#it's made vampires cooler to play and now he like. does more than sleep at night + give financial advice at night

[landgraabbed]

invites a guy to his place, makes out w/ him, drinks his blood, laughs at him, then gets back to work

[muertawrites]

Fireside (Zuko x Reader)

Word Count: 1,775

Author’s Note: I am so deeply sorry this took so long to post. I don’t know what happened but after Thanksgiving the creative part of my brain completely shut down and all I could do was lay in bed and play video games. But it’s back now so 🎉🎉🎉 happy new year to all of us! 

I got this request a WHILE ago and had written something else for it but after reconsidering, I totally hated it, so this is the rewrite for some cozy, wintery goodness. I also love this idea because I’m constantly cold - my feet and hands are always freezing and even in summer I’ll wear sweaters and hoodies because aircon can get pretty chilly when you have the body temp of your average vampire. 

Now for a little update: in the new year, I’ll be focusing more on original works than fanfiction. I’m still going to finish Two Halves, and I’ll still write fanfiction (because it’s still super fun) but I have so many ideas for original works that are taking over my brain that it seems only fitting to shift that direction. If you’re on my subscriber list and would like to only receive alerts for fanfic, let me know and I’ll add you to a separate list. 

I hope you’re all having a wonderful holiday, taking time to relax and spend time with loved ones, and generally just glad to have survived this shithole of a year. Here’s hoping that 2021 goes better - 2020 set the bar pretty low so it shouldn’t be too hard. 🥂

Snow was a rare occurrence in the Fire Nation. Summers typically scorched, followed by peaceful autumns and mild winters; a little rainfall was all one typically expected during the colder months in the Imperial City. 

This year, however, was much different. The mountains that bordered the villages and towns throughout the island were white capped under gray skies; streets were slickened by thick layers of ice that settled between cobblestones and creased the panes of windows; bracing breezes swept through landscapes unaccustomed to such unforgiving weather, carrying flurries of snow that bit at cheeks and cloaked the world in a dull ivory veil. Winter came to the Fire Nation seeking a cruel, unwarranted vengeance.

You woke in the middle of the night to find the fire beside your bed had died, leaving your borrowed room in a state of bitter, slicing cold. It wasn't the first time the Firelord’s palace had left you uncomfortably chilled since your arrival for his New Year’s celebrations, as the building was never meant to withstand this type of climate - sweeping ceilings, open breezeways, and tall windows with thin shutters ensured that the cold had its way. Being from the Northern Earth Kingdom, used to sturdy wooden lodges with massive fire pits that could burn an entire tree trunk with one lighting, this strange change of the typical season made you ache for home. 

Knowing there were no matches beside the hearth (given the sheer amount of fire benders that resided in the palace), you gathered up your courage and begrudgingly rolled from your mattress, taking the blankets with and wrapping them tightly around yourself. The walls around you creaked, shifting under the push of moaning winds, as you slipped into the hallway in search of your host. 

You were thankful that Zuko decided to keep his personal wing of the palace confined to a space that was mostly enclosed; the only breezeways in this part of the sprawling estate surrounded its courtyards and gardens, and were blocked by sets of heavy wood doors that shielded the inner parts of the building from being overcome by the elements. As you walked, traipsing through the corridor under your mound of blankets like some sort of shadowy, death-bringing phantom, you passed one of the windows that overlooked the gardens, and found it frosted under heavy white tufts of snow; puffy, clumped flakes whirled down from the sky, falling haphazardly as they escaped the grip of the whipping wind. Even in the relative warmth of the palace, your body shivered thinking of how frigid the air outside must be. 

Because of the abnormal cold, Zuko moved his mattress out of his bedroom and into his sitting room, where a large, decorative fireplace stood nestled into the far wall. You approached his sleeping form with gentle, quiet steps, being careful not to startle him; you lay a hand on his shoulder and he jolted awake, drawing a sharp breath in as he twisted to face you, blinking blearily to make out your features in the dark. 

“What are you doing?” he muttered. 

“I'm cold,” you whispered in response. “My fire went out.” 

Zuko sighed, fixing you with an irked, exhausted expression. 

“Seriously?” he groaned. “This is the third time this week.” 

“It's not my fault nobody has any friggin matches in this place,” you quipped. “And besides, why bring a servant all the way up here when I have one of the world’s greatest fire benders down the hall?”

Zuko huffed, then rolled back over in an attempt to shove you off. 

“There should be more blankets in your closet,” he grumbled. 

“I'm wearing all of them,” you retorted. 

You stood above him, waiting, but got no response. Shivering, and with an exasperated sigh, you pulled back the blankets around him, shuffling between them and nestling into his back; he snapped his head around once more, eyeing you suspiciously. 

“... Isn’t this a little uncomfortable?” he wondered. 

“Not really,” you replied. “We used to do this all the time when we were teenagers.” 

“We haven't done this since we were teenagers.”

You hummed, recalling your time together during the war. Even on the hottest days, your body was cold, your fingers always reasonably corpselike to anyone who happened to touch them - Zuko was one of those unfortunate people, and the lack of circulation in your limbs came as quite a worry to him. Throughout the day, he would take one of your hands in his, heating his palm until your skin took on a more lively temperature. When he noticed how much you layered at night when the air became cooler, he started sleeping nearer to you, eventually curling up around you to keep you warm. After the war, when he got into the habit of visiting you around the winter holidays, you still found yourself seeking him for warmth, tucking your hands into the sleeves of his robes or curling his palm around your icy fingers, finding sanctuary in the way he heated his skin to appease you. While it was true you hadn't slept together since you were younger, you hadn't ever needed to - desperate times called for desperate measures. 

“I should have remembered that you get so grumpy when you're tired,” you teased him, rubbing your feet against his; he hissed, but didn't pull away. 

“You're freezing,” he commented. “I should have remembered you're dead on the inside.” 

You giggled, sighing happily as the familiar heat of his skin warming like a furnace chased the chill from your toes. You slid your feet up along his ankles, causing him to shiver; his body tensed for a moment, then eased into your touch, quickly finding comfort in its familiarity. 

“Aang used to assume we were a couple because of this,” Zuko mumbled. “He still does.” 

“You're just a good friend,” you replied. You nuzzled your face into the broad, solid expanse of his back, breathing in his scent of scorched wood and sea salt. He felt like home. “Good friends don't let their friends freeze to death.” 

Zuko chuckled, taking hold of your hands that lay on his waist and cupping them within his own; he held your knuckles up to his mouth and huffed warm, smokey air onto them, heating them until they no longer felt cold. He tucked them beneath the fabric of his tunic, keeping them tepid between the fabric of his undershirt. 

“Uncle says the same thing,” he mused. “He says we treat each other like lovers, whether we realize it or not.” 

“My neighbors have asked me what my husband does that takes him away for so long out of the year...” you commented, eliciting another breathy laugh from your companion. “But I think I'd know if you were in love with me.” 

Zuko rolled over, turning to face you; his arm latched at your waist, his chest almost pressed to you and your noses grazing each other in the small space of his mattress. You blushed, the color blending with the soft, balmy glow of the low hearth behind him. 

“What makes you think I'm not in love with you?” he wondered. 

You paused, watching the flames flicker over the angular features of his face. Though he was silhouetted, and so close he seemed to envelop all of you, you could make out a tender gleam in his eye; could feel the flutter in his chest as he split it open, tentatively revealing his heart to you. 

“... I'd like to think you would have mentioned it,” you answered after a moment, “but I know you better than that.” 

Zuko grinned; you watched the curve of his cheek as it swelled with the action. 

“I might have mentioned it,” he murmured, his voice lilting with a gentle mirth. “Just not to you.”

“Of course not,” you teased. You mirrored his smile, easing into him as his foot began to stroke against your ankle once more. “Either way, I know you don't love me.” 

“And why is that?” Zuko whispered. 

“Well… you never write to me about anything exciting,” you replied. “You always seem so content to write to me about your thoughts, or what plays you've seen recently, or your conversations with Iroh. You never tell me about the impressive, world-altering Firelord stuff or your incredible exploits as a warrior.” 

Zuko smirked, raising a hand to brush some hair away from your face. His fingers were calloused and lukewarm, tracing over your temple with consideration and care. 

“Why else?” 

“You've never tried to kiss me,” you noted, “or touch me like a lover. You never try to push our boundaries past anything that's comfortable for us. Even right now - I'm laying in your bed, but you refuse to touch me in a way you're unsure of.” 

“Then you don't love me, either,” Zuko added. His body had gravitated flush to yours, your legs braided together under the pile of blankets you'd buried him in. “You only want to sleep with me when you're cold. You could just as easily call a servant for help.” 

“And you only want to keep me warm out of obligation,” you agreed. “It wouldn’t make you look very good if I died of hypothermia on your watch.” 

For a long moment, Zuko gazed at you. You basked in his silence, the easiness of his form so close to yours, the native feeling of his arm around your waist and his breath tickling your cheeks. The fire snapped quietly in its hearth, its flames rising and falling in time with his inhales and exhales. 

“I’ve missed this,” Zuko admitted in a whisper. “Laying with you. I wish we could do it more often.” 

“I’ve missed it, too,” you affirm. “I always used to sleep better with you.” 

“And that’s it?” Zuko teased. 

“That’s it,” you giggled back. 

He chanced a kiss to your forehead, pressing his lips between your brows and letting them linger there, savoring the coolness of your skin. You shut your eyes, giving yourself entirely to his touch. 

“In the new year… do you think we could be lovers?” he asked as he pulled away. 

“... I think your uncle is right,” you murmured. “I think we already are.” 

With a faint, bashful smile, Zuko pulled you closer (if the act were even possible), hugging you tightly to him; you held him close, pressing the whole of your body to his and soaking in his steady, comforting warmth. As the wind howled outside, shaking the flimsy wooden eaves of the feeble shelter around you, you fell asleep in the heat of his fireside, safe in the knowledge that his arms held you. 

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[lost-andfound]

CARRY ON (How Supernatural Should Have Ended)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041390 

INT. VAMP NEST BARN. NIGHT.

A VAMPIRE has just impaled DEAN on a nail. It is suggested that he is about to die. There are two flickering light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The barn looks uncannily similar to the barn in which Dean and CASTIEL first met.

Dean chokes, blood pooling from his mouth. His eyes are glassy and fighting to stay open. SAM’s eyes are filled with tears--he can’t believe it.

DEAN (coughing, trying to speak through the pain) I thought— dammit, man, I thought this was our chance. A chance at a real life.

SAM (truly, genuinely, painfully) I’m sorry.

Sam’s hand hovers around the wound, as if trying to cure it. Dean shakes his head. He doesn’t want to die, but he’s past the point of no return.

DEAN (gently) Sammy— everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve lost— I’m glad it was with you.

SAM (starting to panic) No, Dean, no—

DEAN (breathing slower, but doing his best to look his brother in the eyes) I didn’t wanna die. I didn’t. Promise me you know that.

Sam nods. He can’t speak. He wishes— he prays— but no one comes. Dean’s head goes slack in Sam’s hand. His eyes are empty. He’s dead. The camera PANS slowly to Sam’s stunned face.

SAM Dean. (He waits for an answer, but none comes.) Dean, please.

Behind, there is a flutter of wings. The light bulbs blow out, glass shattering on the ground. Sam freezes, hoping against all odds—

CASTIEL (firmly, as if with all the power of Heaven on his side) No one dies today.

Without further ado, he grasps Dean’s body and pulls him off the nail. Sam winces at the sound, but Castiel does not flinch. He grips Dean by the shoulder and puts his hand over the wound. An unearthly blue light— the light of angelic Grace— flows from his hands, shines from his eyes. It is not the healing we’ve seen before— this power seems to come from the deepest part of Cas himself.

A beat. Sam stares, tense, hoping. Cas steps back, and Dean gasps.

SAM (with deep relief) Thank God.

DEAN (exhausted, yet still wise-cracking) That asshole ain’t to thank for this one, Sammy.

He sways, and Sam rushes to hold him up. Dean looks at Cas, who is, as usual, unreadable.

CAS Hello, Dean.

DEAN (softer) Cas. Jesus, you’re— you’re here.

CAS (with a slight smile, hardly believing it himself) Jack. He came for me.

Dean’s smile falters. He glances at Sam— they both feel guilty for leaving Cas behind. Castiel catches this look, and is about to speak, but winces. A curl of blue Grace floats from his mouth, winding into the air and vanishing like smoke.

SAM (concerned) Cas— are you okay?

Cas stumbles, falling to brace himself on the wall. Both Sam and Dean reach out to grab his arms on either side.

CAS (looking between them, suddenly weak) I think— I think I’m falling again.

BLACKOUT.

END OF ACT TWO

ACT THREE

INT. BUNKER - KITCHEN - MORNING

With a WIDE SHOT, we see that Dean is making eggs this time, with less spirit than the last morning. He slices peppers and onions with precision, but we can tell that he is worried, his brow furrowing as he sprinkles them in the pan.

Sam sits at the table, flipping through a huge, ancient tome. A stack of books rests next to him, waiting to be studied. Cas is not at the table, a noted absence.

Dean flips the omelet off the pan and onto a plate, setting it in front of Sam, who barely looks up.

DEAN (demanding) So?

SAM (looking up apologetically) I don’t know. I think it’s something to do with The Empty— sapping his grace, somehow. Saving you probably took a lot of mojo.

DEAN (muttering sarcastically, as usual) Great.

INT. CASTIEL’S ROOM

Castiel sleeps, his face serene. Morning light spills in through the window, the drapes gently fluttering. It’s a beautiful scene, almost like a painting. The song “THANK YOU” by Led Zeppelin begins to PLAY. PAN TO Dean in the doorway, awkwardly holding a plate of eggs and mug of black coffee. Dean’s face is softer than we’ve seen it in a long time. He hesitates, not wanting to disturb his friend.

CAS (sleepily) Dean?

The music fades, but remains in the background of the scene.

DEAN (gruffly) Mornin’, sunshine.

Dean moves to sit on the bed, a respectful distance away from Castiel. He sets the plate and mug on the bedside table. Castiel shifts into a sitting position. Dean looks at Cas, and we think he is about to speak— he thinks he is about to speak— but he remains silent. Cas merely looks back at him, at the face he thought he’d never see again. The awkwardness is mostly on Dean’s side, which is not a surprise. Castiel seems content to merely look.

DEAN (eventually) So, are you… human now? For real this time?

CAS (eyes flickering briefly) Yes. I believe so.

DEAN (gearing himself up to be angry, to find a solution) Okay. Well— we’ll fix it. Find some spare grace, find a spell to restore your grace, whatever. We always do.

CAS (sighing) Dean—

DEAN (a little heat to his voice) Dammit, Cas, let us help you. You saved my skin at the cost of your own for the hundredth time and— and I won’t let you do that. Not again. No one dies this time, remember?

