#stanman drabble

[kestalsblog]

Going back to my roots because I woke up suddenly with STANMAN vibes restored 10000% to my brain and soul. I've been out of the fanfic space for a while now, but I'm hoping to inch my way back in sometime maybe 🐛 For now, here's a quick gushy romantic Stanman drabble because no matter how far I stray, I always wander back to them 🙈 Their dynamic is just the best.

This is suggestive and intended for 18+, but definitely nothing explicit. (This is a drabble in which they're already together, and Eric is head over heels and sappy for Stan in private). Both characters are in their twenties.

Stan was a beacon of light on top of Eric, the midevening sun’s dandelion-yellow beams falling aslant off the curve of his neck and shoulders. Though his face was partially shadowed, his eyes still managed to catch a stray line of gold whenever he tossed his head back and laughed.

Eric had seen a colour like Stan’s warmth-saturated eyes only once before—long ago, when he'd seen the sun strike coins at the bottom of a fountain at just the right angle to render the water lustrous and translucent, with only the faintest hint of blue shimmering out from beneath the amber light.  

“You’re staring,” commented Stan, his laughter from whatever Eric had said before melting into something more disconcerted and self-conscious. His chin sunk, spurring several long strands of dark hair to fall across his cheeks and eyelashes.

“It’s hard not to,” admitted Eric. Not just anyone got to lie in the soft grasses with someone as gorgeous as Stan Marsh straddling his waist, so he considered himself not only lucky, but sanctified.

Just yesterday, he’d been frustrated at the idea of a hike. Hours upon hours of walking, mosquito bites, and itchy grass against his socks weren’t exactly his idea of a happy Saturday. In his dread over discomfort, he’d almost forgotten how much he was willing to sacrifice for a moment like this.

As soon as they’d reached their destination today, Stan had pounced on him with the same agility and focus of the mountain lions probably stalking these woods somewhere. Eric didn’t even mind that they were both sweaty and tired anymore. Out here in the exposed face of the Earth’s barest elements, Stan was like any other woodland beast, ravenous and wild.

Normally they were patient while preparing, but this time Stan hadn’t wasted much time and effort in dropping his shorts and sinking himself onto Eric.

I guess you really haven’t been alive until you’ve listened to your lover’s moans mingle with the birdsongs, Eric told himself while he watched Stan, beautiful and gasping, rock above him. He wouldn’t say those words out loud, though. Too sappy.

“You’re beautiful,” he was willing to share instead, caressing Stan’s hips with his thumbs. Then he lifted a hand to where he’d tucked a small blueish-purple flower behind Stan’s ear earlier. Somehow, it had managed to stay in place throughout their lovemaking. Another miracle. “And sweet,” he added onto the compliment. “No wonder you’re such a problem for me. You know I’ve always been addicted to sweets.” He smiled.

“You're so different when we're alone. You always say such . . .” Stan started. His cheeks lit up pink, a sudden shy fire behind them. His sentence remained unfinished as he dipped low to kiss Eric, the bottomless light filling every crevice between their bodies so they appeared glued together with honey.

“Again, please,” he implored quietly, but no matter how gently he spoke, Eric would never miss a request like that. They'd been finished for a while, simply enjoying the presence of each other's soft and tired bodies. Now, Eric pulled Stan closer once more, embracing all of his heat joined with the sun rays imprinted into his skin.

[everlasting-luv]

Our First Fight

/// A Stanman Drabble ///

Eric was so exhausted.

He works at a shitty warehouse job and he's in his last four months of college. Fuck...between finals and working required overtime, it's a miracle he's still standing. The only good thing about his life at the moment is his boyfriend, Stan.

He spent years pining after his childhood friend. He never thought in a million years he would win the heart of his beautiful best friend, but he did. Almost a year ago, Stan confessed to him with tears in his eyes; telling him how he's had feelings for Eric for years now but was too scared to tell him.

He remembers that moment like it was yesterday. They were sitting in the middle of Eric's small apartment living room. They had been playing games when the power had suddenly gone out. Alone together, in the dark, Stan confessed and then kissed him.

Just thinking about it again sends shivers down his spine. Only Stan ever had the power to scatter goosebumps up and down Eric's arms with a simple glance.

Their first kiss was like magic.

Now, it's a year later, and they live together. The last couple of months have been rough because Eric had been swamped with studying and working OT at his job. He hasn't had the time or energy to take Stan on a date or anything.

Hell, sometimes when Eric comes home, Stan is already in bed. It's like they hardly see each other anymore. Lately, it feels like they're roommates as opposed to boyfriends.

He just needs to get through the stupid finals and his last few days of overtime, then things can go back to normal.

He parked his car in the reserved parking spot that Stan always let him have, considering Eric gets home so late. Otherwise, he'd have to park in the street. He grabbed his empty water bottle and lunchbox from the passenger seat and began to trudge his way up the stairs, back to his apartment.

He felt like he was walking through molasses. He never hated stairs so much in his life.

He opened the door to the apartment and shut the door behind him, kicking his shoes off. Stan was busy tackling the mountain of dishes they both accumulated and he could hear the laundry going. From the looks of it, Stan was also trying to clean up the living room.

"Eric, can you help me with some of this please?" Stan asked with exhaustion laced in his tone. He sounded raspy and like he was starting to get sick.

Eric, however, didn't notice it. The first thing he felt was irritation. He couldn't even get a chance to relax and take a shower before Stan had to nag at him again.

Which isn't fair to Stan. He wasn't nagging. Overworked, tired Eric Cartman doesn't see the difference, however.

"Why did you decide to do all this now? It's nine- thirty." Eric said, flat and annoyed. Stan wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Eric, please? I can't think straight in this pit. I've been trying to clean for the last two hours. I'm tired and I just-"

"You're tired?! Are you shitting me?! I've been pulling seventy hours at my shit job these last two weeks because it's required, plus I have to study for finals on top of that!" Eric snapped, feeling the anger boiling in his gut. Stan was as still and quiet as a statue. "For fuck sake, at least give me a chance to fucking wind down before you ask me to do shit! Jesus Christ!"

Stan's eyes were as wide as silver dollars and his hands were gripping either side of his head. As soon as Eric looked at his boyfriend and saw the tears trickle down his flushed cheeks, his stomach dropped.

"Don't....please don't...yell at me..." Stan spoke in a quiet, broken voice before he began to cry. Eric dropped everything in his hands and rushed for him in the kitchen. He reached for Stan, but he flinched away from him as he pressed himself into the corner, staring up at him with wide blue eyes.

Fuck...I'm such a piece of shit...

Eric felt hurt that Stan flinched like that, as if he actually thought Eric would hit him. Nothing before this moment had ever made him feel so fucking horrible.

"Stan...I'm so sorry. I'm not mad at you, okay?" Eric tried to reason with a much softer voice. He shed his coat off and tossed it aside, softly taking Stan's trembling hands from his face as he sobbed. "Baby, come here. I'm sorry."

"I...I know you're tired. I know you're overworked. It's just..." Stan mumbled as Eric let go of one of his hands and held the side of his face instead, wiping the tears away.

"It's just?"

"You haven't so much as looked at me or talked to me in days. Now...you're yelling and cursing at me...I'm scared you're going to...going to leave me." Stan broke into a fit of sobs again as he finally expressed his fears. Eric, on the other hand, felt his jaw hit the floor.

Did Stan honestly believe Eric would ever leave him? Seriously?!

Eric wrapped Stan in a tight hug. His heart was breaking hearing his beautiful, loving boyfriend cry...because of him.

He realized now that he's been awful to Stan. When Eric was too exhausted to talk to him, Stan saw that as a cold shoulder. When Eric left without saying goodbye, Stan saw that as indifference. When Eric didn't bother to eat a meal with him and go straight to bed instead, Stan saw that as uncaring.

He never felt like such a shitty ass boyfriend.

"Stan, I love you more than anything. I'm not going to leave you, are you kidding? You're amazing, loving, beautiful...fuck, you're everything I ever dreamed of." Eric held the back of Stan's head, threading his fingers and burying his face in his soft black hair. "I'd be an absolute moron to even think about leaving you."

Stan clung onto Eric as if he was going to fall through the floor, eyes still wide and filled with tears as he listened. Eric pulled away just enough to cup Stan's face in his hands, giving him a soft, loving kiss before pressing their foreheads together.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you like that. You don't deserve that. And...I'm sorry I've been neglecting you these last few weeks. From now on, I'll make sure to tell you what's going on and when I feel overwhelmed, okay?"

Stan nodded, wiping the remainder of his tears from his face. Eric pressed a kiss to his forehead before quickly ripping away, forcing Stan to look straight up at him.

"Stan, you're burning up! Are you sick?!"

Stan gave Eric a confused look, pressing his own hand to his head. "I am?"

Eric chuckled, pulling Stan away from the kitchen by his wrist. "Come on. Let's get you some medicine and then go to bed. I'll take care of the dishes."

"But-"

"Stan. You're sick. I got it, okay? It's the least I can do for being a shit boyfriend lately."

Eric gave Stan some medicine and helped him get into lighter clothing before helping him into bed. As soon as he got him settled, Stan threw his arms around his neck, burying his burning face into his shoulder.

"You're not a shit boyfriend. I love you."

Eric felt as if he could cry too. What did he do to deserve someone as sweet as Stan Marsh?

He'll never understand.

"I love you too." Eric whispered back, kissing Stan passionately like he deserved.

Stan deserved so much better than what Eric has been offering him the last few weeks. He's so used to resorting to anger, but with someone who feels so much more than the average person, like Stan, he needs to be gentler. He needs to be calm and communicate properly.

This would be their first, and only fight. Eric would make sure of it.

[cchallucination]

Assuming this is proof enough...

Kyle goes to a boarding school for a week and without him driving a bit of a wedge, platonic stanman forms(their potential friendship is brainrot to me lol)

VOTE CLYDE IN THE SP LISTEN TOURNAMENT GUYSS

Uhhhg I haven’t gotten to write their dynamic in a bit,, here’s a little Drabble for you!

“Bye dude!” Stan yelled one more time as the car drove off, grinning when Kyle waved at him from the backseat. “Fucking finally.” Cartman groaned, flipping the car off. Stan could see Kyle’s pissed off expression before he turned away. “Shut up fat ass.” Stan defended. But he couldn’t help but laugh at the pettiness regardless. “I’m gonna head home, bye guys.” Kenny piped up, walking away as Stan waved.

Kyle was going to boarding school for a week, because for some reason Sheila had thought it’d be ‘good for him.’ So for now, it was just Stan, Cartman, and Kenny.

