be in here when i’m like this.”

“what-” you swallow down all the questions bubbling inside your throat. “... are you okay?..”

sure, this was probably the only opportunity you’d have with him this vulnerable but, you can’t bring yourself to take advantage of his weakened state. you venture a little closer to him, to properly be able to appraise his condition, despite your entire being begging you not to.

barely being able to hear his answer, you lean closer still to be able to pick up on the yet again hesitant, reluctant mumble, “i … haven’t fed in a while.”

your heart goes cold. you can all but feel the blood rushing into your ears as you struggle to process what riki just said. obviously, he doesn’t mean that in the literal sense. right?

but before you can even reach a conclusion, decide whether or not to let your flight instinct take control and rush out of here, call someone, anyone for help — with a fluid motion, you find your positions completely switched.

your back meets the hard edge of the bed with a jolt. he kneels in front of you now, towering. his frame eclipses yours, one arm braced on the bed, the other steadying himself on the floor. you can tell he isn’t even putting much effort, but he’s able to cage you in without even trying. no longer can you delude yourself into thinking you have any semblance of control over the situation. 

there’s no mistaking it. not with that look in his eyes, the pupils fast dilating – were they always tinged that slight shade of … red? there can be no more excuses, no more pretending that you’re just being paranoid. because this … 

… this is real.

“this isn’t happening. it can’t be.” you whisper, as if saying it out loud will manifest it into existence. as if it’ll wake you up from whatever bad fever dream this is.

he looks almost amused, for a second. lips twitching as if he finds your denial to be funny. 

and then he’s leaning in closer, closer until … something sharp grazes against your delicate neck. your breath hitches sharply at the sensation. 

“forget whatever you think you knew.” his voice is steadier than it was earlier. more certain, more sure of itself. “vampires exist.” ...

where riki’s lips ghost over your neck, his touch is featherlight but somehow still constricting. he tilts your head slightly, movements agonizingly slow exposing it even more to himself.

“can i?..” his voice is strained, as he grits out the words but you appreciate the warning. 

even if it might not be of any actual meaning, “do i have a choice?”

“not really, no. i’m sorry.” 

and then, a sharp, electric sting as his fangs pierce your skin.

the pain flashes for only a moment, though, before a haze-like dizziness takes its place. sinking into your bones, making your limbs go weaker than they felt before.

his free hand shifts from the floor – after he gains some semblance of his former strength, you assume – and he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers digging into the skin as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the living world. it’s a strange sensation, to say the least. the action is rhythmic, if nothing else. 

only when a soft, barely audible gasp escapes you does he pull away, fangs retracting. 

his tongue licks against the open wound in what you would only later discover was supposed to be a means to soothe. before you even realize it, you’re reaching for him, clutching onto his shirt, albeit rather weakly in some sort of attempt of grounding yourself.

you don’t know what to say about it. you don’t even know how to feel.

but what you do know is that he’s still looking at you. eyes dark, lips stained red with your blood, chest rising and falling like he’s just barely holding himself together. 

looking at him like this, it’s clear as day that he needs more. the struggle, the desperation, the way he seems to be at war with himself. 

so you do what any good roommate would do, the words leaving you before you can second guess your decision. you offer yourself to him. 

“take what you need.”

his expression flickers. hesitation, shock, relief, aching. “you don’t have to—” he sounds like he wants to refuse, like he knows he should refuse. 

but when you tilt your head back slightly, just enough for the previous mark to be visible, you practically hear his resolve crack.

riki presses in close again, with more an ease this time and as the alien sensation you’re growing more and more familiar to takes over, you exhale a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

“you.. fuck.” his voice is muffled between slow, languid sucks – unhurried, this time. more deliberate. “you’re a terrible roommate.” 

you huff out as best as you can, in your (slightly lightheaded) condition “hah... why is that?”  a pause. his thumb swipes over the place his lips had been seconds earlier, as if reassuring himself of your pulse. “because this means i owe you.”

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[space-blue]

A complete guide to Blue Daddy's Girl (my) Arcane fics

Multi-chapter

Fathers and Daughters (My big hit)

Alternate AU set after S01E03, where Silco adopts both Vi and Powder. Large ensemble cast, multiple POVs, but mostly Vi.

100k words. Completed. Fanart chapters and art comms.

While the World Turns Around

Silco/Vander post betrayal reconciliation AU. Set before the show. POV Vander.

5.2k words. Completed. Entire chapter of gifted fanart at the end.

Our Love, That Flows Into the Sea is the same fic but from the POV of Silco. Unfinished WIP I don't plan on continuing.

The Shimmer Baron’s Family

Silco/Vander Regency AU. Estranged family, set during a ball at the Medarda estate.

10k words. Unfinished. No plans to finish it, stop asking lol or else make a serious request via my ko-fi.

A Stray

4.7k. Set in the "good verse". Silco and Vander adopt Viktor. One shot converted to WIP, has fanart.

Whatever I do, this is where we end

A dark Silco time loop, but told from the POV of Vander, who gets reset every time unknowingly. Strong themes of violence, suicide, despair and smut. Read the tags.

7.7k words. Completed. No fanart.

Science of the Soul

Ongoing WIP, Jayvik Avatar AU in which Zaunites are Na'vi and everyone from Piltover are humans. With art from me and others.

Cursed, by a brush of your hand

Silco/Vander soulmate AU where the soulmark is framed as a potential life ending curse. Aroace Silco, BFF with Renata Glasc. Basically an aroace perspective on soulmates.

7k words. Completed. No fanart.

What I wouldn’t do for you

Silco & Vander role swap. Silco adopts the kids and runs the Last Drop.

5.2k words. Completed. Open ending. No fanart.

The Darkin Child

Viktor, Singed and Silco are vampire-adjacent monsters, Vander is a werewolf. Married zaundads with Viktor returning to Zaun in hiding.

4.3k words. Unfinished, no plans to finish it.

The Centaur Breaker

Silly centaur AU with Silco as a rancher in a fantasy world (not a US Far West setting), rescuing captured centaurs. Vander, Sevika, Jinx & Vi as centaurs.

2.8k words. Unfinished. Only a single chapter and no plans to continue.

☆ Arcane Art Dump 

The home of all my Arcane fanarts worth saving.

One Shots

Those are sorted by kudos, from the most popular down to least.

Pretty Blue Puffs of Arcane Smoke

829 words. Silco and Powder discuss getting tattoos. Set in the Fathers and Daughters AU.

Worries, and ways to dispel them & Explosions, and their fallout

5k words total. Silco x Reader two parter, written in the week before season 1's finale. 2nd person gender neutral reader without body description.

Lost Child

3.7k words. Pirate Silco is back in Zaun and trying to avoid Vander. He runs into a lost child called "Cait" at Bridgewaltz market.

The Monster Within & The Monster Without

1.3k words for Monster Within. Post-betrayal Silco recovers and cuts his hair. Based on a fanart by @/Wish. 1.6k words for Monster Without. Set at the same time, but Vander POV as he deals with emotional turmoil after attacking Silco (probably my favourite one shot to this day).

Adoption

1.8k words. Vander and Silco are still brothers. They discuss adopting the girls in this no-betrayal AU.

Beer And Bribery

2k words. Vi & Sevika. Set in the Fathers and Daughters AU. Vi asks Sevika for help picking a present for Silco. Written for the Arcane parenting week event.

Let Me Try

4.3k words. Newest on the list! Arcane season 2 finale fix it. Timebomb... Ekko walks away from the final battle in a daze after learning that Jinx is dead. She isn't, no matter what Vi may believe.

Not Dead Yet & A Friend In Need

3k words total. Jinx finds a dead body in Zaun, but Viktor isn’t quite dead yet. Jinx & Viktor, written prior to season 2 for Sicktember.

Without Questions

627 words. Written for a fanart that is currently down, but hopefully I'll fix it soon. Young Zaundads fluff. Vander doesn’t understand what Silco sees in him, but he’s not willing to question it.

Gun Nerds Of All Nations

3k words. Set in a similar AU to F&D but not actually. Powder & young Caitlyn bond at a fair's shooting competition. Written for the Arcane Parenting Week.

Memories of Sweetness

2k words. Set in the Fathers and Daughters AU. Silco discovers that a staple food of his youth, long thought to have disappeared from Zaun, is back on the streets. He has to share this with Powder and Vi, both born too late to have ever tried it.

No Favourite

1.2k words. Vander claims he doesn't have a favourite among his kids, but they don't see it that way. Written for the Arcane Parenting Week.

