#please read my carrd oh my god

[felixlovesmlp]

PLEASE READ MY CARRD BEFORE INTERACTING.

it's got all u need to know about me :DDDD

[tommydarlings]

pairing: bbf!soft!dom!carlos x leclerc!sub!reader

warnings: smut, dacryphilia, size kink

check this out: my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support me! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3 // my Patreon to become a member! (get access to +60 works) // Save a Life carrd made by me! <3

You were nervous as you laid beneath your brothers best friend — carlos, who was five years older than you and according to your brother, charles, off limits.

“You can literally come home with every single man on this planet y/n, but not with him, alright?”

“Not my best friend and teammate y/n, I’m serious.”

“If I see him even close to his presence, I immediately drag you away, I’m not kidding!”

Back then, you always thought that your older brother was joking and just wanted to play the perfect 'overprotective brother' role… but that wasn’t the case.

Charles wasn’t joking, he really did glare at carlos with dark gazes every time he caught him standing to close to you or looking at you for a little to long.

You thought that Carlos took your brothers signs very serious but you were wrong, he didn’t care.

“A-Are you sure that c-charles won’t find o-out, carlos? What i-if-”

“Shhh, princesa,” carlos whispered in a deep tone before he buried his face into your neck, biting and kissing your throat in a wild and unimaginably attractive manner, making you slightly arch your back, “I am sure that he won’t figure it out, don’t worry baby.”

You gulped and whined as you threw your head back, giving him more access to your neck and giving him also more space to mark you up,

“C-Carlos,” you slightly tried to push his body away by his naked, hot chest but it was no use… he didn’t move an inch, the Spaniard only attacked your throat and your chest even more,

“No marks, c-carlos,” you gasped as he ran his lips along your jaw until they reached your chest, giving your chest big open mouth kisses, “you c-can’t leave any — o-oh my god.”

Carlos smirked as he continued showering your soft skin with feather light but also lazy kisses, forcing your hands into his hair, pulling him closer, “No marks, huh? Quieres que pare?” You want me to stop? Your brothers best friend asked you with a grin as his long fingers played with the straps of your bra.

You stared up at the big ceiling with teary eyes as you shook your head, “N-No,” you whined, “Please don’t s-stop, carlos,” you bit your lip as you tried to swallow your desperate cries… but it was hard when he was caressing your skin with his big lips.

“No? No debería parar? Eso es lo que pensaba, princesa,” No? I shouldn’t stop? That’s what I thought princess, the older Ferrari driver teased you with a selfish grin as he let his big hands run along your hips and waist.

Then he surprised you by letting his hands fall down to your panties, fingers playing with the thin fabric as his big, brown puppy dog eyes stared up at you, asking silently for permission.

And you only gulped before you slowly nodded with teary eyes.

Carlos smirked up at you before he leaned down and gave you a quick peck onto the spot right between your breasts, swiftly removing your panties and his own briefs, making your eyes widen as you saw him for the first time.

How was that supposed to fit.

CONTINUE READING THE STORY HERE ON MY PATREON! -> 1.1k

[prettymrswright]

Lockdown. Pt 2

pairing: koffee!singer x black fem!choreographer/artist

content warnings: smuttt baby, off the bat! 😂 it was highly requested for Koffee, so as an artist I must deliver. a lot of patois (Koffee is from Spanish Town, she has a strong JA accent).,fluff, strong language, spirituality, art.

a/n: dusting off the pen and paper, (or should i say keyboard), and this was requested the most, so we start here. also, she has a new masterlist design 🤭!!! shout out to my baby, @dejaonline the creator and visionary of my carrd. my taglist is on there if you want to sign up for a specific person or take yourself out of one!!! i missed writing, so this should be fun. love you wh^res <3

translations:

did - past tense

don't? - right? / isn't it?