“Stan I bet you’re so devastated your gay ass super best friend is going to be gone.” Stan rolled his eyes, “Yeah, okay dude.” Cartman continued to prattle on, beginning to walk towards his house. Stan followed, guessing Cartman had expected him too.

He had to admit, when Cartman wasn’t constantly trying to get a rise out of Kyle, he wasn’t that bad too hang out with. Sure, his comments were still annoying, but a normal amount. “It’s just us two normal guys now. No jews, no poor people. Well, you’re a fag alcoholic, but that’s better than the other two.” Cartman proudly claimed as they walked into the house.

Stan scoffed,, “Yeah, Kyle would have been kicked your ass if he was here.” Cartman made a face at this. “I’d beat him in a fight any day.” Stan raised an eyebrow, before laughing. “If you say so.”

They headed to Cartmans room, finding a game to play on his Xbox. They ended up playing for longer than expected, Stan actually enjoying hanging out with Cartman. “That was not fair, dude!” Stan complained as the end game screen appeared. “I won fair and square!”

“You took my fucking controller.”

“And you could have easily taken mine.”

Stan stared at him blankly for a moment before grinning, unable to hold back his laughter. “Whatever man.”

[suhamakitten]

My account is Stan Marsh and Eric Cartman related

Which means I only post Stanman pics, drabbles, character talk, and headcanon. Of course in this account all my Stanman drabbles and fics will have the characters aged up. They are either teenagers or young adults. South Park is and will be discussed here, canon characters and episodes.

[kestalsblog]

Stanman Movie Night Drabble 🎬🍿

The first time it happened, Eric's cluelessness over how to react was probably palpable. Kyle had chosen the movie for their group hang session, one of the only traditions they'd managed to uphold every other weekend since starting college. It was some cheap, poorly-filmed thriller with C-list actors and predictable jump cares. Halfway through it, Eric almost considered telling Kyle to shut it off because it was so just so amateurishly awful and corny, but that was when it happened.

The four of them were placed where they usually were: Kyle, Stan, and Cartman on the sofa respectively, while Kenny sprawled across the floor in front of them. It didn't matter whose place they chose (this time it was Eric's apartment); they always sat in this arrangement. Eric was so used to the pattern that he would've questioned a change by now, but what he wasn't used to was a particularly violent, loud scene sending Stan directly into his shoulder, almost his lap.

And not by a little bit, either. Stan had actually pivoted his entire body toward him and buried his face into his neck and shoulder a little to hide his eyes from what was happening on the screen. Eric froze as soon as he felt him there, wondering if anyone would say anything, but both Kyle and Kenny seemed absorbed in the murder scene. One of Stan's legs was raised, nudging Eric's thigh.

Meanwhile, Eric sat as still as a rock and tried to remember how to be human. Stan was one of his best friends. They'd known each other for-fucking-ever and had surely hugged a couple of times here and there, but he'd never known the guy to nestle into him like this.

If he concentrated closely enough, he could feel the flutter of Stan's eyelashes and lips against his neck.

"C'mon, man," Eric murmured when he worried Stan might begin to feel his temperature rising. "It's just a dumb movie."

Kyle and Kenny still weren't paying attention, their eyes glued to the screen as if they were witnessing a cinematic masterpiece. Eric was pretty sure he could see the "dead" girl onscreen breathing, not that he was paying attention to much else beside Stan's harsh breathing against him.

"S-Sorry," Stan muttered, withdrawing from him by an inch to settle back into his own spot. With him disappeared his woodsmoke-y, herbal scent. Figuring turning to look directly at him was too awkward, Eric side eyed him and saw that his skin was also pinkish, and his eyes were wide. He looked truly frightened. Cartman kind of felt sorry for him. He was the only one leaping every time something obviously fake and grotesque popped around the corner in the movie.

Question flitted through Cartman's mind for the remainder of the film. Why had Stan chosen him to lean on when he just as easily could have hidden into Kyle, his best friend?

More importantly, why hadn't Eric ever noticed how long Stan's eyelashes were before? Eric swallowed that thought with a swig from his soda bottle. For some inane reason, he spent the remaining hour hoping for another cheesy kill scene that might send Stan into him again. He'd never thought of Stan as anything other than his most sensitive friend—a trait of his he always sort of protected and cherished for its sweetness in a world so fucking bleak and unbearable.

He was probably selfish for hoping they'd choose a horror movie again next time, but hell, he knew that about himself already. And when he remembered the next choice was his, he already started flipping through the scariest movies that came to mind. If Stan responded this way to such a crappy movie, how would he act with one that was actually scary? Maybe next time, Stan might even throw his whole arm around him in fear . . . Maybe Eric could put an arm around him comfortingly too?

Two weeks would be a hell of a long time to wait.

[kestalsblog]

Stan's Birthday (A Stanman Drabble)

So, I didn't have time to make anything amazing, but I couldn't NOT to do a little Stanman something for Stan's birthday. Here's a quick little sugary-sweet drabble 🍭🙈🥰 Happy birthday, Stan 🍰

Warnings for extreme sweetness 🙊 And just a bit of crude language and mention of sex because this is Cartman LOL.

Stan's half-remembered dream, something about a black sky and bird wings, was interrupted by dozens of soft pressures across his cheeks and nose. When he opened his eyes, Eric's face was centimeters from his. "Mornin', birthday boy," said Eric breathily when their gazes connected. Yesterday, he'd sported a nice chin's worth of stubble, but he must have gotten up early and shaved because his skin was smooth now with only a few apparent red nicks here and there.

"Please nothing major, Eric," Stan complained sleepily. His boyfriend had a habit of going way over the top, and the only thing Stan hated worse than going over the top was being the centre of everyone's attention. Apprehensions over a surprise birthday party or big adventure had been chewing at his mind all week.

"The day itself is major enough. The day you were born. What could be more monumental than that?" Eric told him with his effortless charm, lifting Stan's hand to kiss in between the knuckles. Stan felt his face's temperature grow. Sometimes it was hard to believe this endearing, gentle man in front of him was the same Eric Cartman from his childhood, but then again, Eric was perpetually reminding him that what he'd needed all along was someone levelheaded like Stan to bring him down to Earth.

"I have the day all planned out," announced Eric, instigating a new pinching fear in the back of Stan's head. Knowing Eric, they would be halfway around the world by noon. And though on one hand Stan loved his boyfriend's thrill-seeking nature, sometimes he just wanted . . .

"First off, I found this awesome new recipe for vegan ginger pumpkin bread," Eric interrupted Stan's thoughts, already searching through his phone for the saved screenshot.

Stan blinked twice. "A recipe?" he repeated.

"Yeah, looks really good too. After that we're gonna sit on the porch like two romantic old geezers for a while cuz I bought this huge bag of bird seed that I just know will attract the prettiest ones. Expensive, good shit, man. Those feathered fuckers are lucky I'm such a provider. Then it's movie time, naturally. Your pick," he rattled on, swiping through his notes app to examine his list. "Gonna end it all with a homemade dinner, courtesy of moi, and some pumpkin carving to top it off. Also, Stan, beloved, there's this autumn bath bomb I've been dying to try with you, so please give it a shot. I'll even put flower petals in the bath to make it all romantic n'shit if you want." He looked up from his phone with surprising innocence spotlighted through his caramel-colored eyes. "Call me a basic white bitch, but I'd be delightful as fuck walking around with a pumpkin spice latte scented trail following me, and we all know it." A half-smile curved his lips.

Stan had only just sat up in bed, and already he felt his eyes threatening tears. Birthdays had been miserable, lonely affairs for as long as he could remember. The mere idea of them exhausted him and evoked such overpowering, compressing dread that he liked to pretend they weren't even happening.

Eric had managed to schedule what sounded like such a quiet, perfect day, a day Stan wished he could live over and over. "How does that sound?" Eric asked, a touch of anxiety introducing itself to his tone against Stan's silence.

"Too good. It sounds too good. Eric, really. I'm." Stan couldn't finish his thoughts, instead opting to grope at the back of Eric's neck to tug him closer. His fingers stroked at the small, soft hairs that grew there while he coaxed Eric's mouth toward his. A scent of aftershave and Eric's new cinnamon toothpaste - a flavor he'd purchased solely because Stan liked it - tingled his nostrils as their lips roamed slowly together, touching gently as if for the first time.

When Stan pulled back, Eric waited a moment to open his eyes and look at him. Cinnamon and maybe a hint of clove lingered on Stan's mouth as he tried to regulate his blushing.

Surely some day he'd grow used to this and stop reacting like a virgin teenager every time they touched each other, but then again, maybe that would mean one day it would stop being special. And Stan was willing to be embarrassed for life if he could hold onto this brilliant sensation forever, a feeling like being young and discovering a new, beautiful flower or the fact that the universe stretched on for infinite lightyears. Something so massively tender and incredible, his mind had no frame big enough to contain it.

"I love you," murmured Stan while Eric flicked playfully at a lock of his hair that had been roughed up from their kissing.

"Yeah, yeah. Save the sap for trees, Marsh," he joked, but Stan saw the fiendishly euphoric glimmer illuminating his eyes. "That pumpkin bread isn't going to bake itself, and you're gonna need to eat a hearty loaf, got it? You need like quadruple the energy today because if you think birthday sex is off the table, you're quite literally ridiculous. Hm." He lifted a finger to his lips do an overly exaggerated thinking pose. "Maybe the birthday sex should even be on the table?"

Normally, Stan would slap him with a pillow. Today he went in for another kiss, uttering, "Thanks for this, Eric," into his waiting mouth. The vibrations of Eric's deep laughter greeted him, followed by Eric's warm arms around him.

"Happy birthday, Stan."

[kestalsblog]

Vampire Stanman 🧛🏻🩸

I really enjoyed writing this too much 🙈

TW: Crude language, mention of weapons, blood (nothing too graphic though). For mature audience since Eric has sadistic tendencies, but nothing explicit; all characters are in their twenties.

Enjoy Vampire Hunter Eric and Stanpire Stan 🥰

______________________________________________________________

At one point in Eric’s life, he never would have assumed that the best thing to happen to him would be South Park’s vampire infestation, but then again, nothing in his life (or South Park) ever followed a normal path.

The vampire colony had popped up about a decade ago, just about the time the undead fuckers started appearing in other random places across the globe, and Eric had been finishing high school. Pretty ideal time for Vampire Hunter to become a career option, especially since he’d never been too interested in anything besides potentially becoming a rabbi to fuck with Kyle. Getting paid to murder some bloodsucker, however, was an option he could get behind for real.