Hard Truths

3k words. Ren (Marcus' daughter) tries to find to meaning to her father’s death and ends up meeting Jinx in Zaun.

Blame

830 words. Jinx POV heavy angst. Jinx talks to Silco after his death, until Sevika comes to find her. Written for the Arcane Parenting Week.

A Lesson In Silence

3k words. Set in the Fathers and Daughters AU. Mek (now known as Gustove) takes Powder on a spying mission. Written for the Arcane Parenting Week.

Last Chance

1.3k words. Past Silco/Vander. Missing scene in the cannery, a private conversation between them. Generally bitter sweet and canon compliant.

Son of Zaun

2k words. One day, Silco's mother took him up-top, to see the sky, the sun, and the people who live above them all.

Sepia Smile

732 words. The photograph is faded, its sepia tones keeping the colour of the man's eyes a secret. Vi stares at it for a long time, perplexed. She doesn't understand what Vander saw in him. Written for the Arcane Parenting Week.

A Terrible Gamble

2.3k words. Jinx (and Silco whispering in her mind) set off to rescue Vander from Singed’s lab after the events of season 2.

On Your Head

2.5k words. Alternate retelling of Mel and the young princess' of her memories. In the Princess' POV.

Drunken Dreams

Comic fanart. Jinx brings a drunk Vi home.

Just a cough & Dramatics

685 words for Just a cough. The moment Silco wakes up with a sore throat, he knows he's in trouble with Vander. Written for Sictember. 1k words for Dramatics. Vander sickfic to match.

A Fresh Start

1.9k words. Second person POV where you are brought to a recovering Silco in secret, and give him a haircut and much needed comfort. Gen fic.

Eat You Alive

604 words. Dark!Vi kills Caitlyn as soon as they enter the Lanes.

Maintenance

1.6k words. Explicit. A smutty Mek/Marcus with power dynamics in Silco’s office.

A Haunting

754 words. Heavy angst Vander & Silco meet shortly after the betrayal.

A Touch of Memory

2.2k words. A self-indulgent Star Wars crossover set in the Old Republic with Sith Silco, Jinx and Sevika and Mandalorian Vander. Has links to fanart.

In the Jaws of the Fox

247 words. Mel/Jayce. Mel contemplates the man sprawled in her bed, sleeping insouciantly.

Who Saves The Boy Saviour?

1.3k words. Dark fic!! Jinx captures Ekko post season 1 finale and straps him to the chair Silco used on Vander. Timebomb.

Ragdoll

766 words. A look into young Silco and Vander's budding relationship. It's complicated. With art, made for the Zaundads Zine.

A New Tattoo

968 words. Set in the Fathers and Daughters AU. The story behind Mek’s tattoos.

Five Times Vi Got In Trouble

4.8k words. Vander & Grayson friendship fic done for a charity prize.

Bullseye

500 words. Mel Medarda/Grayson. Mel takes the sheriff with her to visit a progress day and asks her to show off in a shooting range.

My Ko-fi is open for tips, but I'm also open to discuss writing commissions. My DMs are open | Find me on Bsky

[vhagarys]

Sired (mini series)

aemond x reader, aegon x reader

PT. 1

summary: you are elated at the celebration that awaits on your eight and tenth name day. little do you know, you brothers have an unexpected surprise for you.

warnings: vampires, canon-typical incest (its the targaryens love), dub-con, smut, blood-drinking, manipulation?, all hail king daemon, siring?, probably more but I can’t think of any.. oops

MDNI

Ten and eight.

Your name day.

Twas a highly awaited day for you and your family both. While you were giddy with excitement for the festivities celebrating your womanhood, you’d little thought as to what exactly would await you.

See, what your family so carefully evaded from you was that the Targaryen dynasty were bestowed gifts in more ways than one. The blood of the dragon coursed through their veins, but so did something else.

A hunger.

On a Targaryen’s eight and tenth name day, the gift of immortality is bestowed upon them.

The dynasty has long reigned as the most feared and most powerful lineage in Westeros from this unique endowment.

Your naivety could almost be pitied as you fussed about the lacing of the scarlet gown you would don on your special day. Grinning like a cheshire cat, your older siblings watched you and your servants pick out jewels and embroidery to stitch onto the neckline.

“Why are we forbidden from speaking of the ritual? Shouldn’t we enlighten our dear sister on the events to ensue on the morrow?”, your sister Helaena frowns as she fiddles with her ring.

Aegon hummed, “I agree, dear sister. But, we mustn't worry her. Look at how excited she is to-”

“The ritual is a rite of passage. Tis a gift given only to us. That in itself is worth celebrating,” your older brother Aemond interrupted, closely following every small movement of his beautiful sister.

Aegon hummed once again, this time in agreement.

Both of your brother's eyes fixed upon your form. Your supple breasts now filled in the bodice of your gown, the soft flesh spilling over. Hips curved and full, your body was ripe and ready for child bearing, which of course did not go unnoticed by your brothers.

No, not when their hands tugged at their weeping cocks to the sound of your voice, to the soft touch of your skin against theirs, the sweet smell oozing from beneath your skin, pumping through your veins.

Aemond’s member twitched eagerly as you pulled the final layer of your gown over your head, leaving you in nothing but your small clothes. His eyes quickly averted to his brother, who chewed into his bottom lip to the point of drawing blood.

Sharp canines poked through his plump lips, Helaena lightly slapped Aegon’s arm and hissed under her breath.

“Control yourself, brother.” His eyes remained glued to you as you bent down to grab your afternoon camise, lavender eyes filling with red as a low growl emitted from his throat.

Just as he went to take a step towards you, the commanding voice of your mother broke through his thoughts.

“Aegon. Come with me.” The queen dowager walked towards them.

“Mother!” Your eyes lit up as your mother graced you with a loving smile.

“Hello, my love. Are you excited for the morrow?” Alicent sauntered towards you and lightly took your chin into her hands.

You beamed. “Very, is there anything I may help with?”

“No, sweet girl,” your mother kissed your forehead.

She turned on her heels, and you missed the look she shot towards your siblings as they quietly followed her out of the room, no words spoken.

That was odd.

They followed her into the adjacent room where she ushered them inside.

Alicent’s eyes were stern as she took a step towards Aegon.

The back of her hand graced the side of his cheek, snapping his head to the side as a pink handprint bloomed onto his pale skin.

“What were you thinking! Losing control of yourself like that in front of her!” She fumed.

Eyes cast down, he murmured, “I wasn’t thinking mother, please, forgive me.”

Aemond couldn’t help but scoff at him, his brother never exhibiting an ounce of self-restraint when it came to you.

Alicent’s eyes shot to her other son. “Keep him in line until the ritual, for the sake of our house. Please Aemond,” who only wordlessly nodded as the queen dowager stormed from the room.

Every fiber in his body wanted nothing but to give you another visit, the only thing stopping Aegon from forsaking his mother’s words was his sire bond.

During the ritual, one must first be bitten by another Targaryen to begin the transition. A sire bond between them is then formed, creating an innate urge within the newly turned to please the one who helped bring them into the world of immortality.

In tradition of their house, the father performs the siring ritual to each of his children. However, as King Viserys met his sudden end several moons past, Alicent performed in his place for each of her three oldest children.

Upon his death, your family named his brother, Daemon Targaryen, as the new king of Seven Kingdoms, your half-sister Rhaenyra his queen.

Them, along with other members of your family all gathered to celebrate the eve of your anticipated celebration.

You were sat next to one of your childhood friends, Sylvia, whilst the rest of your family chattered and indulged themselves.

“Are you nervous?” Sylvia turned to you as you stuffed another biscuit in your mouth.

You giggled. “And whatever is there to be nervous about? It will be a joyous occasion!”

You and your friend missed the quick glances from others at the table, unaware of their eavesdropping.

She leaned in closer, a look of worry within her features.

“I heard whispers in the wind that a sacrifice is required for the ceremony.”

Your heart spiked momentarily.

Just as you were about to question your friend further, a presence behind you pulled you fron your conversation.

“May I steal my sister for a moment?” Aemond offered his hand which you reluctantly took, your friend quick to avert the steely gaze of your brother.

Joyous music rang through the dining room as friends and family danced and laughed together. Aemond pulled you into the throes of people and wrapped his hand around the small of your waist.

He began to sway the both of you as the sour smell of anxiety invaded his nose.

“Brother, is there something regarding the ritual I am not yet aware of?”

He pulled you closer, inhaling the vanilla and cherries on your skin.

“Everything will be just fine, dear sister.” He rubbed small circles in the small of your back as the sweet tang of your blood broke through the sweetness of your perfume.

