#garbage vow

[medelliaofthegrayskies]

you burned me out but i’m back at your door

[garr9988]

Mr. Birchum ain't beating the "gays are groomers" allegations if the show does a 180 and make him bi out of nowhere after all.

Then again maybe that's what the Daily Wire wants.

[parksrway]

I'm usually not even like. actively critical of most of the media I consume. if I have fun that's usually good enough for me and I usually only point out things that are like. egregious. so that's really not a good sign for totk since I've been speaking so much ill of it

[fatesown]

i Don't think i'm gonna be able to stop myself from putting my hawke on this blog when i'm done with this run but i Do think she's gonna be fairly canon-divergent, or at least canon-questionable

[musicandoldmovies]

Garbage - Vow

From their self-titled debut album

[chisungie]

.

[aperrywilliams]

Vow

“I can't use what I can't abuse

And I can't stop when it comes to you

You burned me out but I'm back at your door

Like Joan of Arc coming back for more

I nearly died

I nearly died

I nearly died

I came to cut you up, I came to knock you down

I came around to tear your little world apart

I came to shut you up, I came to drag you down

I came around to tear your little world apart and break your soul apart

Ah, you burn and burn to get under my skin

You've gone too far now I won't give in

You crucified me but I'm back in your bed

like Jesus Christ coming back from the dead.”

[heytheredelulu]

To Have and To Hold-

And to Fuck Whenever I Want

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

Word Count: 1.5k

C/W: Shameless smut. It’s our favorite dirty talkin’, 107 year old super soldier fucking you (his wife) on your period.

Gimme beefy Bucky coming home late, long after his kids are in bed for the night and finding his pretty little wife curled up on the couch with a frown on her perfect face, watching some shitty ass movie.

His cock twitches in his jeans at the sight of you in his tshirt and an audible groan rises up from his throat when he rounds the corner completely and notices you’ve chosen to forgo pajama pants altogether. Those innocent little cotton briefs of yours always do him in.

“What’s wrong, momma?” He asks in a low, gravely voice as he takes a seat next to you on the couch, resting a large hand on your bare thigh.

“Cramps.” You reply flatly, not taking your gaze off the garbage rom-com playing on the tv, though you’ve seen it numerous times.

“Oh.” He breathes out, glancing over his shoulder at the dry-erase calendar hanging on the wall in the kitchen that you use to manage your large family’s schedule. “Hm. Two days early?” He asks.

“Yeah, two fucking days early.” You snap, shifting in your seat.

He keeps his grasp firm on your thigh, offering an affectionate squeeze.

“You feelin’ that bad, huh?” He asks in a soft voice that he reserves only for you.

You nod, finally pulling your attention away from the television and turning it onto him. The only light source in the room at this time of night is from the flashing scenes across the flatscreen but that little bit of illumination is all he needs to see how glassy your eyes are.

“Oh, baby girl.” He murmurs, pushing your hair back off your face. “Lemme take care of you.”

You shake your head, knocking free a few of the tears that had been brimming your lash line. “No, there’s nothing you can do to help.”

He scoffs, his hand sliding up the soft flesh of your thigh until his fingertips brush the hem of your underwear.

“No. Baby, no.” You protest, bringing your hand down to stop him but his vibranium hand is faster, catching your wrist and pushing it away.

“Yes. Baby, yes.” He muses, slipping his index finger under the fabric and gently wrapping the string of your tampon around it.

“Bucky, that’s disgusting.” You hiss, frowning at him. “I’m on my period.”

He lets out a low, breathy chuckle as he slowly and carefully begins to tug. “It’s just blood, momma. You think me of all people would be bothered by blood?” He asks softly.

You pause, considering your answer but in your silence he continues. “Besides, wasn’t that part of the vows we exchanged in that sweet little church before God? To have and to hold and to fuck whenever I want?”

“That was not in our vows and you know it.”

“Hm, they weren’t? We should consider renewing those.” He replies with a crooked smirk as he pulls your tampon free, tossing it over the couch and into the waste bin with precision.

“I gotta be honest, baby girl. If the good lord hadn’t intended for me to fuck you everytime my cock was hard, he wouldn’t have blessed you with such a perfect little pussy.”

“Bucky..” you warn, sitting upright as he rises off the couch.

He shushes you, his large hands moving to unbuckle his belt as your eyes settle on the tented crotch of his jeans.

“If you think-“ He mumbles, pulling the leather through the silver buckle and unbuttoning his jeans with his thick fingers. “That I’m not going to bury myself balls deep inside my wife any and every chance I get- you are sorely mistaken.” He tells you matter of factly, tugging his jeans down his defined waist and kicking them unceremoniously aside in a pile at the foot of the couch. “Now take off those sweet little panties before I tear them off of you.”

You hesitate, swallowing down the whimper that rose up in your throat at his command.

“I said, off.” He repeats sternly, stepping out of his boxers and wrapping a hand around his weeping cock. He pumps himself lazily once, twice, in your hesitation before letting out an impatient growl and reaching forward to curl his vibranium fingers under the waistband of underwear, not allowing you a second more to protest before tearing them effortlessly off of your body.

“Now, are you gonna follow my instructions or will I have to pick you up and set you down where you belong?” He asks in a gruff whisper, his blue eyes darkening with desire.

“And where exactly do you think I belong?” You ask him defiantly, pulling at his last thread of patience.

“You-“ He growls, grasping your wrists in a punishing grip and yanking you to your feet. He jerks you towards him as he looms over you, his head dipped down to hold your gaze and his impossibly hard cock pressing against your abdomen, leaving a smear of precum across the soft skin of your belly.

“You belong wrapped around me.” He murmurs, cupping your jaw gently and brushing the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip in an affectionate sentiment that felt like such a stark contrast to the aggression he’d just been displaying. It was the little gestures that betrayed that dominance in him, that assured you that this powerful man standing so needy before you loved you so much that he’d do anything for you without question.

You lean into his touch and he lets out a low and breathy moan.

“You belong wrapped around me, momma.” He continues. “Crying out my name. Soakin’ my cock with your sweet, sweet-“ He pauses, his length twitching as he sucks in a sharp breath. “Fuck, I need you.” he chokes out, settling his hands on each side of your hip and he lifts you effortlessly, sinking you down inch by inch onto his throbbing cock.

He plants his feet and bends his knees, supporting your weight as he cups your ass, kneading the soft flesh while he allows you the opportunity to anchor your arms around his neck. A shameless moan rises from your throat, your head tipping back in the pleasure of him buried balls deep within you as he walks you backwards to press your back to the wall. A low and cocky chuckle is all the warning he gives you before he draws his hips back, thrusting up into you hard enough to kiss your cervix. Choked gasps tear from your chest as he picks up a steady rhythm, massaging your aching walls with every deep rut of his hips.

“I thought-“ He hissed through gritted teeth, dipping his head to nip at your pulse point. “You said nothing would help.”

You shake your head, mumbling incoherently and letting your head fall against your shoulder to allow him further access to the sensitive skin of your neck. “Seems like it’s helping.” He muses, licking a long stripe up the column of your throat. You whimper, tightening your legs around his waist as he slows his pace into long, deep strokes, groaning as he savors the way you grip him, the feeling of your building orgasm causing his hips to stutter just the slightest.

“Fuck, momma. You have.. the most.. perfect.. cunt.” He rasps out, emphasizing each of the last words with a brutal thrust.

You break with that last deep roll of his hips, the tension that was coiled tight in your abdomen snapping with a burst of white hot ecstacy, a broken cry escaping your heaving chest as your walls spasm around him.

“Oh God, that’s it. Come on my cock, come all over daddy’s cock.” He grunts, snapping his hips and increasing his tempo to fuck you through the dizzying waves of your release.

“Jamie..” You whimper, reaching a trembling hand to caress his jaw.

His name on your lips is the sweetest fucking sound, causing his breath to catch and his eyes flutter closed with a low and raspy moan. He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm before you trail your fingertips down his shoulders in a featherlight touch. He buries his face into your neck, his short, sharp pants hot against your skin, his movements growing sloppy and erratic as he hangs on by a mere thread.

“I’m- I-“ He chokes out, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to muffle the primal groan that rips through his chest as his balls draw up and his cock pulses, emptying himself inside you with one last powerful thrust.

He’s still for a moment, working to catch his breath before he tightens his arms around you, peppering gentle kisses along your jaw as he lowers you to the floor on wobbly legs and you sway, stumbling forward slightly.

“Momma.” He says softly, splaying a large hand against the base of your skull and drawing you into his chest. “You alright?”

“Yeah, baby. I’m alright.” You assure him, a hum of satisfaction rumbling in his chest under your ear. “I’m feeling much, much better.”

He smiles, tucking your head under his chin just to feel you close to him a moment longer.

“C’mon, baby. Let’s get you in a hot bath.”

His hands trail along your spine in a soothing motion, goosebumps prickling along your flushed skin in response to his touch.

“To have and to hold.” He whispers, pressing a firm kiss to your temple.

You grin against his chest, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent.

“And to fuck whenever you want.”