Humans were resourceful and quickly had learned the best self-defenses against the vampires, namely a variety of weapons coated in a special silver alloy lovingly deemed AVA (Anti-Vampire Alloy) designed specifically to destroy the vampires’ bodies. The weapons really were quite creative—Eric had wielded everything from an AVA-tipped stake to a flail after his tenth year in the business.

Honestly, even the slayings got boring after a while though because the fatalities were almost always the same, and Eric could only watch some bloodless guy impaled to a tree thrash himself to death before the sun had a chance to finish the job so many times.

Usually it went like this: he’d lure some idiot vampire in with the false promises of blood and/or sex, surprise the idiot with a blow to the back of the neck, and once the idiot was down, get him chained outside so the sun could take care of the rest and there’d be no chance of recovery. Sure, vampires were physically much stronger than humans, but their cravings were stronger too. It was the one case in Eric’s life where being heavy had come in handy because he was also heavier in blood than other, thinner people. Hell, he was practically a walking all-you-can-eat buffet to vampires, in his personal and correct opinion.

Today he’d chosen his preferred weapon—a small but sturdy and efficient dagger—to prepare for his meeting with the boss. He’d been called in for a “special mission,” which usually meant an exceptionally unruly and thirsty vampire had infiltrated the human side of the city. Most emergency cases were because a moronic human had sneaked into “South South Park” (the new nickname for the southernmost part of the city where the vampire colony resided) and gotten himself into trouble. Those cases were the worst of all because, truthfully, the human probably deserved to die for trespassing onto rival territory. As a certified Vampire Hunter, Eric wasn’t allowed to speak that particular viewpoint out loud, though.

Sure enough, things today were different.

“This one’s already killed several people,” Craig explained during the meeting. Eric would never refer to him as “Mr. Tucker” despite their differences in status. Craig had been the only other one of his classmates to go into the Vampire Hunting business after high school, and Eric was more than a little annoyed with how quickly he’d risen through the ranks to the top. He barely did any of the hunting and killing himself anymore, instead delivering orders.

But Eric couldn’t argue with Craig’s unbeatable kill count compared to all the other hunters in the area. Something about his strict personality and rigid moral code had molded him into the perfect ender of immortal lives.

“He burned down an entire farm,” Craig said, reading a report as he sat across his desk from Eric. The small silver crucifix he always wore around his throat glinted in the sharp sunlight from the window. It wasn’t uncommon for most people to wear some kind of AVA weaponry these days.

“Unusual for a vampire to be around fire,” commented Eric, running his finger idly down the engravings of his blade. By now, it had killed about thirty vampires.

“You’ve got that right.” Craig’s cement-gray eyes rose momentarily to meet Eric’s. “Sure is one deranged motherfucker. I’ll give you the coordinates. You think you got this, or you need backup?”

“Dude.” Eric withheld a chuckle of offense. “I’ve got this. I killed like five of them yesterday. Give me a little credit.”

“All right.” Craig laid the reports smooth against his desk, and the crucifix caught even more light, briefly blinding Eric so that when he blinked, he still saw the shape of the cross imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. “I hope your confidence serves you well. Good luck, Eric.”

Eric murmured, “I don’t need luck” as he got to his feet and hoped that maybe this vampire would at least be a little more interesting than the last dozen. He’d gone into this career to avoid the monotony of some unbearable office job, but the drudgery was catching up to him anyway. Why did each of life’s avenues point directly toward absolute boredom and dissatisfaction? Going home to an empty house in between killings didn’t exactly help.

“Please be more fun,” he whispered to himself outside as he checked the coordinates Craig had given him. This vampire was last spotted about a good distance outside of South Park, but since he’d killed South Park residents, he was their problem. Eric checked the app on his watch designed to tell him how long he had until sunset. About two hours. Perfect.

______________________________________________________________

The farm, which had previously been a hemp farm of all things, was a fucking wasteland by the time Eric arrived. Though most of the flames had burnt themselves out, there were black scorch marks rippling down all the rows of weed. Wisps of smoke rose into the air, and really it was hilarious how badly the place reeked now. The stench of skunk probably extended for miles, getting even the most innocent of townspeople high as a kite.

At least the vampire had a sense of humor.

After interviewing the farm’s owners, Eric learned the vampire had last been seen heading to an abandoned toolshed a few acres off the farm. The primary owner, a crude, distracted man, let him know through rambling speech that he’d followed the vampire there until he’d gotten worried about being too isolated with him and headed back. While he spoke, his wife and daughter sat behind him silently with haunted expressions.

Eric wasn’t afraid. He’d brought enough weapons to take down an entire fleet of vampires. The hardest part was the miserable, freezing journey to the toolshed, and the overwhelming weed fumes certainly didn’t help. By the time he spotted the derelict little building a couple of yards away, his head was comfortably fuzzy.

“I know you’re in there, piece of shit!” Eric shouted through the hole-torn wooden door that was barely hanging onto its hinges. The sun was only a thin orange crescent in between mountain valleys now. Pretty soon, the vampire would be at its peak strength. Normally Eric went for a different approach: his usual sweet talk and seduction, but right now he wasn’t in the mood. Right now, he was in a kicking-the-door-down-and-beating-some-ass kind of mood.

The door gave away under his foot like melting snow, and as soon as it was splinters on the ground, Eric saw the shadows in the toolshed’s furthest right corner shift. “Ha, think you can hide from me, fucker?” He slung the rifle he kept strapped to his back over his shoulder. Courtesy of Craig, the bullets were composed almost entirely of AVA. “Try to attack me, and I’ll blast your head off your shoulders.”

A dramatic hiss issued from within the shadows—this vampire was fucking pissed, and hell, Eric inwardly confessed to a little thrill at that realization. He caught sight of two brilliantly shining animal eyes through the darkness, and he aimed the rifle at what he thought was probably the vampire’s shoulder.

Before he could fire, though, the vampire stumbled forward. Dangerous move, considering the thin tunnel of sunlight spilling from the broken door. Between the fire and the crappy hiding place, this vampire must have had some kind of death wish. Eric felt his breath falter; his hands slipped on the weapon.

All vampires were more beautiful than humans, but Eric had gotten used to their steely features so long ago that they mostly had no effect on him anymore. This one, like everything else today, was different.

His face was perfectly pale, almost the same shade as the whites of his eyes. And inside those whites were two pinpoint-sized, crystal blue irises locked intensely on Eric. Even though his features might have appeared soft on a human face, something about his unmoving posture sharpened his jawline and the bridge of his nose. Maybe he was too thin. Maybe his eyes were too wide for his face. Messy black hair that melded into the shadows topped his head, with the finest, darkest strands falling elegantly like long eyelashes down his forehead.

He extended his hands in the universal “stop” gesture, giving Eric a chance to see that his palms and fingers were swollen and discolored to a strange plum shade. He’d seen enough injured vampires to know these were burn marks.

“You accidentally burnt yourself setting the weed up in flames, didn’t you?” Eric couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, whose fault was that, huh? That desperate to get stoned?”

The vampire’s pupils shrunk unbelievably smaller, and he opened his jaws wide to hiss again. This time, Eric realized the sound was oddly muted. Leaning closer, he saw that someone had placed something over the vampire’s upper row of teeth that looked somewhat like a human’s mouthguard. The material appeared less gummy and thicker, though, a gentle grayish shade that told Eric it was laced with AVA too.

 “What the hell?” he mumbled, lowering the rifle by an inch. The vampire relaxed at that, his shoulders and scorched hands lowering. Long strands of saliva foamed out the sides of the mouthguard and down his jawbones and chin. Eric had never seen a weapon quite like it, but he could tell immediately that there was no way the vampire could remove it. If he so much as touched the metal-tinted material, he’d be stricken with terrible agony. Maybe the injuries across his hands were not entirely from the fire, then. Maybe the fire had been an act of utter desperation born out of suffering.

Eric tested another step forward, and the vampire retreated some with another miserable, weakened hiss. “How long has that thing been on your teeth?” he asked. “Who put it there?” Surely Craig would have let him know about any new weapons; he always kept up to date with innovative vampire-destroying contraptions. And why would another Vampire Hunter get close enough to put this thing on his teeth, but then leave him alive? Eric didn’t give two fucks about vampires, but even he felt it was unusually barbaric behavior.

Either the mouthguard made speaking impossible, or the vampire simply didn’t want to answer him. Instead, he kept emitting the same pathetic hisses again and again as he retreated further into the corner’s darkness. Eric wasn’t sure the vampire would be strong enough to fight him even in full nighttime. The vampire’s knees were shaking, clacking into one another.

“You could probably still bite down with it on, you know,” Eric said, wondering why he was giving advice to a killer. “If you tried hard enough, you could probably still break the skin.”

“Hurts,” the vampire choked out, his first word, though it came out more like “hurtsth” with the material surrounding his teeth. More saliva ran from his gums, which were also colored an unusual mauve shade. His eyes searched Eric’s face with anguished fervor. He was starving.

A wild idea struck Eric’s mind—a stupid idea, really, but once it was there, it infested his mind and possessed all his urges. Without further thought, he took the dagger from his pocket and pressed its blade into his own palm. As soon as the first bead of blood budded to the surface of his skin, he heard the vampire’s sharp gasp.

When he looked up, the vampire was staring with merciless focus at his hand. The tip of his tongue protruded goofily from the side of his mouth with the force of his thirst. “You want this, don’t you?” taunted Eric, lifting his palm. The vampire’s pupils snapped almost mechanically to follow every movement of Eric’s hand.  

When the ball of blood grew larger and broke into a small stream down Eric’s hand, the vampire moaned with uncontrolled lust and lunged forward. Eric gasped, trying to aim the rifle again, but it was promptly knocked from his good hand. All light from outside had dwindled now, and the vampire stood before him in the moonlight.

“Wait,” Eric cried with a little anxiety when the vampire’s frigid fingers locked onto his wrist, but then he remembered he couldn’t be bitten. The vampire's fingers were textured with large blistering lumps from his injuries, and Eric felt the strange, softened tips of the vampire’s coated teeth as they grazed against his skin. But then the feeling was replaced with an unpleasantly cold, dry tongue on his palm.

Eric wondered if the vampire could hear his heart accelerating as he looked down and watched him lick violently and urgently at his hand. He curved his tongue down all the lines of his skin and even between his fingers; clearly, he didn’t want to miss a drop. This was the perfect opportunity for Eric to kill him—he was weak and exposed, his faded red and blue coat barely tattered lines of fabric across his torso.

But for some reason, Eric didn’t want to kill him. He watched with fascination as the beautiful man dropped to his knees before him, his long fingers still circled around his wrist, and he continued dabbing his tongue pitifully to the dried-up wound. He was probably (no, without a doubt) the most beautiful creature Eric had ever seen in his life, like someone’s piece of artwork come to life.