His breath hitched.

You looked up at him.

Something didn’t feel right.

There was something he wasn’t telling you.

“Pardon me, brother. I must refresh myself in the washroom,” you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before scurrying towards your friend, grabbing Sylvia’s hand before dragging her out of the room.

“Tell me what else you know,” your eyes frantically searched hers for answers after shutting the door behind the pair of you.

“I-I heard that the Targaryens possess a hunger inside of them. O-one of unholiness.”

Surely this was a jest?

You couldn’t shake the unease this warning brought upon you.

Your feet moved faster than your mind as you ran out and made a beeline towards your mother, desperate for some sort of explanation to ease your confusion.

Just as you were about to reach her, you were promptly swept off of your feet by your brother Aegon.

“There she is! The most important girl in the Seven Kingdoms!” You could smell the wine on his breath as he paraded you around the dance floor.

“Brother, please. Please set me down.” His eyes searched yours as an odd look of realization washed over his features.

Without explanation, he made quick work of whisking you out of the dining room and into the library across the hall.

The blood in your veins pumped loudly in your ears as he set you down.

“B-brother, please explain to me what is happening at the ceremony. I know there is something being withheld from me.”

He stopped abruptly in front of you, admiring how beautiful his dear sister looked in the light of the fire. A true Targaryen, he thought.

Perhaps it was the wine coursing through his veins, perhaps it was the desire to finally taste you that had the words tumbling from his lips.

“Have you ever wondered why our dear uncle, the king, has barely aged a day in decades?” He slowly circled behind you.

Vanillas and cherries. He inhaled you.

“I h-hadn’t thought of it, perhaps its-”

“Perhaps it’s because he is unlike a normal being. Perhaps none of us are,” he enjoyed watching the gears turning in your little head as his words filtered through your ears.

Poor, confused little girl, he smiled down at you.

He grasped the bottom of your chin and glazed over your soft features, your insatiably plump lips he so wished to devour.

All the while, you fiddled and picked at your nails beneath your skirts, a nasty habit you developed whenever you were anxious.

PIcking and picking, the unmistakeable scent of blood soon overtook his senses.

A low moan escaped him as he gently reached for your hand.

Trembling, you watched your brother inspect your bloodied nail bed.

“I am fine brother,” you tried to pull away but was effectively stopped as he brought your finger up to his lips and into his mouth.

You were so stunned by the queerness of his actions that you sat frozen in your seat.

Moaning louder, you were met with eyes filled with scarlet.

He looked other-worldly. You couldn’t seem to remove your eyes from your brother.

He smirked down at you as he released your fingers.

“You taste delicious, little zaldrīzes,” (dragon) his tone shot a shiver down your spine.

Cold fingers twirled through the strands of your hair. You couldn’t help but lean into it.

Aegon smiled at your pliancy. He was consumed by the urge to claim you, have you in every way imaginable.

And now he would take it.

Pushing your silver locks behind your ear, he absentmindedly traced circles into the skin of your neck.

“You’re just in time, brother,” Aegon finally acknowledged his brother who stood at the entrance of the door, observing the scene between the two of you.

As if hypnotized, your eyes remained locked on Aegons, your other brother taking his time as he waltzed over to the two of you.

“Well, what do we have here, hm?” His eyes immediately found purchase on your exposed neck, fidgeting in his place.

“Oh, I was just ensuring our dear sister was alright, it appears she cut herself. Look, brother.” He brought your fingers up to his lips and kissed them lightly, delighted to see how uncomfortable his younger brother looked.

You finally turned your gaze to Aemond, snapped out of the trance you were previously in.

“Aemond, I-I don’t understand what’s happening.”

His usual stoic demeanor cracked as the urge to taste you swallowed him whole.

He took the seat on the other side of Aegon and grasped your injured appendage.

“Shh. It’s alright. Allow me”, he began to lick up the droplets sliding down your finger, groaning as he finally got to taste you.

He needed more. They both did.

Watching his brother, a wicked thought popped into his brain.

“Would you like to know how we taste, mandia aesi?” (dear sister) Aegon ran his fingers through your tangled locks.

Mindlessly, you nodded as you watched your brother lapping at your finger. Not even registering what is what your brother was asking of you.

Aemond’s eyes shot up to his brother, wordlessly disapproving of what he had in mind.

Ignoring him, he pricked his finger and slowly brought it up to your lips.

“Jikagon, sylutegon issa mandia,” (go ahead, taste me sister).

Before your conscience could stop you, you savored the queer, coppery taste of your brothers blood.

You knew not of the sorcery that possessed you. All you knew was you wanted more.

Something inside of you snapped.

You wrapped your other hand around his arm, effectively locking him in place as you sucked harder, drawing more blood from his wound.

The pair of them watched, transfixed as their sister indulged.

A light yank of your hair pulled you from him, your other brother offering a taste from him which you happily obliged.

After a few minutes went by, you released his hand and licked your lips.

“More please,” your brother’s eyes darkened, something primal finally overtook any ounce of self-restraint remaining at your glossy eyes and blood dribbling down your chin.

“Now, don’t be greedy, dear sister. Let us have another turn.”

Leaning back in your chair, your brothers crowded each side of you and littered your neck with small kisses.

Nosing along your vein, your brother Aemond murmured, “Ao sytilībagon naejot īlva, mandia.” (you belong to us now, sister) before piercing into your soft flesh.

You groaned loudly as you felt a slight sting on either side of your neck, soon followed by an intense pleasuring shooting through every nerve in your body.

Gripping the arms of the chairs, your eyes rolled to back of your head as you brother continued to drink from you, their lust for you sending them into a frenzy.

Your body buzzed from the intensity, teetering on the precipice of an unknown pleasure you felt soon claim you as you lost control of your senses, spiralling into a black abyss.

Soon, your brothers broke away from you, maroon staining the skin around their mouths as they gazed upon your lifeless body.

“Fuck,” Aegon murmured as he wiped off and tasted the remains of you on his lips.

Aemond sighed. He stirred in his breaches as he reveled in the euphoria of the moment.

“She is insatiable,” Aemond grabbed a napkin and cleaned himself.

“Hmm, I already wish to taste her again,” Aegon smiled devilishly at his brother.

“Mother will be furious,” Aemond noted, following a rivulet of blood running down the valley of your breasts.

“Tis little matter now.”

The minutes dragged on before the doors of the library swung open, revealing a furious Alicent along with Daemon, Rhaenyra, and Helaena.

Taking in the scene before them, Alicent stormed toward the three of you.

“What have you done!” She shouted, rushing towards you lying limp in the chair, inspecting the puncture wounds on your neck.

Before either could reply, a small whimper left you which directed everyone’s attention.

Slowly lifting your eyelids, once lavender orbs were now tainted with red.

authors note: already starting pt. 2 hehehe, let me know your thoughts!

#enjoy

- alie

[pittsick]

GOTH TASHI HEADCANONS.

cw: +18. mdni. degrading-adjacent teasing. orgasm denial. strap-on sex. marking. mirror sex. sensory play. light bondage. possessive behavior. aftercare. religious & occult imagery. power imbalance. power play. clothing kink.

pairing: goth!tashi x gn!partner

taglist: @blastzachilles @lvve-talks @jordiemeow @222col @soulxinxthexsky @diyasgarden @jinxedbambi @lexiiscorect @religionlost @bluestrd @jclolz22 @destinedtobegigi @imperishablereverie @lovefaist @shahabaqsa0310 @prismozo @jesuistrestriste @grimsonandclover @nozhdyved @yardofbrunettes @hangels @sweetheartfaist @lacelottie

🕷️ ── She works at a vintage record store tucked between a tarot shop and a dilapidated art cinema. She alphabetizes everything by vibe, not by artist. You learned this the hard way when you tried to find The Cure under "C."

🕷️ ── She never wears the same makeup twice. One day it’s smeared black eyeliner and red wine lips like she crawled out of a Bauhaus music video. The next, she’s wearing ghost-white foundation, hand-drawn crucifixes beneath her eyes, and metallic shadow that makes her look celestial and unholy all at once.

🕷️ ── She has a sex drawer full of lace gloves, harnesses, scented oils, and a velvet blindfold. Everything smells like roses and sandalwood. She ties your wrists and murmurs poetry while she rides you, slow and torturous.

🕷️ ── Her bedroom is a gothic dreamscape. Heavy black velvet curtains. Candles of every size melted onto plates. A wrought iron bed covered in torn black lace and wine-red sheets. Dead roses in glass bottles. Posters of The Craft, Interview with the Vampire, and Nosferatu. One corner is reserved for a little shrine to Mercury retrograde.