A suh - so/how

eno - you know

mek - let

ramp - play/ play around

Jah/ Jah Jah - God

yah - here

Gyalis - player/ ladies (wo)man

guh - go

taglist: @dejaonline @prophetalmighty @saintwrld @sapphicvqmpires @inmyheadimobsessed @kisskourt @shurislover @ventingfanfics @vampzxi @abenomeiiii @koffeewife @bbbbbbrilliantly @shuriislut @sopaintercrown @billyjeanonthed

LOCKDOWN PART 1. < if you haven’t read :)

Her mid-back length locs hung down, framing your face as she rocked into your clit, her firm hands gripping you in place. She had her warm, dark brown eyes locked with yours, her bottom lip trapped by her top row of teeth.

"Fuck, Mikayla," You cried out, eyes welling up with tears from the multiple sensations she was giving you. She kissed your slightly parted lips and down the side of your neck.

Your moans and cries flew through her ears like music she loved, encouraging her every action. Her fingers interlocked with yours as she pinned them by your sides, continuing to fluidly move across your center.

"Mhm," You moaned through sealed lips, trying to contain its volume, but it was no use.

"Open up, pretty girl," The singer demanded, and you shortly obliged. She sat up tall and slipped two of her slender fingers inside your creamy center, pumping with precision. If you weren't going to get loud, she would surely make you.

She didn't care for your shy act. She wanted the sex to embody exactly what it was made for; passion. Be loud, be raunchy. If she decided to make love to you, it was with full intention.

She stroked her fingers long and deep inside you, her other hand massaging your right nipple.

"Oh my god," you breathed out as you felt your mouth began to water. You reached your hand out to place it on her chiseled stomach, in attempts to slow her pace, but she smacked it away.

"Doh touch me." She spat. "A dis yuh did want, don't?"

She teased and you whined. You did want her, God did you ever.

You feel yourself creaming around her fingers, and as much as it was, you never wanted it to stop.

"That is it, mumma, yes," She encouraged the beginning of your release. "Let it go fi mi."

Your voice traveled the room as you came harder from the rich, raspiness of her voice. She was trying to draw you out, and it was working.

You grabbed her hand and licked yourself clean off her fingers, still making noise and staring her directly in her eyes.

"Mm," She gave a hum of arousal at the sight. "A suh you wicked?"

You heartily chuckled at her astonishment. Before she could react further, you pushed her off of you and onto the bed. You locked your legs between hers, ass facing her, giving her a rear view of your ride.

You bounced up and down on all fours, riding her clit, back deeply arched. You felt the secretion of the two of you building and sloshing against each other.

“Shit,” She exclaimed, mesmerized by the movement of your ass. She sent a sharp pop upside it, making it shake even more. “You feel so good, y/n.”

You looked back at her and smiled devilishly. Provoked by your gesture, she pulls you back by your hips and drives hers up against yours at a faster pace.

“Ohhh, shit!” You yelled. “Fuckkk, yes, don’t stop, please!” You begged, riding the high of your warm clits colliding and her soft, strong hands gripping your sides, thumbs settled in your back dimples.

“Aghhh,” She groaned, her clit beginning to twitch underneath you. “Mm, mm, no,” She shook her head and pinned you down. She wasn’t quite ready for her release. A bit into edging, but more-so for maximum release.

She kept one hand pinning your stomach down to the bed, grabbing her strap from off the dresser and slipping it on with the other. She rubbed your entrance slightly before heading in, no lubricant needed, the way she had your water running.

“Baby,” you whined out, slightly in panic. It had been a minute, but the last time she put this on you, you were in an over 24 hour recovery. She was dangerous, but you liked danger.

“Shhh,” She whispered in your ear, grabbing a handful of your hair, slightly craning your neck. “Yuh fi tek dis. Wul’ on to me.”

She folded one arm behind your back and held your forearm while she held yours. Swiftly, she slid her length up into you.

“Sssshit!” You hissed, feeling woozy at its depth. “I can’t, baby I can’t.”

“Believe inna yuh self, miss,” She chuckled, before stroking your middle, mid-tempo.

You reached your hand back, pressing your hand back onto her chiseled stomach, and quickly you’d realize that was a mistake. She now had both of your arms pinned and was now picking up her pace.

Your body began to sweat profusely and your legs began to quiver underneath her.