Killing him almost seemed like a punishment to himself because he’d never get to look at him again.

Eric wondered why the vampire hadn’t savagely torn some animal apart by now just to lap at its blood if nothing else, even if he couldn’t suck it through his teeth like vampires normally did. Maybe he had been doing that, and it still wasn’t enough.

“Please,” the vampire started whimpering frantically, his jaw loosening with the effort it took him to speak. No more blood would spill no matter how he prodded Eric’s skin with his tongue, which was a little warmer now. Eric watched his eyes pause on the small pulsing vein of Eric's wrist, and his pupils contracted with tormented desire. “Please.” His eyelids fluttered, and his brows rose far into his hair. “Please.”

Eric had never heard a voice like it, had never beheld such violent, feral longing in all his life. Knowing how desperate the vampire must be, and knowing how that desperation didn't make one difference because he couldn't possibly get what he wanted without depending on Eric, warmed Eric's body all over.

The sight of it, the sound of it, sent unsettled excitement all throughout his bloodstream. He couldn’t recall a time he’d last felt like this, though all his life he’d wanted to feel like this and had dreamed about, no craved, feeling this alive and powerful.

This beautiful being’s life was literally in his hands. Strapped to him were all the weapons that could end the vampire's life, but his body was also teeming with the one thing that could keep him alive.

Eric took a step backward, and the vampire threw his arms around his thigh, his pleas continuing while Eric’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Be quiet,” he told the vampire when he saw the call was from Craig. To his surprise, the vampire silenced immediately, freezing in his subservient position with his arms around Eric's leg. Another thrill.

“Eric, it’s been a while,” Craig said. “Are you having trouble? Is it dead?”

Eric glanced down at the vampire, who was looking back at him with large, unblinking, imploring eyes. The tiny dribble of blood he’d consumed had brought the faintest of pink tinges to his cheeks. Like a marble sculpture, he stared with total stillness.

“Uh—” Eric started, the dilemma between the truth and a major lie stalling him for only a moment before he said, “yeah. He’s dead. I told you I had this. Everything’s good.”

“Oh, okay, great. See you soon about the payment.”

Craig was never one for extending phone calls beyond their natural expiration dates, and Eric thanked God for that fact when the conversation came to an immediate close. He turned his focus to the vampire.

“Look, you can’t tell anyone about this,” he ordered. “As far as anyone knows, I killed you. But if you stay here and listen to me, I can help you some." Never mind the long drive, Eric was already telling himself. This was totally worth it. "Do what I say, and I’ll give you more of my blood. Maybe one day I’ll even take that thing off your teeth. If you behave.”

That was all the vampire needed to hear. His head started shaking up and down in rapid, foolish agreement. Eric tested reaching an unsteady hand toward the top of the vampire’s head. His fingers trembled with unbridled exhilaration when he touched the silky-soft locks, much softer and thicker than a human’s.

Instead of withdrawing from him, the gorgeous vampire leaned into the touch, nudging his head closer as if wanting to be petted. Vampires were sexual, needy creatures by nature. Add that to their hunger, and they could be unstoppably salacious. Eric sensed an unusual sweetness to this one, though, even through his rabid desire for blood.

“You’re mine now,” whispered Eric, his eyes never leaving the vampire as he began to craft the lie that he would tell the farm owners. “All mine. Do you understand?” He tugged gently at the hair, and the vampire only lifted his titillating, clouding eyes to meet his.

A feeling returned to Eric then, something he hadn’t experienced since early childhood and thought was long gone—the emotion he’d developed when manipulating his mother into buying him a particularly desired video game, or whenever sliding convenient store candy bars up his sleeves. Secret possession and unconditional control set his body ablaze in ways he’d never been able to explain to anyone, even himself.

Maybe he’d never entirely outgrown breaking the rules.

[kestalsblog]

Stan/Kyle/Cartman Drabble 🗻🌲

I needed a break, so I gave myself a reward of writing some today. I was struck with this scene a little while ago. I'd been wanting to try Style for a while, but I just love my guy Cartman too much to leave him out 🙈🥰 So, enjoy some . . . Styleman?? LOL. 🏕️

Contains suggestive content and a bit of mature language. Best for 18+. Nothing graphic. I don't post anything explicit on Tumblr.

Normally Stan loved camping with his friends. The fresh mountain air, the indigo-greens of the night sky, the cricket song. The way he could look at the wild, open landscape and not feel insignificant because out here, everyone was insignificant.

Hell, coming out this far in the forest pines had been his idea, but if past-him could have looked into the future's crystal ball, he sure wouldn't be freezing his ass off in a lonely sleeping bag just so he could listen to Cartman and Kyle get it off together in the tent beside his. Feeling his teeth clash together, sensitive from the cold, he cursed Kenny for turning down the invitation. At least then he wouldn't be so hopelessly alone.

Cartman and Kyle's silhouettes flickered across his own tent wall like two candle flames. Sometimes they intertwined; other times, they shivered apart. Stan could hear their muffled whispers and giggles, punctuated by Kyle's occasional petulant shh!

Looking back, Stan wasn't sure when the nature of their relationship had changed - if it had ever changed at all, for that matter. Maybe it had been like this as long as they'd known each other, and he'd just missed the signs.

Earlier in the evening, Kyle and Cartman been bickering in their usual fashion over the snacks Cartman had brought, how well Kyle had pitched the tent (which had started a slew of sexual innuendos from Cartman that had Kyle ready to commit murder), and Stan had been convinced things might be like the old days again.

At least like before college, back when things felt normal. But no, those days were gone, and Stan didn't know why, but he felt his eyes burn when he thought about how those years were never, ever returning. Now Cartman and Kyle couldn't fight without the heated exchange ending in an intense make-out session or a half-concealed fuck in Kenny's closet at a house party.

He hated himself for wishing they'd go back to hating each other. At least then he wouldn't feel left out.

On the bright side, the tears were keeping Stan somewhat warm. Octobers in South Park could unleash unforgiving weather. Normally he didn't mind sitting in the cold until he went numb - he even relished it - but now it was only painful.

Kyle let out an exceptionally loud yelp, followed by Cartman's ruthless snickering. Stan let his eyes drift back to the outlines of their bodies displayed across the fabric tent wall. At some point, their shape had become one.

Stan turned on his side so he couldn't see them anymore. A few tears ran from his eyelashes into his lip, and he tasted salt mixed with the marshmallows from earlier. Maybe he shouldn't have invited both of them. Kyle probably would have come alone, maybe even Cartman. He gripped himself tighter, huddling under the sleeping bag's cover. None of it made sense, Cartman and Kyle . . . Kyle and Cartman . . .

He was Kyle's best friend, the one who had always been kind to him. For fuck's sake, he'd even been there for Cartman growing up too. What had they done for each other except make both their lives miserable?

But now . . . now he listened to a small, slightly stifled moan, probably from Kyle, and he wished he'd never suggested coming camping altogether, not if the only things to keep him warm were his cheap sleeping bag, his tears, and his jealousy. Maybe the two of them were better off being here without him. He should just pack his stuff and go home.

"Shh, shh, Stan can hear us," Cartman's voice suddenly rang clearly, interrupting some scampering night creature nearby their tents.

"It's not like he doesn't know," followed Kyle, but then his voice became gentler when he called out, "Stan?"

Was it better to pretend to be asleep? Fear grazed Stan's cheek in the form of a frigid breeze that trespassed the tent's opening. Both Cartman and Kyle were suddenly quiet, and the change in atmosphere only lowered Stan's feelings. If he weren't here, they could be having unrestrained fun together. He really should just go home.

Fear escalated to terror when an obscenely loud sniffle escaped his nostril.

"Stan?" gasped Kyle's voice, louder now.

Stan turned with a jolt to see Cartman and Kyle break apart from one another and start emerging from their tent to come to his. Sure enough, within seconds, Kyle's face popped through the tent's slot. His wild hair was spiraling in untamed curls around his head, and his cheeks were rosy pink. "Are you crying?" Kyle's eyes widened with concern. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, what gives, dude?" Cartman's face poked in next, directly under Kyle's. If Stan weren't heavy with his own sorrows, he might have found the image comical. "Lonely in here, Stan?" he joked, but the quip went straight through Stan's heart.

I'm going to cry. I'm going to cry. Stan felt his nostrils quivering, his eyebrows. Could he blame the cold, and would they believe him if he did?

"Stan, that's not true, is it Are you lonely?" asked Kyle, nudging his way into the tent. He sat next to Stan's lantern, only a few inches away because there wasn't much room. "I mean, it'll be a tight fit, but we can all hang out. I thought you liked your space . . ."

"Or you could join us." Cartman's jack-o-lantern smirk cracked across his face.

"Isn't that what I literally just suggested?" snapped Kyle, shooting him a side eye as if his entire neck wasn't covered with his love bites.

"No, you were just saying we could all have a sleepover," fake-yawned Cartman. "I'm suggesting, if the poor guy is lonely, that he join us." There was no mistaking the sly undertone. Stan felt unforeseen heat overtake his face when Cartman directed a flirtatious wink in his direction.

"W-What are you saying?" Stan hated the sound of his voice. He hated how harshly he was now gripping the cover of his sleeping bag, and how some not-so-small, shameful piece of himself was yearning, straining to be included, to be . . . What am I thinking? His heart beat violent rhythms through his ears. Ugly sound. No wonder no one wanted him; he was embarrassing.

"Oh my God, Stan, I'm sorry about him," Kyle started, flustered now himself. "He's just being, well, Cartman."

"Oh, come on." Cartman rolled his eyes, which had assumed an oddly comforting caramel coloration in the lantern light. "Don't tell me you've never thought about Stan that way. We both have."

"What?" Stan heard his voice lift an octave, followed by Cartman's devious laughter and Kyle's stuttering.

"I-I mean, it's just . . ." Kyle's voice went nowhere.

"Come on, just picture it." Cartman lifted his hands as if he were painting the image in the air for them to see. "These romantic ass woods and mountains and nature and shit. The three of us doing it like animals? Shit, it's a wet dream, if you ask me." His tongue rolled over his lips with sinister slowness, and Stan would never admit to the way his heart leapt over a few beats at the sight. Surely this was some kind of terrible prank; neither of them had expressed wanting to be with him in the past, even if many of his own nights had been spent in painful pining to join them.