🕷️ ── Tashi leaves marks intentionally. Long, red scratch trails down your back. Lipstick kisses on your throat. A bite on your inner thigh that lingers for days. She wants you to flinch when someone else touches you there.

🕷️ ── She uses her strap like a spell. She takes her time—soft at first, almost reverent. Then she pins your hips, fucks you deep and slow while her nails dig into your chest, telling you how sweet you look falling apart.

🕷️ ── She reads with religious intensity. Her favorites: Anne Rice, Clive Barker, Sylvia Plath, Baudelaire, and anything with erotic vampires or tragic women. She underlines passages in red ink and folds corners like wounds. You once found a pressed flower between pages of The Picture of Dorian Gray.

🕷️ ── Dates with her mean sneaking into cemeteries at night, slow dancing to Dead Can Dance under the moon, or reading erotic vampire fiction aloud while sharing a clove cigarette.

🕷️ ── She’s secretly soft about animals—especially black cats, rats, and moths. If you bring her a rescued crow with a bent wing, she’ll cry and name it after a Romantic poet.

🕷️ ── Corset play is essential. She’ll have you lace her in slowly, kissing your knuckles as you tighten it, then sit on your lap and make you come in your jeans without taking a single layer off.

🕷️ ── Her wardrobe is an exquisite graveyard of lace, leather, and velvet. Think floor-length skirts, crushed velvet slips worn over torn fishnets, corsets laced with silver ribbon, Victorian blouses with puffed sleeves, and thrifted black wedding veils. She layers textures like a spell — every outfit a soft form of armor.

🕷️ ── She is obsessed with symbolism. Wears crosses and rosaries as fashion. Draws pentagrams in her notebooks. Keeps bones in jars on her bookshelf. Her apartment has tarot cards pinned to the wall and antique mirrors that she insists are "not haunted, just misunderstood."

🕷️ ── Her aftercare is as intense as the sex. She kisses every mark she left. Cleans you up gently with warm water and a silk cloth. Wraps you in her oversized lace robe and reads you poetry while you come down.

🕷️ ── She treats friendships like blood pacts. If she lets you in, you’re in. She’ll walk you home at 2 a.m., hex your ex without being asked, and stare down anyone who looks at you wrong in a bar. Her loyalty is unshakable, but earned.

🕷️ ── She doesn’t party—she haunts. At clubs, she’s the one in the corner booth, dressed like a Victorian widow, sipping absinthe and watching everything with lidded eyes. She never dances unless the song is slow and sacrilegious.

🕷️ ── Tashi has control even when she’s bottoming. She’ll straddle you, lip between her teeth, rocking her hips just enough to make you lose your mind—and if you speed up or touch her without permission, she stops. Smiles. “Again,” she says. “And I’ll leave you like this all night.”

🕷️ ── She gets off on your desperation. She loves holding eye contact while you're begging for her touch—just watching, perfectly still, lips parted, letting you squirm while she decides if you’ve earned it.

🕷️ ── Journals constantly but never lets anyone read it. Leather-bound notebooks, covered in sigils and dried flowers. Some pages are poems. Others are just names, underlined. No one knows what that means.

🕷️ ── She gives orders in a calm, unshakable tone. “Hands behind your back.” “Stay open for me.” “Don’t come until I say.” She never raises her voice—she doesn’t need to. There’s so much gravity in her control, you obey without thinking.

🕷️ ── Overstimulating you once you’re already a mess. The moment you come undone on her strap, she doesn’t stop—she holds your hips down, fucking you through the trembling, grinning when your moans turn to whimpers. “You don’t get to stop until I do.”

🕷️ ── She likes leaving black lipstick kisses stains on your body. Not just for the aesthetic—though she does take a photo sometimes. But she loves the mess of it, the intimacy. She’ll kiss down your chest, your thighs, your stomach. You end up looking like a canvas she painted just to prove you’re hers.

🕷️ ── She brings you weird little gifts. A pressed flower in a book about death. A mix CD labeled “for when it hurts sweetly.” A Victorian ring she found at the flea market. She never explains why—just hands it to you with that unreadable look in her eyes.

🕷️ ── Tashi doesn’t say “I love you” often—she shows it in rituals. Lighting a candle before you come over. Making you tea without asking how you like it. Brushing your hair after a bath. Curling up beside you with a book and no words because your presence is enough.

🕷️ ── She rides you slow while holding your jaw. Doesn’t let you close your eyes. Doesn’t let you touch her at first. Just rides you like worship—one hand braced on your chest, the other dragging across your throat, eyes locked on yours. She comes hard and quiet, then kisses your lips like a reward.

🕷️ ── She’ll do your makeup while straddling your lap. Black eyeliner, dark lipstick, fingers under your chin. She smirks when you fidget and whispers, “Hold still, angel. You’ll look divine when I’m done with you.” And you do—because everything she touches turns into art.

🕷️ ── Tashi believes love is a haunting. You don’t just love someone—you possess them, bleed into them, echo in their absence. So when she holds you at night, skin to skin, her breath at your throat, she’s not just cuddling you. She’s imprinting.

[thevampiremarie]

SINNERS 2025 SPOILERS

If Grace Chow has no fans then I’m dead. Someone has hit me with their car. That is what it would take for me to stop being a Grace Chow defender. I genuinely don’t think she did anything wrong. The version of Sinners in which she did do things wrong is NOT the version of the movie that actually exists irl. It is made very crystal fucking clear that everyone in the juke joint was doomed from the moment Sammie began to sing and caught Remmick’s attention.

What is your community response to colonial and white supremacist violence? Do you wait complacently until sunrise for the vampires to maybe go away, even after the vampires have literally killed your friends and community members and actively threaten to destroy the rest of your community?

Or do you HANDLE SHIT when it happens, even at the cost of your own life? Are you actually willing to sacrifice anything to defeat evil?

While Grace got ahead of everyone, I am 100% sure that they would’ve come to the same conclusion on their own that the best way to protect the town would be to try and kill as many vampires as possible so they don’t make it there. Remmick clearly would’ve personally dragged every single townsperson and turned them in front of the juke joint to force Sammie to surrender himself.

And if Annie and Smoke’s daughter were still alive, what the fuck do y’all think Annie would’ve done?

The hatred for Grace’s actions and Grace herself is RACIALIZED MISOGYNY rooted in 1. viewing Chinese people as the Yellow Peril and 2. viewing Chinese women as objects - either victims or something to overcome and subdue. Even today when Asian women don’t behave according to the racial stereotypes EVERYONE, including Asian men and other people of color, projects onto us, all those people react with VIOLENCE to put us back in our places.

You are mad that you can’t put Grace in her place, as an extension of what you think of all Chinese women and Asian women (more broadly) and what our place is, according to you.

There’s also the part where Remmick literally sexually harasses Grace and threatens her with rape. We’re all just blowing past that because rape, sexual harassment, and sexual violence are excusable and normal for Asian women to endure, TO Y’ALL.

(Do you know how many people have told me to my face that being raped for being Chinese, and having multiple women and girls in my family being raped and sexually abused as CHILDREN by white men, is something we deserved? Is something we had coming, that we secretly wanted? Hundreds. Hundreds of men have told me that.)

He threatens her daughter in the same scene. When Mary turns Stack into a vampire, that act is portrayed as being adjacent to sexual assault. Grace would know because she was literally there. Remmick threatens her with rape. He threatens to at minimum sexually predate upon her daughter. Her husband is allied with this white man, who is also threatening her community (yes, she’s a member of the community despite not being Black!), her friends, her customers, the loved ones of everyone else at the juke joint.

And people being Sinophobic and racist and misogynistic would have preferred her to do nothing because Chinese women are not people to them. We are not people to you. Y’all are looking for literally anyone else to blame besides Remmick, the actual villain.

Maybe it’s not that Grace is the villain. Maybe it’s not that Grace is an evil Chinese dragon lady who hates Black people. Maybe you are projecting your own views on Chinese people onto her. Just a suggestion.

[d3cay1ngst4tic]

— NOTHING TO HOLD ONTO BUT SHATTERED GLASS.

synopsis. if you thought your curiosity would ebb away once you saw the vampire with your own eyes, you were wrong. oh so wrong—

— for curiosity did kill the cat.

and so it is, killing you from the inside, his name engraved into your nerves and a sickly chanting in your mind going on and on for eternity.

contents. satoru gojo x gn!reader. vampire!satoru. fantasy. horror. grotesque imagery. there’s potentially disturbing imagery in this one during the end. <- is quite literally the horror genre who am i kidding. reader is sort of numb and longing. ah yes pining 101. satoru being a cryptic FREAK. immense background building i fear.

word count. 2.3k ish

★ jiah’s notes. please have faith in me that toru will get more interactions with reader in future chapters 🙏🏻 trust the process, yeah ?

series masterlist.