Taglist (Taglist is open):

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[wilwheaton]

On August 11, day 102 of the 11,500-person Writers Guild of America (WGA) strike, which has largely shut down the film industry coast to coast, aided by below-the-line workers respecting picket lines and bolstered by 160,000 members of the Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-AFTRA), who initiated their own strike on July 14, the studios finally returned to the bargaining table. The Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP), the organization that bargains on behalf of the major studios, offered counterproposals, a long-awaited response to the WGA’s proposals. The two sides met the following week and continued to exchange proposals. Then, on August 22, day 113 of the WGA strike, the two sides met again, but with an important addition: previous negotiating sessions had been led by AMPTP president Carol Lombardini, the studios’ hired hand, while at this one, the bosses who make the decisions were in the room. Disney CEO Bob Iger, Warner Bros. Discovery CEO David Zaslav, Netflix co-CEO Ted Sarandos, and NBCUniversal’s Donna Langley came to the table to face the WGA’s elected leadership in the room outside of the AMPTP’s Sherman Oaks, California, headquarters where the negotiations have taken place. Workers, suffering the devastating effects of a months-long strike, hoped that the studios might finally offer counterproposals that meet their needs. Instead, the bargaining session led to further unraveling. “We accepted [the] invitation and, in good faith, met tonight, in hopes that the companies were serious about getting the industry back to work,” wrote the WGA negotiating committee in a message to members following the meeting. “Instead, on the 113th day of the strike — and while SAG-AFTRA is walking the picket lines by our side — we were met with a lecture about how good their single and only counteroffer was.” The two sides had agreed to adhere to a media blackout, vowing not to leak information about the proposals to third parties. Yet immediately following the August 22 session, the AMPTP publicly released a document highlighting elements of their counterproposal. “This was a meeting to get us to cave,” said the WGA leadership, “which is why, not twenty minutes after we left the meeting, the AMPTP released its summary of their proposals.”

The Hollywood Studios Still Aren’t Serious About Ending the Writers’ Strike

These sociopath CEOs are hearing it from shareholders, who want us to get back to work. The shareholders are making it clear that the psychopath CEOs can release the LESS THAN ONE PERCENT of their compensations to get us back to work.

So the sociopath CEOs put on a big show of coming back to bargain and work this out ... and when the WGA sits down to bargain, these sociopath CEOs have the fucking nerve to just lecture the WGA about how great their absolute garbage offer is. The offer WGA rejected because it didn’t address any of the issues on the table.

These sociopath CEOs are the problem:

Disney CEO Bob Iger, Warner Bros. Discovery CEO David Zaslav, Netflix co-CEO Ted Sarandos, and NBCUniversal’s Donna Langley 

These sociopath CEOs are greedy and entitled. That any one of them thought that lecturing WGA, then gaslighting members (in violation of not just the agreed upon media blackout, but likely in violation of labor law) would move us any closer to getting back to work tells you everything you need to know about who the problem is.

Fuck these scumbags, fuck their greed, and fuck their gaslighting.

[babygorewhore]

Psychoanalyze

Cooper Adams/Abbott x therapist!fem reader

Serial killer the Butcher is in your house. You have to use your training to keep yourself from becoming his next victim. But he has a surprising reaction to your survival tactic.

Gif credit belongs to @billy-crudup

Warnings! A lot. Talks of his crimes! Reader is a behavioral therapist at a hospital! Manipulation! Switch! Cooper! But he submissive at first. Mommy kink but only used once! Reader is vaguely described to be midsize range. Praise, Degrading, oral fem receiving, fingering, face slapping, spitting, scratching, hair pulling, unprotected sex, choking, stomach bulge. Cum eating? Filthy talk tbh. They’re both fucked up. Reader is dominated second half of fic. Finger sucking.

“Make sure to keep your doors locked, Mom. Set the alarm too.” You instruct your worried mother over the phone. You gave her a step by step reminder on how to alert the alarm just using her app.

You sighed and hung up after a few minutes. You saw the news earlier, reading the headline about Cooper being the Butcher. It made you feel cold and empty. Being a counselor, you are trained to study human behavior. He also happened to work close to you.

Still early in your career, you were working in the behavioral unit at the local hospital. The fire department was always called during emergencies and you saw him on a regular basis.

One afternoon, during a particularly chaotic shift, you had talked down a violent patient who had gotten a hold of a nurse.

Cooper watched you the whole time with a dark expression on his face and it made you feel on edge. He gave you a feeling that beneath his friendly, pep in his step, easy going act that there was something else. Something he hid away.

Turns out, it was worse than you could have imagined. Bodies, dismemberment and a seven year long manhunt over the man who’d vowed to save lives.

You finished chewing a piece of candy, tossing the trash in the garbage and turned around. You immediately covered your mouth as a gasp escaped you, losing your balance as your lower back hit the counter painfully.

Cooper was sitting at your table, tense and his hand was inches away from a knife. His plaid shirt was unbuttoned at the top. You swallowed back the urge to sprint, knowing he’d lunge at you and enjoy the fear.

“How did you get in?” You asked simply, straightening your spine.

“I have a key.” He answered in the same casual tone. You nodded and turned your head but Cooper cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t consider that. By the time you grab something or try and run, it’ll be too late.”

You weighed your options. Cooper was a very big man. Strong and stealthy. More than you anticipated. You could try anyway, use speed to your advantage but instead you tried another tactic.

“Cooper, if you leave and don’t hurt me, I won’t call the police for an hour. Giving you a good head start.”

“I like your confidence.” Cooper’s compliment sent shivers across your body and you clenched your fingers into a fist. The tension in the air was thick and he leaned forward.

“I would appreciate it if you sat down.” Although the statement was polite, you knew he wasn’t really asking. He was commanding you.

You eased yourself down onto the chair, your muscles flexing and he grazed his fingers along the knife handle. Cooper inhaled deeply and extended his hand.

“May I have your phone? I’d rather not take it from you.”

You gave him your device, making sure the screen was still locked and he tucked it in his pocket.

“You perplex me.” He tells you, making your eyebrows draw together. “Normally, I see someone who thinks they’re whole and I get the urge to tear them apart.” Cooper savors those last words, as if speaking them could make him relive his crimes. “But with you, I get the feeling that you don’t actually have things together. That it’s all an act.”

You were terrified. Every single nerve in your body was telling you to run away but Cooper’s dark eyes implored yours. Keeping you still and he set a firm palm on your arm. His touch was warm and you flinched.

“I want you to try and understand me. Watching you work is like watching…artwork.” He humorlessly laughed and your bottom lip quivered.

You searched your brain for any memory of what the news said about the Butcher. Organized offender, terrible relationship with his mother, position of authority. It was one thing to hear these things versus having a patient with these traits.

“I think you do really love your kids.” That you did know. You saw their picture as the background of his phone. The only sign of humanity showed when he talked about his children. Cooper gave you a small smirk.

“You…you want to be accepted for who you are. You want to be told that you’re enough. That you’re lovable.” You were grasping at straws but trying to sound collected.

Cooper looked away and you knew that hit a nerve. “You want someone to take care of you.” You continued and moved forward. “Am I on the right track?” He jerked his head in a nod.

“You’re a good boy and you can keep being one. If you just do the right thing and don’t hurt me.” You whispered, setting your hands on his knees. This was incredibly stupid and risky but Cooper blinked rapidly.

“I’m not going to hurt you anymore, Cooper. I promise. Just promise me that you’ll be a good boy?”

Your question went unanswered as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You yelped, your legs dangling as he carried you to the bedroom. Normally, you hated the idea of someone picking you up but Cooper easily hauled you on the bed. You landed in a heap on your back. You climbed on your elbows, watching him remove his shirt in the dim lighting.

His mountain sized form shook as he crawled on top of you. Cooper kept his weight from crushing you and you sighed in disbelief as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

The fact that a serial killer was in your bedroom, breathing against your skin shirtless made you half wonder if this was a dream. But your body was betraying you. Your senses were leaving as Cooper’s full lips pressed against your pulse point.

Your legs instinctively widened and he settled further in between them. His thick thighs covered in jeans rubbing against you. You had on pajama shorts, exposing your curves and he ran his hand down until it settled on your hip.

Cooper gave it a steady squeeze as his tongue darted out, tasting your skin and he groaned. Your nipples were hardening inside your hoodie and you ached to touch him but held yourself back. This was wrong, this was so incredibly wrong!

“Let me worship you,” He grunted and peppered kisses down your chest. Cooper tugged down the zipper of your shirt, exposing your tits and he took a nipple in his mouth.

His teeth grazed the bud and you whined. Back arching and he started sucking hard enough to leave marks. You hadn’t been fucked in a while, too busy with your job to spend time with anyone but Cooper’s desperate noises made your core pulse.

“Such pretty tits, you taste so good. I can’t wait to sample how sweet you are,” Cooper peeled off your shorts and underwear. You saw him slide them into his pocket before he distracted you with his mouth traveling down your stomach.

His hands were heavy and firm. Laced with age and calluses but he did have a gentleness that prevented unpleasant pain. Instead of pushing your legs as wide as possible, Cooper held your knees. Keeping your thighs high and you couldn’t squirm away.

All your thoughts merged together and seemed into the present moment. You didn’t think about how dangerous he was or that he broke into your house.

“You’re being such a good boy,” You whimpered and Cooper released a guttural moan. He hungrily sucked your clit, making you cry out and bury your hands in his hair.

The silky strands between your fingers were the only way you could ground yourself as he spit and licked up after himself. Your pussy clenched around his tongue and your entire body burned. Cooper wasn’t tentative at all like the other men you’d been with. He buried his entire face, his nose hitting your center and he humped the bed. You knew he wasn’t just eating you out for your pleasure, it was for his own too. You could barely breathe from the pressure in your stomach and lungs as he held your knees tighter.

Your ass was almost off the mattress as Cooper devoured your cunt. His large size gave you a small reality check that he could easily kill you. You shrieked when you released one leg and pressed two girthy fingers inside you. He was able to reach the deepest spot, curling them and making your mouth hang open. It was enough that your climax was scratching the surface. Cooper’s intensity increased and he added another finger as he messily licked your clit.