CAS Dean, you’re not gonna find anything. Not this time. And I’m— (he pauses, smiling slightly. He looks calm, at peace.) I’m happy. And I can say that now, without fear. I can feel. That’s all I’ve wanted, for so long.

There is a pause. Dean swipes a hand over his face and shifts closer on the bed. There is so much left unsaid, between these two, and it hangs heavy in the air.

Dean (voice ragged) Cas. What you said. Before the Empty took you.

CAS (steadily, without hesitation) I meant it.

DEAN I’ve wanted to say it back. For so long, Cas. But I— I didn’t think— I mean, you were an angel, and there was Lisa, then Purgatory, and the Mark, and Chuck, and everything against us— it was never right, and I never thought you felt— (he breaks off, swallowing.) I never thought you could. Love me, I mean.

Cas says nothing, but laces his fingers with Dean’s. Dean looks down, stunned, then back up at Castiel’s face.

CAS But I do. Against all odds, I do.

Dean kisses him. “Thank You” by Led Zeppelin resumes. Cas pulls him in, closer. It is a beautiful, tender kiss, a movie kiss. After a moment, they break apart, still holding hands.

DEAN (slightly embarrassed, yet as unguarded as we’ve ever seen him) I love you too, Cas. I always have— you’re family.

CAS (softly, as if this moment is one he could break) So what now?

DEAN (his voice opening, finally, into hope) The rest of our lives, man. Everything that comes after.

PAN OUT, as they move into a tight, intimate hug. They’re family. The camera moves from them to the window. The curtains. The soft light outside.

INT. BUNKER - KITCHEN

Sam sits at the table, hands in his hair, still poring over the books. His plate is empty— Dean is a good cook. He is unaware of the conversation his brothers are having inside Castiel’s room. There is a CRASH. Sam sits instantly alert— there are those killer instincts. He grabs a gun and creeps slowly towards the entrance, where he finds… EILEEN. She stands at the entrance, confused, looking around. Sam keeps the gun trained on her, grief and rage and confusion flitting across his face.

EILEEN Sam?

SAM (speaking with certainty) You’re not her. You can’t be her. No one ever really comes back, no one that I— that I—

EILEEN Sam, it’s me. I promise.

She pulls out a silver knife, slashes it on her arm. She lets Sam pour some holy water on her hand. She goes through every test, staring at Sam’s face, willing him to believe her.

SAM (disbelieving) Holy crap. It’s you. It’s really you.

EILEEN (smiling) Duh.

Sam sweeps her into his arms, as if he’ll never let her go. She holds onto him just as tightly. In the same moment, they both realize how lucky they are to be here, together.

“CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON” begins to PLAY.

CUT TO MONTAGE:

Dean hunting with Charlie and Cas, watching their backs as they move through a dark tunnel.

Sam and Eileen sharing a beer as they watch a movie, the lights flickering on their faces.

Dean throwing popcorn and Monopoly pieces at Sam, chasing him around the living room as Sam raises his arms in protest.

Cas and Dean washing dishes together, bumping shoulders and hands, smiling.

Eileen holding a newborn child as Dean, Sam, and Cas all crowd around her— someone takes a picture.

PAN UP from that picture on a table to an older Sam, reading in the study while his son reads next to him, a picture of his father.

Cas playing catch in the yard with Claire, who is clearly indulging him. His brow furrows as he drops the ball again and again, Dean laughing from the porch.

An older Dean finally perfecting his pie recipe, passing the plate around the dinner table, looking pleased with himself. Contented.

Sam’s son goes off to college, and Dean takes a breath, and claps a hand on his shoulder. Smiles proudly at him.

Finally, Dean in a hospital bed, surrounded by his family. He grasps Sam’s hand, looks at Cas like he’s trying to memorize his face. They are all old. They are all satisfied with their lives. Dean smiles, closes his eyes.

BLACKOUT. Heart monitor FLATLINES.

ACT FOUR

EXT. BOBBY’S FARM - PORCH. LATE SUMMER.

The field is golden and beautiful, yet as ragged as Dean remembers it. BOBBY SINGER sits on his rocking chair, beer in hand. Dean walks up to the porch. He takes his time— he has all the time in the world, after all.

BOBBY (fondly) Took you long enough, boy.

DEAN (looking around, smiling slightly) Had a life to live.

Bobby grunts, motions for Dean to sit down next to him. He hands him a beer from the cooler.

DEAN Thought you’d be able to magic yourself one of those from thin air, up here. Service not working lately?

BOBBY More authentic this way. (pause) Heaven’s better now, actually. You saw the old version— it’s not like that up here anymore.

DEAN How’s that?

BOBBY That kid of yours: Jack. He made it so you’re not just trapped in old memories— you can go anywhere, see anyone. (another pause— he knows how much this means to Dean) Anyone.

DEAN (swallowing— this is difficult, painful) Even—

BOBBY (more gently) They’re just up the road. (He takes a sip of his beer.) You have a lot to talk out. Bad memories to work through. But you can do it, with time. Work it all out.

DEAN I hope so, Bobby. I think so.

Pause. Something catches Dean’s eye. PAN OUT to the road— to the IMPALA, shiny as the day she came off the line.

DEAN (reverently) They brought my Baby.

BOBBY (looking at him like a father looks at his son) Go. They’ll wait.

Dean smiles, as big as we’ve ever seen, like a kid on Christmas. Driving down an empty highway, with nothing to do, nowhere to go. His favorite.

Dean turns on the car, smiles nostalgically, and flips on the radio. “HEY JUDE” by The Beatles begins to PLAY.

As the song plays, Dean sees people standing by the road— old friends, old lovers, old rivals, old members of his family. There is CHARLIE, waving frantically, a grinning KEVIN by her side. There are JO and ELLEN and ASH in the Roadhouse, bickering among themselves. There are MARY and JOHN, young lovers again, looking at each other with hope in their eyes. There is PAMELA, there is JODY, LISA, JESS, countless others they’ve loved and lost. JACK even blips in to wave hello.

And then, as the song concludes, Dean pulls to a stop. At the end of the road is Cas, and Sam standing behind him, waiting. They stand on a bridge that stretches over a river. The sun is just beginning to set. Dean gets out of the car, closing Baby gently.

DEAN Miss me?

SAM (rolling his eyes fondly) Shut up.

DEAN (brief confusion) So? Where’s everyone else?

SAM They’ll be here soon.

CAS They have some more living to do.

Dean nods, and turns to gaze out over the bridge. Cas slips a hand into his, and they stand together, looking at the sunset, breaking gold and crimson rays over the water, finally calm, finally peaceful.

BLACKOUT.

CARRY ON WAYWARD SON begins to PLAY again as the credits roll.

THE END.

[nandoor]

#1 for the fic meme, adjusted if you want for the fact that that's like midday for them

1. things you said at 1am 1pm

...

“Can’t sleep?” Guillermo guesses, watching as Nandor trails into the library with a huff, a large fur blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. Clad only in a thin white blouse and trousers, the vampire looked much smaller than he usually did. Guillermo had known it subconsciously, but it was still a strange realization that Nandor always wore his clothing as if it were armor, the same way that he used his barbed words as a shield. 

Nandor nods, plopping down beside Guillermo on the chaise lounge. He squints at the laptop on the coffee table. It looks as if Guillermo was working on a spreadsheet of sorts--probably something to do with rent, if Nandor were to guess. “Do you think we could watch Twilight again?” 

With a long-suffering sigh, Guillermo reluctantly agrees, minimizing the spreadsheet. He quickly pulls up the movie, angling the screen between them so they can both watch. Or, rather, Guillermo can use the dialogue from the movie as background noise as he, once again, spends roughly the next two hours and six minutes contemplating his life choices. 

Guillermo makes it fifteen minutes into the movie before he finally asks the question that had been plaguing him ever since Nandor admitted that the Twilight franchise was his favorite piece of vampire media. “Why do you like Twilight so much? Not to be rude, but real vampires are much cooler than the vampires in the movie.” 

Nandor makes a scandalized noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t disrespect Edward! He’s a good guy--he doesn’t deserve all the slander I keep hearing about. So what if he sparkles in the sunlight? That’s better than bursting into a ball of flame! In fact, that sounds like a powerful skill to have.” 

“Is that why you like Twilight then? Because the vampires in it can go out in the sun?” 

Nandor smiles wistfully, gaze unfocused, as if something from their conversation had stirred a long-past memory. “I like it because they get along with the humans in their little town. They can eat animals and go to school and make human friends. That must be nice. It gets tiring you know, being a dangerous, scary, blood-drinking creature of the  night. ” 

Guillermo doesn’t know how to respond. He’s careful in initiating touch with Nandor--the vampire often bristled at Guillermo’s attempts at comfort, but this time, as his hand settles gently to the small of Nandor’s back, he feels the vampire lean into his hand.

A moment of silence passes before Nandor turns to grin excitedly, the once impending storm cloud of gloominess gone from his visage, replaced with a familiar dash of eagerness. “Also I love the baseball scene! I have never played baseball but the movie makes it look really fun! It’s America’s national sport, isn’t it?” 

“Umm... it’s something like that, I guess.” 

Nandor nods, leaning forward and out of Guillermo’s immediate reach. He tries not to think about why Nandor moving away from him stings so much. 

The pair watch about half of the movie before the vampire begins to yawn, sharp fangs on full display as he gives Guillermo a sleepy grin. “Well, I feel much more relaxed now. Thank you, Guillermo, for indulging me. I’ve almost forgotten entirely about the horrible dream I had--” 

“You had a nightmare?” Guillermo interrupts, raising a brow. So it wasn’t a classic case of insomnia. Nandor had been... frightened by something. And had sought Guillermo out for comfort. The realization almost makes his heart flutter. 

“...You could call it that.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Nandor frowns. “There isn’t much to say. I had a dream where I killed you.” 

“Oh, that’s...” Guillermo trails, attempting to school his surprise. Worrying, he finishes silently in his head. 

A look of panic crosses Nandor’s face. “You know I wouldn’t do that, right, Guillermo? You’re a good familiar. There’s no reason for me to kill you.” 

“Of course,” Guillermo replies, sarcasm lacing his tone. “It’d be such a waste to kill me.” 

“Right? It wouldn’t make any sense! If I kill you, then who will do my laundry?” Nandor agrees, missing Guillermo’s sarcasm entirely--just as Guillermo had expected. He quickly rises to his feet, giving a final wave before transforming into a bat to glide elegantly back to his crypt. Somehow, the fur blanket transforms with him, but Guillermo tries not to think about the logistics of it too much. 

A few nights pass in their usual routine. Nandor does not come to bother him in the library. Guillermo almost forgets about the event entirely until, one day, he wakes to his sun-up alarm and finds that a note and a Kit-Kat bar had been left on his desk. 

Guillermo, 

It is ‘National Appreciate your Familiar Day’ (a holiday I have not just made up, in case you are wondering) so I got you a Kitty-Kat bar from the Wallows-Green. If you would like to celebrate, we can watch a movie tonight. Your choice. 

From your favorite Vampire/Master/Friend, 

Nandor the Relentless 

[smis-five-creedmoor]

So I just played me some Jimmy's Bizarre Adventure and the Pulsating Mass, and i feel like there's symbolism to be found in the Imagination Mechanic.

Spoilers for JatPM (the whole game) below the cut:

ok here goes

Revolting Blob Form: Considering the fight against himself later on in Central Stamen, you can see he has...self image problems. Also the name "Revolting Blob" speaks for itself as not quite flattering. Could also be representative of self-image issues, as it's possible he can only imagine himself...as a blob. The beefed up DEF and MDF stats may also indicate this negative self-image as a form of Defense Mechanism.

Low-Level Goon Form: On top of his low self-image issues (the title of "Low Level Goon" isn't exactly flattering), it may be representative of the one time he stole Jonathon Bear from the shelves (that "Grift" attack feels rather harsh in hindsight). Why Jimmy would take on the form of this game's equivalent of a gangbanger begins to also make sense considering his fear of abandonment (the fight against the Blob itself involves Jimmy being told all the things he fears from his own kin), and how a lot of young children join street gangs in a similar desire to be part of a community of sorts.

Happy Little Sunflower Form: Now this is where things sort of begin to bode better for his self-image issues, yet begin to take a darker turn. For those who don't already know: Jimmy has cancer. The Empathy Message tells about how a small sunflower is plucked from its roots and put in some mason jar, too far from a proper window to grow. Over time, the sunflower begins to wilt, until it is eventually consumed by the pet guinea pig. Perhaps a metaphor of Jimmy slowly dying a painful death, only to then be consumed by cancer. This is probably the most heavily symbolism-filled theory, so make of that what you will.

Red Billed Squawker Form: On one occasion, Jimmy desires to just be able to leap out of bed and start screaming out joy to his family while in the hospital. That's what the Red Billed Squawker is known for. I couldn't think of anything with the fact that this bird has a record player for a torso. Yeah this one was a tricky one. Sorry.

Grumble Bear Form: The Grumble Bear is, if I had to guess, his desire to rest peacefully (Rest in Peace, if you will). Probably just wishes to sleep a deep sleep. Jimmy is tired of the hospital. I would have tried to connect a dot between Grumble Bear and Jonathon Bear but I got nothing.

Rotting Jack-o-Lantern Form: Nothing much on the surface, but his Empathy Message talks about how he tried to speak with people but can't because most humans cannot see ghosts. He also plays some pranks on strangers, pointing to the simple but poignant fact that Jimmy is still a child (boys will be boys, that type of deal). Then there's the fact that later on in the message he's seen his mother mournfully looking at a portrait of Jimmy (perhaps a future vision of some time after Jimmy died), which makes him sad, as he's unable to laugh with his family.

50s Style Vampire Form: In this form's Empathy Message, he once again shows his disdain for himself ("He doesn't care anymore. His heart is unbeating, cold, black"). The Vampire Form may have also been influenced by the many horror films he and Buck watched. A Vampire film is not entirely out of the realm of possibility for something the two would have watched. Later the message informs that he misses the Sun, much like how because he's confined to a hospital, he can't get the sun he needs.

Punch Tanaka Form: At first, he appears as a recurring antagonist. But MAN he's utterly stylish while doing so. Over time, Punch comes to respect Jimmy for the little hero he is. His goons respect him, his Lieutenants respect him, and with very good reason. Jimmy may at least in part look up to him. So much so that he's able to develop an Empathy Message to be like him. To Jimmy, he's the embodiment of an utter CHAD. A nigh unshakable wall of coolness (this Form has fairly high DEF and MDF stats, and has the Intimidating Stare ability), and even has the ability Confidence (speaks for itself). Punch Tanaka, to Jimmy, is the Cooler Jimmy he wishes to become.