000 — your name suffocates my guts, please don’t stop staring.

the wood of the counter feels a little too smooth.

had it always been this barren? deprived of any aesill or two dumped onto its body, so much so that it’s forgotten what it felt like to have some weight over it. some sort of ground, some sort of need. that it was wanted. like those human hands caressing its skin, the bronze kissing its face, the gold slumbering sweetly on its nose hadn’t been a figment of its imagination.

or maybe, it’s just you sitting at it, chin resting on your knuckles and eyes unfocused.

no. it’s the table, surely. missing something that it’d taken for granted earlier.

(it’s you, something coos right back. you hate how right it is. you hate how it makes you want to look back over your shoulder even though you know just rusty spines of books will stare back.)

but it’s comical, really.

how you miss the weight of something on your shop’s counter while longing for the weight crushing your ribs to disappear.

what had been a dull ache is now a ravenous sting, sharp claws and bared teeth sinking into your bones every time you catch a glimpse of something blue.

blue, blue, blue.

(you’d never hated the colour more.)

blue is the book that rests on the table adjacent to yours, a poor mimicry of the weight that you want so much. blue is the smoke when you look outside the frosty windows, so wispy as it frolics about the streets, sneaking its way to places where it shouldn’t be. blue is the tint on the lone aurcel that lays abandoned in the deepest, darkest corner of the rickety drawer of one of the bookshelves, stained with something so irremovable that it doesn’t have a trace of its true worth anymore.

(blue is the mark over your heart which the vampire’s teeth had left behind.

so beautifully vile that you want it all over you.)

is this what it was like? what he felt, all the time?

to be the root of rotten rumours, to be nothing but something on the tip of a stranger’s tongue, something to repel gazes by simply taking in a breath, something so painfully morbid and dirty that you might just infect someone with a disease yet unknown just by staring.

(just a medium, nothing else.)

you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve stared at the front door of the shop. once worried, eager eyes have now transformed into something much more defeated, something much more. . resigned.

and yet, you’re the whisper that moulds itself into the blue smoke in the deepest cracks of the street.

(and before you know it, you’re met with so many yous, yous which you hadn’t seen in the dreams drawn by the most delirious delusions.)

sometimes, you is the drawl on a middle aged man’s tongue, exaggerated and envious, horrified intrigue slicing through your veins and holding you still for speculation that you don’t remember giving consent to.

sometimes, you is the hushed whisper of an old dame— mind you, she’s a little sick in the head— piteous and patronising, woeful eyes so full of misery that you might just be buried six feet under by now.

sometimes, you is the panicked yell of a child, who refuses to look at anything remotely resembling a bright blue, trembling hands already clamping your vision shut, too scared to look at at fear, even if it was simply the sky outside.

you, you, you.

(suddenly, it’s all about you.)

you and the dazed look in your eyes, you in that rusty, abandoned bookshop of yours, you trapped in the web that you created yourself and you who wonders what went wrong.

(you, who’s still miraculously alive after seeing the vampire.)

some might deem you as a hero, something otherworldly— too divine to be touched by the rot, too pure to be tainted by something diabolical— while some cast you petrified stares and sharp glances, utterly, utterly convinced that you’re some dark message, a sign, a warning that doom shall take over the town.

(a god to one, while a beast to another.)

it’s almost laughable.

while one part of the town wants to fall to your feet and kiss your holy skin, the other part wants to burn you down for being connected to something as vile as the vampire.

and yet, both of them ponder over the same, impossible question—

(— how did you survive? the never ending blue? the piercing white? the sheer dread creeping around your nape like a silent predator?)

you don’t know, either.

you wish you knew. but at the same time, it’s better off that you don’t.

(it won’t be as fun then.)

so, here you are— neither in heaven, nor hell.

(just somewhere in between, with strings through your skin, swishing about this way and that; whatever fancies the people’s whims, just a miserable little marionette with empty eyes and an empty pocket.)

your eyes close and you inhale.

you’ve been doing that quite often now.

taking in air, simply feeling what it’s like to breathe. it doesn’t help that the air reeks of dusty words and atrocious accusations, but at least you’re breathing.

(or that’s what you try to tell yourself.)

breathe, the voice beneath your lungs says, breathe, you’re still human.

(or are you?)

your feet arise from their slumber and guide you with gentle, pitying whispers to the back of your shop, to your room.

right.

(the mirror.)

you’ve been watching the mirror a lot lately, too.

(you know you don’t look like a human anymore.)

your gaze is far too much like a void now. like pools of nothingness trying to take away every single hint of blues with frantic, desperate hands— grabbing onto it and cradling it against their chest like something too precious to share.

your lips are parched, and you’re only just aware of how dry your insides seem— as if a drought dressed in an expensive coat with crisp white hair has dried it all up— burning them to nothing but a crisp, leaving the taste of ashes on your tongue.

(what has he done to you?)

one name, just one name.

so unbelievably smooth on your dry mouth and so unbearingly blinding to your lost eyes—

satoru gojo.

maybe it would’ve been better if he hadn’t told you his name. you would’ve dismissed it all as a figment of your imagination. a distant fever dream, something quite unrelated to the real world, something that one can never think of happening.

(something that cannot be real.)

but it is. very real, infact. it burns itself through your teeth and kisses your eyes to make them water, it delves deep into your skin and fills your lungs with dust, it curls up in your mind and chews away at the little sanity you have left.

it could have been easier.

it would have been easier, if only he hadn’t slipped his name between your ribs, right over the damned little bloom whose roots sank a little deeper into the marrow of your body.

but then again, you aren’t any different.

you still do look for a glimpse of blue in every little thing, even if you despise it. even if the teeth sink deeper into your bones. you still do.

(because, oh, what will you be without it?)

earlier, it was just flimsy mortal declarations and hushed caution that kept the shadow of the vampire alive, even if not himself.

but now?

you’d seen him.

no grated voices, no prideful musings. pure and unadulterated, with snow on his hair and the sky in his eyes, you’d seen all of him— the vampire, the vampire who left nothing but aurcels and his name behind.

no one to intervene.

(just you and him and you and him and you and him.)

your soles cry out in protest when you put your worn out shoes back on again. a mumbled apology leaves your lips, but you’re not sure whom it is addressed to.

(you let it hang in the air for anyone to claim, anyway.)

“ah, you’re here,” your head snaps up and your heart lurches— what? it couldn’t be—

(your eyes meet the blue.)

bile rises to your throat, but it pushes itself back down, crawling its way back home down your throat.

this blue is of the oceans. it doesn’t shine blindingly bright— it’s somehow much softer, yet it pins you in place, a needle thrust through your chest.

(it doesn’t turn everything and everyone else in its wake blue, either.)

you clear your throat.

“sorry,” you rasp, and you internally wince at how raspy, how unused your voice sounds, “i. . . went to fetch some papers back there. is there something i can. . help you with?”

“certainly,” the man quips, eyes half covered by the hat he wears. the blue doesn’t consume you, it simply holds you steady, as if keeping a frightened animal from running away. “i’d like to purchase this book.”

you hear the counter sigh dreamily when finally, finally a weight dips on it, your eyes blankly watching as dusty fingers seem to wrap themselves around the rickety spine of the book, too frantic and wanting, too needing and eager.

“two hundred aesills,” you mutter.

(a snarky voice at the back of your mind along with satoru gojo mocks you for being envious of an inanimate little table.)

choosing to ignore it, no, forcing yourself to ignore it, you fish out the yellowing parchment from its drawers, opening it with more force than required— a sick, twisted sense of satisfaction settling into your guts when you hear the wood creak in protest.

(look at you, satoru gojo coos, and the snarky voice snickers, too, reduced to such a eager little heap of pure longing, all because i looked into your eyes and spared you my name.)

“your name?”

your hands shake a little, and you tighten your grip over the quill you’re holding, the rigid shaft digging into your skin somehow keeping you from falling into shambles.

“fyodor murphy,” he hums, “the book’s name is ‘come find me’.”

(a pause.)

“ah, i’ve already noted that down,” you say, peering at him over the the bridge of your nose without raising your head, “saw it earlier.”