An explosion hit you, making you let out an embarrassingly loud wail and your free leg clamped around his head. Your cum gave him more slickness as Cooper continued fingering you through it. His lips hovered above your pussy, pressing open mouth kisses against your lower stomach.

Even in the low lighting, you could see the black lust in his gaze as he lifted up. Sticky arousal coated the entire lower half of his face.

“Did that feel good, mommy?” His voice was croaky, almost like he was going to cry and you moaned. You undid his belt, furiously pulling down his pants and boxers.

Your leg hoisted around his waist and you pushed him onto his back. Cooper threw his head back as you situated yourself on top. His dick was big, throbbing as you lined yourself and sank down. He huffed and you laced your fingers with his.

You started rocking, sweat gathering on your skin but he only remained pinned down for a few seconds. He sat up, cupping the back of your head and crushed your lips together. The kiss wasn’t romantic. It was harsh, brutal and bordering on rage.

Your nails raked down his arms, making him growl against your mouth and he pulled your lower lip with his teeth. You gripped his cheeks, spitting in his mouth and then you slapped him.

Cooper looked animalistic as he drove his hips harder into you. It felt like you were going to split open, like it wasn’t going to fit all the way.

“Pathetic little boy,” You hit him again, this time on the other side. “You like that? Like being punished?” Your words were filled with venom and he was trembling so hard it was difficult to keep fucking him.

Cooper’s release hit him violently and he made noises that almost brought you to a second orgasm. Cum seeped in your pussy and your cunt hurt from how turned on you were. He sputtered and groaned. His arms were crushing you but you enjoyed the discomfort.

Whatever submission he had, it vanished as he flipped you over. Cooper’s hand shoved your face down into the pillow as he maneuvered your ass up.

You panted as he sharply slapped your ass, his tip rubbing against your slit. Drool pooled out of your mouth and Cooper pinned your dominant arm behind your back.

“You think you’ve beaten me? By making me bust my load that quickly?” He slammed into you balls deep and it hurt enough to make tears spring. Feeling you recoil inward, he massaged your clit and made you let out a pornographic sound.

“Sweetheart, you’re going to be nothing but a cum slut for me. I’m gonna make it drip out of you,” He thrusted hard, making the bed move and you bit down on the material of the pillow.

“You’re fucking helpless. You get that? I could hurt you and you couldn’t stop it.” He laughed, a crazed noise that horrified you. But his dick kept you from acting like a rational person.

“I was going to make you my victim but now you’re gonna be my whore.” Cooper’s filthy words made you choke on a sob as you came on his cock.

He didn’t let you stay in that position, merely tossing you on your back and shoving his dick in. But he did allow you to touch him, claw at his back and wrap your legs around him. Cooper locked his hand around your throat and you were rendered entirely at his mercy.

His frame caged you in and he pressed on your stomach with his other palm.

“Cream on my dick. Your pussy is so goddamn tight, I can feel it like this,” You were delirious and he tapped your cheek with two fingers. “Awww, what’s wrong, princess? Cock so good you went stupid on me?”

His mocking was followed by his seed gushing into you. Cooper rode out his orgasm and pulled out. He jerked himself off, covering your stomach in cum. Taking his finger, he pushed it past your lips. Making you taste both of your releases.

“You’re mine now. And you’re going to be a good little slut. Aren’t you?” You mindlessly nodded, sucking his digit and Cooper gave you a wicked smile.

“Atta girl. Now, get on the floor. Start at the door and crawl to me.”

Tagging: @xxbimbobunnyxx @cxrrodedcoffin @amethystblackkchaos @cryobabyy @hereforthehitsbaby @id-rather-be-in-middle-earth @rottenangel @rosaleelovesdilfs @strangererotica @justafangirls-blog @coopers-bunny @thebutchersbitch @redpillbluepill @rubyfruitjungle @lovalova444 @oceanblvd111 @stillwjk-channie-lixie

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

~Yanderes For Everyone~

Here's some yandere prompts and imagines, both romantic and platonic, for those who want some non sexual yandere adoration ❤️ Happy Pride!

Romantic/Asexual Scenarios:

M!Yandere x M!Reader

Yandere!Best Friend who couldn't figure out at first why it hurt so badly when you had friends other than him until a classmate attempted to ask you out

Yandere!Best Friend really just wants the two of you to continue playing games together, and live together, and adopt a couple of dogs together, and grow old together.. y'know, like how best friends do

Yandere!Best Friend becomes a complete menace when he learns what asexuality is, and that one can be both gay and ace

Yandere!Best Friend who is determined to prove that you don't need anyone else but him, even if it means cutting you off from the outside world

Yandere!Best Friend's method of "seduction" is stealthily turning off your phone's notifications while you're hanging out and tricking you into staying over longer than you intended

"You can't leave yet! I forgot to show you this new game I bought; it has couch co-op, and I just put pizza bites in the oven!"

Fem!Yandere x Fem!Reader

Yandere!Nun who enjoys her days at the convent, tending to flowers and taking care of those in need. She doesn't care so much about her vows to God, but enjoys a life free from the societal expectations she was gifted from birth as a woman.

Yandere!Nun is stunned when she sees you for the very first time. It was like witnessing an angel descend upon the earth, or experiencing a divine prophetic dream

Yandere!Nun loves being near her own personal angel, who's voice brings a joy she's never known before

Yandere!Nun is crushed when she learns that this isn't a final home for you like it is for her, and is instead merely a way for you to receive an education before your inevitable debut into society

Yandere!Nun who becomes determined to keep you with her, forever tending to the garden and feeding the poor, and decides that she will do whatever it takes to keep you by her side...

"Really, aren't you safer here? I mean, under God's protection, we can be happy! ..together.."

Yandere!Succubus x GN!Reader

Yandere!Succubus who's never enjoyed sex, not even once in the past thousand years she's been alive

Yandere!Succubus feels she must "grin and bear it", putting on a fake smile and bracing herself for the worse when she is once again summoned to the human world

Only to be floored by you, who summoned her from a spell in an ominous old book you found in the attic, not knowing that she was a succubus

Yandere!Succubus can feel herself falling for you every time she is summoned for some mundane task that doesn't involve her body, whether it be helping you finish a work assignment last minute or assisting with household chores

Yandere!Succubus refuses to answer the summoning rituals of lonely humans, instead spending all her time with you, even when you don't call for her

Yandere!Succubus knows that when it's your time, you will inevitably be punished, and has already made plans for your "departure" from this world

It'll be like you never died, you'll blink and be 25 again, baking cookies with her in your kitchen while she tells you about her day, laughing as she flirts with you and never questioning why Monday never seems to arrive

Yandere!Merman x GN!Reader

Yandere!Merman who meets you in a very silly and cliche way: being rescued after getting tangled up in garbage

Yandere!Merman acts distraught when you refuse to accept any gifts from him, trying to convince him that you don't need to be rewarded for doing the right thing

Yandere!Merman finds himself enamored with you, wanting to extend your visit longer, going as far as to grab your ankle when you try to leave

He begins running out of reasons to keep you, but you promise you'll be back again in the morning, and boy does he feel like crying when you stay true to your word and return to him

Yandere!Merman feels a little guilty about deceiving you, but when he learns that you're only there on "vacation" and that you'll be going "back to work" soon, he had to do something!

Yandere!Merman who finally gets you to accept a gift, a little glass vial that he claims is a traditional drink his people enjoy

He apologizes over and over again when the "drink" causes you to transform, robbing you of your legs. Wiping your tears away and crying himself, claiming that he had no idea it would have that affect on a human! But that he's ready to take responsibility, and take care of you for the rest of your new life under the water..

Yandere!Spirit x GN!Reader

Yandere!Spirit who's been dead for so long that they've forgotten what it was like to be human

Their body has warped as they lost memories of their previous life, elongating and discoloring, their skin a hollow grey and their body thin and stretched

Yandere!Spirit is approached one day by you, a human who not only can see them, but isn't afraid of them

Yandere!Spirit had forgotten what warmth was, but being in your presence was almost like having a heartbeat again

Yandere!Spirit becomes addicted to you, begging to stay by your side and continue basking in the sunlight of your smile, feeling that this is what it must have felt like to be alive

"Don't ask me to stay home.. does it really bother you that people think you're talking to yourself? I just.. please don't leave me again.."

Aroace/Platonic Scenarios:

Yandere!Catboy x GN!Reader

Yandere!Catboy who breaks into your house one day, and decides that your home is now his home as well

Yandere!Catboy demands attention and affection when he wants it.. and it usually just happens to be when you're busy

Yandere!Catboy has no sense of personal space, and didn't care if you're on the phone with your mother, he needs to use your lap as a pillow right. now.

Yandere!Catboy is a pain in the ass, treating you like a prince's servant, but he adores you in his own, possessive way

"Why do you smell like another cat?! I don't care if that skank was an aCtUaL cAt, those hands should only be rubbing these ears! Now get to it!"