“Mmmm, fuck!” Your moans being drowned out in the pillow your face was stuffed in, the cloth held captive between your teeth. “‘Kayla, please,”

“Memba yuh did wan run weh from me? Hmm?” She antagonized, pumping deeper and faster.

“No, please,” You plead and plead. “Please, baby I’m sorry,”

It was clear she was holding more of a grudge than you thought, and you were certainly paying for it right now.

She hiked you up, forcing your back to her chest, and your ear to her lips.

“Don’t do that to me, again.” She sternly warned, sending shivers down your spine. Overtaken and out of breath, all you could do was nod.

In a quick motion she slid out and turned you over. Your doe eyes, full of lust and adornment, were staring directly up at her. She stared back intently and smiled.

“Mi did miss yuh pretty face, eno,” She confessed. Without giving you time to respond, she was inside you again.

“I—“ You gasped out, clawing at her arms that were pinned at your sides. She held your knees to your chest and gave you long, deep strokes, kissing up and around your legs.

“Oh my goddd,” Your head drops back and your eyes follow, rolling into your lids. You haven’t felt this good since you seen her last. It was like the first time all over again. Every stroke, every kiss, every whisper; you constantly had to fight not to blurt out those three words.

The way she looked, the way she felt, the way she prioritized your body’s every demand made you feel the sluttiest you could ever.

You held your middle and index finger up over her lips and smoothed them across them, and she lubricated them with her saliva, lightly sucking on your digits. You slide those fingers down to your clit and massage small, quick circles into it.

You feel your mouth begin to water at the combination.

“Yesss, just like that, baby, keep fucking me,” You encourage her sinisterly, directly staring into her face. “You make me feel so good,”

You didn’t give a fuck anymore. You missed her, it’s been months, and you were over the games. This was the side she so desperately wanted to see.

“Shit,” she grunted under her breath, strokes getting sloppier the wetter you became. “I love seeing you play with that pretty pussy, baby.” She affirmed you, making your moans spill out quicker.

She replaced your hand with hers, caressing your clit with her thumb, bringing her body down to level with yours. She kissed you slowly and passionately, still keeping the pace of both her stroking and massaging.

You moaned loudly into her mouth, wrapping your arms around her, digging your nails into her back. The pleasure was so overwhelming yet so blissful.

“I’m so close, ‘kay, don’t stop,” You whined, squirming under her touch.

“This is all yuh did want, ee? Fi di artist come fuck you?” She teased. “All you had to was ask.”

The more cockier she became the more it turned you on. It was impossible to keep quiet or still. You began to see stars, the way she was pounding your g.

“You want to come? Ask me.” She taunted you.

“Please make me come, baby, I’ve been so good,” Your mouth was moving faster than your brain. All of your words were rushed and desperate. Each of your fingers seeking deeper in her back.

She wrapped her hand around your neck and pulled your forehead to hers, speeding up her final strokes.

“Unhhh, yesss!” You screamed at the top of your lungs as your love came down, creaming all over her length before she slid out.

Your chest heaved up and down, as you attempted to catch your breath.

“Mek mi clean this up for you,” She lowered her lips. to your center and licked you clean, devouring you with her whole mouth, ending her sweep with a slow french kiss.

“Oh, baby,” you whined out, rubbing your fingers through her locs and grabbing a handful. You guide her head left and right in a figure 8 motion, leading her to shake her head in it.

She rocked your hips into her face, sucking your bud, draining the rest of your secretion out.

Tears involuntarily streamed down your face, as you semi-hyperventilated. You pulled her up to you, kissed her deeply, and wrapped your arms around her in a warm embrace.

“Yuh alright?” She asked half sincerely, half in amusement.

“I love you,” You blurt out, not expecting a response.

She erupted in a high-pitched cackle. “You funny eno, yuh ramp too much,”

You smile brightly, eyes still almost shut. “I’m serious!”

“Gyal get the steel pipe, and wan chat bout ‘love’” She continued, still laughing.

“Shut up, Mikayla,” You couldn’t help but laugh too. The jokester she was.