“my mistake, i apologize,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach upto his eyes. “still, the book is simply such an enigma amongst its counterparts in the genre that it— goodness me, it simply cannot be spoken about enough.”

(something isn’t right.)

“oh?” you say, your gaze dipping back to the scrawl over the parchment instead, “you seem rather. . . passionate about it.”

it makes you uneasy, that sharp smile on the man’s face. like he knows something that you don’t.

(it isn’t the uneasy that satoru gojo makes you feel. this one doesn’t consume you whole, it just lingers about in the cracks within your bones, as if waiting for you to do something before pouncing.)

“i am,” he says, and his laugh echoes in the air, bouncing off the ancient bookshelves right back to your face, so overwhelming yet tame, “rostislava silva is an excellent author. i must say, i am quite an enthusiast about macabre mentions in literature in general, but her works are the thing that keeps me on my toes. ah, the joys of obsession and reading it in the most beautifully grotesque way possible.”

it feels a little off, how he rambles on.

like he’s pointing at the title again and again and again, hinting at something that you have no knowledge about.

(yet.)

“and then there’s of course the sheer naming of the—”

(come find me, come find me, come find me.)

“i beg your pardon,” you say, rising to your feet, a strained smile on your lips, “but that’d be two hundred aesills, please.”

(a pause.)

“why, of course,” you hate the way he doesn’t look even remotely offended at your light jab, “of course. my apologies.”

with the copper coins dumped at your counter and the damned book in his hand, the man dissolves with the blue mist outside your abode, never to be found again.

(but he still stays on in your head, slowly beginning to ease his way inside your wounds.)

come find me, someone whispers in your ear and you flinch. come find me.

come find me. come find me. come find me.

come—

find—

me.

(no.)

come find me, snickers the ocean blue.

you barely swallow the lump in your throat before you’re scrambling to your feet once more, eyes wild and lips parted as your trembling fingers take hold of the dusty cover of the book at the shelf behind you, only for the ragged papers to scream the words right back at you—

— come find me.

“no,” you rasp, voice barely audible whilst you shake like a leaf in a storm, legs feeling numb, “no, no, no, no—”

a different book. yes, a different book. it won’t have those words, won’t have that title, it won’t yell back at you—

“come find me,” the woman in the book says, inky eyes unseeing at the second paragraph of the page, and you drop it to the floor.

(no, no, no.)

“come find me,” sing the children’s rhymes, and you feel a sob tearing itself out of your throat.

(come find me, they sing, happy little voices somehow distorted into uglier, rotten versions of themselves by the dust settling over them.)

“come find me,” says the man in the journal, sharp eyes staring through your soul, and your heart thunders against your ribs, a frightened little rabbit trying to escape from its own burrow.

so, so blue that you feel the wispy mist start to sneak in through the cracks in the windowsill to your right.

“come find me,” you choke out, and your body barely makes a noise when everything goes black.

(or else i will, satoru gojo croons into your ear, softly kissing you and the flower in your bones good night.)

★ taglist. @deathofacupid / @descargueestoporgojosatoru . (comment to be added !)

@d3cay1ngst4tic on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works.

[bluejeanstrash]

vampires pt. 3 | pt. 2 | pt. 1

tags: 2.2k, vampire! seungcheol x human reader, 18+, mdni, dubcon, rough sex, toxic codependency, emotionally volatile seungcheol, degradation (verbal and physical)

weeks, maybe even a month had passed since you’d last seen seungcheol. you couldn’t tell — time didn’t really exist within the walls of the castle. though gone, his absence was everywhere. it was an absence that made your guilt grow day by day — the weight of which was now suffocating you. what if he’d found another? he hadn’t even called for you once.

the first time seungcheol had ‘called for you’, you thought he was going to kill you. vampires never met with humans alone. they would use the slaves in groups or out in public but seungcheol wanted to see you privately. maybe since he was the one who captured you and brought you here, he felt he had the right to have you all to himself.

since that night he would call for you occasionally, fucking you alone, and until he was satisfied. but that had all stopped. until today. you’d been summoned at midnight, your mind a complete mess throughout the day. you’re not sure why you feel so anxious — you haven’t even done anything wrong. 

when it came to these nights, seungcheol had three simple rules:

one, you would be freshly bathed. he wanted you to be washed off traces of anyone else — coming to him pure, untouched. 

two, your hair would be tied in a single braid — neat, out of your face.

and third, you would be dressed in a modest white nightgown with nothing underneath, giving him easy access to you.

he was very particular. he liked things pretty, even during his kills. he would bring his prey back to the castle, groom them, and then when they were perfect, he would ruin them. much like when a beautifully plated dish adds to its flavour.

the others were different — jeonghan preferred his prey to be scared, fear coursing through their veins tasted the best; joshua toyed with his food before he killed them, giving them hope they could escape before dragging them back; mingyu was impatient, devouring them too soon and regretting it after; and wonwoo was calm, until the bloodlust would hit him. his frenzied kills were a complete terror.

it’s midnight now as you stand infront of the door, frozen. you look down at the intricate door handle, running you fingers over the grooves to calm yourself down, and after taking a deep breath, you knock.

‘enter’ seungcheol’s voice makes your heart race. it’s been so long since you’ve heard it. you walk into the dimly lit room, the hue from the candles casting a warm glow over everything. as custom, you kneel in front of the fireplace, waiting with your head lowered. the room where you would meet was gorgeous albeit ostentatious. the ornate double doors opened to an opulently decorated room. to the right was a small longue area in front of a fireplace which was never lit; opposite it was a four-poster bed and adjacent to both was a writing desk, placed directly in front of the huge stained glass windows. 

as you wait, you can feel seungcheol’s eyes on you, studying you intently from head to toe. you can hear his nails scrape the wooden desk, continuing to stare like he’s trying to find something wrong with you. but you look perfect. still, seungcheol feels a simmering rage within him.

he’d been furious ever since that day. how could you choose someone else? you were first and foremost, his, and for you to pick wonwoo was an insult he couldn’t allow. he’d thought after all this time he would feel differently, but he doesn’t. it was a mistake calling you here.

‘leave’ he dismisses you coldly but to his surprise, and annoyance, you don’t move. it’s foolish to defy him but you need to do something.

‘don't make me repeat myself’

‘master-’ 

‘get. out.’

‘master, please, i’m sorry’ you don’t know what else to say. you flinch at the sound of his chair being pushed back savagely. his steps are heavy and heated as he walks over, standing in front of you.

‘look at me’ you look up, meeting his eyes for the first time, feeling your cunt quiver.

‘you’re sorry? what exactly are you sorry for?’ he questions, finding it incredulous that you have the nerve to disobey him. 

‘i’m s-sorry if i upset you’ seungcheol scoffs, circling behind you. he paces quietly, back and forth, as the seconds pass in complete silence, and then you feel a searing sting. hot liquid hits your skin, making you cry out in pain. ‘you think you, a human, have the power to upset me?’ his voice is dripping with disdain.

he holds the candle above you, letting the burning wax drip onto your supple skin, watching how it rolls down and hardens on contact.

‘master, t-that hurts’ you stutter. seungcheol didn’t get off on your pain, so why was he making you feel it? he suddenly snakes his hand around your throat, pulling you up ‘exactly. it hurts and you don’t have the power to do anything’

‘you don’t have any power’ he reminds you ‘you’re just a weak, pathetic human’ his grip tightens like a noose, fingers digging dangerously deep into your skin.

you gasp as he squeezes tight before releasing you. ‘so helpless’ he mutters, his heavy breath caressing the bare skin of your shoulder, and all of a sudden he lifts your dress up and bends you over. being this close to you after weeks apart, seungcheol can’t control himself. he unzips his pants, pulling out his throbbing cock, and enters you — your cunt that's already sopping wet for him.

it's embarrassing how easily he slips in, your arousal coating his cock instantly. he laughs ‘i haven't even touched you yet and you're dripping wet? pathetic’ despite his words, he loves it. he needs more.

‘stand up’ he orders, his hand back around your throat as he pulls you closer, your back arching off him. he pushes into you completely, your warm cunt gripping him tight and starts thrusting. seungcheol groans, his gaze suddenly fixated on your elongated neck — your skin is taut and tender — it’s perfect. you feel his fangs graze against your stretched neck before he bites, his sharp teeth puncturing your skin as two lines of blood trickle down your neck. you should be scared, you should. so why does it feel almost erotic?

seungcheol drinks from you, your blood seeping into the cracks of his hungry lips as his thrusts hit deeper, his cock throbbing inside you so rapidly. ‘fuck...i need more’ he breathes, teeth sinking in again. seungcheol has always been able control himself, never letting his bloodlust take over, but you taste so sweet, it takes all his will to pull away. he realises this is his privilege, only his, something no one else would be ever be allowed to do — drink from his prey for pleasure. 

though he’s taken from you, it feels like he’s injected something far deeper into your veins. you feel bound to him. his presence is heightened — how good he feels inside you; stretching you open, filling you up. you can’t help but want more.