Yandere!Big Sister x GN!Reader

Yandere!Big Sister who isn't actually related to you, but took pity on you and offered you a ride one night when you were walking home in the rain

Yandere!Big Sister sees herself in you, despite the gender difference, believing you to be as lonely as she is

Yandere!Big Sister begins keeping an eye out for you on her trips around town, doing her best to gain your trust slowly enough where she wouldn't scare you off

Yandere!Big Sister invites herself over to your apartment the moment she thinks you might not hate her, bringing gifts of junk food and beer

Yandere!Big Sister is so convinced that you are like her, that she "protects" you from your "obviously shitty" family, blocking their numbers on your phone while you're passed out, isolating you from the people that would hurt you

"That ass forgot your birthday?! I'm so sorry, kiddo.. If it makes you feel any better.. I already picked up a cake on my way over here~"

Yandere!Cult x Deity!Reader

Yandere!Cult Members who passionately worship you with a fervor that makes you worried for their mental stability

Resurrected from obsoletion, you were obviously overwhelmed with joy, being a small, nearly forgotten deity.. but when you witnessed your congregation, you realized they weren't regular worshippers

Yandere!Cult Members exist in a state of ecstasy for you, giving up their lives to join the cult they made in your name

Yandere!Cult Members who take what little text survived from your past followers, and turned it into a doctrine so absolute, that any deviation has them on their knees begging for forgiveness

And when you make yourself known, trying to calm the pitiful humans, share some comfort with them that you are not a god that enjoys this kind of devotion, the Yandere!Cult is in a state of euphoria, unable to comprehend your words..

"You appear! For us! We are not worthy of your presence, and yet you are such a kind and loving god that you appear.. for us!! No sacrifice is too great for one such as yourself!!"

Yandere!Toy Maker x GN!Reader

Yandere!Toy Maker who never liked humans; they talk too much, they smell funny, they grow old, and worse of all, they die

Yandere!Toy Maker changes his tune when he first meets you

Yandere!Toy Maker is fascinated by you, because unlike most humans, you don't annoy him; you're like a wind up dolly, only saying what he wants to hear

Yandere!Toy Maker uses you as his inspiration, making toys and dolls of all types that look like you, often gifting you adult sized clothes that are replicas of the outfits he makes for the little yous

Yandere!Toy Maker seriously considers stuffing your body, turning you into a toy that will never grow old; never leave him

But he could never.. even if he put a drawstring on your back, it wouldn't be the same.. he still doesn't have enough recordings of you talking to replace your presence..

✨Bonus✨

Yandere!Bed x GN!Reader

The mattress was on sale at the cheap little store you were visiting for the first time. And honestly, the deal was too good to pass up. When was the last time you got a new bed? Didn't you deserve to wake up not in pain?

So you brought it home.

It was a pain in the ass, but you got it into your apartment by yourself and set it up.

It. Was. Heaven.

You couldn't remember the last time you fell asleep so quickly, but it felt like you blacked out the second you laid down. In fact, it was so comfortable, you slept through all three of your alarms.

Shit.

But even being late to work and getting yelled at by your boss didn't faze you. The entire day it was like you were walking on clouds; you were so well rested that all you could think about was going home to your new bed: excited to sleep again.

And for the first couple of weeks, your coworkers didn't say anything. But they began worrying about you, suspecting that you might be depressed or something. All you talked about was your bed; how you never slept so well in your life, how laying down was like falling straight into the dream world... But you never looked worse.

Despite your claims that you were sleeping like a corpse, you were beginning to look like the dead. The bags under your eyes were hollow and heavy, your skin was paling, and your movements were slow and weak.

However, it didn't matter what they said.

That mattress was the single best purchase you've ever made in your whole entire life.

Lying down was like being enveloped in the embrace of a parent.

It didn't bother you when your boss fired you in front of your concerned fellow employees..

It just meant that you would have more time to sleep.

[proposalanonaita]

FINE.

The date is fast approaching (seven and a half weeks left), I've had sufficient quantities of Malbec, and I'm realizing that whoever suggested that writing my vows would be MUCH more harrowing than talking about my feelings to internet nobodies.....had a fair point; I should at least attempt to put it all to words before I write the real drafts.

Ugh.

I should probably start by stating that I'm WELL aware of who I am. Rest assured, I know that I'm stunningly abrasive. And controlling. And petty, conniving, misanthropic, or whatever other adjectives you've been calling me in the tags (yes, I DID read those, and it IS weird of so many of you to be calling for my divorce. I thought you were supposed to be nicer than I am?).

All this to say, I've always been cognizant of being an acquired taste. Partly because I've always BEEN an acquired taste. I tone it down in public, and in most of my personal relationships, but I am, down to my core, a Mean Mother Fucker.

With partners before my fiancé, I had to make myself more palatable to stay together. The men I dated were FAR too nice, and snipping with them at all felt like I was a heavyweight champion facing off against a toddler. So I reigned it in. It worked, but no matter how well things were going on paper, I didn't feel like I was myself with any of them.

I was even less myself with The Shithead. I'm NOT getting into the entirety of that particular tire fire here, you little freaks already know FAR too much about me and I won't have you tagging the gory details of the worst part of my life with #bob the builder/fuzzy wuzzy or whatever you're into.

He was horrible to me, I turned dangerously timid, I'm lucky I had enough Mean left in me to get the fuck out. He's changed enough by now that I considered inviting him to the wedding, it was bad enough back then I'm very glad I didn't. Enough said.

...I'm talking quite a bit up here because I still hate having to say any of the next part. Call me an emotionless villain for that if you want to, I am far too employed and 30 to care very much.

Ugh, ugh, ugh.

So.

The thing is, there are people that KNOW me, and there are people who LIKE me. My parents know me, and I've never doubted they love me, but that's not LIKING me as a person. That's a contractual obligation of birthing me. My friends like me, some even like me when I'm catty, but I need to be careful to hold myself back, at the risk of losing them. At best, people loved "me", not ME.

For decades, this was just the way the world was. It was a fact of life- The sky is blue, I'm secretly unlovable, the Earth goes around the sun.

And then, against all odds, I found my fiancé, who manages to do both.

He sees ALL of me. Every square inch, every fleeting thought, every horrible little quirk of my rotten personality. And THEN, as if that weren't bad enough, he turns around and ENJOYS it all. He's not just tolerant of my least palatable traits, he's delighted. The more I show him, the more he likes.

It's awful. I'd say he stole my heart, but that sounds too pleasant. It's more like my heart is a cockroach he could squish at any moment, and I trust him not to, and I'm just supposed to wake up every morning and do the dishes and go to work as if this doesn't mean we're clearly orbiting Saturn. The sky is PURPLE now. What the fuck.

He could at least do me the favor of being completely, 100% perfect, because then I could blame his total lapse in judgement on that, but NO. He's a BASTARD.

I'm engaged to a big sweaty idiot who annoys me on purpose. He's terrible with his money. He tries to take me on HIKES, and JOGS, and CAMPING TRIPS. His taste in every single art form known to man is GARBAGE, he's constantly leaving his dirty socks on the floor, and he's such a bad driver I'm amazed he still has a license.

I've told him all of that to his face, and I've MEANT it, and he's just called me a bitch and asked me what I want for dinner. He knows that I'm unlovable, agrees that all those parts of me are in here, and then loves me anyway.

He loves me. He LOVES me. He loves ME.

I don't know what I'm meant to do with it all, but there's clearly SOMETHING wrong with his brain, so I guess I'll have to keep him, if only for his sake.

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me?

I just finished this first part of my Eddie adopting Steve in his senior year after his fall from grace and wanted to put it up.

Tag list of 50 has now been filled. Any other requests for tagging will be denied. I’m sorry.

Edit: Also if you saw the title as something else? No, no you didn’t. And any reblogs you see with anyone instead of anybody are a figment of your imagination. (*thuds head on laptop* I have the title right on here...in my file *wails*)

*

“Mr Munson?” the teacher called.

Eddie’s head snapped to the front of the class from where it had been watching King Steve Harrington throwing up in the garbage can.

“When Mr Harrington is done spilling his guts, would you please take him to the nurse’s station?”

Eddie pointed at himself and mouthed the word “me?”

He looked around the classroom and was shocked to find that Steve’s friends were either trying not to look at him or were actually snickering.

The teacher sighed. “Yes. If you would please.”

“Yeah Munson,” someone called. “Freaks should stick together after all.”

Eddie made a note of who it was and vowed to never to sell to the asshole again. He stood up and walked to the back of the room. He knelt down next to Steve and put his hand on his back.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You okay?”

Steve looked up at him blearily. “Munson?”

Eddie looked up at the teacher. “Would it be okay if we take the bin with us? So we don’t disturb the rest of the class?”

The teacher nodded, looking relieved.

Eddie helped Steve to his feet and made sure the other boy had a good handle on the bin and gently walked him outside. The cool air of the hallway hit them like a truck. But Steve beside him sighed in relief.

Eddie finally got a good look at Steve’s face, blackened and bruised as it was. “Who did you in?”

Steve’s head lulled back like a rag doll. “Billy Hargrove.”

Eddie’s eyebrows went up and led Steve over to the wall next to the door. Steve slid to the floor, clutching the bin.

“Aren’t you two on the basketball team or whatever?” Eddie asked, moving to sit next to him.

“The king is dead, all hail the king,” Steve slurred.

Eddie scoffed. At least someone was getting something from their history class because it sure the hell wasn’t him.

“With the second concussion in two years, I’m off the team anyway,” Steve continued.

“Second?” Eddie asked, his eyes wide. “What the hell have you been doing man?”

Steve’s eyes focused momentarily. “Picking fights with boys that can kick my ass because they’re picking on kids that can’t defend themselves.”

“Actual kids?” Eddie asked his opinion of Billy dropping further than it already was.

“Does a thirteen year old still count as a kid?” Steve asked seriously.

Fuck.

“Yeah, yeah it does,” Eddie replied softly.