Phoenix Form: The reason I wanted to make this analysis page in the first place. Legends say a Phoenix, after death, is reduced to ashes, but is re-vitalized from the ashes into a brand new Phoenix. Very clearly a desire (much like with the Red Billed Squawker) to leap out of bed to live life, albeit much more pronounced. Ironically, this may also be symbolic of death, as the entire Volcano area where you attain this form feels more like a Funeral Pyre more than a volcano. This one also has the attack "Sacrifice", which knocks Jimmy out, but fully revitalizes his other party members, as he does not want people to suffer the way he does. The Phoenix's abilities of healing make heavy use of not just life, but also death and rebirth, as this form works really good as a Healer (even more so than the Sunflower, or Helga) while also still able to hold his own (Buck ultimately wants Jimmy to be strong). This right here is Jimmy's desires made manifest as someone who feels at he's at the end of his life.

In conclusion: JatPM is a good game with a lot to chew on.

E

[livlepretre]

Do you think that Klaus sleeping with Hayley was ooc? I remember watching the episode for the first time and thinking “Why is Klaus chilling with Hayley and letting her dodge his questions about Katherine?” I was already confused about why Klaus didn’t kill her for helping unsire all his hybrids, so I knew some fuckery was afloat. At the time in the episode when they had sex, I was like “ummmm...okay I guess” but I wasn’t happy because I thought this meant Hayley was about to stick around, and her attitude drove me crazy. I really just don’t like female characters who have an “I’m cooler than you” attitude and Hayley was giving me those vibes in spades. I first watched TVD on Netflix with no prior knowledge of anything from behind the scenes, so I had no idea that the Originals spin-off was going to be a thing. 4 episodes later and I was like, “we’re doing a baby plot now? With Hayley as our choice for the mother?” Then I realized it was a back door pilot (cuz I’m an idiot) and was immediately disappointed. I’ll be the first to admit that I had a biased opinion on why the Originals was going to be bad. I loved the Originals as villains, but this show checked two of my negative boxes: children/pregnancy in the supernatural genre and political factions. I just prefer a more personal story surrounding a group of people (like the Mystic Falls Gang). I also don’t think that having the Mikaelsons as the main focus of a show was a good idea. All their enemies have a very legitimate reason for wanting them gone, and any serious emotional growth in the span of 5 years after 1,000 years of static behavior comes off as jarring to me. The original plot was going to take place in Chicago with more focus on Rebekah as the female lead, and I think that spin-off would have been cooler. The Originals already had pre-established ties to Chicago, and I personally think the New Orleans obsession came out of nowhere. It was never mentioned prior to season 4, and then for some reason Klaus was obsessed with being king there? Girl, idek where I’m going with this ask anymore. TLDR: Klaus/Hayley was weird, I can’t stand Hayley, and I wish we got the original spin-off plot line instead of anything we actually got. Thoughts or opinions? Thank you! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Man, I have so many thoughts. 

Let me try to break down the different parts of your question: 

1. Was Klaus sleeping with Hayley OOC? 

It’s not like I’ve seen the scene where Klaus and Hayley sleep together more than once or twice, but I overall come down on... no in terms of them sleeping together, but yeah, ooc in terms of what happens next? Like, it would have been out of character for Klaus to care about Hayley at all, and he clearly doesn’t, so that checks out. Plus, I think she fits the bill of whom he might randomly sleep with-- she’s beautiful and special enough to get his attention as a werewolf and also outspoken (even though I agree, the “cooler than you” vibes she gives off are like fingers on a chalkboard for me, and why I’ve never quite liked her, but especially why I didn’t like her on tvd) and she actually does get under his skin when she crits his paintings and thinks they’re mediocre-- and it’s so revealing that basically he sleeps with her because she finds him fundamentally lacking. So far, so good. (And by this point I remember thinking, well, they’d be wasting how hot he is if he doesn’t sleep with SOMEONE, and I was just so relieved it wasn’t Caroline that I was willing to go with it.) I DO find it ooc that he lets the whole plotting against him/Katherine questioning thing drop... like, I can imagine him sort of playing with her like a cat plays with its food, and sleeping with her, and then still turning around and wanting answers and maybe even killing her because he’s like that when people betray him, and I don’t think being one of Klaus’s lovers conveys any sort of protection against him. 

2. Does the premise of the Originals as main characters/protagonists work? 

Agreed that this mostly falls on its face. The Originals are really awful, in general, even the ones who see themselves as better. There was some pretty extreme cognitive dissonance going on for me when I started the show, because right away, I viewed Marcel as the protagonist, and couldn’t help but root for him against Klaus. Basically, same for every other person who comes up against them. (Is Esther even wrong that they’re a plague on the earth and should be wiped out? My gut tells me... no?) So, it requires weird mental gymnastics for us as an audience to repeatedly side with them and hope they come out on top. Like, Klaus is just the absolute worst, and I love him for that, but it’s asking just a lot for me to also side with him because I cannot help but pity and empathize with every single rando he encounters. And Elijah is a huge hypocrite, Kol is like that messy acquaintance who’s always shit-wrecked, and Rebekah really is a spoiled brat. 

And the idea that they can change after a thousand years of stagnation is another huge landmine that the show just sort of casually walks over and detonates on itself. Like, I know there are reasons for the change, but I also don’t entirely buy it. The only point in showing us flashbacks is to demonstrate something from a character’s past that is somehow still meaningful to who they are and how they are in the present, and the fact that vampire flashbacks span centuries always implies that they change very slowly, if at all. 

I don’t actually mind the political factions bit, or the supernatural pregnancy stuff, as a general rule, if I can be convinced well enough by the story.  

It is awfully weird that Klaus cares so much about Nola all of a sudden, but that leads me to... 

3. My thoughts on the New Orleans setting 

There’s more to unpack here than I honestly ever could. I don’t really like it because it treats the city like the tourist’s caricature of the city, without any real effort to understand the specific history or the culture of the city. Chicago would have made more sense. 

(On the other hand, this setting gives me an unparalleled opportunity to do my very favorite thing, which is write about Louisiana, and play with that in my fic.) 

[afoolandathief]

The OC ask Succubus whispers in your ear: When was your OC's first time? How did it go down? Were they satisfied with the experience? How soon before they wanted to have sex again? How soon before they got to?

Have you ever been asked a question about some degenerate characters you created and hyper-fixate so much you write 1,400 words on the subject?

Anyway, while I didn’t write anything exactly explicit here, it is somewhat, I don’t know, spicy? So, I’m putting it all below the cut.

Casimir Mraz, he/him, bisexual; currently a 617-year-old vampire turned at 27:

Caz is 17 when he loses his virginity. A girl from the village, maybe a year or two older than him, had gone up to the shepherd’s cottage, looking for one of his brothers. Instead she found a skinny, blonde, blue-eyed boy leading his sheep to their fold, offering to prepare the rabbit he had caught in one of his snares for supper. While his mother still makes dinner for the whole family back at their home, sometimes it’s too much of a trek after working, he explains.

Caz is a bit annoyed by his own politeness that he now has to split his rabbit stew with someone. But she touches his arm as she passes him to the cottage, sending a charge up his spine, and he no longer cares.

The girl, Caz thinks her name is Anca, is instructive in her affection, guiding him to where he needs to go. He’s a bit clumsy, at first. Caz has only ever kissed anyone. But he’s a fast learner, Anca tells him with a quick kiss when they’re done.

Ce pula mea, pula mea … It’s the best sensation Caz has ever experienced. Better than a stomach full of rich food; better than the dull buzz from the fruit wine he makes or the numbness from the wódka shipped from up north. Better than anything he attempted on his own during long winter nights in the freezing cottage.

He has to experience it again. He pursues it hungrily. Leaving his dog Boian to guard the sheep, he slips down around midnight to join his brothers at the village inn. It doesn’t take long for Augustin to pull him aside and warn him not to act so desperate when flirting with girls.

After several months of following his brothers’ instruction, and some failed attempts with a few village girls, he notices a new face watching him across the inn. Mária, the Hungarian boyar’s daughter, is short and plump, with thick curls and brown eyes that could melt in your mouth. La naiba, she’s rich, too.

Caz drapes a long arm over her. At his height, he dwarfs her. He has an offer, an invitation. Not for tonight, though. He’ll be hard at work in the pastures all of tomorrow. Would she stop by, sweet little lamb she is, and make his day less grueling?

He grins like a snake that swallowed an egg and slinks off before getting an answer, instead letting the question hang with her.

But he’s still surprised when Mária finds him the next day, bringing dates and almonds, soft cheese and mulled wine. Caz catches a fish from the lake nearby, and they stuff themselves, before Caz lays Mária in the warm grass and kisses her.

In the woods there are bears and wolves; Strigoi lurking in the shadows, Moroi clambering out of shallow graves, and witches waiting for unsuspecting travelers. But here in the sunshine, everything is sanitized, made safe, and Caz promises he will protect Mária.

This time he’s instructing her, lifting her skirt and pressing their warm flesh together. It’s also messier this time. His brothers told him, if he insisted he didn’t want a brat yet, there were certain things he had to do. So it’s messier, but the lake is nearby, and they clean themselves there, splashing each other with water before returning to the field where Boian is barking his annoyance at being left to watch the sheep himself.

Caz does miss the ability to let go, to lose control, let someone else guide him along. But he’s resigned to the fact he likely won’t be able to play that role again.

Jade Shaw, she/her, bisexual; currently a 26-year-old witch and Seer:

Jade is 19 when she loses her virginity. She’s on a date with a boy, and it’s going well. They see a terrible action movie and follow it with Thai takeout, opting to eat it in the seclusion of his car rather than at the restaurant. He has soft brown hair and warm hazel eyes, and they swap stories of pirating television shows they weren’t allowed to watch growing up.

So she feels her stomach tighten in anticipation when he asks if she wants to go to his place. Jade would offer her apartment, but her roommate is there; and her bed is covered with papers and clothes, and has a new kitten sleeping on it.

It’s awkward at first, and there’s a bit of that pinching feeling. But she finds a rhythm to it, and it feels good, their two bodies intertwined.

Then she claps her hands against his bare chest, and something else connects. Her head falls back, eyes glazed over. The boy, Eric might have been his name, thinks at first it’s a seizure.

But then Jade is conscious and she’s crying, grabbing Eric’s arms, trying to convey to him his grandmother is going to die tomorrow.

She wants to curl up and die after that; after she’s stopped crying and is dressed and Eric awkwardly attempts to comfort her and she explains it away as a panic attack.

But it’s even worse the next morning, when she gets a call asking what the fuck kind of joke she’s trying to pull, how did she know, was she stalking him and tracking his Nana’s health or something? And she can’t offer an answer. She just hangs up.

It’s six months later, and Jade hasn’t gone on any more dates, saying she’s too busy with her classes. A friend invites her to a cast party for a campus production of “Macbeth.” She’s reluctant at first; crowds are almost as bad as contact when it comes to invoking a vision. But her friend tells her it will be a small group, and Jade hasn’t left her apartment except to go to classes for months.

She hangs back in a corner of the kitchen, but the actress who played Lady Macbeth is asking her questions. The girl still has a full face of stage makeup that leaves her eyes starry with smudged eyeliner, and her pixie cut is slicked back from the wig she was wearing.

She’s half-a-foot shorter than Jade, and has to reach up to touch her ear when she asks about her helix piercings. Jade shrugs her off, and again when she attempts to trace her fingers along the tattoo on Jade’s forearm. I don’t like being touched, she finally tells her.

The girl pulls her hand back, and instead hooks a finger through Jade’s belt loop.

What do you like, then? she asks.

Jade chugs her wine cooler, and takes a hit from someone’s joint. Eventually, she finds herself in a walk-in closet with Lady Macbeth on top of her.

Caz will someday tell her his favorite play is “Much Ado About Nothing,” and Jade will piss him off by saying this was the closest she got to having an emotional reaction to one of Shakespeare’s works.

This time, Jade is cautious in where she allows the Scotswoman’s hands to go. She allows her to trace two fingers in circles on her thighs before it becomes too much, and Jade moves the girl’s hands to rest on her waist instead. Then her chest, her arms, her neck. She realizes this prevents a vision from happening, this interruption to touch. So she lets her guard down a little as she kisses Lady Macbeth’s bloody red lips clean.

The two don’t notice the house start to shake or hear the shrieks as partygoers run inside. Probably because the Scotswoman’s head is currently between Jade’s legs. When they finally dress and leave the closet, they learn from the soaked cast members a freak storm passed through.

It’s a little early for Las Vegas’s monsoon season, but that doesn’t mean rain this time of year is unheard of. But there’s shingles blown off the roof and an entire sycamore tree uprooted. One girl’s insistence lightning almost struck them is confirmed when they find a white lawn chair scorched brown and melted slightly in the middle of the yard. No one was sitting in it but, Jesus, could you imagine if they had?

It’s after this that Jade realizes she cannot allow herself to lose control like that again.

[detectivejigsawpines]

Black Doves-part 3 (”Won’t you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly)

They ended up filling their pockets with garlic, a couple of vials of holy water (acquired by Stan by totally legal means; honest) and a sack of rice each, because Ford had read about some types of vampires who, if they saw rice or salt or something like that spilled, would be compelled to stop and count every single grain.  They also each wore a crucifix around their neck, and, just to be safe, a Star of David. And, in case they ran into non-vampiric threats, Stan brought his switchblades and his gun.

They locked up the house, leaving a note for Dan under the doormat, and then began hiking towards the old church.

Ford liked the comfortable weight of the crossbow in his arms; he kept aiming it at different possible targets as they walked, to the point where Stan had to occasionally pull him in certain directions so he wouldn’t trip over branches or smack into trees because he wasn't watching where he was going.

He’d always had a bit of a weakness for long-distance weapons, especially when he was younger and didn’t have the same upper body strength as his twin.  Besides, it was a way of getting the upper hand on your enemy, which had really appealed to his young nerdy self (not that he wasn't still a nerd). He’d actually carried around a slingshot for a few years, until he and Stan were forced into boxing lessons and he’d gained a little experience in hand-to-hand.  He still preferred having a little distance between himself and his foes, though, and had often considered getting himself a gun. But he had to admit, a crossbow was a lot cooler.

“If they are vampires, they’re either very subtle about eating, or do their feeding elsewhere,” Ford mused aloud.  “I haven’t seen anything on the news about people being bitten, or any reports of exsanguination-” as oblivious as the inhabitants of Gravity Falls were about the local weirdness, he doubted they would be that oblivious- “so if they are feeding on the townsfolk it’s not to the point of killing anyone.  Or perhaps they’re feeding exclusively on animal blood, or stealing from blood banks.”

“Would you want ta be a vampire if you got the chance?” Stan asked, idly playing with his switchblade as he walked; he tossed it up and down, flipped it, opened and shut it with one hand.