‘master, can i touch myself? please, you’re making me feel so good’ you beg.

he allows; your fingers on your cunt immediately, stimulating your clit.

‘y-yes’ you whine, needy little sounds spilling out with it ‘yes master…use me’ suddenly, he stops thrusting, keeping his hard cock inside you and asks,

‘who do you want to fuck the most hmmn? whose cock do you crave in your slave cunt?’ seungcheol growls, bringing back the very question that upset him, but this time he excepts the right answer.

‘y-yours master, i want you the most. i love getting fucked by my master’s cock’ he lets out a gruff moan at your words, pulling out and turning you around to face him. 

there’s a flicker of uncontrolled lust in his eyes ‘what did you just say?’ you repeat your words to him but seungcheol’s stuck on just the two. my master — him belonging to you and you to him. he grabs you by the throat, squeezing lightly ‘what are you doing to me?’ he mutters, feeling painfully possessive of the idea. but then the memory of you spread open, pushing wonwoo’s cum inside you returns. you gasp as his grip tightens.

‘how did it feel, hmm? pushing wonwoo’s cum inside you? you didn’t look like you wanted to get fucked by me, you looked like a dirty fucking whore’ seungcheol’s eyes go dark. for the first time tonight you’re scared, desperate not to upset him further.

‘tell me’ 

‘i felt nothing master’ you lie ‘i imagined it was yours. i wanted your cum on my fingers…i only want your cum inside me’ seungcheol inhales sharply, high on your words. ‘take off your dress’ he commands as you pull it off quickly. he unbuttons his shirt, almost ripping it off and in a single breath grabs your waist and lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist and arms draped around his neck. his cold skin is pressed to your warmth as he carries you across the room, pushing you up against the stained glass windows.

it’s much too intimate a position to be in with you but he doesn’t care; he wants you. he enters you slowly, filling you up with a deep sensual stroke. you whimper, feeling all of him inside you.

‘master..please fuck me’ and he does. seungcheol fucks you passionate, making sure every thrust touches your deepest parts, addicted to the soft mewls spilling out of you. he keeps his eyes locked on yours like he’s searching for something in them. you can see they’ve turned a deep crimson in the moonlight — the dreamy moonlight that’s hitting his pale, almost translucent skin so beautifully, his jet black hair and blood stained lips in striking contrast to it. you’re suddenly taken by his beauty, feeling overwhelmed. so you drop your gaze, unable to keep his.

‘no’ he commands ‘you will look at me while i fuck you’ he picks up the pace, thrusting harder.

‘you’re mine’ he breathes ‘you’re mine before anyone else’s. understood?’

he buries his face in your neck, his lips finding where he’d drank from earlier and starts sucking on that spot hungrily. your taste…he can’t stop craving it. as soon as he gets a little taste his thrusts turn animalistic, eyebrows pulled tight as he pounds into you, balls slapping against your cunt. you gasp, tilting your head back, giving him more access. ‘fuck’ his cock twitches inside you.

seeing you offer your body to him like this was intoxicating. ‘look at me’ he moans, his eyes back on yours. then for the very first time, he kisses you. his kisses are hard and messy, matching his thrusts. he pushes his tongue into your mouth, finding yours as your kisses deepen. you need him now and so you beg,

‘master, bury your seed inside me. p-please, i haven’t felt you in so long’ it’s sick honestly — your desperate words and the immediate effect they have on him. seungcheol’s pushed to the brink of orgasm, and for a split second, he feels himself losing all control. taking your life, draining you of your sweet nectar as he cums inside you would be euphoric beyond belief, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. instead, he says,

‘cum with me’ the words coming out of his mouth are unthinkable.

‘you’re going to cum with me’ it’s an order now, and you let yourself feel the pleasure that’s been building. his lips are back on yours, kissing you with untamed desire. ‘m-master, i’m going to cum’ you whine, clamping around his pulsating cock and feeling it take over you — it’s primal the way this pleasure feels. you press yourself against him and moan ‘master, make me yours’ 

‘f-fuck’ he curses, fucking you against the window so violently as he cums, shooting his seed inside you while you’re still consumed by your high. seungcheol groans and just keeps going, pushing all his cum deeper and deeper inside as if he’s trying to breed you.

‘thank you master..’ you breathe as his pace slackens, his final thrusts slow. there’s a stillness that sets in as his cock slips out of you, your legs unwrapping around him to find the floor. you’re suddenly aware of how eerily silent the castle is tonight. did anyone else hear? it feels too intimate a moment to share. or that's what you think. seungcheol steps away from you, a sudden coldness coming off him.

‘you may leave’ his words are firm.

the overwhelming high from the sex comes crashing down in an instant and those useless human emotions that wonwoo loves so much take over; you feel humiliated, you feel jilted, you feel used. and then you feel tears start to form, your vision blurring. you can't let him see you like this. you drop your gaze and start to walk away, your steps slow in hopes he’ll stop you. but why would he? only lovers stay the night, slaves are sent their way. 

seungcheol watches you get dressed, suppressing the urge to pull you back to him. he can’t be attached to a human, that isn’t how it works. humans are disposable, meant to fuck and feast on. he can’t. you turn around and bow, catching his eye for a second and quickly look away. the door creaks open as he watches you leave. you feel like a mess as the door shuts softly, and behind it, so does he. 

[fisheito]

yakumo kiss data

comparing tongue tango data in the style of @contacthigh520 ! for the love of wobbly science? (original post on dante kisses here)

how were kisses counted? the same as the dante post... to the best of my ability. - kiss animation counts as one - text mention is another. kisses (plural) marked as 2+. - i included kisses on places other than the mouth. - i did not count vacuum succ blowjob as kiss. ? idk why🤣

while we're here... i wanted to test if my pattern recognition skills were actually picking up on something, or if i was hallucinating... so while i was counting kisses, i counted several other Seemingly Recurring Behaviours in the yakurooms:

what do you mean by each of those categories??

tongue activation: do they lick?? turns out: yes. more than kisses, technically. i feel like it's kinda .. expected for H rooms to involve tongue, so the 100% activation is probably common among all characters. if i were to calculate a yaku-initiating-tongue-only count, it would still be a high percentage >80%.

hands: hand holding, and adjacent acts of hand gesture. once again, a lot of rampant tender hand connections here. if you got hands, they're certainly useful in many situations, huh! another stat i think would be similar across clan members.

scent: yaku or eiden specifically mentions the other's scent. i didn't count the general descriptions of "scent of essence" in narration. yaku mentions eiden's scent significantly more than the other way around. but at a less than 50% presence in his rooms, yaku's not COMPLETELY a scent-based freak... (yet)

biting: chompchomp. tbh i'm surprised yaku's not more of a biter. maybe he's trying reeeaaallly hard to stay gentle and just... mouth on eiden instead of eviscerating him 🙂 crimson phantom was the bitiest what with the whole vampire roleplay shtick. eiden bites when he wants to get a rise out of yakumo. maybe once yaku gets more comfortable/less afraid of hurting eiden, nibbles will increase? taste as you go, yakumo. never stop tasting

asphyxiation: because yakumo seems to REALLY like choking eiden with his tongue. what in the name of shoddy breathplay…? turns out, yeah! yakumo is kinda trying to kill eiden via asphyxiation! more than via biting (once you remove all the counts of eiden doing the biting)! what are you, a boa constrictor? too afraid to use your venom?? if you even HAVE venom????? eiden, if you're losing this much oxygen every other time you fuck yakumo, i'm scared for you. you need to put his tongue on a leash.

ear: does yaku's sensitive gem location influence the rooms' overall focus on ears? not really. yaku will occasionally go for eiden's ears, and eiden will rarely, but lethally ,target yakumo's ears for tactical turn-ons. i am once again surprised. expected more of eiden's earplay warfare reducing yakumo to shreds.

nipples: a yaoi classic! not many instances of nipple attention with this pair, and i personally hope it stays that way. let's spice it up, people. we got other clan members for booby nipnoppular specialisation. yaku's reptilian. we can venture outside the realm of mammals.