“I have this kid that I watch once and while,” Steve murmured, “actually I watch a half dozen, but anyway. Lucas Sinclair is really good at basketball and he tried out for the team. Billy decided to be a racist bastard about it. I clocked him and he laid me out. Literally.”

“Is that the reason for the...?” he waved at the bin and Steve’s face.

“Yup,” Steve said, closing his eyes. “Did you know that the nausea and dizziness of concussion can last longer than the actual concussion? Because I sure the hell didn’t.”

Eddie winced. “You up for the trek to the nurse’s office yet?”

Steve opened his eyes and looked over at the other boy. “I worry it’s the moving that’s making me puke.”

Eddie blinked and the cocked his head. “That’s a fair assessment, but you won’t know until you try.”

Steve nodded and then hissed. Eddie got his arm under him and gently lifted him to his feet.

Steve moaned.

“You good?” Eddie asked.

“Give me second,” Steve mumbled. He breathed heavily, trying to stop the world from spinning. “Okay. Yeah.”

Eddie moved them slowly through the halls to the nurse’s station. He didn’t throw up once which Eddie counted as a win.

“Messers Munson and Harrington,” the nurse greeted. “What causes you to darken my step today?”

Eddie grinned. “Nurse Ratchet, what a pleasure it is to see you again. I am here under orders to bring King Steve to you as he up chucked his lunch in math class.”

“It’s Nurse Kincade to you, Munson,” she bit out. “Put him on the table.”

Eddie steered Steve over to the table and looked him over. Steve was sweating from the exersion which considering he was in better shape than Eddie was that was a problem.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Do you want me to stay?”

Steve looked up at him and gulped. “Nah, man. You need to get back to class. You don’t want to be caught associating with me anyway.”

Eddie reared his head back. He was pretty sure that was his line. But he knew better than to argue. So he held up his hands and backed away slowly, listening to Steve explain to the nurse what had happened. Eddie grabbed the bin and cleaned it out before he returned to class. He had briefly thought to leave as a prank. But they would know it was him and he promised his Uncle Wayne that he wouldn’t get detention this year.

And while he also knew Uncle Wayne meant the school year, the year of 1984 was ending and he could at least last that long.

He got back to class and stood at the door. He really didn’t want to go in but class had fifteen minutes left and that was too long for him to wait. So with a heavy sigh he yanked open the door.

The teacher clocked him immediately. “You left Mr Harrington alone?”

Eddie threw up his hands again. “Dude wanted me to leave, I know better than to overstay my welcome.”

The teacher rolled his eyes. “And yet, here you are in my class for the second year in a row.”

Eddie grinned. “Aww, teach. That’s not overstaying my welcome, that’s tenacity.”

“This is algebra Mr Munson, not English,” he moaned. “Please take your seat.”

He could hear the snickering behind him, but he didn’t care. He thought about a boy who looked after kids that were barely teenagers and took beatings for them, to protect them. He thought about mismatched hazel eyes, one almost swollen shut. He thought about the inherent kindness of a beat down soul and wondered what made him kind in this cruel world.

*

Eddie spotted Steve at lunch, sitting by himself, pushing the food around on his tray. He was probably still feeling nauseous. He went to the vending machine and got ginger ale. As he passed by Steve, he looked at the bottle in his hand.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “I wanted a Coke. Hey, Harrington, you like ginger ale?”

Steve’s head snapped up in shock. “Uh, yeah. I’ve been known to like it on occasion.”

Eddie tossed it at him. “Here, you have it.”

He went and sat down by his friends. All three of them were juniors but he been friends with them since the talent show in middle school. They were in a band together called Corroded Coffin and they were pretty damn good if he thought so himself.

“What was that about, man?” Jeff asked.

Eddie turned to Jeff. He knew of all the boys at this table would understand why he threw Harrington a bone. He leaned in close so only his friends could hear.

“Harrington got his bell rung by Hargrove for protecting the Sinclair boy,” he whispered.

All three boys lifted their heads to look over at Steve who was sipping the ginger ale and starting to eat a little.

They hunched back into their circle.

“Looks like Hargrove got him good,” Gareth said. “What was the ginger ale for?”

“It’s good for nausea,” Eddie whispered. “He threw up in math class and I had to take him to the nurse’s station.”

“But I thought Carol and them were in that class, too,” Brian murmured.

Eddie shook his head. “They are, man. But Steve’s on the outs with the whole lot.”

Jeff frowned. “I didn’t think that Mr Harrington would have let his boy hang out with the Sinclairs.”

Eddie looked over at Steve and then back down to his friends. “I’m only telling you what he told me.”

His friends nodded. Whatever was going on, the Corroded Coffin boys were too far down the social ladder to be in the know.

Eddie looked over at the lonely boy one more time. Something didn’t feel right. Something else was going on, something darker. One didn’t simply go from the top of the social elite to less than the weirdos overnight for nothing. And Eddie was going to find out what.

Now with part 2 and part 3 part 4 part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9  Part 10 Part 11  Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

[alacetor-the-duckies-deer]

I have this headcanon for Alastor's back story where he's trans, and just as himself, as he is in the show, even as a kid. So his parents sent him of to a convent, were upon ww1 breaking out in his late teens, he ran away, forged a new identity as a man, got found out once he was already over seas, blackmailed a superior into letting him stay on, where he was introduced to radio communication, and the rest is history.

But all that to say, I like to then imagine, whenever anyone tells him something mildly outlandish, but definitely true, he likes to respond with "Yes, Vox, and I took a vow of celibacy when I was a catholic nun"

To which of course people think, "so you don't belive me? I mean but aren't you a virgin? Are you not????"

And of course, this never gets asked because who's gonna ask The Radio Demom about his Sexy Life.

Angel Dust that's who.

I imagine him doing an interview on Al's Show, just a mix of publicity for them both, hanging out because they're friends, and it's all a big middle finger to the Vee's.

Maybe it's pride month and so they were planning some talk about that, Alastor joking about a possible comming out, even though its plenty well know Alastor is some where on the ace spectrum to anyone with eyes.

They get on the topic somehow, Angel says something like, "I never laid myself across the bar like that! Second set of arms at most! Never my butt, never mind my legs! not after the first time!"

"Mh-hm. You got desperate in your flirting, and I took a vow of celibacy, when I was a nun. We all do silly things, Angel."

"Well, maybe I've laid out on the pool table, but it makes for good pictures. Anyway, I been meaning to ask you about that."

"About being a nun?

"No," angel laughs, plays it off, thinking he's joking. "About your being ace and all. No pressure, but like, you really never even wanted to try?"

"No, I find it quite repulsive. The idea even,"

"You don't watch nothin'? Read nothing either?"

"Ha! No! The filthy little novel Sister Amillia sneaked in the once was quite enough- are you okay Angel?"

Angel had infact just chocked on his latte. "Wait? Sister Amillia? Sneaked in? To where!?"

"The convent, Angel. I was 14, she was 16. Wonderful woman, taught me how to handle a knife, she left shortly after the novel was discovered- Sister Tabitha was as squeaky a little rat as she looked- never saw Amillia again, though."

"Wait, sorry. You were a nun, like, actually? What the fuck?"

One of the little lights that says they have a caller lit up, but Alastor ignore it for now. "Yes, Angel, do keep up."

"Wait, so like that nun costume you wear on halloween?" Angel blows right past the fact Alastor just came out as trans, because yeah. Didnt see it comming but, the trains already wizzing by, and more importantly- "Is that like your actual nun costume?"

"Ha! No, I flung that horrid thing in a garbage can on my way to the enlistment office when I was 17."

"Enlistment?" Angels begining to see what Alastor meant when he said this episode was going to be a unique experience for his listeners at the start of the braodcast. "Like world War 1, right? You were alive for that..."

"Yes, I figured with all the confusion one little girl-"

Angel's phone goes off. It's Val. Angel hits ignore.

"Fuck off Val, I'm off today" Angel says into his mic.

But they get interrupted again and again until Angel turns his phone off.

At which point all twelve of the little light that indicate the show had callers on the line, light up.

"Ah fuck. What does he want that bad? Can you just answer it real quick?"

Alastor flips a switch and answers.

"The fuck you want Val-"

"I'm not calling for you!" It's Vox on the other end, his voice booming from the speaker "Alastor! Are you fucking serious? You were a fucking nun?"

"Yes, Vox." He says with faux patience. "My goodness, did you all stuff your ears with cotton this morn-"

"So you DID actually take a vow of Celibacy? The other day at the meeting during my presentation, you said "that'll work, Vox, sure- and I took a vow-"

"Yes. I was there."

"And!?!"

"Celibacy, among other things. If this is a dig at my sexuality than-"

"Nah fuck that, hang on I'm doing math! Okay you were born in 1901, makes you 17 in 1918, yeah that tracks. Okay so 2024 make you 123, minus the 17 years to be conservative, thats 106 yeah?"

"I was 15 when I took that vow, and under threat of being institutionalized, if that's what you're getting at-"

"108! Ha! Oh my God! 108 years! That's gotta be a record!"

"What are you getting at Vox?"

"You took a vow!" Vox screams through his laughter. "All the pomp and circumstance! On consecrated ground! before god!? To abstain from sex! And even here in hell, were sin and blasphemy are rampant and free-"

"Careful Vox, your televangelist is showing-"

"Who gives a fuck!? You're the one whos upheld their vow to God for over a century like some devout saint!"

Angel and Alastor sit there staring at eachother while Vox laughs his head off around them

"Saint Alastor the Abstinent! The pantron Saint of Virgi-"

Alastor hangs up. "Well that was informative!" Alastor chirps "Well, What's to be done about this? Hm, Angel?"