He knew they weren't particularly monogamous. He wasn't even sure if they saw themselves as a real couple, and he'd always been a little heartbroken trying to piece together what was so unappealing about him that he'd never turned their heads that way. Hadn't he shown that he cared for them both? Wasn't he a nice enough person? It had to be the inherent ugliness he knew lurked under his skin, the repulsive something-or-other about him that made him unlovable, untouchable. He was embarrassing. He was -

"Don't mock me like this," he tried to say without crying, but Kyle must have detected the tear in his voice because he suddenly crawled forward and took his hand. Kyle had held his hand before. Right now, it felt different. His fingers gripped Stan's, squeezing.

"Stan, I'd never do that. You know how much you mean to me." His eyes were so close to Stan's, right there, a dark shade of green that reminded Stan of the trees and grass he loved so dearly. Lily pads. His eyes were like lily pads in dark water. He'd never seen such eyes on anyone else. "I know Eric has a fucking horrible way of suggesting it, but . . . if you're lonely in here, I mean, and if you want to . . ." His face blossomed with red. "I can't say I haven't . . . ever thought about it, is all. The three of us." He cleared his throat. "You're my best friend. You're, uh . . ."

"You've thought about it?" Stan wasn't sure how much more new information he could take. If his voice went any higher, he was pretty sure he'd go through some kind of reverse puberty. His ears rang.

"Oh, be serious, Stan. You can't deny you're hot as fuck. A real dreamboat with that classic look of yours. Plus, you have that good- boy sweet vibe about you," Cartman added, causing Stan to jump at the sudden closeness of his voice. He felt it tickle his earlobe. When the hell had he moved so quickly and silently to his other side? Encased between the two of them, Stan felt his heart racing and his previous tears searching for a place to go. "Prime for corruption, if you ask me." Cartman's voice sank a few levels; Stan felt his lips ghost down his ear to his neck, and he jumped closer to Kyle.

"It doesn't have to be like that," cried Kyle, exasperated, reaching a gloved hand to cup at Stan's cheek. The warmth of his hand radiated through the fabric. "Like I said before, you know how much I care about you. We only have to do this if you want to." His eyes simmered. "We can be slow."

Even Cartman, to his credit, paused by Stan's neck, clearly waiting for some form of permission to continue. Stan searched for the words to respond, his mind grasping nothing. All he could think about were the parties he had spent watching the two of them kiss while he sat twisted with sharp pains, the nights he had walked home alone, the loneliness like a smog he couldn't shake off his shoulders. How that smog followed him absolutely fucking everywhere.

Such were his thoughts when he whispered, his voice dispersing like fading fog on the syllable, "Yes."

Cartman surged in like a shark then, his parted lips and teeth clamping into the soft, open skin of Stan's neck. At the same moment, Kyle muttered, "Oh, Stan, I've been waiting for this," and then gently pressed their mouths together.

So much was happening - Stan felt his pulse quicken even further. His temperature elevated, and he couldn't believe he'd been cold ten minutes ago. The heat of Eric's mouth, scented faintly of chocolate, fastened to his skin while he tasted the bright spearmint flavor of Kyle's lips. Underneath the mint, he detected subtle cocoa. Realizing that flavor must have come from Cartman's candy bar earlier and yet he was tasting it through Kyle's mouth sent Stan's thoughts into madness.

Kyle's mouth was exceedingly gentle, his lips slowly but, with defined pressure, moving against his. Is this what Cartman felt all the time from him? Kyle was kissing him, his best friend. The person he'd spent his whole life beside. A person he loved. Kyle.

Stan felt a little dizzy trying to keep up with his shifting emotions when Cartman nipped at his neck. He gasped into Kyle's mouth.

"He's so innocent," teased Cartman. He licked a quick trail up the length of Stan's throat, making him shudder all over again. "So cute. This is gonna be fun." Stan wasn't even sure what to think of Cartman, how to explain the fierce arousal he felt when he'd watched Kyle and Cartman make out. There was a commanding aspect to his personality he couldn't quite fathom, some alluring fantasy of being overpowered associated with his expressive gestures.

"Don't go rushing this," ordered Kyle, the usual warning vexation returning to his tone when he pulled backward some. Stan, breathing hard, noticed a new shine to his eyes he'd never noticed before. He thought he'd known every side of Kyle once. "I want to take my time with this." He was speaking to Cartman, but his eyes were settled on Stan.

Stan was struck with the abrupt realization that he was not simply being looked at - he was being studied. As if Kyle were waiting for the right moment to devour him. These were the looks he'd been craving, this was the attention, and now that it was here, all here, and he was voiceless, helpless. He felt his shoulders tremble under their hands like the falling pine needles outside. His skin reddened beneath their vigilant eyes. He had no idea what to do, which moves to make.

He'd been so utterly convinced a moment like this would never come for him that it all felt like some cruel magic trick the forest was playing on him, almost as if he'd wished so hard for something, he was hallucinating it now.

"Don't worry," Cartman said, his voice more soothing than Stan had ever heard. He hadn't known he was even capable of comfort. Did he really know his two friends at all? "We'll take good care of you, sweetheart." And then somehow, Stan was kissing Cartman - the sweet taste of his tongue coating his mouth like velvet chocolate. Someone's hands were in his hair - Kyle's? - and before he knew it, his head was being shifted from one side to the other, both of them taking turns kissing him. Their mouths were both burning, blazing, even. They both tasted good. Chocolate mint. Stan felt his lips slacken. What to do, what to do?

At some point, he could no longer keep up with which mouth belonged to whom, which long fingers and strong palms were tugging at his coat collar and his hair. He registered through his swimming, unfocused-brain rush of desire the chorusing of insects somewhere beyond the tent.

Was this sweet, tingling taste the flavor of devotion?

If I ever continued this, the rest would have to go to Ao3. Too steamy for here 😳 I hope you enjoyed 🤭🥰🙈 🍫🍵

[kestalsblog]

MerStan Part 2 🧜‍♂️

Part One

For those of you who liked my Merman Stan drabble from a while ago, I wrote a little more 🙈 I just love mermen too much!

Eric never really knew how any of the wild bullshit that went down in South Park happened, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to spend his Saturday night hurtling down the highway in Kenny’s truck with a kidnapped merman in the back. This was the definition of “everything was a blur.” Kyle was shouting hysterical orders at Kenny in the front seat, Kenny was swerving in and out of traffic in an attempt to dodge any police cars, and Cartman was in the backseat trying to look to the rear to make sure the merman was okay.

Kenny hadn’t been thrilled about filling the back of the truck with water, but it had been the only way to guarantee the merman’s safety during the chaotic drive from the restaurant back to Kenny’s place. Cartman was more concerned about the giant plastic tarp they’d been forced to strap over the merman’s makeshift pool in an attempt to hide him from other drivers.

“If we get arrested, I’m so killing all of you, starting with you, fatass!” Kyle shrieked when Kenny took a violently sharp turn that had the wheels squealing on the tar. But Cartman knew Kyle well enough to guarantee he was probably at least a little high off the adrenaline right now. The rescue had partially been his idea, after all, and he’d been the one to take out the security cameras while Eric and Kenny worked on destroying the glass.

Carrying the frightened merman had been the most difficult part because he’d panicked as soon as he saw Kenny’s glass cutter and realized all the water was spilling from his tank. He’d thrown himself toward the bottom of the tank in a desperate attempt to flatten his body under the draining water, and Cartman knew they had to work fast.

It would have been faster, though, if the merman wasn’t so heavy. Despite his lithe torso, his tail added what felt like a billion pounds to his weight. Slipping all over the flood of water and stumbling in the darkness of the closed building hadn’t helped.

Eric worried some that the merman would become aggressive once in their arms; he wouldn’t have blamed him. But instead he just shook all over and inhaled terrified, gasping breaths while his big eyes opened and then shuttered over and over. His loud, ragged struggle to breathe was awful to listen to, and even in the dark, Eric could see his gills widening. He’d told Kenny to haul his ass faster. They had to get him to the truck they’d filled with hose water.

Now they were turning into Kenny’s driveway, then the garage, and all four of them were scrambling to open their car doors and check on the merman’s condition. Eric was certain they were equally worried that he might not have survived the journey.

Everyone released a breath when Kyle pulled back the tarp and they saw the merman, staring at them with his head half underwater, corralled into the furthest corner. Getting his massive tail to fit had been a challenge, and Eric’s heart hurt some seeing how he’d been forced to curl the elegant tailfin into brutally small dimensions to stay hidden.

“Go start the bath,” Cartman barked at Kenny because why the hell were they all just standing around when the merman looked petrified and uncomfortable?

“The bath or the hot tub?” Only Kenny was ridiculous enough to have a full-sized hot tub in the center of his house.

“The hot water might be too hot. He came from cold water originally,” added Kyle.

“You think I’d buy a cheap hot tub where I can’t control the temperature?” “Oh, shut up! Just go get it started. He’s in pain,” snapped Eric.

“Wow, never thought I’d see the day when Eric’s the one to remember empathy first,” sneered Kyle while Kenny jogged off to prepare the hot tub.

“Only when it concerns a hot guy!” he shouted from inside. Eric flipped him two birds he couldn’t even see.

“Don’t worry,” Kyle said, turning his attention to the merman with a softened tone. “We’re going to get you out of there.”

They hadn’t thought anything past this point through yet, but Eric was thankful they were at least all on the same page about putting an end to the merman’s suffering. He was a deathly silent creature while he watched them. The darting motion of his pupils was the only noticeable movement, though Cartman noticed that if he focused closely, he could see the rapid jitters of his gills and fins.

For all the merman knew, he was about to face something much worse than what he’d already experienced. His opinion of humans couldn’t be too high. Eric hated to think they were accidentally triggering his trauma of being caught in the first place, but sometimes you had to get a little worse to get better.

If the merman understood English, he would’ve tried to explain, but there was no indication he had an idea what any of them were saying.

“Water’s ready!” Kenny called, and a few minutes later, he reappeared to help with the arduous chore of unloading the merman and carrying him to the hot tub. “I need an eternal nap after this,” he muttered.

After a difficult, awkward struggle, Kenny took the merman from under the arms while Kyle and Eric took on the tail together. This time, the merman fell limp and closed his eyes, but Eric could see where he was clearly trying to regulate his breathing as they moved through the doorway. Obviously he’d learned from last time that hyperventilating out of water only cost him more precious oxygen.

Cartman could practically feel his relief when the three of them dumped him into the water. Immediately, he dunked his head and disappeared from view. Thank God Kenny had a fairly big hot tub, but Eric noticed how the merman was determined to keep his long tail underwater even though he’d have more room if he let it flop freely over the side of the tub.

“What do we feed him?” asked Cartman. Surely the poor guy was starving by now. They had no idea when he’d last been fed.

“Uh, I have some of those fish flakes you give pet fish,” said Kenny. Kyle’s objection was quick and harsh.