“Mi ago give yuh a second, eno, but mi wan yuh fi get dressed,” She says to you, hinting at another one of her shenanigans.

“Dressed? Fi wha?” You say back in patois, semi-mimicking her.

“I wanna show you something. Something i’ve been working on,” She says, sincerely.

You tense up anxiously. “Okay…”

“It’s not anything bad, nuh worry yuhself,” She reassures you, in attempts to calm your nerves.

$ Walking out the hotel in your black, Chanel mini dress, and your black and gold Yves Saint Laurent heels (gifted by Koffee), you head to the car, hand in hand with the artist. She walks with you over to the passenger door side and opens it for you, helping you inside.

After she closes your door, you watch her 5'6 frame walk to the driver side, dressed in a powder blue, mid-sleeved, collared button down, the first three buttons open, slightly exposing her chest. Her legs decorated in some baggy leather pants, that slightly covered her baby blue, designer sneakers. Her locs were neatly compacted up into a bun, gold jewelry hanging from her neck, and wrists. If it wasn't for whatever she was attempting to show you, you'd pull her right back in that hotel. "Yuh ready?" She asks, quickly smiling and your direction while starting up the engine. You smile and nod sweetly and the two of you drive off. The sun didn't begin to set quite yet, but it was at it's golden hour, shining bright and beautiful hues of yellow, orange, and gold down from the sky blue skies and through the windshield of Koffee's 2022 Midnight Gray Lexus ES. You were riding through the city of Ocho Rios, taking scenic view of all of nature around you; trees and bushes blowing through the wind. You'd be flying back home soon, so you wanted to be completely present. You slid and placed your hand onto the back of her neck, massaging it with your fingers, and you felt the tiny baby hairs stand up. Koffee loved how touchy-feely you were and always returned the favor. She slid her right hand, currently decorated with a 18k gold signet ring, gifted by her grandfather, up your thigh and held you in her grip. As you pass more and more tall buildings and music shops, you began to get curious. The two of you would often parlay on the beaches and spend all evening/night and sometimes, even early mornings. But this was a new side of town. It seemed more industrial. "Mikayla," You spoke in a questioning tone. "Hm?" She replied plainly. "Where we going?" You ask. "You'll see." She replies, that smile she had been showing so often this trip appearing once again.

Pulling up to a complex, you park right in front of a building with ‘Columbia’ written in gold letters across the top. You feel an anxiousness in your stomach once you start to realize where you were.

“Come on,” She gestured as she went to open the door. “Hold on," you say quickly, stopping her from opening the door. You pull down the sun visor mirror and prep up your appearance. You adjust your gold heart pendant necklace and smooth out your braids. You reapply your Fenty gloss bomb lipgloss and blot. You lift your foot up and rest the end of your heel on the dashboard, adjusting your shoe strap and your single-plated gold anklet that was resting so pretty on your ankle. “Girl, come on,” She rushed you semi-jokingly, despite her being in a daze previously to. “Okay, okay, how do I look?” You turn to her and fake a pose, framing your face. She took a long, studious look at you, examining you swiftly but diligently. She hummed in approval. “Sexy.”

“Perfect. Let’s go!” You laugh, grabbing your purse. Koffee comes out of the car, rushing over to you to open your door and take your hand to lift you up and out and lead you into the building. It was huge. Tall lobby ceiling, marble floors, futuristic colors. It was like a hotel lobby of a nightclub, if such a thing existed. She signs the two of you in, and you walk into the elevator and ride up to the 22nd floor. She leads you into a room that she opens with her own key that hung off her hip. You audibly gasp at the sight of what you saw before you. It was her studio. And it was beautiful. There was a long white mixing console, two large white speakers next to it and a computer in the middle. A large booth, next to a small one, both with mics, headphones, and other equipment set up. The room was dimly lit with midnight purple and fuschia colored lights. Across each wall were plaques of achievements from various artists. There were long, white couches on each side of the room, and tall stool chairs spread out across it. In between the two booths, up against the wall were a lineup of different guitars.