And for some reason, an unholy one, surely, the first thing out of Angel's mouth is "I could suck you dick? If that- would count?"

And it's a testament to how far they've come as friends, or pooooossbily Alastor's nerves, or maybe his sheer unwavering bravado, but Alastor only bursts out laughing, shaking his head as he get out between laughter "I don't- have one!"

And then they're both laughing and laughing and laughing, and eventually they calm down, and Alastor gets a thoughtful look. "Though, Vox did have one good point."

"Oh?"

"That does have to be a recorded, at least among sinners. Why! I very well might have redeemed myself! We should certainly bring this up with Sera at the next conference!"

And then their off both laughing again, imaging Serra's face when she realises she's going to have to look into yet more research onto the workings of redemption from Heaven's end.

[writingstoraes]

down the aisle 💍

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine (fluff, angst)

theme/s: none very gruesome, typical childhood best friends pining, unspoken feelings and all that

word count: 5.1k (got carried away lol)

notes: not proofread and not revised so pls expect grammatical/spelling errors! will be working on the pending reqs now hehe lmk what u guys think <3

about: charles was six when he promised to marry you when he got older and the time was right. as crazy children can go, you always thought he was delirious, but he reminds you of it almost every year. 

“Y’know what, when we get older, I am going to marry you for real!” Charles, in broken French, says a little enthusiastically as he walks down the makeshift aisle you two had made for the two-hour playtime your parents allowed.

With a pillowcase hanging on your head as an improvised veil, you held in your hands hand-picked flowers from the Leclerc’s garden as your bouquet. Two of your other friends cheer, the joy of make-believe weddings children orchestrate on their own taking over.

“You’re crazy, Charlie! We can’t marry each other, we’re only six years old,” you giggle.

“I know,” he says. “I’ll do it when we get old! When we’re 18 or something.”

You thought of Charles as demented every time he promised to marry you in the unforeseeable future. He first said it when the two of you were six years old, playing an infamous game of roleplay wedding. For a long time, in your little group of friends, the two of you always assumed the role of the groom and bride. Of course, you were just as young as he was, but you dismiss his thoughts by saying you were too young to get married - and he’d always respond with the promise of doing it when you both got older.

Even when his parents and his older brother Lorenzo watch the two of you, he assumed Charles was just hopped up on the adrenaline of playing with his best friend, his favorite person in the whole world, you. He thought that when the two of you actually get older, Charles would eventually forget the silly vow he had made when he was awfully young.

But Charles never abandoned the thought. As he got older, he finds himself repeating the same promise he had told you in his family’s backyard, not for the sake of mere recollection, but because he deems you as his perfect pair, his soulmate. 

It was at age 10 when he had made the same promise to marry you. You sat a bench in front of your school’s gates, waiting for the school bus, clutching your backpack as tears welled in your eyes. You and Charles had made a pact to always go home together and sit at the bus side by side, so he’s not surprised to find you at your usual spot, but he was surprised to see you crying.

Charles rushes to you, taking off his backpack to set it on the bench. 

“Hey, why are you crying?” Worriedly, he says, a little panicked to see his best friend with tears running down her face.

“Louis t-th-threw away my let-t-ter,” you say in between sobs. 

Louis was a grade above you, who was the dreamiest boy in school with his soft brown hair and brown eyes. Every girl at school had a crush on him, gigantic ones at that, so his locker is expected to be filled with love letters even on normal days. Frankly, Charles never got the hype over him but he’d never tell you that, not when you were one of the lovestruck girls at school.

“What happened?” 

“I was too shy to tell him I like him,” you tell Charles, who proceeds to rub your back calmly to ease you down. “So I wrote a letter to tell him that and he crumpled it up into a ball and threw it in the garbage.” 

“He did it in front of everyone!” you add, breaking into cries once again. Charles’ brows furrow, wanting to punch the stupid boy who had made you cry, but his main goal was to make you stop crying first.

“Il est idiot ou abruti!” He’s a jerk.

“Y/N, please stop crying. He’s no good for you, you’re too great for him.” he says, using both his hands to grip your shoulders as he adjusts you so you can face him.

“I’m so embarrassed. What if this goes on for years? What if nobody likes me-” you ramble on and Charles could only look at you sympathetically.

“Hey, I like you! You’re the best girl I know.” Charles replies, smiling slightly. 

“And I will always like you, you know? It doesn’t matter if it’s years from now, I promise to marry you when we’re older because I will always like you!” 

“You’re just saying that because I’m sad,” you shake your head, lightly laughing at his attempt to cheer you up.

“I’m not lying! I really will marry you. That’s how much I like you.” 

It’s amusing to hear. What do 10-year-olds know about marriage, anyway?

At first, Charles thought he was repeating his vow to marry you years from now just to fulfill what he told the best person in his life when he was young. He remembers the time he had made the promise again back when he was 10 and he recalls telling you you were the best girl he knew. He convinces himself that he said that partially to cheer you up and because he’d do anything to make you smile, you were his best friend after all.

But it’s three years from now and he had done it again. Maybe it’s a reflex, something he thinks he’s supposed to say because he had said it two times already. Maybe when he was six it was out of joy and the child-like innocence he had. When he was 10 maybe it’s out of the fact that he wanted to dry your tears. Yet this time, he had no reason to justify it.

Deep down he knew it was because he grew to like you, more than a friend, more than he should. Internally he shakes his head, trying to dismiss the thought of breaking the unspoken rule of liking his best friend. He was 13, figuring things out, and the first thing he knew to be certain of was you were in fact, his dream girl. 

Your family and the Leclercs were together again for dinner, a tradition done at least once a month. A big table was set up at your house since it was your family’s turn to host dinner. Plates were neatly set up, the smell of roast chicken and the aroma of an array of dishes coming out of the kitchen. It’s the same night Charles realized just how beautiful you’ve grown to be. Your hair was much longer and you were a little taller. You dressed differently, and the two years you had braces finally paid off. Charles feels butterflies in his stomach each time you smiled, but he chooses to ignore it.

“Remember when you said you’d marry me like, three years ago?” you spoke up, hoping to playfully embarrass Charles who was beside you in your bedroom, legs sprawled on your bed.

“You can say it, were you just saying that to cheer me up?” 

“No, can you stop accusing me of that? I really meant it!” he says in defense, knowing he really did mean it, and he means it even more now.

“Hmm, I’m sure you won’t mean it anymore when you ask Elise to the dance and you guys have your first kiss,” you tease, enunciating the word “kiss” just to poke at Charles and the fact that the school dance was in 2 weeks.

“I’m still going to mean it, Y/N.” he shakes his head. “And weren’t we going to go together? I already bought your ticket.”

“Come on, Charlie! You don’t have to appease me anymore, we’re growing older, you know?” 

“I know, and I keep my promises,” he turns to look at you, shifting into a seated position. 

“Really?” you mock, raising one brow at him with a smirk on your face. “You’d really marry me like, 10 years from now?”

“I would,” Charles responds, unknowingly providing you with a small amount of comfort you couldn’t figure out just yet.

Things were pretty routine for you and Charles. Every time he promised to marry you, your response was always to never take him seriously. You always think he’s just trying to lift your spirits up or it’s because he’s fulfilling a promise he made when he was six years old. And if Charles was anything, he wasn’t someone who broke promises. He shows up and keeps his word, it’s just who he was. You think that vow would eventually be null and void when he finds a girl he genuinely likes, and the same would go for you.

Charles never lets your response get to his head. After he realizes he had grown feelings for you, feelings that persisted until now that he was sixteen, he lets your chuckle and “you’re crazy” responses slide away. He didn’t think he’d make the promise again anyway, he knows better than to say it again now that he actually was going to mean every word. 

At sixteen, you and Charles attended your first party with friends without parental supervision. Even Lorenzo wasn’t there as a chaperone so it was an entirely new experience for the two of you. He had promised your parents prior that he was going to take care of you and makes sure you don’t go home wasted, and obviously, they trusted him with their entire chests. 

Charles made sure not to drink too much that night, not even with the heavy and ceaseless invites from his friends. He wanted to be of composure in the event you get more inebriated than him, which will take place about an hour from now. You both went your separate ways, agreeing to meet when it was time to go home. You had friends outside of Charles and he had friends that weren’t you as well. Before letting you go he makes you promise to not drink too much and you only respond with a nod and a wide smile.

But he was summoned by your friend so he comes running to the living room and he finds you flushed and drunk out of your mind.

“Hi, Charlie!” you slur, waving your hands aimlessly as you see Charles’ figure tower over you. 

“Oh my god, how many have you had?” Charles asks, desperately trying to lift you up and out of the couch you were nearly passed out on.

“Come on, Y/N, I told your parents I wouldn’t let you drink!”

“Sorry, Charlie.” you say, all senses nonfunctional, slinging both your arms over Charles' shoulder as he carries you.

He figures he can’t take you home in your state, so he takes you out to the patio and sat you on the lawn chair. The booming music was heard outside, red cups littered on the grass, teenagers shouting every now and then. He had asked someone to fetch a clean towel drenched in water so he can wipe your face, hoping that and some water could lessen your inebriation.

“Aww, you’re taking care of me,” you coo, still clearly drunk. You had totally underestimated the toll alcohol would take on you.

“When we get married, are you going to take care of me when I’m drunk?” 

“What?” Charles mutters in disbelief, but he quickly remembers you were drunk out of your mind so he tries his best not to give it any thought.