“He wouldn’t be eating that out in the wild, would he? We need to replicate his natural diet as best as we can. He probably eats other, smaller fish.”

“I might have some sushi?” Kenny went to look while Eric and Kyle stood at the edge of the hot tub, staring down and waiting for the merman to reemerge.

“He really is beautiful,” murmured Kyle after a moment, and Cartman glanced over to see how his eyes were following the subtle motions of the merman’s flickering tail underneath the surface. Every now and then, Eric saw the faint blue glint of his scales catching Kenny’s dim overhead lights.

“Guys, all I have is some uncooked shrimp I planned to fix next week,” Kenny said, reappearing with a disappointed expression and a plastic container full of the shrimp. As soon as he peeled the lid off, the top half of the merman’s head resurfaced. His water-colored eyes targeted the shrimp, and then he lifted his entire head and shoulders.

“Maybe he smells it,” whispered Kyle with excitement. The three of them were like schoolchildren who’d just discovered a hungry, needy kitten on the outskirts of the playground. Every movement was careful, every word spoken in hushed breaths. When Kenny slowly peeled out a shrimp, both Eric and Kyle glared when he was a bit too loud with the task and the merman withdrew slightly.

“Should I just . . . toss it in the water?” asked Kenny.

“Let me try handing it to him. I want him to trust us,” offered Cartman. He also selfishly wanted a closer look at the merman, though he wasn’t too surprised when he took the shrimp, came closer, and the merman, watching his every move, retreated to the other side of the hot tub. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He tried to make his voice smooth and comforting. Again, it felt like speaking to an injured animal. He hoped he wasn’t demeaning. The merman didn’t exactly seem like an animal.

Cartman extended his arm to hold out the shrimp, and the merman straightened up like the water was electric. Eric smiled when he saw how his nostril’s expanded as he sniffed out the shrimp’s scent on the air.

Either Kenny or Kyle gasped behind him when the merman slowly drifted from one side of the tub to the other. He inched closer to Eric, struggling to maneuver the tail as he went. Cartman wholeheartedly expected him to take the shrimp with his hand, so he was stunned to near-paralysis when the merman craned his long, pretty neck forward and gently accepted the shrimp from his fingers with his teeth.

His teeth were much like a human’s he saw, but maybe slightly sharper. Cartman couldn’t resist a shudder when the severe edge of one grazed his fingertip, followed by the caress of a petal-soft lip and the warm touch of his tongue. It all happened so quickly that Eric was still trying to recover from the interaction while the merman zipped backward away from him, sinking into the depths with his cheek stuffed full of shrimp.

“S-Should we give him more?” asked Kyle, clearing his throat. Eric forced his frozen head to move to look at his friends and saw they were equally as captivated. “Uh, I can try giving him this one,” Kyle said next.

“No way!” said Eric. “It’s my job to feed him. You can clean out the water.”

“Oh my God, it’s not like we’re keeping him here forever,” Kenny interrupted them. “But someone’s gotta feed the poor guy.”

The merman saw Kenny open the container again, and his head popped back up. This time it was followed by the flowing ends of his tailfin, which giddily slapped the water a couple of times. Looking closer, Eric saw that his eyes appeared marginally different than before—the pupils were smaller, almost thin and predatory, as he watched the shrimp pass between their hands. Somehow even this feral look only added to his beauty.

Before Kyle could steal his glory, Eric offered another shrimp to the merman. This time he lunged forward, a cold hand clamping around Cartman’s wrist in seconds. Eric cried out in surprise, almost dropping the fish. Both of his friends came to his sides in case he needed help, but the merman didn’t attempt to hurt him. He simply held him in place as he strained his mouth toward the shrimp between Eric’s fingers.

The merman’s fingers, enclosing his whole wrist, were long and surprisingly strong. Eric could feel the cold webbing between them, which was somewhat gelatinous to the touch. A cold, jellylike substance wasn’t exactly what Eric would think of as appealing, but somehow right now, it was. But nothing compared to when the merman sunk both his lips over Cartman’s fingers to take the snack into his cheek again. Still grasping Eric’s wrist, he pulled back to slice the shrimp to quick slivers with his sharp teeth and swallow.

Eric might as well have become gelatin himself when the merman, seemingly not done with the beloved flavor, covered his fingers with his mouth again and licked them clean. His skin was almost freezing, but his mouth was burning hot.

And then, just like that, he was done with his meal and done with Eric. He flashed the wild eyes up to him for a brief instant and then dropped his head under the surface so all any of them could see was the iridescent black wisps of his hair bubbling about his head.

“Oh God,”  someone said after a moment—Eric had no idea who.

[kestalsblog]

Normally I post fanfics only on Ao3, but I reeeeally wanted to get to write something Stanman for Mermay, so the below scene is Tumblr-exclusive. I haven't had much time, so this is just a quick one-shot scene featuring AU college Cartman and merman Stan. This is not a full fic I intend to develop as of right now, but just a drabble scene for fun 🧜‍♂️

Enjoy!

Part Two

TW: very slight language and mention of injuries and fear (nothing gruesome). Also this is an angsty scene

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When his friends told him about South Park’s latest attraction—a merman that had been captured in the Pacific and shipped to Colorado—Eric was only mildly interested. Weird, unbelievable shit happened in South Park practically every day, so a merman wasn’t exactly the thrilling spectacle everyone was making it out to be. He certainly wasn’t as entertained by the idea of visiting the dine-and-view restaurant where the merman was supposedly being kept on display as Kyle and Kenny were.

Ordering seafood in an aquarium was a revolting enough idea, but sushi with a merman a few feet away? Jesus Christ. Eric thought those steakhouses where you got to watch bulls run around while you devoured their kind was bad enough. Like, hey guess where you’ll end up if you’re not entertaining enough? That’s right! My dinner plate.

God, at least he was trying to be a better person than he used to be, and now his friends were pulling him right back into sadistic hobbies.

“I can’t believe you two are seriously interested in this,” he complained on the car ride over with Kenny and Kyle.

“Well, you have to admit, it’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime chance,” said Kyle from the passenger’s seat because of course Cartman had been relegated to the back.

“Hell, it’s a Friday night and we’re still in college. We have the rest of our lives to care about lame shit like this,” he whined. “Defend me here, Ken.”

“I gotta know if this is some kind of scam,” Kenny said, obviously more focused on the road than the conversation. “Butters went last week and said it made him feel sick.”

“It’s probably just a dude wearing a plastic tail,” said Eric.

“Or maybe his legs were cut off and it was surgically implanted onto his torso,” said Kyle with a melodramatic shudder that transformed somehow into a laugh. “Only in South Park, right?”

“Amen to that,” Kenny joined in, but Eric’s sour mood didn’t lift. Fridays were precious days, and instead of partying or doing something worthwhile, he’d be spending his evening at someone’s hoity-toity swindle. And even if it was true, and there was a real merman in South Park, what did it matter? He pressed his forehead against the chilled glass of the window and watched the streetlamps pass by his vision.

----------

The first thing Eric noticed in the restaurant was the overpowering aroma of expensive food (thank God Kyle was paying), and the second was how many children were gathered about a massive cylindrical tank in the center of the place. It wasn’t a restaurant he knew despite having lived in South Park his entire life because the establishment had been built for this purpose alone, apparently.

“I don’t see anything but water,” he said while a finely-dressed waiter led them to their table, which was an inconvenient distance from the tank.

“Me neither.” Kenny strained to the tips of his toes. “Should we go check it out closer?”

“Let’s order first,” insisted Kyle, but Eric found it difficult to focus on ordering with that large, ominous tank in his peripheral vision.

It was simply a tube constructed into the center of the restaurant that spanned from the floor to the ceiling, and though it looked massive at first glance, Eric wondered if a human-sized creature could thrive within the space. Maybe mermen were smaller? The water inside was impossibly blue, probably dyed to look more appealing. Small glittering lights were implanted throughout the inside of the tube to create a magical underwater atmosphere, but Cartman thought it felt more eerie and unnatural.

After their orders were placed, Kyle agreed they should go check out the main attraction. “There are definitely a lot of people here,” he observed as they abandoned their table to head toward the tank.

“Shit, there really is someone in there,” gasped Kenny once they were closer.

Eric’s attention went immediately toward the small children pressed against the tank. Several of them were knocking their fists hard into the glass while they chanted, “Hey, look at me! Over here, fishy! Over here!”

Fucking rude. “Where are their parents?” he muttered, but Kyle and Kenny were shoving their way past him.

“Oh my God,” he heard Kyle say through his teeth.

Unafraid to push a child out of the way, Cartman made room for himself and felt his breath halt almost painfully when he saw someone sitting slumped in the furthest corner of the tank. Because of the shape, there was nowhere the person, no, merman, could sit without someone right behind the glass, but he’d done his best to conceal himself into a small ball.

If he was just a person wearing a fake tail, he looked extraordinarily authentic. Even from where he was standing, Eric could distinguish the individual scales on the tail. The scales were all different shades of blue, with a pale, iridescent dominant hue that reminded Cartman of crystals. Under the lights, the tail twinkled like ice in sunlight. And if he looked close enough, he was certain he could see small veins pulsing in and out across the anxiously flickering tailfin.

“It can’t be real, right?” Kenny said with concern next to him, but Eric couldn’t find the voice to answer. His focus was locked on the merman who sat with his arms crossed around his abdomen and his shoulders hunched. He looked as if he was physically trying to become smaller, even though Eric was pretty sure that if he stretched out to his full height with his tail included, he’d be too large for the tight space.

He was too pretty to be real—and not just for the features that were nonhuman, but the ones that made him human as well. Black hair swirled around his ears and cheeks in soft coils like an oil spill haloing his head. Eric couldn’t catch many glimpses of his face aside from the few moments when he jolted after a particularly loud knock on the tank. Only then would he look up with wide, alarmed eyes that were a devastatingly gorgeous shade of blue that Eric had never seen on anyone else.

“This doesn’t seem right, what they’re doing to him,” piped up Kyle, and Eric recognized the heat behind his tone. For once, Eric had to agree with him. The merman was clearly terrified, his pupils shrinking and then expanding again with each flash of a camera against the glass. His chest expanded and contracted with the movement, and Cartman didn’t miss the widening of what appeared to be openings on his skin, surely gills, across his throat.

“Hey, guys, our food is probably coming soon,” Kenny said with dampened spirit. Eric hadn’t even realized how long they’d been standing and staring.

“I’m going to talk to the manager of this place after we eat,” snapped Kyle. “If I hadn’t already paid, I wouldn’t be giving my money to these freaks.”

“You’re the ones who wanted to see this,” Eric reminded them, but they didn’t seem to hear him as they went back to the table in their own storm cloud of negative thoughts.