Ford considered the question.  “Would you?”

“H_ll no.”  Stan snorted.  “Turn into an overgrown leech and never get a chance ta go out in the sunlight again, while everyone I loved grew old and died?  No thanks. I’d rather be a werewolf.”

“...You do have a better suited personality.”

“Ha ha.”  Stan flipped the knife again.  “And you didn’t answer the question.”

“...I suppose, if I were an inch away from death or something and it was my only option for survival.”

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it?  You wouldn’t survive. That’s why they’re called the undead.”

“Yes, but I would still be here.  And hopefully, if I was the right kind of vampire, I could more or less remain myself, and continue my research of the supernatural and all that.”

“Except now you’d be an overgrown leech compelled ta drink the blood of the living.”  Stan made a face at the idea.

Ford decided it wasn’t worth arguing about.

****

About ten minutes later, they stopped to rest and have lunch in a clearing.  Ford made notes in his journal as he munched his sandwich, and just for the heck of it included his and Stan’s debate about the benefits of lycanthropy vs. vampirism.  His brother did present valid points, to be sure, and becoming a member of the undead would definitely not be his first choice; but at the same time he could see the potential benefits as long as the concept of damnation was not a thing and you could control your thirst for blood...

He was startled out of his thoughts by Stan saying, “Hey, Poindexter.  Check out these weird berries.”

His brother was standing at the edge of the clearing, next to some bushes.  He came to investigate, and saw the aforementioned berries. They were bright green, and very uniquely shaped: round at the top, and then shaping into a slightly more angular shape on the ends.  The pattern of black splotches decorating them meant that, if you looked at them the right way, they almost resembled tiny green skulls.

“Oh, I know those!  Those are Lazarus berries!”

Stan gave him a raised eyebrow.

“That’s what the gnomes call them; apparently eating them makes you fall into a deathlike sleep for about half an hour.”

“...You don’t know that from personal experience, right?”

“No, I saw it happen to Shmebulock Senior.  He does it whenever he wants the rest of the gnomes to pay attention to him more, and he’s always fine afterwards.  Apparently they give him fake funerals every time, just to humor him.” Ford reached out and picked a few of the berries, shoving them into his pocket.

“Stanford.”

“They said that they should be perfectly safe for consumption by other creatures!  And I’m going to study them thoroughly first; give me some credit.”

Stan did not look appeased.  “Please don’t poison yourself just for the cause of science or I’ll kill you.”

Ford rolled his eyes, and went to gather up his stuff.

****

They were almost at the church, when they heard some rustling in the underbrush over to their left.

Quickly they ducked behind a pair of trees, and held their breaths; Ford gripped his crossbow, which was currently armed with an iron shaft, and Stan slipped on his brass knuckles meaningfully.

Despite the laws of irony that usually cover situations like this, when the sounds became progressively louder as whatever it was got closer, what came into their line of sight was not a harmless deer or rabbit, like some of you might have been expecting.

It was one of the darkly clad figures they were looking for.

Under his hood, his skin was as pale as milk, and even his lips were bloodless, in contrast with the dark of his hair and eyes.  His feet made almost no sound as he walked, the only noise coming from him was his arms brushing against low-hanging branches. Either he was an extremely angsty teenager who was very good at sneaking around, or he wasn’t exactly human.

Ford could feel his heart pounding with excitement, try as he might to calm himself in case the vampire’s hearing was as good as the stories said.  He glanced over at Stan with a grin that was eagerly returned, and as soon as their quarry was almost out of sight they began to creep after him.

Sure enough, he led them to the church, which had definitely seen better days; half the roof had fallen in, and it looked like there was moss growing all over the place.  The possible vampire made his way to the door...and then called out, just barely loud enough for their ears to pick up, “They’re here.”

Ford barely had time to process this, and to feel a chill of unease rising up his spine and clenching in his stomach, before a soft, whispery voice spoke from behind them.

“Finally.  You’ve come to us at lassssst.”

********

I agree with Stan, personally; I'd take being a werewolf over being a vampire any day of the week. At least then you're still technically alive, and just have to deal with a little problem once a month (which, being female, is already a thing for me :P).

...Oh, sorry, are you less interested in that than the enormous cliffhanger I left you on? Sheesh, you people are always so impatient.

[tonyspep]

there’s an indentation (in the shape of you)

a/n: i went from “i don't do rpf and reader insert” to i guess i do lol. this was inspired by three taylor swift songs from her album reputation “king of my heart” “dress” and “new year's eve.” when i wrote this i had phoebe tonkin from the vampire diaries and the originals in mind as the face claim for “you” aka hayley in this fic.

~*~there is an indentation~*~

(in the shape of you)

pairing: richard madden/you

summary: made your mark on me, a golden tattoo/ or the first time his crystalline blue eyes met your deep forest green, you were done for

rating: m

all at once, you are the one i have been waiting for/king of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa

(king of my heart)

You sigh – deep eyes scanning the gorgeous hotel lobby before you – slender fingers curling around the stem of your champagne glass.

You know why you're here, but the idea of being seen to be seen is still so foreign to you. You had your chance at a few big parts recently – from Mera in Aquaman to Jane Chapman on Big Little Lies – but that ever elusive “break through role” was still out of reach, so close but in reality so far.

You wonder, as you gulp down the expensive liquid, if it's ever going to happen, if you should just pack up your embarrassingly tiny Silver Lake apartment and crawl back to your little one horse town hometown in the middle of nowhere Iowa with your tail between your legs. Just another pretty face in a long line of pretty faces who were just that, pretty.

You reach for another glass – a waiter walking by – and just as you bring the fine crystal to your lips, you feel it, the weight of someone's gaze on you.

You've felt the stares since you stepped into the Beverly Hilton for the Golden Globes after party – the red skin-tight Calvin Kline designed to tantalize – but this feels different. Something tells you to turn to your left and it's like the whole world has literally stopped. Crystalline blue eyes – as clear as a secret woodland stream – meet yours and you know – instantly – that you're gone.

You shouldn't... Careers get derailed this way... Pretty girl ensnared by the actor on the rise and suddenly you're nothing but arm candy, and it all falls apart, but he's walking toward you – award in hand – and fuck if you aren't thinking about those elegant looking fingers twisting in your hair, tweaking your nipples, sliding along each vertebrae of your spine, being wet with your release all while it's smeared across those criminally plush lips and fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK...

“The champagne's probably,” A low chuckle while said lips twist into a bashful grin as those dangerous fingers sift through thick russet curls. “Gone to my head because I would never do this otherwise. Either that or it's this,” He raises his award, briefly. “You can't be here alone. Not in this dress,” His voice nothing more than a throaty growl, which makes your thighs clench. “But if by chance you are, I will fall gallantly on my sword and make sure you do not leave alone.”

“Fall gallantly on your sword, huh?” Your raspberry pout twists wryly, playing it far cooler than you expected. If he wants you like he seems to, you're not going to make it easy. He doesn't need to know he's had you from the moment his eyes met yours. Where's the fun in that?

inescapable/i'm not even going to try/and if i get burned, at least we were electrified

(dress)

You shouldn't be here – in his hotel room – you're a nobody, a rando he spotted across the crowded after party lobby because you're poured into some skin-tight dress. Tomorrow he'll be Mr. Golden Globe Winner and you'll be sent out to Burbank for some two bit part on Brooklyn Nine Nine or a commercial for Old Navy. He has the upper hand in every way and it won't end well for you when he leaves the room oh so handsomely disheveled while you have to slink out the back, hoping against hope the vultures aren't lingering because you can see the headlines... nobody tries to sleep her way to the top, party girl tries to glom onto shooting star, ect ect

But there are his hands – those perfect hands, rough and big but with deft and elegant fingers – sliding along your spine, vertebrae by vertebrae while those lips – plump and sensual – gliding over every inch of your neck, teeth nipping here and there before his tongue slips to soothe the bites, and it takes everything not to all out moan.

It's been too long since you let anyone touch you like this.

You won't last long and you feel – deep in your bones, an exciting thrill racing up your spine – that this, what he's doing now, is only the beginning.

You're still wearing your dress when you come from the heady ministrations of his expert fingers, your head thrown back and your mouth open wide, his name nothing more than a breathless keen, “Richard” tumbling off your lips.

salute to me i'm your american queen/and you move to me like i'm a motown beat

(king of my heart)

You were right when you thought him making you come – still fully clothed with just his fingers – was only the beginning. When your dress ended up as a puddle of fabric on the plush carpet of the hotel room and you became pinned underneath him – nothing but a writhing mess on the luxurious sheets of the bed – you don't know. You're not even sure you could tell someone what your own name is, at this point in time, because you're in such bliss his tongue lapping at your core, tasting you like a starved man.

“God,” A growl from deep inside his chest. “You taste like heaven.”

“I bet,” A throaty burst of laughter, somehow, coming from you as you shake your head. “You say that to all the girls you pick up at all the after parties, don't you?”

Your teasing as him climbing back up your body, his lips slanting against your own in a bruising kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips without the need for permission. Yours tangles with his, desperate and wanton, as you spread your legs wider, knowing what you both want; him inside you, filling you, stretching you, and if just the thought doesn't make you wetter than you already are, his blue eyes – raging like the eye of a hurricane, drenched in lust and heady with pure heat – staring at you like he wants to devour you, does.

It's too much, too intense, too everything for what this actually is. You'll never see him again after this, but he's staring so deeply at you, you feel more than naked you feel exposed.

“Fuck me, damn it,” You grouse, bucking your hips insistently against his, your eyes narrowed and he shakes his head, drawing your lips back to his again. This kiss is slow, sensual and deep and he pulls away, only briefly, his teeth catching on your bottom lip to suckle and bite before his hips snap and he's inside of you and oh god. Your eyes can't help but roll back it's so much; he's not just big, he's long and thick and you feel every single inch and you swear you've never felt so full.

How you've lived without feeling Richard Madden inside you before tonight, you don't know.

there's glitter on the floor after the party/girls carrying their shoes down to the lobby

(new year's day)

You try to make your escape the next morning while he's in the bathroom, but you're not fast enough because the bathroom door swings open and there he is, toothbrush in mouth only wearing his black boxer briefs whose waistband fits perfectly into the grooves of his mouth-watering obliques while hugging the lean muscle of his thighs and you couldn't tear your eyes away if the room was on fire.

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight you count in your head, your eyes tracing every single one of his prominent abdominal muscles, your thighs clenching underneath you. Your fingers – clutching the straps of the Jimmy Choos you have to return – flex, itching to actually feel all eight of those muscles along with the ones that make up his broad shoulders and toned pecs, but it's morning now the harsh sting of reality hitting you like the golden rays of California sun filtering through the large bay window.

“You don't have to leave,” His voice is so sincere and those warm baby blues so open and honest, almost make you believe him. “Yeah, I do. Last night...” You breathe in deep, the heady images of him taking you every possible way, twisting and contorting your body into positions you didn't know you were capable of, flash across your eyes and your pussy throbs, the dull ache of being empty – of not having him inside you – making your heart ache. “Was beyond great,” Your lips tick upward, briefly. “But it was just that, a night.” You emphasize the word. “One I'll never forget,” You laugh, honesty radiating in every syllable. “But still just a night.”

“Hayley,” That Scottish brogue saying your name, almost makes you stop but you push open the door, anyway and step into the hallway, not realizing you left your underwear behind until you're all the way home.

say my name and everything just stops/i don’t want you like a best friend

(dress)

The last thing you expect to hear is that low and rumbly Scottish brogue, your name “Hayley” falling off his lips like a benediction as his hand clutches at yours, making you turn to face him. Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly because of course he's here at the Paramount lot for this.

Who could possibly take on the role of Edward Lewis in the remake of Pretty Woman but him?

You know who else is up for the part of Vivian Ward – Julia Roberts's iconic, break through role – and you should just leave now, his presence only makes that more clear to you because between Jennifer Lawrence and Zoe Kravitz and Naomi Scott, you don't stand a chance. You want nothing more than to keep your hand in his – his is so warm and big, those perfectly elegant and deft fingers curling around yours in a way that both calms and terrifies you – but you pull away.

You have no business being here, this is just another in a long line of almosts and your stomach twists and drops, but he grabs for you again, pulling you into the hard lines of his body and you hate how easily you could melt into him.

“You're perfect,” His voice husky against the shell of your ear, and you hate how you believe him.

our secret moments/in a crowded room/they got no idea/about me and you

(dress)

No one knows – not the producers, the writers and the director – that you two have ever met, and why would they? You're no one and he was just voted 2020's Sexiest Man Alive by People Magazine. They don't know that every inch of your body was once worshiped by his lips or that you had his perfect cock inside your mouth.

You really don't think you can do this, but this feels like your last chance, like if this doesn't happen you'll finally have to admit defeat and hope your okay high school transcripts can at least get you into a junior college or technical school. You let out a shaky breath and the director – Hailey Meyers-Shyer calls action – and everything disappears but those striking baby blues.

“I'm here for a week,” His Scottish brogue has been left behind and you fight the urge to scrunch your nose, you don't want this fake American accent you want gravel and rumbly and deep, but you're not Hayley and he isn't Richard you remind yourself. You're Vivian and he is Edward. “I have” He clears his throat, just as the script calls for. “These business functions, they're – ah – so terribly boring,” He admits, hand absently stroking at the back of his neck. “And I feel as though they would be much better with company.”

Easily you arch your brow slowly but defiantly, lips staying in a flat line, as if you'd heard all this before and then he leans in. You catch the scent of his cologne, so wonderfully him and it takes all of you, not to breathe it in. He teases, low and deep, his voice sliding over you like velvet, “I'd make it worth your while.”

You feel goosebumps rise, but you steel yourself, reminded that Vivian is supposed to remain unimpressed, even as your knees are starting to give out from underneath you. “Oh, yeah? You'll make it worth my while, huh? What have you got in mind, Cowboy?”

“From tonight to next Sunday, all day and all night,” He responds, blue eyes flaring with heat.

You give the next line and when he says how much, you nearly flub your lines, your heart crying out for you to say “nothing, absolutely nothing. since your eyes met mine, you've had me, couldn't you tell that very first night?” instead you say the line you're supposed to, looking away briefly and biting down on your lip, twisting the flesh as if you were deep in thought for a brief moment. You turn back to him and say, “Six thousand,” Confidence brimming in your tone, your eyes sparkling.

“Four,” He countered and you make your mouth drop open in total offense as you shoot back, “Seven.”

“Five”

“Fifty five hundred,” You shoot back, back arched like a puffed up cat, as if you had been insulted by such a low number. A slow smile blooms across those criminally plush lips, charming and beautiful, making your heart flutter as he says succinctly, “Deal.”