vore: how many times has yakumo gotten cannibalistic (is it really cannibalism if one is a human and one is a yokai)? LESS than i thought, actually! eiden's got a 1 in 3 chance of activating yaku's vore tendencies depending on unit... and here i thought it was 50% or more? wow. ok. guess yakumo keeps his hunger in check better than i thought. good for you.

miscellaneous: one-offs that jumped to the forefront of my perception. the one instance of hair-pulling. the sickening scene of domesticity here and there. yaku implying that sucking eiden's dick would be a reward. ya know. fun stuff.

what else ya got? General notes. Things that happen , i think, a fair amount, but i didn't count the instances: - i don't think there has been a single time where yakumo STOPS after cumming. it's always marathon sex. R.I.P eiden's hole(s)

- something that is happening more frequently with recent units: eiden remarks that yakumo's dick feels like it GROWS LONGER DURING SEX; it feels LONGER than usual;etc. HOW? WHAT? is this a part of yakumo reconciling with his serpent side? I DONT THINK THAT'S HOW SNAKE DICKS WORK, RIGHT? THEY DONT KEEP GROWING FOREVER AFTER EVERY EMOTIONAL CATHARSIS, RIGHT?????? man is gonna be more dick than torso at this rate. every time he sticks his dick into eiden, it's gonna feel like a plumbing snake. useful for clogs, i guess. - yakumo still has a lotta work to do re: self-control. although eiden says that he's a quick study, and that he's vastly improved his angle/speed manipulation, the default is still yakumo losing control and thrusting into eiden with no remorse. no ease. all hip pain. Waiter Yakumo showed substantial progress with "patience", and i hope we get to see that more in the future... at least for room 5s. (i have zero complaint if room 2s continue to be subby yakumo breaking down and crying for his horny life 4evr)

[panlight]

In Life and Death SMeyer wanted to show how everything would be the same with flipped genders, but we all know it wouldn't work like that. So, based on their flipped genders and kind of changed backstories (especially in Jessamine's case), which special abilities do you think the Cullens should have?

I think Carine still works with compassion or something compassion-adjacent (not a super power technically but you get the idea). And actually I wonder if people would be less critical of her actions vs Carlisle? That is, I don't really see people talking about consent and damnation when it comes to Sasha of the Denali creating her "daughters" (none of whom were on the verge of death so far as we know). Maybe there's some subconscious thing where a woman making vampire 'children' is more akin to birth (no one chose to be a vampire, but no one chose to be born either), whereas the power dynamics of a man making the choice for someone else, especially women, weirds people out? I don't know, maybe I'm way off base there, but I feel like there might be SOMETHING.

Carine's story is pretty much the same, just limited by what women were allowed to do in the medical field. There's also a bit of a "punish a man by hurting a woman" there in that the vampire who bit her explicitly did so to punish Pastor Cullen, but since I already sort of headcanoned that for Carlisle anyway, it didn't bother me much.

The difference was the Carine wasn't out doing the vampire hunting herself; likewise Jessamine had much less agency than Jasper, who actively chose to lie about his age to enlist. Jessamine was just kidnapped from her home. (And again, the dynamics of a male vampire breaking into someone's home and kidnapping her to turn her into a vampire just feels very different than three vampire women being approached by a man who thought they needed help. Yas Maria, slay Maria! Ew, gross Mariano!) So we have no evidence really Jessamine had the same power as Jasper as a human; she also had no military experience so she would have had a much steeper learning curve than Jasper in terms of learning how to fight, how to train, how to command. I've always thought that Jasper's power should have been mental anyway so let's make Jessamine's power mental instead. She can still sense and manipulate emotions but no more of that weird heartbeat and endorphin stuff (that doesn't seem like would apply to vampires anyway??), it's mental. Wouldn't work on Beau/Bella then I guess.

Royal can keep beauty, Eleanor can keep strength. I like how those upend expectations. And Eleanor's backstory stayed pretty much the same: being mauled by a bear. Good for her! I appreciate that SM still had them get married repeatedly; although I don't remember if it's still because Royal likes to do it. I hope so because again, it upends expectations (the man being wedding-obsessed) and it keeps them closer to their original characterizations.

Earnest's story is very different than Esme's (and again, I must ask, why not 'Ezra?' It's right there and just feels right! Even feels like the name of a kid who grew up on a farm). But again, I like upending expectations by having this sweet, loving house-husband while Carine is out there working. I do wonder, if we had seen more of Earnest, if SM would have made that Power of Heart more dad-like ("step into my office" "let's play catch" "You can tell your old man anything") than the just sort of bubble of love surrounding Esme but I don't know. It might also manifest differently because Earnest's child was older and was actively murdered by his wife. Esme only had her child for a few days and he died of natural causes. Those experiences are very different and might shape what form the Power to Love Passionately takes and how Earnest applies it to his family. He might be a bit more anxious? More protective? He knows his new children are basically indestructible but that helplessness he felt when he lost his human daughter might color how he reacts.

That leaves Archie and Edythe. You can't really change their powers too much because so much of the plot relies on them. And really I haven't changed much of the others either. I think the powers would be pretty similar because they are based on traits shared between the two versions of the characters, but how they used them, how they manifested, might be different because of their different lived experiences. Archie growing up as an eldest son rather than an eldest daughter (and does this mean his mother hires someone to kill his father and his mother and step-father lock him up? How deep does the gender swap go?) might change things like, perhaps he's more or less likely to tell people about his visions because of different societal expectations. Perhaps Edythe's latent ability to "read" people is seen as less impressive than Edward's, like, "oh she's a girl of course she has strong emotional intelligence" or whatever vs Edward being this sensitive piano prodigy was more of an outlier.

Life and Death is such an interesting experience because SM kept a lot of the dialogue word-for-word from Twilight. Earnest has almost all the same lines as Esme, etc. But she changed the backstories to fit gender expectations.

[amberkendslacy]

I made the Vampire Diaries characters playing Mario Kart and, unfortunately, then wondered what the Scoobies would pick but couldn't really see them playing that game.

But I realised, they wouldn't play Mario Kart.

They're Smash Bros. people.

Buffy The Vampire Slayer - Smash Bros. Character Picks

@noodle--box listened to me rant about this and contributed to it, so now you will hear it.

(Melee character roster since its 2001, we'll assume season 4 to early season 5. The GameCube is in the college dorm)

Buffy - Kirby. An unstoppable force fused with cuteness. Her ability at the game is up in the air since she is very busy and doesn't really have time right now (so much more awful shit is gonna happen, girl I'm so sorry)

Xander - Samus. I don't think I need to explain why. He is good at the game as he has a GameCube in the basement. He snuck onto campus to play and will be kicked out by Riley when the match is over (He dares Riley to a match to stay. Riley beats him).

Willow/Tara - Ice Climbers. They won't do a match against each other (they don't like to fight) and pretend the other Ice Climber is their partner. They send update texts of 'We just beat Xander! Great job babe!'

Faith - Mewtwo. (I know Canon doesn't make sense for it but let me have this) Gameboys aren't super heavy and only need batteries. Faith is a Pokemon fan. She's okay at the game, not really played it before.

Spike - Zelda. He doesn't play with the Scoobies (avoiding an ass kicking both in real life and in-game) and needs to let out steam about not being able to kill people due to the microchip.

Giles - Mr Game & Watch. They had a match/game during Buffy's birthday, and he was peer pressured into playing. He used to play on those little handheld games and talks about it for so long that Willow guiltily kicks his character off the platform and wins.

Angel - Mario. He calls him Jumpman so many times by genuine accident that it's impossible to ignore how old he is. He loses.

Dawn - Donkey Kong. She wanted to play Jigglypuff, but then someone asked if that's what she wanted, and she said no. Omg. I wanted, uh... Donkey Kong. The whole time. Duh. ... she is very good at Donkey Kong and it becomes her main pick.

Oz - Roy or Marth. In typical Oz fashion, he is a huge fan of Fire Emblem, which no one else in the gang has heard of. He's very good at the game.

Riley - Fox. He's good at the game, but Buffy wipes the floor with him in one match.

Anya - Ganondorf. Xander asked if she wanted Pikachu but she declined (too rabbit-adjacent), and I headcanon that if she ever played an online RPG, she would have played a big muscle Orc. Because she spends a lot of time with Xander, she is good at the game.

Drusilla - Broke into the dorm once to kill Buffy. Got distracted by Spike being there and playing a game with the pretty lights. She played Peach (Widdle Mushroom Princess) and beat his ass so bad and diabolically that the scoreboard in the dorm kept it as a memoriam.