You slowly strolled through the room, taking everything in. You looked to your left and noticed a pretty, black bouquet of pink glitter roses, Ghiradelli chocolates, a card, and a fat stack of cash sitting on a low table.

“Wha–” Before you could even ask what the purpose of those were, she interrupted you. “Once Shelley told me you were coming, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I missed you, y/n/n. And I’m serious about you.” She confesses, holding her glance, as well as your hand. “Kay,” You called out her nickname, feeling your eyes well with tears. She was so sweet and thoughtful. And all this time you were blocking your blessing, and for what? “Doh start,” She chuckled. “Jah. This crybaby, yah.” And you were. But you felt everything so deeply, and as in awe as you were, you were also sad; Somewhat regretful even, for driving a wedge between you two because of your own insecurities. “Thank you, baby.” You thank her with a heart full of love and gratitude. You wrapped your arms around her neck and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “How romantic. Miss Gyalis.” “Please,” She started. “Me anuh Gyalis, and you aren’t just ‘gyal’ to me.”

You studied her face, admiring both her beauty and her words. “Come,” She led you to the seats in front of the computer and pulled up a song. “Tell me what you think about this.” The song began and the summery, mid-tempo beat flowed out of the speakers and filled up the room.

Where will we go?

When di quarantine ting done and everybody touch road?

Mommy, me go NASCAR

Pull up in a fast car, yeah

A nuh false start

Mek you and di boss par, yeah

I know you’re feeling me

You know I’m feeling you

So what now we fi do?

You swayed back and forth and slightly nodded your head. She was so good at what she did. Every song made you feel good, like a fun summer night. You didn’t even notice what it really was about at first.

Yeah, yeah

Aye fancy

How yuh heart stay, it nah no vacancy?

Last time see yuh pon FaceTime

Chatting up di place

Bout you nuh want relationship

Me a go put you pon lock down

A put yuh body pon lockdown, mmm

You got me pon lock now

You got my passion on lock, woah

She turned to you, lip syncing her own lyrics at you.

If you love me

You should let me

You should let me

You should let me know

And if you don’t know

Better fi let me

Better fi let me

A better yuh let me go

You took in every word, flattered at its insinuating dedication, but shocked at her confession. Sure you knew she liked you, but not like this. You also didn’t want to assume. It was hard to take in.

All yuh want talk bout a matrimony, yeah

Any ting yuh want Koffee got di money, yeah

Me give yuh me heart beg yuh take it from me

She dramatically mimicked the lyrics, clutching her chest and kneeling at your feet, making you laugh. She was cute. And the song was really damn good. 

Baby are you feeling me?

Cause I'm really feeling you

Baby are you feeling me?

Cause I'm really feeling you

I'm a pull up in my fast car You were silent for a while as the song outro faded out. You were speechless. You stared for a while, going through about every emotion and thought you had the past few months. You’d open your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. “That bad, huh?” She asked comically.

“No!” You rushed out. “It was.. beautiful.” You look around you, still finding the words. “When did you-?”

“Early April. Last time mi did hear from you was March, and mi stop call from den. Mi feelings hurt bad bad. So I took up the pain and drive guh a studio wid it.”  “Oh,” You say lowly. “Kay, I’m sorry. I mean, not totally because, you just made a HIT song– yes I said hit— AND it’s about me, so that’s double whammy right there.”

She laughed heartily, leaning back in her chair. “You ramp too much.” “All jokes aside, though. I was in my head so much that I didn’t give you a chance to show me how much you cared. Truthfully cuz I felt like I cared too much. I was anticipating getting hurt, and that wasn’t fair to you or myself.” She looked down and nodded in agreement. “Mi just glad seh you found your way back to me, baby.” She placed a warm, caring kiss on your cheek. “And I love you too.” 

You left your chair and opted for a seat on her lap, resting your arm around her back and on her shoulder. “Play it for me, again?” You asked with a beaming smile. She returned a beaming one back to you before pressing the play button on the mixing console in front of her, holding you tighter the second time around.

[custom-emojis]

Some Dr who emojis of the 10th doctor! I have been obsessed with this show for over a decade please ask me my opinions on dr who oh my god.