But Eric couldn’t make himself go back to eat dinner, which was a surprise even to him, considering food was usually his go-to for fighting off the terrible gnawing feeling he was experiencing right now. All he could do was stay in place and watch the beautiful merman thump his tailfin uselessly against the bottom of the tank again and again. The sight reminded of him of some poor traumatized dog who’d been kept in the puppy mill for too long.

“Fishy! Look, look!” the kid next to Eric shouted, smacking so hard on the glass that the merman jerked and actually placed his hands over his ears. His eyes spasmed wide and then squeezed shut in an obvious pain response. The arm movement revealed delicate, blue webbing between fin-like structures on either side of his wrists. Eric was certain he’d never seen a prettier creature in his life.

He glared at the child. “Hey, knock it off. Can’t you see you’re bothering him?” he snapped, not caring if he upset some snot-nosed punk kid.

“You’re no fun,” pouted the kid before sulking off and giving Cartman better access to view the merman. When Eric moved closer, the merman slowly reopened his eyes and gave him a quick, panicked look before shrinking deeper onto the floor again. The sight of him twining his tail around himself with desperate fear sent shards through Eric’s heart, especially when he considered that holding someone like this hostage for money was exactly something he would have done when he was younger.

Now, though, when he looked closer and saw the bright pink lacerations across the merman’s tail, he felt more than sick to his stomach. The wounds were clearly fresh and extended all the way to his tailfin, where some of the fine partitions were shredded completely. Eric must have been initially too hypnotized by the merman’s beauty to notice the injuries, probably a byproduct of his capture.

“Cartman!” Kyle’s voice broke over the chitter chatter surrounding him. “Get back over here, dude. Management sucks and won’t listen to me.”

He knew he had to go back, but walking away from the merman was difficult. When those sea-colored eyes, framed with long, feathery lashes, finally shuddered back to meet his, Eric froze all over again.

The merman’s face was a little too narrow and pallid, he thought, despite the small shimmers of silvery blue smeared across random patches of his skin like makeup. His hair was so dark in contrast to his skin that it truly resembled black water mingling with that abnormal blue dye.

The merman looked so beautiful and sad, and it made Eric even sadder to think he probably wouldn’t feel this sorry for him if he weren’t so beautiful and didn’t look so human. A few hours ago, he hadn’t given two shits, but now that the merman was watching him with terrible resignation while dozens of camera flashes bounced off the tank’s glass, he cared. He cared a lot.

It took every ounce of willpower to turn from the merman’s pale, hopeless face, and go back to Kyle and Kenny then, and even then, he paused to look back. The merman was in the same position, but still looking at him too.

(South Park and its characters obviously do not belong to me. Creators are Trey Parker and Matt Stone. This is intended for fun use only, not monetary.)

[kestalsblog]

I’d def wanna see a continuation of the Stanman Meymay drabble! It would also be cool to see a Stanman hurt/comfort au following the aftermath of the vaccination specials (specially the broship breakdown and tegridy farms burning down)

Awh, I'm so glad you liked the Mermay drabble! 🧜‍♂️ I love mermen sooooo much. I literally used to be obsessed with them. I just can picture Stan Merman so well 🥺 So pretty and ethereal - Eric is head over heels instantly.

Also Tegridy farms burning down!!! I LOVE the angst of that aftermath, probably one of the darkest moments in the show I can think of right away. I've been wanting to write something about post-fire Stan one day! (I also think that one day Eric will actually be very good at comforting. He just needs to mature, but he has high emotional intelligence for sure).

Thanks so much for the ask! Just trying to see what people are interested in with Stanman 🫶 It's not the most popular pair, so it's good to hear from others. ❣️

[kestalsblog]

Many people have expressed interest, so I've moved my Stanman vampire drabble to Ao3 in the hope that I can continue it 👀🩸 Hearing from you guys is my biggest motivator. 🫶 So if you enjoy my stuff, please let me know ❣️

Summary: Vampire Hunter was the perfect career choice for Eric Cartman after a vampire colony appeared in South Park ten years ago. Even slaying the undead can become monotonous after a while, though. He's in for an interesting surprise when he discovers an unruly, desperate, and overwhelmingly beautiful vampire he decides to keep him all for himself.

(This AU fic is intended for 18+ readers only. All characters are in their twenties).

South Park obviously does not belong to me, but Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

[kestalsblog]

I know you love Stanman, but are there any other SP ships you enjoy? <3

Yes! To be honest, I think I could be convinced of most ships if the writing is strong enough 🙈 🥰 It's good writing that gets me, so I'm pretty open-minded to most of the ships.

I originally came into the fandom as a Kyman shipper and then converted to Stanman 🙌 I can enjoy Style at times, but it usually needs a bit more spice, in my personal opinion, than a lot of headcanons I see.

I also really like Craig as a character, and Crenny is probably my favourite with him.

Oh! And lately, I've been enjoying Stutters and Buttman (that ship name CRACKS me up) because of the drabbles @delivish posts! I kind of ignored poor Butters for a long even though he's so sweet and funny.

So yeah, I can be convinced of most ships, I think 🥰 (But my top favourite characters are of course Stan and Cartman - with Craig and Kenny being second tier).

[kestalsblog]

Awh, thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it! 🫶 That one was part of a Stanman series with I think 8 little fics in it, but I'm not sure if I'll write more for that particular series. Now I'm working on a much longer muti-chapter Stanman fic called Hotline. But I write lots of stuff for that pairing, including drabbles on here ❣️

I want to make everyone a Stanman shipper

[suhamakitten]

Never mind, I’m not doing the oneshot

I will continue my Stanman drabbles. It’s such an underrated pairing and if I focus on the popular pairings ( Style or Stenny) then I will get those pairing more popularity. 

I really can’t do that. I love Stanman so much to focus on pairings that are more popular than Stanman,

[everlasting-luv]

This is so hot omg. 🔥🔥🔥

Vampire Stanman 🧛🏻🩸

I really enjoyed writing this too much 🙈

TW: Crude language, mention of weapons, blood (nothing too graphic though). For mature audience since Eric has sadistic tendencies, but nothing explicit; all characters are in their twenties.

Enjoy Vampire Hunter Eric and Stanpire Stan 🥰

______________________________________________________________

At one point in Eric’s life, he never would have assumed that the best thing to happen to him would be South Park’s vampire infestation, but then again, nothing in his life (or South Park) ever followed a normal path.

The vampire colony had popped up about a decade ago, just about the time the undead fuckers started appearing in other random places across the globe, and Eric had been finishing high school. Pretty ideal time for Vampire Hunter to become a career option, especially since he’d never been too interested in anything besides potentially becoming a rabbi to fuck with Kyle. Getting paid to murder some bloodsucker, however, was an option he could get behind for real.

Humans were resourceful and quickly had learned the best self-defenses against the vampires, namely a variety of weapons coated in a special silver alloy lovingly deemed AVA (Anti-Vampire Alloy) designed specifically to destroy the vampires’ bodies. The weapons really were quite creative—Eric had wielded everything from an AVA-tipped stake to a flail after his tenth year in the business.

Honestly, even the slayings got boring after a while though because the fatalities were almost always the same, and Eric could only watch some bloodless guy impaled to a tree thrash himself to death before the sun had a chance to finish the job so many times.

Usually it went like this: he’d lure some idiot vampire in with the false promises of blood and/or sex, surprise the idiot with a blow to the back of the neck, and once the idiot was down, get him chained outside so the sun could take care of the rest and there’d be no chance of recovery. Sure, vampires were physically much stronger than humans, but their cravings were stronger too. It was the one case in Eric’s life where being heavy had come in handy because he was also heavier in blood than other, thinner people. Hell, he was practically a walking all-you-can-eat buffet to vampires, in his personal and correct opinion.

Today he’d chosen his preferred weapon—a small but sturdy and efficient dagger—to prepare for his meeting with the boss. He’d been called in for a “special mission,” which usually meant an exceptionally unruly and thirsty vampire had infiltrated the human side of the city. Most emergency cases were because a moronic human had sneaked into “South South Park” (the new nickname for the southernmost part of the city where the vampire colony resided) and gotten himself into trouble. Those cases were the worst of all because, truthfully, the human probably deserved to die for trespassing onto rival territory. As a certified Vampire Hunter, Eric wasn’t allowed to speak that particular viewpoint out loud, though.

Sure enough, things today were different.

“This one’s already killed several people,” Craig explained during the meeting. Eric would never refer to him as “Mr. Tucker” despite their differences in status. Craig had been the only other one of his classmates to go into the Vampire Hunting business after high school, and Eric was more than a little annoyed with how quickly he’d risen through the ranks to the top. He barely did any of the hunting and killing himself anymore, instead delivering orders.

But Eric couldn’t argue with Craig’s unbeatable kill count compared to all the other hunters in the area. Something about his strict personality and rigid moral code had molded him into the perfect ender of immortal lives.

“He burned down an entire farm,” Craig said, reading a report as he sat across his desk from Eric. The small silver crucifix he always wore around his throat glinted in the sharp sunlight from the window. It wasn’t uncommon for most people to wear some kind of AVA weaponry these days.

“Unusual for a vampire to be around fire,” commented Eric, running his finger idly down the engravings of his blade. By now, it had killed about thirty vampires.

“You’ve got that right.” Craig’s cement-gray eyes rose momentarily to meet Eric’s. “Sure is one deranged motherfucker. I’ll give you the coordinates. You think you got this, or you need backup?”

“Dude.” Eric withheld a chuckle of offense. “I’ve got this. I killed like five of them yesterday. Give me a little credit.”

“All right.” Craig laid the reports smooth against his desk, and the crucifix caught even more light, briefly blinding Eric so that when he blinked, he still saw the shape of the cross imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. “I hope your confidence serves you well. Good luck, Eric.”

Eric murmured, “I don’t need luck” as he got to his feet and hoped that maybe this vampire would at least be a little more interesting than the last dozen. He’d gone into this career to avoid the monotony of some unbearable office job, but the drudgery was catching up to him anyway. Why did each of life’s avenues point directly toward absolute boredom and dissatisfaction? Going home to an empty house in between killings didn’t exactly help.

“Please be more fun,” he whispered to himself outside as he checked the coordinates Craig had given him. This vampire was last spotted about a good distance outside of South Park, but since he’d killed South Park residents, he was their problem. Eric checked the app on his watch designed to tell him how long he had until sunset. About two hours. Perfect.