Your lips curve upward into the most blinding smile you can come up with, hoping you look proud as if you had just taken down a real shark the way it's described that Vivian looks in the script and he says smoothly, reaching up to push back a few strands of your hair, “I would have paid six,” his fingers linger along your cheek and jaw, longer than they should and you fight the urge to close your eyes, to draw him closer and breathe him in. He turns on his heel, leaving the balcony and going back into the room like Edward is supposed to, leaving Vivian on the balcony.

You read your last line, bringing your fingers to touch where his had been and you murmur, “I would have stayed for four.”

everyone thinks that they know us/but they know nothing about

(dress)

The headlines and the articles come faster than a Japanese bullet train... richard madden cozies up to pretty woman costar, scottish heartthrob romances american newcomer, is people's sexiest man off the market... You laugh, shaking your head, as you receive another text from your Mom commenting about what a handsome man Richard is.

You roll your eyes, biting down on your lip as you sink into the comfortable couch in your trailer. You're not do for hair and makeup for another twenty minutes, so you take the brief time you have to relax.

You sip at your white peach tea from Starbucks when the door to your trailer opens, you don't look up – you're sending a text to your best friend Jessica and then one to your little sister – until suddenly you feel a weight settle in your lap. You blink – once, twice – not quite believing – that without even announcing his presence – Richard just flopped onto your couch, long legs stretching and placed his head into your lap and was now looking at you with those irresistible bedroom eyes as he murmured, “I like when you play with my hair.”

You laugh, ruefully, but still your fingers sink into the thickness of his auburn tresses and card through the strands, taking special care with his grey streak, even bending to kiss that portion of his hair.

you squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi/i can tell it's gonna be a long road

(new year's day)

You feel like you're going to throw up. It's the night of the premiere in Los Angeles – and yeah, you had been to plenty of premieres, but not like this – and everything feels wrong, like this should be happening to someone else, like you're Cinderella and when you reach the end of the red carpet, you're going to be left in a tattered and torn dress with no fairy godmother in sight.

Your dress – is a deep royal blue, strapless and with a slit all the way up to your right thigh while its large skirt billows around you – feels too tight, too expensive (it's Elie Saab) and you want to tear through the organza fabric because you shouldn't be wearing this. You weren't made for dresses like this, you were still that rough and tumble tomboy from Davenport who caught frogs and played in muddy creeks and ended up with scrapes and bruises from falling out of trees.

You grab your clutch and the door to your hotel room opens, you don't have to turn to know Richard's striding through. You would know he walked into any room even if it was filled with thousands of people, that tell-tale shiver you felt that very first night, was never far behind as soon as he appeared.

His lips find your bare shoulder, kissing a sensual trail up to your neck, his hand gravitating toward the bare skin of your thigh almost instantly. His fingers slide along its seam, finding the front of your lacy royal blue thong and your knees lock together, so you don't tumble to the ground.

“So...” You murmur, your question of how do i look hanging in the air. He answers as if you spoke, “I can't,” Husky and deep against your skin. “Can't what?” Your bottom lip wobbles and you're unsteady for a whole different reason, thinking he's finally going to realize he can do better that you'll always be what you were on the first night he met you, a nobody. “I can't think,” He answers honestly, turning you so you're face to face. “You're stunning. Breathtaking. Gorgeous. Beautiful. All of that and then some. If I was a lesser man, I'd demand you change right now. But how could I deprive the world of this? Of you? On a night when you look so perfect. I must say, there is something missing, though.”

“What?” Nothing more than a shaky exhale, your mind still reeling from how you could have rendered him unable to think, from how he called you stunning, breathtaking, gorgeous and beautiful.

He attaches a beautiful silver bracelet to your right wrist, one charm in the shape of a bow adorning the piece of jewelry and you swear – silently to yourself, mesmerized by its beauty – that you will never take it off.

The feeling that you might throw up comes rushing back as the limo comes to a stop outside of Mann's Chinese Theater on Hollywood Boulevard. His hand squeezes yours and you know this won't always be easy – especially after this, your debut as a couple – but with his hand wrapped around yours, your fingers threaded together and those too honest and too beautiful blue eyes staring at you, your doubts all fall away.

@nishanki1 @bluesfortheredj if anyone else wants to be tagged in my richard stuff let me know

[dragaoel]

 Jun'ichirō, aka Jun (- Silverdell)

the volume of the radio slowly dwindles down and only static noise is left to be heard

"those are dangerous words"

"not for him " Anja replies, her head laying on her outstretched arm that's on the table , her whole posture the embodiment of laziness. "loved ones always have it easier here"

"Not always" Jun says grimly and glances out of the window" it's because he's an outsider that he's allowed more freedom than any of us"

"aren't you a loved one too?"

Jun sighs deeply and turns towards the albino girl. For a second ,pain , frustration and a hint of panic can be seen in his eyes before it vanishes. He lets out a bitter laugh.

"and you saw where that lead me to,half dead in a ditch"

INTRODUCTION JUN : 

half japanese half black

has waist long black thick hair and brown skin 

has a ‘’prince in anguish’’ aura but masks it with him being over the top ridiculous and dramatic

is 5′11

born 12th october (libra)

‘‘the risk i took was calculated, but man, am i bad at math’‘

Jun is my favourite character, i made him on a whim as a side character in a old story and then i started using him more and more as a background character until i realized the potential he had. He's also one of the character whom i put into a lot of  different aus, the most favourite one was where he was a vampire who loved laying in the garden and eat roses all day

Rukiya (-Though the god’s have left)

‘‘i have dreams about them’‘ Rukiya says and plucks a string on her bass. The deep note rumbles through the room and her short curls moves along as she drops her head lower 

‘‘i'm high in the sky, looking down onto a land that seems oh so familiar, with people screaming at me asking me to help them’‘

‘’do you understand them? ‘’ a band member asks

‘‘weirdly i do’‘ Rukiya answers ‘‘ it seems to be in my native language but also not, as if it was way before everything happened, you know, the ancient time’‘ 

INTRODUCTION RUKIYA :

Out of the both of them Rukiya is the older twin by 4 minutes

she’s also the artsy one than her sister whos into sports

wears black literally 24/7 and has dark circles despite sleeping enough

is 5′9

is black (kenyan) 

mole on the left side of her cheek

fluent in her native tongue kiswahili 

Majors in Film

loves anything that has to do with space nd aliens

born 24th january (aquarius)

has a sweet tooth

*cocks gun* ‘’basements haunted’’

i like the idea of twins that are completely the opposite of each other. Rukiya just like Imara have a big chunk of my personality in them, it's just that i lean more towards Rukiya than Imara. 

Akiho (-Though the god’s have left)

Kneeling down, she cocks her head to the side, her eyes cold and her lips pressed into a thin line ‘’ dont think your actions won't have consequences’’ she sneers ‘’ the next time i see you harassing another girl again i'll make you wish you were never born’’ 

Akiho dusts herself , picks up the bat , glances one last time at the boy laying on the floor and walks away, the echoes of her shoes the only noise to be heard

INTRODUCTION AKIHO :

is 5′4

majors in theater

her fashion style is y2k

is the other one of the dumbass duo

has freckles on her nose

is japanese

doesn't like sweet things usually eats traditional sweets made by her mom or things that are sour/bitter, but salty food has to be spicy asf

born, 14th april (aries)

her side teeth are really pointy

has long peach colored straight hair

‘‘I’d sell you to satan for one corn chip’‘

Akiho comes from a family of 3, she's the youngest sibling and she has that energy. She likes to play with her oldest brother children, doesn't want any on her own though. will fight anyone who is disrespectful, esp towards women 

Hyunjin (-Though the god’s have left)

The tall girl slumps her body onto her girlfriend shoulder, watching her fry the fish in the pan into charcoal. Hyunjin wrinkles her nose in a attempt to push the glasses up without having to actually touch them, before she sighs deeply. 

‘‘Just-’‘ she starts and softly takes ‘‘let me do it, otherwise you'll burn the kitchen down like last time’‘

Praveena puffs her cheeks up ‘’that actually wasn't my fault, it was the gasherd-’’

‘‘i know i know’‘ Hyunjin chuckles and kisses her cheek ‘‘but i have a exam tomorrow and i would like not not have an indigestion’‘ she frowns and flips the fish over and sighs. It seems the fish can’t be saved anymore. 

INTRODUCTION HYUNJIN :

korean

has short dyed blue hair, but the back part is longer than the front part.

is ‘5′10

majors in engineering technology

born 14th may (taurus)

has literally no sense of style and wears glasses cause she has a slight astigmatism that you can't really see

has a mole next to her right eye

‘‘a financially unstable mess but at the liquor store they call me ma’am’‘

honestly out of all the characters i draw hyunjin the most. In the beginning  she  had shoulder length but then i shortened it because i liked it more. She's an only child and her mother runs a bakery while her father works in a office. She's the calm type that's constantly tired because she never sleeps 

Praveena  (-Though the god’s have left)

She shuffles the cards and lays them out on the table. The customers sees the fool, the moon and the star. Praveena touches them with her fingertips ‘’ you seem to be either at the beginning or at the end of a new journey ’’ she pauses and thinks ‘’but either way you're prepared for what is to come’’

The customers nods ‘’i'm soon moving away from this city’’

‘‘I see’‘ Praveena counters and points at the next card ‘‘the moon indicates that you’re hesitant  and fearful in your decision, there might be something from the past that is holding you back and influencing you in the present and possibly the future

the customer tenses up, her eyes fixed on the card and her lips tight

‘‘though’‘ Praveena continues ‘‘at the end you’ll be at peace and glad that you pushed through all the turbulences 

INTRODUCTION PRAVEENA : 

tamil ,dark skin with long wavy violet dyed hair

Hyunjin’s girlfriend

has calm energy but is also very erratic 

loves astrology & tarot

majors in psychology

5′5

born 20 july (cancer)

has droopy eyes

‘‘god cant help you now’‘

i made praveena cause i wanted a harmonious wlw couple, that have that ‘’old married pair’’ plus out of all the ocs those two are the ones that i drew first. Praveena has the tendency to blow things up how though is a mystery and hyunjin always has to clean up everything. 

Imara (-Though the god’s have left)

‘‘no listen, it doesn't make sense why would you wear a bra and some tight ass pants knowing you’re about to fight people who have knives and GUNS?’’ Imara asks perturbed.

‘‘Cause men are horny’‘ Rukiya retorts and raises an eyebrow

‘‘still doesn't make sense like wow!, some fucking boobs, like really? really? is that what gets you going? just some breast pressed up in a bra that is too damn tight and a flat stomach on a skinny ass girl that has absolute no muscles despite the training she went through?

Rukiya sighs ‘’ is this about-’’

‘‘lara croft yes’‘ Imara interrupts and slams her finger on the table ‘‘and im going to die on this hill that men shouldn't be allowed to create games!’‘

INTRODUCTION  IMARA:

plays games a lot, esp the loz series

has curly dyed blonde hair that's mostly tied in a ponytail  or a bun because she cant be bothered with it, though rukiya helps her all the time cause she never really learned how to deal with curly hair. 

Is on a baseball sponsorship because she's that good (she's a pitcher)

is totally tone deaf unlike her twin

isnt good with crows ie: strangers crowding around her after her team won a game

is kenyan

5′9

has a mole next to her upper lips on the left side

loves 90's rnb & hip hop music

‘‘he proclaimed his undying love and asked me to do the same, i had to overcome my desire to laugh’‘

Imara does have a slight complex about being a twin because she feels like Rukiya is the cooler one despite people loving her too. She's loud and boisterous basically a chad, but better. She's dorky and literally spends her free time gaming but she doesn't just play any game shes v specific when it comes to that. Her mom always has a headache because of her but thats okay but in the end her mom loves her to death.

Ava (-Though the god’s have left)

‘’do you you know how much it's sucks that at the end of all of this , i'm the one waiting for them?’’ Ava exclaims ‘’that i'm the one who will have to watch them go through the door to be evaluated? that i'm ultimately the end?

‘‘you’re not all alone-’‘

‘‘you don't understand’’ Ava interrupts, as she points at the short girl ‘’ i will have to watch my mom, my family that raised me go through that door and know that that will be the last time i will see them in that body!’’

INTRODUCTION  AVA:

She’s haitian 

keeps her hair in a short chin length dark blue bob

majors in sociology 

she and akiho are the ‘’comedy duo’’ of the group

is 5′6

born 4th november (scorpio)

‘‘my only crime was that i was down to clown’‘ 

When i make akiho i felt like she needed a companion so i made ava, both of them were inspired by the early 2000 shows characters. Although Ava likes to goof around she's also very studious and serious about her future. She comes from a family of 6 and she’s the second oldest. She and her older sister fight constantly 

Nïrnaya (Dawn over the horizon)

‘‘Magic’‘ the elf stars, her tall stature hunched over the herbs ‘’ is in the nature we’re surrounded in, in the mountains that stand high and the rivers that flow into the deep sea’’

she straightens up and walks over to Nïrnaya ‘’ we might lose everything.’’ She pokes the girl on the forehead ‘’but magic will forever stay with you because its the core of your being‘’ 

INTRODUCTION NÏRNAYA :

shes a mischievous 15 year old 

 has black curly long hair that are mostly braided

does not want to do this whole adventure thing because of how it reminds her too much of the ‘’chosen one trope’’ and thats too much responsibilities

born during the year of the earth dragon

‘‘snacking between meals is the least, but tastiest, of my problems’‘ 

i came up with this story and character because i wanted a book where a black girl for once was the main character, where she could experience the same thing as other mc (ie eragon etc) basically i wanted black representation in a medieval-esque world but with my own spin because the world itself is not very western like

[tommyquackson]

Unusual |S. Stan|

summary: seb is a secret vampire

warnings: biting, cussing, a little bit of boood and drinking

notes: i don’t know man, it just popped in my head

Not My Photo but I did edit it :)))

Something about this frat party made you unbelievably unnerved, but you knew you deserved a night out after weeks of exams and essays and all-nighters. So you push through the uneasiness and go to the kitchen where there’s so many different drink choices it warms your skin. You grab a wine cooler and move towards the living room where people are sitting and talking. You sit near a girl you shared a class with and begin chatting. The loud music vibrates your bones and probably your brain too, but it somehow becomes comforting. You haven’t partied in a month and you were known for keeping parties live.

“Hey ladies, hows everything going for ya tonight?” A voice breaks you out of your talk with whatever her name is. You look up and see Sebastian Stan, Frat President and local FuckBoy™️. His hair gets darker the more you see him (which is quite a lot now that you think about it) and his eyes are steel blue, which almost blends in with his scarily pale skin.

The girl you were with, bites her lip and begins playing Sebastians game, entertaining him on how much fun she’s having and how the frat out does themselves every time. You look down and realize your wine cooler is almost empty so you chug the rest and move back towards the kitchen. You decide on something a little heavier so you can really get crazy tonight. Once you open your drink, a group of people call your name and wave you over.