Feel free to use in your servers and if you like what I do, maybe send me a tip? | or join my discord server to see emojis ahead of the queue

[Please read my Carrd before using my emojis]

[copiousloverofcopia]

🦇Happy Halloween Ghesties!👻

I haven't had a chance to write anything new for this year, but I would like to share my Halloween fic from last year that deserves more love!

Commissions are OPEN, please see pinned post for Carrd info!

Candy Wrappers

t's Halloween night at the Abbey, Papa IV/Copia decides to spend it sharing his love of horror films with ghoulette Cumulus and a sister of sin. The 3 decide to watch John Carpenter's HALLOWEEN and pig out on candy while it storms outside.

Also available HERE on AO3!

Read Halloween fluff below the cut!

“Oh Lucifer! He is right behind her isn’t he? I can’t watch.” Cumulus cried, pulling the throw blanket up over her eyes, almost knocking the bowl of candy from Copia’s lap. The thunder roared outside, the lights flickering a bit as the storm rolled on past the Abbey. It was Halloween night and they wouldn’t have many trick or treaters this year it seemed. Copia was determined that they could still have fun. He had put in an old VHS tape of HALLOWEEN from his collection and managed to convince Sister Ren and Cumulus to watch with him. 

“God that mask is so unnerving.” Sister Ren said, grabbing another snickers from the bowl. Copia, nodding his head in agreement as he licked some residual chocolate from his fingertips. If it were up to him they would stay up all night and watch the classics. Poltergeist , The Exorcist , The Omen , so many horror gems he could muster from his collection. 

“I don't see why we couldn’t have just watched Ghostbusters or Beetlejuice.” Cumulus griped. Copia was starting to regret turning it on. It was a well known fact that Cumulus did not handle scary well, being the Abbey’s resident scaredy cat. Despite her Hellish lineage, she would prefer to see people happy and smiling, not so much cut up into little pieces–even if it was all just pretend.  

“Ghuleh, I did ask you if you wanted to watch…” Copia reminded her, she had gotten to this point of her own accord, “...you did say yes.” he said as Sister Ren passed him back the bowl of candy and rolled her eyes. 

“I know it just…It scares me.” Cumulus admitted, a soft smile appearing over Copia’s face. He took her hand in his, her face still barely visible above the line of the blanket. The lights flickered again–the flash of lightning filling the sky outside and the inevitable crash of thunder rumbling the old bones of the Abbey. Cumulus’s heart pounded as she gripped the blanket tighter, storms also not her friend.  

“Then we don't have to watch—” Copia began, pausing the movie. Sister Ren, was becoming aggravated with Cumulus’s whining and the continued stopping and starting of the film.

“Papa! I wanted to watch it though.” she pouted. Copia felt flustered, he didn’t want to upset either of them. All he wanted was to enjoy some relaxation after coming back from the tour and not deal with any more drama. This was proving to be quite the task indeed.  

“It’s ok, I’ll watch.” Cumulus yielded, nestling herself deep into the sofa between the two of them. Before Copia could press play the storms flickered, the lights off and on once more,  the movie restarting with the surge. Copia picked out a piece of candy, after rummaging through the half spent bowl as Cumulus curled next to him, her tail stiffened and tense. The movie continued and Sister Ren felt a sense of guilt pour over her. 

It really isn’t that big of a deal if we can’t watch this particular movie , she thought to herself  and then she remember something—a peace offering   

Hey… Cumulus…” Ren began, tapping the ghoul lightly on the shoulder to gain her attention, Cumulus turning to face her. “I’m sorry—Truly. We can watch Beetlejuice if you really want to and I almost forgot. I got you something.” Ren apologized, pulling a bag of strawberries and cream lollie drops out from behind her and passing them to the ghoulette–Cumulus’s favorite.

“Oh Ren, thank you.” the ghoulette beamed, throwing her arms around the sister, tail wagging behind her–tickling Copia’s nose. 

“Geez Cumulus don’t get too crazy over it, it’s just some candy.” Sister Ren said, Cumulus hugging her a bit too tightly.