______________________________________________________________

The farm, which had previously been a hemp farm of all things, was a fucking wasteland by the time Eric arrived. Though most of the flames had burnt themselves out, there were black scorch marks rippling down all the rows of weed. Wisps of smoke rose into the air, and really it was hilarious how badly the place reeked now. The stench of skunk probably extended for miles, getting even the most innocent of townspeople high as a kite.

At least the vampire had a sense of humor.

After interviewing the farm’s owners, Eric learned the vampire had last been seen heading to an abandoned toolshed a few acres off the farm. The primary owner, a crude, distracted man, let him know through rambling speech that he’d followed the vampire there until he’d gotten worried about being too isolated with him and headed back. While he spoke, his wife and daughter sat behind him silently with haunted expressions.

Eric wasn’t afraid. He’d brought enough weapons to take down an entire fleet of vampires. The hardest part was the miserable, freezing journey to the toolshed, and the overwhelming weed fumes certainly didn’t help. By the time he spotted the derelict little building a couple of yards away, his head was comfortably fuzzy.

“I know you’re in there, piece of shit!” Eric shouted through the hole-torn wooden door that was barely hanging onto its hinges. The sun was only a thin orange crescent in between mountain valleys now. Pretty soon, the vampire would be at its peak strength. Normally Eric went for a different approach: his usual sweet talk and seduction, but right now he wasn’t in the mood. Right now, he was in a kicking-the-door-down-and-beating-some-ass kind of mood.

The door gave away under his foot like melting snow, and as soon as it was splinters on the ground, Eric saw the shadows in the toolshed’s furthest right corner shift. “Ha, think you can hide from me, fucker?” He slung the rifle he kept strapped to his back over his shoulder. Courtesy of Craig, the bullets were composed almost entirely of AVA. “Try to attack me, and I’ll blast your head off your shoulders.”

A dramatic hiss issued from within the shadows—this vampire was fucking pissed, and hell, Eric inwardly confessed to a little thrill at that realization. He caught sight of two brilliantly shining animal eyes through the darkness, and he aimed the rifle at what he thought was probably the vampire’s shoulder.

Before he could fire, though, the vampire stumbled forward. Dangerous move, considering the thin tunnel of sunlight spilling from the broken door. Between the fire and the crappy hiding place, this vampire must have had some kind of death wish. Eric felt his breath falter; his hands slipped on the weapon.

All vampires were more beautiful than humans, but Eric had gotten used to their steely features so long ago that they mostly had no effect on him anymore. This one, like everything else today, was different.

His face was perfectly pale, almost the same shade as the whites of his eyes. And inside those whites were two pinpoint-sized, crystal blue irises locked intensely on Eric. Even though his features might have appeared soft on a human face, something about his unmoving posture sharpened his jawline and the bridge of his nose. Maybe he was too thin. Maybe his eyes were too wide for his face. Messy black hair that melded into the shadows topped his head, with the finest, darkest strands falling elegantly like long eyelashes down his forehead.

He extended his hands in the universal “stop” gesture, giving Eric a chance to see that his palms and fingers were swollen and discolored to a strange plum shade. He’d seen enough injured vampires to know these were burn marks.

“You accidentally burnt yourself setting the weed up in flames, didn’t you?” Eric couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, whose fault was that, huh? That desperate to get stoned?”

The vampire’s pupils shrunk unbelievably smaller, and he opened his jaws wide to hiss again. This time, Eric realized the sound was oddly muted. Leaning closer, he saw that someone had placed something over the vampire’s upper row of teeth that looked somewhat like a human’s mouthguard. The material appeared less gummy and thicker, though, a gentle grayish shade that told Eric it was laced with AVA too.

 “What the hell?” he mumbled, lowering the rifle by an inch. The vampire relaxed at that, his shoulders and scorched hands lowering. Long strands of saliva foamed out the sides of the mouthguard and down his jawbones and chin. Eric had never seen a weapon quite like it, but he could tell immediately that there was no way the vampire could remove it. If he so much as touched the metal-tinted material, he’d be stricken with terrible agony. Maybe the injuries across his hands were not entirely from the fire, then. Maybe the fire had been an act of utter desperation born out of suffering.

Eric tested another step forward, and the vampire retreated some with another miserable, weakened hiss. “How long has that thing been on your teeth?” he asked. “Who put it there?” Surely Craig would have let him know about any new weapons; he always kept up to date with innovative vampire-destroying contraptions. And why would another Vampire Hunter get close enough to put this thing on his teeth, but then leave him alive? Eric didn’t give two fucks about vampires, but even he felt it was unusually barbaric behavior.

Either the mouthguard made speaking impossible, or the vampire simply didn’t want to answer him. Instead, he kept emitting the same pathetic hisses again and again as he retreated further into the corner’s darkness. Eric wasn’t sure the vampire would be strong enough to fight him even in full nighttime. The vampire’s knees were shaking, clacking into one another.

“You could probably still bite down with it on, you know,” Eric said, wondering why he was giving advice to a killer. “If you tried hard enough, you could probably still break the skin.”

“Hurts,” the vampire choked out, his first word, though it came out more like “hurtsth” with the material surrounding his teeth. More saliva ran from his gums, which were also colored an unusual mauve shade. His eyes searched Eric’s face with anguished fervor. He was starving.

A wild idea struck Eric’s mind—a stupid idea, really, but once it was there, it infested his mind and possessed all his urges. Without further thought, he took the dagger from his pocket and pressed its blade into his own palm. As soon as the first bead of blood budded to the surface of his skin, he heard the vampire’s sharp gasp.

When he looked up, the vampire was staring with merciless focus at his hand. The tip of his tongue protruded goofily from the side of his mouth with the force of his thirst. “You want this, don’t you?” taunted Eric, lifting his palm. The vampire’s pupils snapped almost mechanically to follow every movement of Eric’s hand.  

When the ball of blood grew larger and broke into a small stream down Eric’s hand, the vampire moaned with uncontrolled lust and lunged forward. Eric gasped, trying to aim the rifle again, but it was promptly knocked from his good hand. All light from outside had dwindled now, and the vampire stood before him in the moonlight.

“Wait,” Eric cried with a little anxiety when the vampire’s frigid fingers locked onto his wrist, but then he remembered he couldn’t be bitten. The vampire's fingers were textured with large blistering lumps from his injuries, and Eric felt the strange, softened tips of the vampire’s coated teeth as they grazed against his skin. But then the feeling was replaced with an unpleasantly cold, dry tongue on his palm.

Eric wondered if the vampire could hear his heart accelerating as he looked down and watched him lick violently and urgently at his hand. He curved his tongue down all the lines of his skin and even between his fingers; clearly, he didn’t want to miss a drop. This was the perfect opportunity for Eric to kill him—he was weak and exposed, his faded red and blue coat barely tattered lines of fabric across his torso.

But for some reason, Eric didn’t want to kill him. He watched with fascination as the beautiful man dropped to his knees before him, his long fingers still circled around his wrist, and he continued dabbing his tongue pitifully to the dried-up wound. He was probably (no, without a doubt) the most beautiful creature Eric had ever seen in his life, like someone’s piece of artwork come to life.

Killing him almost seemed like a punishment to himself because he’d never get to look at him again.

Eric wondered why the vampire hadn’t savagely torn some animal apart by now just to lap at its blood if nothing else, even if he couldn’t suck it through his teeth like vampires normally did. Maybe he had been doing that, and it still wasn’t enough.

“Please,” the vampire started whimpering frantically, his jaw loosening with the effort it took him to speak. No more blood would spill no matter how he prodded Eric’s skin with his tongue, which was a little warmer now. Eric watched his eyes pause on the small pulsing vein of Eric's wrist, and his pupils contracted with tormented desire. “Please.” His eyelids fluttered, and his brows rose far into his hair. “Please.”

Eric had never heard a voice like it, had never beheld such violent, feral longing in all his life. Knowing how desperate the vampire must be, and knowing how that desperation didn't make one difference because he couldn't possibly get what he wanted without depending on Eric, warmed Eric's body all over.

The sight of it, the sound of it, sent unsettled excitement all throughout his bloodstream. He couldn’t recall a time he’d last felt like this, though all his life he’d wanted to feel like this and had dreamed about, no craved, feeling this alive and powerful.

This beautiful being’s life was literally in his hands. Strapped to him were all the weapons that could end the vampire's life, but his body was also teeming with the one thing that could keep him alive.

Eric took a step backward, and the vampire threw his arms around his thigh, his pleas continuing while Eric’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Be quiet,” he told the vampire when he saw the call was from Craig. To his surprise, the vampire silenced immediately, freezing in his subservient position with his arms around Eric's leg. Another thrill.

“Eric, it’s been a while,” Craig said. “Are you having trouble? Is it dead?”

Eric glanced down at the vampire, who was looking back at him with large, unblinking, imploring eyes. The tiny dribble of blood he’d consumed had brought the faintest of pink tinges to his cheeks. Like a marble sculpture, he stared with total stillness.

“Uh—” Eric started, the dilemma between the truth and a major lie stalling him for only a moment before he said, “yeah. He’s dead. I told you I had this. Everything’s good.”

“Oh, okay, great. See you soon about the payment.”

Craig was never one for extending phone calls beyond their natural expiration dates, and Eric thanked God for that fact when the conversation came to an immediate close. He turned his focus to the vampire.

“Look, you can’t tell anyone about this,” he ordered. “As far as anyone knows, I killed you. But if you stay here and listen to me, I can help you some." Never mind the long drive, Eric was already telling himself. This was totally worth it. "Do what I say, and I’ll give you more of my blood. Maybe one day I’ll even take that thing off your teeth. If you behave.”

That was all the vampire needed to hear. His head started shaking up and down in rapid, foolish agreement. Eric tested reaching an unsteady hand toward the top of the vampire’s head. His fingers trembled with unbridled exhilaration when he touched the silky-soft locks, much softer and thicker than a human’s.

Instead of withdrawing from him, the gorgeous vampire leaned into the touch, nudging his head closer as if wanting to be petted. Vampires were sexual, needy creatures by nature. Add that to their hunger, and they could be unstoppably salacious. Eric sensed an unusual sweetness to this one, though, even through his rabid desire for blood.

“You’re mine now,” whispered Eric, his eyes never leaving the vampire as he began to craft the lie that he would tell the farm owners. “All mine. Do you understand?” He tugged gently at the hair, and the vampire only lifted his titillating, clouding eyes to meet his.

A feeling returned to Eric then, something he hadn’t experienced since early childhood and thought was long gone—the emotion he’d developed when manipulating his mother into buying him a particularly desired video game, or whenever sliding convenient store candy bars up his sleeves. Secret possession and unconditional control set his body ablaze in ways he’d never been able to explain to anyone, even himself.

Maybe he’d never entirely outgrown breaking the rules.