“Y/n! Let’s play beer pong, you’re our female champion, and we’ve got a challenger.” Your friend Zach says wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“I’m the Champion over everyone, Zach. Who’s our challenger?” You speak laughing. You look across the white foldable table and see Sebastian with a blonde girl from your English class.

You smirk and quickly pass your drink to some kid Drake, but not before taking a couple gulps. You roll your shoulders and neck and crack your knuckles. Sebastian goes first and makes it into one of the cups. You pick it up and quickly chug it down. The girl goes next and misses by a little bit, it was pure luck she was even that close, her form is off and she has no aiming technique. You go next and sink the ball into one of the back cups. Seb looks impressed and chugs the beer while looking at you, his eyes are much darker than before, Black almost. Zach goes and makes it in another cup. After several rounds and Zach and Sebastians girl quitting, you’re down to two more cups, one on each side. You’re both fairly drunk but you try not to let it effect your gaming skills.

“Getting tipsy little y/n?” That prick laughs over the table.

“You wish little Seb” You wink back at him. You take your shot and make it perfectly in the cup, cheering along with everyone who became invested in the competitive game.

“Congrats babe, what do you want as your prize?” He toys, biting his lip.

“I think the stupid look on your face when I made it, is prize enough Mr President” You speak moving away from the table. You migrate to the dance floor and begin dancing with a couple friends. You feel someone slide in behind you, lightly grabbing your waist. You know turn your head and see a mess of black hair and immediately know who it is. You decide not to say anything but you keep dancing, occasionally grinding on Sebastian.

“Come with me” He growls in your ear, grabbing you wrist and pushing through the crowd and upstairs.

“Do I get to see your office? Or do you take all your girls there?” You speak, words almost slurring together.

“Nah, they don’t usually make it this far. Only certain people get to see my room and even fewer my office” He turns and winks at me. Your heart skips when he does, not because he winked but because his eyes have changed again, to a deep red that scared you. You keep walking until he opens a large door and enters what, must be his Presidents office, fancy wood desks and plenty of plaques and pictures of the frat doing community work. You immediately fall into the plush sofa on the other side. He chuckles and pulls a water out of his mini-fridge and tosses it at you, before sitting next to you with his arm tossed around the back of the couch.

“So why am I so special that I get to come in here?” You speak moving closer to him. You set the water down on the floor and bring your hand up to play with the collar of his dress shirt, that had a couple buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You look in his eyes which are a much brighter red.

“You’re special y/n. I can almost taste it” He leans down to your ear and kisses your neck. You whimper and move into his lap.

“Seb? Can I ask you a question?” You squeak playing with the hair in the nape of his neck. He just hums and keeps kissing and lightly biting your neck. “uhm, how or uh why are your eyes red?” You let out a yelp when he bites a little harder in one spot.

“That’s a secret babe, can’t have everyone knowing it. So if you want me to tell you, you gotta do a couple things for me. That sound fair?” He pulled his head up, smirking widely at you. You nod quickly at him.

“First, be my girl. Let me take you out, wear my President blazer, sleep in my bed sometimes, keep me company in my office, let me take care of you, all that good shit.” He says moving some of the hair out of your face.

“Is-is this a prank?” you ask quietly looking down at your laps.

“No pranks baby, i’m serious. I really like you but ive never known how to come up to you and just ask.” He speaks. You look in his eyes and he looks like he means it and Sebs a pretty honest guy, so why not trust him now?

“I’d like to be your girlfriend very much.” You say biting your lip, in a desperate attempt to stop the heat spreading to your face.

“Perfect darling. Ok second thing, you gotta promise not to tell anyone, or it won’t end well for either of us.” His voice gets low and threatening. You nod again. “No y/n. I need to hear you say it”

“I promise Sebastian” You speak offering him your pinky finger, he grins and takes it before kissing you. You kiss him back, almost forgetting that he still hasn’t told you why his eyes are red. You pull apart and look at him.

“So, you gonna tell me?” You move off his lap and cuddle into his side.

“Ok but I think i need to just show you first” He says smirking again. You just nod and wait again. He dips his head back into your neck and begins kissing.

“Seb wha-“

“Patience babydoll” He hisses. You feel him drag his tongue across a spot on your neck a couple of times. “You smell delicious baby” He speaks with a slight lisp. You feel his teeth drag across the place he was licking earlier. He nibbles a bit before fully biting you, and wrapping his arm around your waist you can’t move. Your neck hurts and you try moving but Seb is too strong and there’s nothing you can do, as he sucks hard.

He brings his head back up and licks his lips. You look and notice he has two teeth, much longer and sharper than the others. He has blood dribbling down his mouth and wipes it with his thumb. It was incredibly hot, but you’re more confused. You lift your fingers to your neck and look at your fingers, blood on the tips.

“What the fuck, sebastian?” You almost yell at him. “What the hell. You just fucking bit me” You accuse.

“I was actually drinking your blood” He says quietly.

“Why the ever living fuck, would you ever, fucking do that shit?” You ask putting pressure on your new wounds.

“Cause I’m a vampire.” He says standing up with you.

“Like an actually real vampire?” You squeak out. He sighs.

“Yes but it’s not all the extra shit like in books and stuff. I just drink blood like once a month and i’m strong and also for some reason my spit heals your neck and i apparently can’t die for a very long time so you know. That’s always a thing” He says putting his hands in his pockets. It’s crazy to see how much he changed from a confident fuckboy to nervous puppy on 5 minutes.

“Do you only want to date me cause I have yummy blood?” You ask pathetically.

“NO! Oh no. I mean yea you’re blood smells and tastes amazing, but no i actually like you for you.” He says grabbing your hands.

“Wow. I don’t know how or why I’m okay with this, but I am. Now can you please use your magic spit on my neck cause these bites kinda hurt.” You pout. He laughs and dips to lick your neck a couple times. When he looks at you smiling, the pain has disappeared and you can’t feel anything on your neck.

“So....do you sleep all day or some shit, like can you go into the sun? When’d you change? Are you dead?” You ask a million questions at once.

“I will answer all and more tomorrow, but for now. I say we head to my room and we can sleep or, we can not sleep” He smirks giving you a wink.

“Not sleep, lets definitely not sleep” You say as you walks you out of the office and down the hall.

[mst3kproject]

The Hideous Sun Demon

Have you ever wondered what would be the exact opposite of a werewolf?  Apparently writer/star Robert Clarke did, and as his answer, he made The Hideous Sun Demon.  Nan Peterson from Girls Town is in it, and Patrick Whyte from Kitten with a Whip, and William White (no relation as far as I know) from The Human Duplicators.  There’s a Rifftrack available, too, so this one is officially more than qualified.

We hit the ground running, as a man is wheeled into an ambulance after a nuclear accident.  This guy turns out to be Dr. Gilbert McKenna, a scientist of some description, who lost consciousness after spilling a jar of radioactive isotopes.  A couple of days later, and he seems to be just fine – he’s feeling well enough to sexually harass the nurses – until he goes out in the sunshine.  Rather than just giving him a tan and a bracing dose of Vitamin D, the sun’s rays de-evolve him, transforming him into a lizard monster!  The condition reverses in darkness, so McKenna takes to sleeping during the day and only going out at night, but a secret like that can’t be kept forever – especially after his scaly alter-ego commits a murder.

Wow.  This movie is terrible.  The acting is awful, with everybody sounding like they’re reading their lines off cards.  Clarke is one of the better actors in the movie as long as he’s playing low-key. When he’s supposed to be freaking out and crying, he takes it way too far, right over the edge into comical.  The actors playing the other scientists always come across like they have no idea what the words they’re saying actually mean, and certainly don’t know how much of it is dead wrong.  A scene in which McKenna is beaten up by some thugs outside a bar is so badly choreographed, it’s laughable.

We don’t really know McKenna at all.  When we first meet him, he’s just been irradiated and is unconscious on a gurney.  We are told that he’s an alcoholic and we see him try to flirt with the nurse, but really we only ever see him as the depressed guy terrified of turning into a lizard.  If we knew more about him, we could sympathize with him better and feel his downward spiral more keenly.  The one quick piece of background we get actually undercuts his character arc – if he’s already an alcoholic, then we have no baseline for his drinking over the rest of the movie.  I think we’re supposed to believe it’s getting worse, but we don’t know.

The worst casualty of this lack of background is the nature of McKenna’s relationship with his colleague Anne Russell. We get the idea that Russell cares for McKenna very much – she worries about him constantly, and another character reminds her that she views him ‘through rose-coloured glasses’.  Are they romantically involved?  The first time I watched the movie I got that impression, and yet then he goes off to pursue Trudy the lounge singer.  Is Anne’s love supposed to be unrequited?  Are they awkward work exes?  Does he deliberately dump her so she won’t be burdened by his sauranthropy? The script never deals with any of this.

Since most of the movie is set at night, the lighting is terrible – darkness and dark filters make it difficult to tell what’s going on in the outdoor scenes, and the crappy film stock doesn’t help, either. In order to make sure we know this is all happening at night, the foley guys have dubbed in lots and lots of cricket noises… which brings us to the sound, which is so bad that it’s sometimes hard to tell what people are saying.  The music is often hauntingly familiar, consisting of public domain tracks we’ve heard in several of these old monster movies before – in particular I’m sure I’ve heard the song Strange Pursuit in another movie, but googling it turns up very few results.

The lizard-man is… not great.  The mask is about as good as anything from the fifties, and fairly elaborate, with lots of individual scales and teeth and extra makeup for Clarke’s chest and hands, so he can run around with his shirt open.  In other movies the cheese factor of the monster suit is minimized by a lot of lurking in the shadows, and the makers of The Hideous Sun Demon have handicapped themselves quite badly by having a creature that must appear in full sunlight.  We get a nice clear look at stuff like the seam where the costume head meets the chest, or the wrinkles where it bends at the elbows.

And yet… for all that… I kind of like this movie. The idea of a reverse werewolf, a creature that transforms and kills by daylight, tickles my sense of humour – but it’s an interesting concept on other levels, too.  It invites us, for example, to think about why night is the traditional time for monsters.  This is such a truism that it’s rarely even put into words.  Everybody knows that Evil People Only Come Out At Night, and when we do think about it, the reason why seems obvious: night-time is when things like wolves and sabre-tooth tigers used to come out and gnaw on the unwary among our ancestors.  We’re still here because the survivors passed on genes that made them afraid of the dark.

This means that a man who transforms into a monster by day is a very different creature from the traditional were-animal.  Werewolves, who change only under the moon, can lead a normal life while partially, or even wholly, unaware of their affliction.  Darkness is anonymity.  McKenna doesn’t get to be anonymous.  He literally has the full light of day on his problem.

Because darkness is anonymity, it is a time for monsters in another, only slightly less literal way: night-time is when an awful lot of crime happens, because there are less likely to be any witnesses. Again, this is very relevant to creatures like werewolves and vampires, creatures of the night – their activities can go unseen because of this lack of witnesses.  It’s also important for Gil, but in a different way.  He cannot be a creature of the day, because it brings out the monster in him.  He is therefore forced to be a creature of the night, and must keep company with other creatures of the night, such as Trudy and her gangster boyfriend.

Trudy is an interesting character, in that she represents both knowledge and innocence.  She hangs out with criminals and, rather astonishingly for a movie of this vintage, is presented quite frankly as sexually promiscuous.  McKenna takes her out to the beach and it is heavily implied that they had sex there before he ran off at sunrise so she wouldn’t see him transform, and later dialogue tells us that this is not her first such encounter with a near-stranger!  It’s not fully explicit, but it’s still perfectly clear, and this is possibly the one thing the movie does well.  At the same time, what McKenna finds attractive about her is that she doesn’t know his secret.  She’s innocent of the terrible truth and interacts with him on that level.

I still don’t know what the relationship between McKenna and Russell was supposed to be, but McKenna’s pursuit of Trudy makes sense on this level, even if we assume he and Russell were all but married. He can’t bear to be around Russell because she knows and that will colour how she treats him no matter how much she loves him.  Furthermore, every time he notices a difference between her behaviour before and her behaviour now, it will remind him of his condition, which he desperately wants to forget. Trudy’s ignorance is therefore one of the most attractive things about her.

After Lizard-McKenna kills her boyfriend, Trudy vanishes from the movie.  She was probably the one who called the police, but we never see her again or find out what she thought of the whole thing.  This is disappointing because Trudy’s feelings toward McKenna have changed several times over the course of the film – from infatuation to rage to pity and back to infatuation again.  I would have liked to see some sort of conclusion to this.  If Trudy’s innocence is the main thing McKenna sees in her, it would have been nice to see them interact again after that innocence is shattered, and what effect this change in her has on him.

Also unresolved is the effort to find a cure for McKenna’s condition.  A radiation expert, Dr. Hoffman, comes to see McKenna and examines him, and says he thinks he can at least treat this condition if not cure it entirely – but this goes nowhere.  The death of Glenn Manning in The Amazing Colossal Man is made extra-sad by the fact that they did have a cure, and that Glenn didn’t understand that they were trying to administer it.  It’s an extension of Glenn’s own story, in which the world has not yet given up on him, but he has given up on himself.  McKenna is just being chased by the cops, and sure enough, eventually they shoot him.  His death is supposed to be a tragedy, but there’s nothing to give it meaning.

So while I do kind of like the ideas in this movie, the execution of them leaves a lot to be desired.  I’d actually be interested to see a remake of The Hideous Sun Demon, made by somebody with a bit more talent at writing (and directing… and acting… and basically everything else).  There’s gotta be something you could do with a reverse werewolf that would be way cooler than this.

[ed-edward-blackbeard]

Last Line Meme

@shipperfiendobssesser​ tagged me in the Last Line WIP meme.  YOU ASKED FOR IT.

Long text post, so I’m sticking it behind a “read more”

Fandoms behind the tags:  Hannibal, Doctor Who, Gotham, SVU, BBC Sherlock, a couple of Walking Dead, a couple of Xenaverse,  a couple of Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Live action), Star Trek (TOS), Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland, The Following, and some original stories  (Not included, because I probably won’t ever go back to them:  Supernatural, Stargate, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Deadwood, and Harry Potter.)

Not tagging anyone BECAUSE I WOULD NOT SUBJECT MY LOVED ONES TO THIS.  No, seriously.  I’ve been working on this goddamn thing for two and a half hours.

Hannibal WIPs:

Ripper!Hannibal:  Hannibal picked up the scalpel, hid it in his coat pocket, and followed him in the shadows.  

Temple Body (Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham):  His presence warded off nightmares and ushered in a calm and dreamless sleep.  "Sure, a shower."     