“You promised you’d marry me. You’ll keep your promise, right?” you say, mispronouncing some of the words and holding back a hiccup. 

Charles doesn’t say anything and continues wiping your face with the damp towel in his hand and proceeds to tie your hair into a neat ponytail. He ignores that most of the time drunk words are a product of sober thoughts. He grabs the glass of water beside you and asks you to drink it. You shake your head in disapproval.

“Not drinking until you say you’ll m-ma-marry m-me,” 

He can only sigh, not believing he was making the promise yet again, this time out of actual sincerity, not just because you asked and he wanted you to shut up and drink the damn water he had in his hand.

“I will marry you, okay? When we get together and the time is right, you’ll walk down the aisle and you will see me.” 

“Now, please drink some water, I’m begging.”

And oddly enough, Charles is convinced you would have no recollection of the words that came straight out his chest.

Charles was already nineteen and how he felt for you hadn’t changed, not one bit. He’s evaluated the emotions he’s been avoiding hundreds of times - he asks himself if it was the nostalgia of having known you for more than a decade or if it was really because he had grown old enough to realize you were all he could ever want. But he’s not the type to do something about it, he’s far more afraid of losing you than having to keep the biggest secret he had withheld from you. 

You would be lying if you said the way you looked at Charles was still the same way you did when you were nine. You were scared to entertain the thought, it’s a dangerous territory should you try to open the door and see what was inside. For some time you disregard the pounding in your chest when Charles sends you a smile or the electricity that runs through your fingertips every time he held your hand.

Both of you decide to keep it at bay, stashing whatever you felt in a box and stowing it away in a compartment in the back of your heads. You were still as comfortable as ever, knowing each other best like you were each other’s home address. For whatever reason you and Charles deem it best and most reasonable to stay as friends and not say anything, you both loved each other too much to risk, jump, and then fall. Unbeknownst to the two of you, you were both ready to catch whoever falls first.

It’s not like neither of you tried to expand your horizons. There were attempts to date other people and establish the same or at least a comparable connection with another person as the one you had with each other.  Numerous times you asked for Charles’ opinion on what to wear on a first date and several occasions were you with him as he bought flowers for whoever was waiting for him. The difference was that you were more desperate than Charles, trying your best and trying hard to get over the fact that you were possibly in love with your best friend. Maybe because you weren't at peace with it as much as him, so you figure that maybe when you actually meet someone you like, all of this would just fade into thin air.

But it does get tiring. Looking back now, you weren’t sure you got the irony in going on several dates just for you to come home at night to Charles, who’s almost always waiting for you at your front door to make sure you got home safe. Sure, his house was awfully near, but you don’t mind it anyway. 

To say your date tonight was bad is an understatement. It was with a guy you met through a mutual friend, and at first, seemed charming and kind. After having rescheduled the date four times because of reasons he couldn’t say, you took comfort in the fact that he might be a great guy and you should give him a chance. He didn’t pick you up from the house, which Charles frowned upon, but he let it slide eventually after some persuasion and convincing. The whole night he only talked about himself and was even rude to the waiter who served you. To make the night even worse, him complimenting your physique in a way only perverts do was the cherry on top. 

Charles’ lips twitch to form a small smile the moment he saw you walking towards your door. Previously on his phone, he shuts it down and sees your shoulders slumped as you give him an exasperated sigh when you finally get to him.

“Home so soon?” Charles asks, though it was more of a statement laced with an I-told-you-so tone.

“Why are you here so early?” you return the question. 

“It’s only what-” you glance at your watch. “8:30 in the evening? You’re usually not here until 11.” 

Charles shrugs. “I figured this date wouldn’t go well. I had this weird feeling to wait for you really early, call it best friend instinct or something.”

Best friend. In some weird way, the comforting thought that he goes out of his way to wait for you was joined with a little pang in your chest from the two words that defined the two of you your whole lives. Best friends, were all you were and you figure, all you ever will be. 

“Sucks you had me give him the benefit of the doubt - the douchey shirt he was wearing really gave it away for me,” he laughs lightly. 

The both of you sit down at the front of your door like you usually do before you went to bed. It’s routine, something you never get tired of, even when sometimes you and Charles were just enveloped in silence, comfortable silence that is. 

“In my defense, he did seem nice. I wanted to give him a chance.” 

“Yeah that’s the problem with you, no?” he says. “You give way too many chances. You give them away like it’s Halloween and they’re trick-or-treating. Even when signs point you to not entertaining them, you’re too kind to dismiss it.” 

I’ve only ever wanted to give one person one chance. But I’m too scared to lose you. You wanted to reply, but there was no way in hell you would actually say that. So much for the self-imposed courage you said you had.

“That’s practically what dating is, Charlie,” you say instead, sighing after. “How am I going to meet the right person if I just stand and stall?” 

“It’s because you keep looking. I think incessantly looking for the right person is overrated, sometimes it’s better to stop and let them come to you.”

“Oh because I should take dating advice from a guy who’s been in what, 6 dates his entire life?” you tease, smiling at Charles after he returns a knowing look.

For a while, his gaze fixates on you, a small smile painted on your face and the moonlight reflecting in your eyes, somehow making them sparkle.

Right then and there he finds the answer as to why he’s only ever been in six dates. And had no desire on going to more. 

“Hey,” you speak up, cutting Charles’ trail of thought. 

“At least when I don’t find the right person, I won’t be husbandless. I have you to marry, right?” you joke, hoping it jogs Charles’ memory of a dumb promise he made when he was a child. 

“Yeah, you do.” 

You entered the Leclerc household while it was in complete chaos. His brothers were occupied setting up a big table in the backyard and meticulously arranging the plates and centerpieces as to how Pascale, his mom, would like it. His aunts and mainly his mother were in the kitchen, surrounded by pots, pans, and cut-up ingredients for whatever they were cooking. Undoubtedly, Charles had a fairly big family if you include the extended ones. It was his 21st birthday after all, so it makes sense why he was a big deal for today.

“Y/N! You’re here early, dinner isn’t for another 3 hours.” Pascale smiles upon seeing you, walking over to give you a kiss on the cheek. 

“I wanted to help you guys set up, looks like it’s a busy day today.” 

You soon made rounds in their house, taking turns in helping in the kitchen, and backyard, and visiting Charles in his bedroom because he was apparently ordered to not move a finger until it was time to eat. 

Soon after, the long table set up beautifully in the backyard of Charles’ house was filled. Close friends, family, and everyone he held dear were present to celebrate his special day. Various dishes were laid out on the table as well as a cake baked by his mom herself had candles sticking out of it, along with a cake topper that said ‘21’. You sat beside Charles like you normally do, which was never an issue to anyone. Thankfully enough, despite the long tradition of having meals together with your and Charles’ family, no one ever posed the question of when the two of you are getting together or telling you two how much you looked good together.

Which benefitted the two of you. Now, you weren’t really sure if you’d call each other best friends, not when you two had lingering feelings you keep hidden from one another. It’s better that no one imposes anything so you and Charles can avoid any awkward conversation that may arise after.

The dinner was definitely delightful. It was nice that Charles was able to fly back home after his races to celebrate with family and you could tell how happy he was as he sat at the head of the table, providing him a clear view of everyone present to celebrate him. The rest of the night was nothing but hearty conversations, light-hearted jokes, and sangrias that were made by a proud Lorenzo. 

“Speaking of Lorenzo, I bumped into your girlfriend at the market the other day,” Pascale speaks up, everyone instantly shifting their attention to her.

“You should have brought her here, Enzo. She seems really nice.” 

“Noted for next time, Mama,” Lorenzo laughs, continuing to sip his sangria. 

Granted, Lorenzo did explain they’ve been together only for several months and he didn’t want to put his girlfriend under extreme pressure by bringing her to a dinner surrounded by his entire family. 

“How about you, Charles? Anyone your mom might be bumping into here in the city?” his aunt turns his head to Charles, who was pleasantly surprised by the question.

“Oh no, not at the moment,” he chuckles, in hopes that would be the end of it.

“I don’t think Charles is the ‘dating’ type as of now, tante,” Lorenzo adds, replying to his aunt.

“Hey, I’ve been on dates!” Charles puts his hands up in defense as everyone erupted in laughter. “Really, I’ve just been focusing on my racing career.”

“Plus, I don’t think I’ve met the right person yet.” he adds, adding a low laugh at the end. 

You shift in your seat as something in your heart drops, like your oxygen levels were dropping and your heart rate was slowing down. Whatever confirmation you were waiting for from the universe that what you felt for Charles remained stagnant, you were sure this was it. Hearing about how he’s in pursuit of the destined person for him sent shivers down your spine, yet you’re certain you had no spine at all, considering you chose to hide your true feelings for him for God knows how long now.

“Mama won’t have to worry about daughters-in-law anyway, Y/N’s practically one,” Arthur quips, making the whole table laugh once again, except you and Charles, who knew the gravity of the word wedding or marriage held for the two of you.

But the two of you manage to let out light, slightly forced laughs anyway, for each other’s benefit mostly.

“Ah yes, Charles did promise to marry me when the time is right.” you say, in a somehow witty and humorous tone, raising a brow as you look at Charles. 

“I intend to keep that promise, Y/N, don’t dare me.” Charles taunts jokingly.

And for the irony and heartbreak of it all, that would wind up being the last time Charles ever mentions the only promise he’s kept this long.