There Were Three (Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham):  "Excellent.  I shall expect you Thursday night, promptly at 8."  Hannibal rose when Will did, and followed him out of the office.  "Are you returning to the crime scene tomorrow?"  

Sanity and Empathy (Hannibal/Will):  Knew it as well as he'd known the feel of Hannibal's broken heart, left in the chapel written on a broken man.

No Place Like Home (Hannibal/Will):  When Hannibal got back to Will's room, Will was sitting up on the side of the bed.  "You just missed the cardiologist; my heart's fine.  They're gonna stitch me up and as far as she's concerned, I can go home right now."

Murder Husbands In Denmark (Hannibal/Will):  "I can do that, soon as I'm out of the shower."  He leaned across the bloody butcher's block and nipped at Hannibal's ear.  "Hurry up."  

Leather Hannibal (Hannibal/Will):  "So I think you like my new motorbike."  Will squirmed as Hannibal's leather-gloved hands pressed down against the erection straining his zipper.  "But perhaps that is not all you like."

Keeping It In The Family AU (Mischa Lecter/Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham):  Hannibal reached out and raised her up, and offered her his elbow.  "You're not going to bow to me, Mischa."

I, Profiler (Crossover SVU/Hannibal, Hannibal/Will, Barba/Benson):  "I will sign your form," Hannibal agreed.  After Barba hung up, Hannibal sighed, and turned his attention back to the sausage browning in the frying pan.  "Mr. Barba seems to be at loose ends," he commented.

Hannibal’s Nightmare (AUish, Hannibal/Will):  He knows who he is--My name is Hannibal Lecter, and I am a psychiatrist.  I am a serial killer, and I am a cannibal.--but that doesn't seem to matter.  He is trapped in a place that does not seem to exist, and yet, it does.  

Great Escapes (Hannibal/Will):  Hannibal placed her plate in front of her, then dropped the fork carefully on the napkin.  Once he was out of range, Will let her go and returned to his seat.  "Do enjoy your dinner."

Firsts (Hannibal/Will):When the dance--and the music--ends, they're both breathless and ready for more.  Hannibal empties his pockets over the balcony rail for the violinist below, then follows Will to bed.

drunken kisses sequel (Hannibal/Will):  "I know."  And he had.  It was almost as if this entire conversation was useless; Will and Hannibal were so much in each other's heads, the answers were known before the questions were even formulated.  

Building A New Life (Hannibal/Will):  In the back cargo hatch was their luggage, their bloody clothes which really needed to be burned, and a large igloo cooler that carried all their provisions plus a few… special treats for later.  

Biokinetics (Hannigram AU, Hannibal/Will):  "No, not at all."  Will put his glasses back on as Hannibal led the way out of Will's living quarters and into the Institute's foyer.  

Original WIPs:

Roxy The Pink Police Poodle:  Oh, boy.  I recognize Shit Detail.  That means we’re going to do something Not Fun.  For either one of us.

Paralegal:  No amount of whipping furniture at my head can shake the solidity of the facts of the law.

Ghosts of deBerk:  (scriptfrenzy screenplay):  You want to ask me if I can talk to them for you, but you realize I am not Whoopi Goldberg and this is not Ghost.  You know things do not work like that.

Baywood:  All the things that you could need, but wouldn't ever think of buying for yourself when the time comes.

The Nature Of Time:  The Eternal was confused.  And so to experience time, He became a part of it.

Small Things:  And if any found it, they did not live to tell the tale because many went out, and few returned, and the ones who did died quickly, without relating what they knew.

Sleep Deprivation: The clock on the microwave read 2:03 AM as Mara heated her second milk of the night.

Sangria Falls:  "Put on the shackles, now," Nick repeated, loosening the snap on his gun.

Misty Valley:  Rain splashed on the windows, matching the rolling drops of blood that pooled red on the inside of the glass.

Midnight Scratching:  .  If she was losing her mind, then Poe was trying to console her.

Mars Rover:  The air was circulating slowly inside the helmet to stretch out the final oxygen supply, but as soon as they were out of the atmosphere, they wouldn't really need it anymore.

Fall of the House of God:  .  As it dug itself in, Lamiel planted the seeds for further discontent before going to sleep to gather its strength.

Dymond Family Murders:  Fiona's estate contested the agreement when first announced, but has since withdrawn the challenge and given the arrangement its full support.

SVU (Special Victims Unit) WIPs

Cedro Barba (Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson):  Turning the box back over to Cold Case, Olivia headed for SVU.

Checking In (Barba/Benson):  "I'm no role model, Olivia." He jostled Noah into sobs as he handed the child back to Liv. "Almost twenty years later and I still dream of punching my old man in the face every morning."

Post-”October Surprise” fic (Barba/Benson):  "Come on, let it out."  She cradled him close, resting her chin on his temple.  "It's going to be all right, Rafael."  

Dinner With Mami:  Rafael just smiled at that, and a little kernel of heat blossomed in the pit of his stomach when she smiled back.

Starbucks:  "Three cups, Liv," he reminded.  "Three cups of Starbucks all over Armani."

Barba and Benson Dinner Untitled:  "I think I like you better all put together.  A present just waiting to be unwrapped.  Although…"  She made an appreciative noise at his bare chest.  "I can see the benefit of keeping you naked."

Barba/Benson Vampire AU:  “Come on.  The blood bank is open by now, and you’ll think a lot more clearly when you’ve fed.”  Olivia held her hand out.

Doctor Who WIPs:

Running Up That Hill (9/Rose):   Disappointed in Rose,which was even worse for both of them. 

1920′s Gangster AU (10/Rose):  But there was no harm in looking, the Doctor kept telling himself, and so he continued to pay regular visits to the club.

A Crack In Time (12/Rose):  "Rose, is it really you?" he asked, and even his voice was changed, Scottish and hard.

Come Back To Me (10/Rose):  The Doctor's words were rushed as he hastened to reassure Rose.  "There's only a really tiny little bit left, not even enough to hurt you, or even know it's there.  I took all of it out of your head, scrubbed it clean, remember?  That's how we met.  This is just one tiny little glitch that saved your life."

Doctor John Smith (Tentoo/Rose):  John looked steadily at Jackie.  "It's a lot to take in.  Rose has been through a lot.  I just want to make it easy for her, that's all."

Drips (A Coffee Shop AU) (Ten/Rose):  It had started, for Rose Tyler at least, with the gas leak that had blown up the Henrik's shop she'd worked at--thank God she'd been off shift that night.  

Sunshine and Roses (9/Rose/Jack):  The crinkles at the corner of his eyes made his mouth turn up in a perpetual smile, which was accompanied by laughter at Rose's antics.  

Light and Dark (Ten/Rose):  "We like children, we like them young, they are still light and generous and they want to play!"  A few free light specks floated around Rose again, and lit on her hair, on her shoulders.  "Oh, we see!  You keep him light, he glows when you're with him!"

Part Of Your World (Ten/Rose Little Mermaid AU):  He sort of waved through the front glass, and several of the whales flicked their rear fins as a sort of answer before the TARDIS bobbed around and headed back for the Trench and the Challenger descent point.

Untitled Post Impossible Planet/Satan Pit (Ten/Rose):  She knew the why well enough, and went in for a second kiss.

Pregnant Rose Tyler (Ten/Rose):  "All right.  Anything for you, Rose Tyler."  And this time, he meant it with all his hearts.

Two Hearts, Two Hearts (Jack/Ten/Rose):  "Back in the TARDIS, or else she's wandered off again," was the Doctor's reply.  "Didn't know what I'd find in here, so I asked her to wait.  But you know how rubbish she is at waiting about, so we'd better go."

Gotham WIPs:

Father Nygma’s Bird Problems (AU, Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot): This time, Carmine’s smile was far more rueful than he’d like.  “There’s no way you could let me down,” he answered.  Especially not given his own personal history.  “Good evening, Edward.  Remember, you can call me or see me at any time you like; I am always available to my priests.”  

 Hello, Old Friend (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot):  Ed gave a negative shake of his head. “That's far too generous, I couldn't accept.” Especially when he had no real way of paying back the kindness. 

Mine (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot):  Getting up from the chair, he rapped the table with gloved knuckles.  “I’ll swing back by later to see what you decided.”

Cuts Like A Knife (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot):   He was relatively certain that a google search of How to fix the ice-muddled memory of your best friend turned worst enemy would return exactly zero helpful results, so he was going to go with the closest approximation he could think of and adapt what he found to help Ed.  

Walking the Tightrope (Jim Gordon/Oswald Cobblepot):  Oswald simply nodded.  That was fair enough; the agreement was to take each other as they came, profession included.  It kept things interesting, to say the least.  

What He Needs (Jim Gordon/Oswald Cobblepot):  The black eye mask was folded on top, and while he withdrew it with his fingers, he carried it back in his mouth and offered it up to Oswald.

BBC Sherlock WIPs:

Untitled Johnlock #1 (John/Sherlock):  "Not important at all.  It's common.  Any two individuals regardless of gender can have sex, and a portion of those can make love with sentiment behind it.  Boring.  What is important, what is unique, is the closeness two people share.  Especially when one is less than personable, as it were.  But you, John, you are what is important.  Not how you choose to use an appendage."

Life Form (John/Sherlock):  Sherlock did allow himself to blink, and when no catastrophe happened, he relaxed microscopically.

Past Life (John/Sherlock):  "Sandals and swords, how exciting.  I can certainly see how it would pull one from the realm of sleep."

The Following WIPs: 

Sacrifice (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  The ghostly shapes moved like quicksilver behind the mist.

That Night (Joe/Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  The heat from their touches made the room-temperature glass seem almost icy.  

The Ending (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  The answer that Ryan couldn't give, and that's why this moment, here in this nowhere place, was most important.  In this place, the answer didn't matter.

Unexpected Savior (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  Joe disconnected the call while studying his reflection in the mirror. “Dear Ryan, whatever shall I do with you?”

Everything Else:

Untitled Rickyl AU (Walking Dead, Rick/Daryl):   So it was as a civilian that Rick rolled up at Carl's school that afternoon.

Wintering (Walking Dead, Rick/Daryl):  "Don't worry, Papa Bear.  Little Ass-Kicker's in good hands."  

Destrus (Xenaverse, Ares/Xena):  Well, his great sword through a few puny mortal chests had put an end to that idea

A Friend’s Faith (Xenaverse, Autolycus/Xena):  "It's hard to have faith in yourself when you think nobody else does, but it's even worse when you think you've let down the ones who do."

Kunzite and Darkury (Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon/PGSM/BSSM/Bishojou Senshi Sera Moon, Kunzite/Dark Mercury):  Both are trapped in the whirlpool at the base of the waterfall, a deepening vortex that sucks them deeper and closer together.

Untitled PGSM (Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon/Bishoujo Senshi Sera Moon, Human!Nephrite/Ami):  He was only Nephrite, outcast and human, and he was shamed for feeling gratitude to Sailor Mercury.

Responsibility (Star Trek TOS, Kirk/Spock):  No--that was unfair.  Jim was not fire, and it was only Spock who burned.

Return To Underland (Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland, Alice/Hatter):  The Unicorn chuffed nervously, pawing the marble floor while the Lion paced and growled, tail flicking madly.

The Girl With the Tuxedo Kitten (Millennium/Dragon Tattoo series, Lisbeth Salander/Mikael Blomkvist):  Blomkvist laughed.  "Why don't you take Sally and let her sleep?  I'll set up the litter in the bathroom and put out some more dry food."  

[necrowriter]

Prompt: The human race is extinct except for a few people made immortal through various means. (Religion, magic, science, etc.) These immortals are sitting around talking after the end of the world.

“So, what’s your story?”

The woman in the black coat made a questioning sound but did not look up. She had been staring into the campfire without blinking or moving at all for an unnervingly long time. 

“Why are you still here? Uh, I mean, not here here, but…you know.” The questioner coughed and ran a hand through his thick brown hair awkwardly.  “Alive. On the planet.”

She finally stirred and looked up at him with a slight grin. “I’m not.”

“Uh, what?”

“Alive. Vampire.” Her grin sharpened and she stuck out a hand. “Call me Brandy.”

“Oh…uh…” He shook her hand gingerly; it was dry and very cold. “Dave.”

“Good to meet you, Dave.”

“Likewise,” Dave muttered. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched down into his overlarge green jacket a little. “So…uh…is that gonna be a problem for you now?”

Brandy stared at him. Her eyes were a pale gray and Dave found them very unsettling. “Is what going to be a problem?”

“Being a vampire. Because…I mean…there’s not really anyone around to…”

Her eyes widened in comprehension. “To feed on, you mean? Hah! Got you worried, huh Dave?”

Dave hunched down even further. “I…I didn’t mean…”

“Nah, no worries.” She punched him lightly in the shoulder. Or at least, she probably thought it was lightly; Dave was sure it would have left a bruise, if he got bruises anymore. “I don’t need human blood. I mean, it’s nice, but animals work just fine, and there’s plenty of them left.”

“Oh…well…that’s…good, then?” Dave said, rubbing his shoulder.

“That’s not to say this isn’t a huge bummer,” Brandy went on, apparently not hearing him. “I liked humans! They were so interesting and entertaining! Culture and politics and art! Nine hundred years I’ve been around and I never once got bored watching them. Now what am I supposed to do? Talk to deer? Deer don’t have anything interesting to say.”

Still some way from emotionally absorbing the total annihilation of the human race, Dave found himself rather jarred by hearing it described as “a huge bummer”. 

“I guess you’re right,” he muttered. “At least there are still some people around, though.”

“True. Speaking of which, how’s about you? What are you doing still alive and kicking? You don’t look supernatural.”

“I’m not,” Dave said. “At least, I don’t think so. I’m more like superhuman, I think.” 

Brandy cocked an eyebrow.

“I was…in an accident at an experimental lab.” Dave hunched even further into his jacket and mumbled as if he were describing a highly embarrassing childhood anecdote. “Ever since, I just…can’t get hurt. I mean, I can, but I just heal right back up. I guess whatever happened…” He gestured vaguely around at the darkness of the woods around them. “I just healed up from it. I might be unkillable, but I haven’t really tested it that thoroughly…Also I don’t think I’m aging,” he added as an afterthought. “Though it’s only been ten years, so it’s a little hard to tell…I still have to shave, though, so that’s weird.” 

“Huh.” Brandy propped her chin on one hand and watched him with interest. “So were you like a superhero or something?”

Dave snorted humorlessly. “No. It’s useless.”

She gave him a look. 

“Okay, not useless,” Dave amended. “But for crime-fighting it kind of is. I just heal. I’m not any faster or stronger or better at fighting than anyone else. And I still feel pain, and I don’t heal instantly. I tried stopping a mugging once. They just shot me in the knees and ran away while I was still crying on the ground.”

“Well, that sucks,” Brandy said sympathetically. “Might be for the best, though. I’ve never thought that solo vigilantism was a remotely effective means of deterring crime on a large scale. Makes for great comics, though.” She sighed. “I’m gonna miss those comics.”

“Comics.” The voice of the old man sitting on the other side of the fire was a low, growling rumble, and so unexpected after his total silence thus far that Dave jumped and almost fell off the log he was sitting on. “Is that what you are concerned about, here at the end of all things? Comic books?”

“It’s one of many things,” Brandy said. “Comics, books…television…music was a good one too. The internet, that’s a big one-”

“Paugh.” The old man spat into the fire. “We have been abandoned. Life is extinguished, yet we are left to linger on forever. Until the end of days, I was told, but now the days have ended and still I carry on. It was a lie all along. Someday this Earth will be consumed by the sun, and still I will persist in the darkness.”

There was a long silence.

“Erm,” Dave said.

“Chin up, Joe,” Brandy said. “You don’t know what’s going to happen. I mean, this time last week, we sure had no idea that all of humanity was about to be wiped out, but here we are. Just goes to show.”

“Don’t call me Joe,” the old man said.

“I wouldn’t have to call you Joe if you told me what your real name was.”

“I’ve told you before, I don’t remember my name. I only know that Joe is not it.”

“Oh, well if that’s your problem, I can just keep trying until I get it right. Let’s see…Brad? No? How about…Clint? Actually, that’s a good name, I might just keep that one.”

“Can I ask-” Dave began.

“He insulted the wrong god, got cursed to wander the world until it ended,” Brandy explained. “Happens. Clint and I go way back, y’see. At least five hundred years.”

“You have one antisocial morning and you pay for it for all eternity,” Clint muttered. “And my name is not Clint.”

“It is now.” Brandy folded her hands behind her neck. “That really does suck, though…I had a great morning the day I became immortal. What about you, Dave?”

“What? Oh, uh…it was alright, I guess.”

“Fair enough. They can’t all be memorable.” Brandy sighed heavily. “So this is it, huh? End of the world as we know it, and we’ve got…Dave, the anxious not-superhero; Clint, a couple millennia of severe grumpiness concentrated into human form-”

“-my name is not Clint-”

“-me, kind of like Dracula but, y’know, cooler, I think; and the modern Prometheus over there.”

“Stop calling me that,” a muffled voice said from the darkness nearby, where the shape of someone wrapped in a blanket on the ground could just be made out at the edge of the firelight. “The modern Prometheus was my dad. Which you would know, if you had read the book.”

“Well you won’t let me call you Frankenstein-”

“Because it’s not my name!”

“Fronkensteen?” 

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“You don’t need to sleep,” Brandy pointed out.

“And you don’t need to be irritating, but that’s not stopping you, is it.”

“Actually, I do need to be irritating. It sustains me. It’s my lifeblood.”

“No, that’s actual blood you’re thinking of.”

 “Hold on,” Dave interrupted. “Are you saying that that’s…that’s…”

“Frankenstein?” Brandy said. “Yes.”

“No!”

“Well, basically-”

“Frankenstein’s monster?” Dave asked, then immediately flushed. “I mean-I’m sorry, that’s not a very nice thing to say-but I mean, I know Frankenstein was the doctor-”

The figure sighed dramatically and rolled over, exposing a pale, hollow face to the light. “No,” they said. “That is- yes, that is true, but more important is that Frankenstein was a novel. A work of fiction. It never happened.”

“Oh,” Dave said. “Um. Sorry.”

“Which you were inspired by,” Brandy said.

“Alright, yes, so Dad had a thing for that book,” they said. “But that doesn’t make me Frankenstein or Frankenstein’s monster. My name is Ash. I was born in 1912. And my dad got it right. He actually understood the point of the book, thank you very much.” 

“I thought the point of the book was to not play God,” Dave mumbled. 

“No!” Ash sat up, glaring at Dave with yellowish eyes that caught the firelight fiercely. Brandy let out the groan of someone who had been here before and knew what was coming. “The point of the book is that you can’t just create life and then abandon it! You have to be responsible for what you do! And my dad was! He was a great dad!” They sighed, and abruptly slumped into their blanket. “I miss him.” 

Brandy shifted, her smug grin fading into something more sympathetic. “Aww, look, I’m sure he’s okay. I’ve met your dad. I don’t think anything as minor as an apocalypse would slow him down.”

“I thought you said you were born in 1912,” Dave said. “How can your dad still be-”

“Dave, you are literally sitting around a campfire with a bunch of immortals,” Brandy pointed out. “Once of which is yourself.”

“Oh…yeah, right,” Dave muttered. 

“Dad always saw nature’s laws as being more like suggestions,” Ash said. “He experiments on himself as much as he does on anything else. More, actually.” They frowned suddenly. “I hope he wasn’t responsible for this.” 

Dave spluttered in shock. 

“Is your dad likely to decide to wipe out humanity?” Brandy asked, thumping Dave on the back as he went into a coughing fit. “He always seemed like a nice guy to me.”

“Oh, no, he wouldn’t do it intentionally,” Ash said. “But sometimes his projects…get away from him.”

“Hmm. Here.” Brandy handed Dave a canteen, and rolled her eyes when he stared at it in apprehension. “It’s just water, you dork. No, you know, I really don’t think your dad had anything to do with this one. I mean, I don’t know what happened, but I’d lay a lot of money on it being something magic. Not that money really means anything anymore, but you get my point.”

“Retribution,” Clint muttered. “The gods have enacted their terrible judgement. The end is upon us.”

“Could be,” Brandy said. “But I don’t know. I mean, they didn’t do a very thorough job, did they? We’re still here.”

“We are unholy,” Clint said. “Cursed-”

“Well, yes, you are, literally. And I suppose I am pretty unholy, or at least so I’ve been told. But Ash? And Dave?”

“I have been told that I’m a crime against nature,” Ash said. “But people use that term pretty loosely, in my experience.”

“I’ve never felt especially cursed,” Dave said. “And I don’t know what I would’ve done to be considered unholy. I mean, I’m far from perfect, but I don’t think I’ve done anything that bad.”

“Hmmm.” Brandy tapped her fingernails thoughtfully against the canteen Dave had handed back to her. “But seven billion humans-give or take a few million-don’t just drop dead all at once. Something’s going on.”

“Really,” Ash drawled. “What a brilliant deduction.”

“What difference does it make?” Dave said forlornly. “It happened. They’re all gone, and we’re not. What good will it do us to know why?”

“If we knew what happened,” Brandy said slowly, “maybe we could undo it.”

Everyone stared at her. Even Clint raised his eyes from the fire and gave her a long look. “What do you propose? To resurrect an entire planet’s worth of human beings?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Brandy said. “It’s still a work in process, as ideas go. But maybe we could do something. Clone some new ones, at least. I mean, what else do we have to do?”

There was a long, thoughtful silence. 

“Well,” Ash said at last, “if anyone would know how to raise the entire human population from the dead…I bet my dad would.”

“Yes! Brilliant!” Brandy cried. “So all we have to do is find Ash’s dad!”

“I really doubt that’s going to be all we have to do,” Dave said, but Brandy ignored him.

 “Where is he, Ash? Do you know?”

“Of course I don’t know,” Ash snapped. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be moping around here wondering if he was dead, would I?”

“Fair enough,” Brandy said. “You got any idea? Narrow it down to a continent or two?”

“Last time I knew, he was still in North America,” Ash said. “Somewhere in the northwest, I think. But he moves around a lot, so who knows.”

“Right! I can work with that!” Brandy stood up and struck a pose with one foot on the stone she’d been sitting on. “A quest! To find Ash’s dad and restore humanity so we don’t have to be bored forever!”

“Worst quest ever,” Ash muttered, and Dave nodded in agreement, but Brandy ignored them both. 

[kc-anathema]

The Allowances for Eternity

The Allowances for Eternity

Disclaimers: Do not own vamps, Anne Rice does. I make no money off of this.

Warnings: Implied slash. A naughty Louis.

Spoilers: TotBT

David's body was hard, nearly as hard as his maker's. The skin was smooth, yes, but it didn't give as well as normal skin. Touching David was much like touching an elder vampire. You didn't lay your hand on his body as much as you feeling up a marble statue. Lestat's David was a harsher one than Michelangelo's. At least the statue didn't try to hug its admirers.

Lestat sighed and rolled to the side of the bed. He'd thought it'd be exotic and exciting, or at the very least interesting, but he was left feeling vaguely disappointed. A wild, meaningless one-night fling with his British fledgling had seemed like such a wonderful idea. The promise of bondage, whips and rough sex had been a powerful lure and a refreshing break from the steady vanilla relationship he had with Louis, except...something was wrong.

There's something missing, Lestat thought, glancing over his shoulder at David. His fledgling was fast asleep, still wearing the titanium handcuffs. He seemed to enjoy all of it. So what's wrong with me?

The room was unbearably quiet. The only noise was David's steady breathing and the constant ticking of the clock that was slowly but undeniably driving Lestat insane. Hot. It was so painfully hot inside. David's body was nice enough, but he was also almost horrendously warm. The heat of his body kept the bed sheets from getting cool, making the bed feel like a cloud a bat might have ridden out of hell.

Lestat tossed to his left side, turning his back to David. He rose up on one arm, trying to escape his hot pillow. Why had he made his fledgling so strong? His skin gave off nearly as much heat as some of the oldest vampires. A handy trick, when trying to pass as mortal, and usually other vampires loved the illusion of living flesh beside their own. Lestat sat up, trying to breathe in cool air, but the warmth was everywhere.

That's it, I'm going home, Lestat decided. He slid out of the bed, careful not to wake his fledgling, and grabbed his clothes from the floor. His shirt was torn to shreds so he tossed that in the wastebasket, but his pants were still in one piece. He pulled those on and jerked his sneakers on, not bothering to undo the laces, then quietly escaped through the window, forgetting that he had the keys to the handcuffs in his pocket.

Moisture hung in the air, making it difficult to breathe. Lestat did not have to breathe, of course, but he still enjoyed the feel of air rushing through his mouth into his lungs. Right now, however, he felt as if he was drinking instead of breathing. And even the nighttime breeze did not diminish the intolerable heat. It radiated in waves up from the sidewalk and pavement, invisibly warping the background in the distance.

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away absent-mindedly. It had been a long time since he had felt depressed, but he still recognized the feeling after so many years. An icy well formed in his chest and stomach, as if there were gigantic moths fluttering around in his body and ramming into his sides.  What's wrong with me? Why am I feeling this way? He sighed again and looked down at the sidewalk as he went along, not knowing why he was still crying or why he hadn't enjoyed the time with David.

Hours of walking usually gave him the answer, but this time the lonesome stroll did nothing to clear his thoughts. It was too humid. He had been raised in a cooler climate, and despite years of living down here in Louisiana, he still missed real snow and cold rain. But Louis would freeze in that kind of environment.

Lestat smiled to himself. Louis. Just thinking about him lifted his spirits. Cool, green eyes that sparkled in the starlight, creamy white skin purer than milk, not the mottled mess of mortal flesh. There was not one blemish on Louis' skin, and despite the lack of attention paid to his hair, a strand was never found out of place. Sometimes Lestat wondered if Louis was more of an ethereal spirit than an immortal wanderer of the night.

By the time he came up the steps to his front door, he was feeling much better than when he had left David's temporary apartment. Lestat closed his eyes for a moment before entering, imagining Louis upstairs reading in bed, some dreary boring novel. He would be stretched out entirely nude again, draped over the blankets instead of under them, like an enticing banquet. Of course the book would have to be dragged out of his hands, but once his attention was where it should be, on his lover...Lestat grinned as he pictured it. Still wearing his usual cocky grin, he turned the knot and went into the darkened living room.

He crept through the pitch black room, doing his best not to hit anything and make any noise. He wanted to surprise Louis in bed and steal a few kisses first.

It was much later that Lestat lay next to Louis, cuddled up close between the bedsheets. The old manuscript of some author Lestat didn't care about, and honestly hadn't heard about, had fallen beneath the bed, joining many other forgotten books, taken from Louis' mind in a fit of surprised rapture. Lestat smiled, looking kindly down on his fledgling. Louis' head rest on his shoulder, his dark hair spilling out over his arm and partially hiding his face. Lestat brushed the stray strands aside and gave him a tiny kiss.  He knew Louis loved being "surprised" in bed, why else would he stay there without any clothing on, with only a candle to light the room, sometimes with the sheets provocatively dropped down one thigh, barely covering what the rest of the coven believed was a perfect model of the Victorian gentleman.

Nothing like David, Lestat said to himself. But what had been different this time? They had not played with any sexual toys, not bound each other up like prized slaves, not played master and servant...Louis wore no handcuffs. Lestat had no wicked designs of inflicting pain. Their love-making was honest, sensual, full of trust despite their complicated history--

Love-making...Lestat thought, catching himself before he lost that idea. We make love. I screw David, but Louis makes love with me. Content with that simple explanation, he snuggled closer to Louis, enjoying the way his soft body gave slightly to his touch. The way his skin was cooler, so Lestat did not feel as if hot air was suffocating him. The way his steady breathing was a comfort in the darkness. The way that, if Lestat happened to move a certain way, Louis was groan and nestle closer, trying to keep him still even in his sleep. Louis woke up if Lestat tried to leave. Louis wanted him there. Lestat's smile turned into a grin and he closed his eyes, falling fast asleep.

Louis' eyes opened just a tiny bit, so he could stare at Lestat's flawless face. Of course love made him see Lestat differently than other people. Where someone might see tangled hair or eyes that sparkled naughtily, Louis could only see golden hair and eyes like jewels. He'd never seen him in a truly clear light. Lestat had been a winged angel, a beautiful tyrant, a grieving Narcissus, a stone saint on a dusty floor, and it was only recently that Louis could see some of his faults as character traits, not something to be repaired or white-washed over, but little crosses in his personality, evidences of past hardships. It only made him love Lestat more.

So what if Lestat had a small tryst with David? He'd come home right after, obviously depressed, and only Louis could improve his feelings. Not David, who had called earlier for the keys to the handcuffs, using the excuse to call and make Louis jealous. Not David, who was a pretty plaything Lestat toyed with once in awhile. After all, eternity is a long time, and immortal lovers should be allowed a change of pace now and then.

Still...Louis glanced at Lestat's pants, draped over the back of a chair. The keys hung precariously on the pocket's hem.

I'll mail the keys to him, he nodded to himself. In a few nights. After all, I do not need to be bound to love Lestat. And when Louis fell back asleep, his smile was as broad as Lestat's, and if they'd been open, his eyes would have sparkled naughtily.

But of course, Lestat never saw that naughtiness in his fledgling. He would have seen it as Louis' rare playful side.

The End