If anyone ever writes a biography about the untold love story you and Charles had, the author would probably call you cowards. For several years, decades even, the both of you never tried to see what it would be like on the other side of the door. Swearing you loved each other more than life itself yet never brave enough to jump and take the risk. You only ever convince yourselves that what you two have cost more and is more than finally having what you two really desired since you were both thirteen. So you both decide it’s better to let what you felt die down when you both get tired of waiting and hoping that someday, time would finally pencil you in on a schedule and things would finally work out.

The shadow of being best friends your whole life mostly served as a justification for the hidden affection you had for one another. Whenever you questioned the motive as to why it only takes one call for Charles to come running over to wherever you are, you tell yourself he’s your best friend, that’s why he cares so much. And every time Charles’ heartbeat skips when your skin touches whether in a hug or a kiss on the cheek, he ignores and tells himself the two of you have been close ever since. The two of you never thought to question it, always afraid of what comes after.

Soon enough the extended pining for each other would blur at least a little bit. You and Charles will eventually grow tired of being surrounded by the what-if’s you’ve been holding back for years. So neither of you can really blame each other when one takes a step forward - it’s general knowledge that any longer of whatever situation this was would just harm the two of you and could potentially ruin your friendship, the thing you’ve been protecting so ceaselessly over the years.

At 24, you and Charles are at the peak of your careers. He was now racing for his dream team, and you finally got the promotion you’d been busting your behind for for several years. But despite the busy schedules that you have mounted on your calendars, you manage to still have time for each other no matter how tough it got. 

19 years later, nothing had changed - exactly the way you and Charles wanted it to be. A small price to pay for broken hearts because of words left unspoken. 

But the question remains, would your hearts stay broken for so long? Maybe not, maybe the long game is what you’re supposed to play.

Charles always wanted his wedding to be private and intimate. He wasn’t one for big weddings where he invites people he’s only seen several times in his life, and probably won’t see for a long time after the wedding. He preferred it to just be close friends and family, in a private chapel, and he’s damn lucky his bride shared the same philosophy.

The villa Charles had chosen was exclusive and very private, even the planners of the wedding itself can be counted by hand. The villa was rented for the entire weekend and he pats himself on the shoulder for doing a good job of picking out the place. 

The sun was starting to set and you could only stare at the golden hues that painted the sky. The breeze was warm but not too hot it makes you sweat. Tables and chairs were set up, beautiful centerpieces on top of it. Everyone was already well-dressed following the theme, all prepared for the ceremony. Even the piano player was seated down, in a tuxedo, all ready to play probably the most haunting music you will ever hear. You smile lightly as you play with the hem of your dress, closing your eyes and hoping your heart won’t pop out of your chest.

“Your vows, please,” the officiant says, as Charles brings out a paper from his coat pocket, tears already forming in his eyes. 

You could only look at him longingly, chest pounding, waiting for the words written on the piece of paper he held tightly. 

“Mon amour, 7 years ago, my family thought I was never the dating type. Sure it was a joke, partly, but I wondered what it would be like to actually be with the right person, with my soulmate. I was too caught up in my career and in the whirlwind of chasing my dreams. But there you stood, in the middle of the chaos and you have managed to keep me grounded. You have served as my anchor all these years and I honestly don’t know what my life could have been if you weren’t in it.” He continues, tears falling down as he proceeds to use his index finger to wipe his eyes.

“With you, I finally know how it feels to be with their soulmate. In you, I found the best friend, the greatest teammate, and the most amazing woman. You have no idea how thankful I am that I found you in this lifetime, and I will spend the rest of my life loving you and reminding you just how much.”

It wasn’t long before a tear rolled down your cheek and it feels like you couldn’t breathe. Of all the places you could be, this was the last place you ever thought you’d be in - the wedding of the only man you have ever loved.

You sat in the audience, beside Arthur and Joris, who you hope was too occupied to see the tears you were shedding. You sat in the audience in your cream-colored dress, watching Charles promise to love another woman for the rest of his life, like your own personal execution, like you had done an unforgivable crime and this was the world’s way of punishing you for it.

Maybe it was your fault you even went. But your best friend for more than two decades asking you to be there for his wedding seems like something you can’t decline. It was the happiest day of his life, one of the most important days he was ever going to have - it would seem off that you weren’t there, but it was barbaric of you to torture yourself. 

You were happy for Charles, you know in your heart you were. But it was a shame you never knew how he felt and it was a missed opportunity you spent years hiding your heart from him. But here you sat, surrounded by the desolating what-ifs, just like when you were thirteen and you realized you liked Charles more than a friend.

For the first time in his life, Charles has finally broken a promise.

For the first time in your life, you realize just how crushing heartbreaks can be.

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

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy, @fdl305, @iloveyou3000morgan, @cxcewg, @sassyheroneckgiant, @ang3licho3, @pitlanebabe, @riverdalexvixens, @msliz, @boherahpsody (if anyone else wants to be a part of my taglist or if i forgot anyone that asked to be tagged, pls lmk by replying or sending me a message hehe)

notes: been ia since the hungarian gp bc my tooth was hurting so bad i was practically glued to my bed, also my classes start in less than three weeks and i am now more anxious than ever ANYWAY thank u so much for reading <3

[andrea-lyn]

Master Rec Post - Interview with the Vampire

well, it was inevitable, wasn't it? fourteen recs below for IWTV, primarily Armand/Daniel (any additions will be marked *NEW* in the future)

rock me like the rock of ages by exastris_scientia

The bathroom is the nastiest place Daniel has ever set foot in. Nothing but the word derelict comes to mind when he shuts the door, but not all the way because the hinges are sticky and squeak like hell when he moves the door, and he doesn’t want to get trapped in here and need Louis to come rescue him. Two of Daniel's personal interludes with Louis and Armand during the first interview, 1973. Any conclusions he reaches, he keeps to himself.

no devils evict themselves to the point of permanence by JanuaryWonder

Armand vowed not to listen in on Daniel's thoughts when he came to Dubai, but some still seep through the crevices in the wall he's erected around his mind. Or, the one in which Daniel remembers bits and pieces of a Devil's Minon-esque history with Armand and decisions need to be made, written from Armand's POV.

Bumblebee Mouth by Voidfavors

The rising sun bestowed him with a halo, and Daniel had to wonder about Armand’s flair for the dramatic. The spectacle he created was enough to make Daniel’s heart skip a beat. An attempt to bridge the gap between Devil's Minion and the AMC canon.

platform double suede by inthebelltower

Armand and Daniel pick up a third.

Garbage Island Utopia. by sunshineramblings

Daniel & Armand buy a house on Staten Island after leaving Dubai. Based off that commercial. You know the one.

Old Pains by EllaStorm

"It wasn’t a conscious decision, really, why would he make the conscious decision to move back towards the danger, the wounded, enraged, clawed, fanged danger, it wasn’t reasonable, it wasn’t cautious, it was – genuinely, just as fucking stupid as putting a needle in his vein and shooting himself to the moon for the first time in 1970 after that fucking Rolling Stones concert." In the aftermath of Louis’ swift departure to New Orleans, Daniel is left alone in the Dubai penthouse in Armand’s presence.

so ascends the flame by MountainsToRivers

Three scenes in Dubai, from Louis' departure to Daniel's turning. Armand had watched Louis leave. He was still on the floor, covered in dust, where Louis had thrown him—shape twisted at an almost unnatural angle, staring through the doorway, into the light. "You just had to keep pushing." He said it softly, amber eyes still unnervingly bright as they flicked to Daniel at last.

in the detail(s) by infinitevariety

A turning point. Immediately post-s2.

wake up missing me by dustyloves

"Yeah, congratulations," Daniel says. "You tortured me and my dick liked it, and I have to live with that forever. Are you proud?" "A little," Armand acknowledges.

bloodlust by mechup

Daniel hadn’t realized killing would be so exhilarating.

gibson girl by flowermasters

“Dark hair, slim build,” Armand said, feeling as if speaking might be the only thing keeping him from falling back asleep, from letting the boy go, from plunging into the blackened despair in the other room. “Small breasts, given her frame.” “Clinical,” the boy said. “Nice.”

care and keeping by katplanet (Currently a WIP, but def already worth the read!)

Louis shakes his head. “And now he's got you stepping on him.” Daniel picks his drink up and necks the last half of it. “I have not,” he says, “stepped on him, as of yet.” “But you want to.” “I think so?” Daniel puts the empty glass back on the table and scoots it out of their immediate limb radius. “I think I could want to. I want to want to.” “There you go,” Louis says, “tell him that. That'll set the mood.”

give the dog a treat before you take him out back and shoot him by shrek2enjoyer

Later, Daniel will struggle to remember what he sees in this moment. He might recall the vampire lunging at him, aiming for his neck with teeth ready to bite. In the late hazy nights where his mind holds less inhibition, he may think that the vampire was reaching for his shoulders, trying to find something to grab hold of so that he wouldn’t fall. On exactly one occasion he’ll contemplate the idea that the vampire was leaning in for a kiss. He will immediately discard the thought as proof that he needs to lower his dopamine prescription.

i'm old enough to face the dawn by exastris_scientia

The living room is dark and silent behind him, so he feels relatively secure in fishing the half-empty pack of cigarettes and lighter out of the pocket of his jeans. He doesn’t like to smoke in front of people as a general rule, since he almost never feels like explaining that technically he hasn’t been a smoker since 2005, he just keeps them around for especially stressful occasions. And this week has been the most stressful one he’s experienced since he got his Parkinson’s diagnosis. “I can’t say I’d recommend that,” Armand says smoothly from the space beside his elbow. Daniel jumps. “Jesus Christ. How long have you been lurking there like Nosferatu?”