“Oh sorry.” Cumulus said letting her go and realizing that Ren did care after all. The lights flickered off again. 

“It may not matter anyways if this storm keeps messing with the power, maybe I should send the boys out to help with the generator.” Copia began, when suddenly the power came back on and the screen lit up with Michael Myers weidling his knife, front and center!  

“Ah!” Cumulus screamed, quickly burying her face in Copia’s shoulder, sending the bowl of what were now wrappers flying into the air like confetti. The 3 of them were in for quite an interesting night indeed.

[spenglersglasses]

Hey there Ghostbuster lovers!!!!!

It's me again back for the season of LOVE with the next chapter of my Egon x OC Molly fic!

I hope you all enjoy!

Commissions are OPEN, please see pinned post for Carrd info on my main blog @copiousloverofcopia

Things have fallen on hard times for the members of the Ghostbusters when the memory of saving the world from the threat of supernatural destruction fades in the minds of the city. Now, with each of them going their separate ways, Egon joins up with another scientist to share a lab so he can continue his experiments. When an innocent mistake by his lab mate leads to a mix up that could mean big consequences for Egon, he must choose whether or not to reveal the truth to Molly, the test subject or keep it secret forever.

Observations in Love

Chapter 3: The Party

Also available HERE on AO3! Haven't started yet? Start from the beginning HERE!

Read Below the Cut!

The words were something that Egon never thought he would have to say. Though, whoever thinks to themselves that they have to tell someone they might be carrying his child without at least a night of passion to show for it. Egon placed his hands on Molly’s shoulders, ready to stabilize her if the news came as a shock. Molly waited with bated breath, staring into Egon’s eyes. Hoping he was about to kiss her. 

“There was a mix up at the lab.” he began. Molly opened up her eyes, looking more confused than ever. 

“Mix up? What do you mean?” she asked him. Egon felt his heart sink knowing what he was about to tell her. Deciding to help the two of them sit down on the stoop of her building. Prepared to confess it all. 

“During the procedure, you were not inseminated with the correct donor sperm.” he said plainly. Molly's face went beet red, embarrassed to even be discussing it with him. The realization, only hitting her afterwards that she might be having some stranger's baby.

“Oh no… you mean… oh god.” she said, a bit stunned. Her hands, holding her either side of head as she took it all in. Egon took in a deep breath—he wasn’t finished just yet. He watched as she tried her best to contain herself. Holding back evidence of the panic she felt inside. 

“That’s not all…Molly. I—I have to tell you, the donor sperm you received…it was mine.” he confessed. Suddenly Molly felt as though she might faint. Her head was spinning, and a loud ringing started becoming louder and louder in her ears. Frazzled and unsure if what she heard was truly what Egon was trying to say. Did he actually tell her that he, the man she had been slowly falling for, was possibly the father of her child? It was so much to take in.

“So if I’m pregnant, then…”

“Then I am the father.” Egon confirmed, “Molly if…if it happens then we will figure it out. I just needed to tell you. I couldn’t allow for things to continue on between us and… I am sure we have nothing to be concerned about. The likelihood of a successful first-time intrauterine insemination procedure is relatively low, about 13%.” he continued, trying his best to diffuse the situation. 

“Oh…” she murmured, all the while growing quieter. A swirl of chaotic and undefined emotions, filling her up inside. The whole thing had become so damn bittersweet. On one hand she had a moment of hope. Unplanned as it was, she felt excited at the prospect to think she'd actually get to have a child with a man she…loved? But did he want that? 

Egon continued, spouting off the low odds of conception, leaving her thin optimism in a dulled and blunt sense of doubt. “I guess you're right, there's no reason to get worked up.” She began, playing it off as if she were fine. Both her and Egon, however, knew the truth. “We will just have to wait and see.” she finished, the upset in her voice unable to be hidden as it cracked and trembled. 

Egon sat quietly there beside her, unsure of how to make things better between them. While he could practically master every branch of science imaginable, the concept of relationships was not something he had ever excelled in. His history with the likes of Janine being a prime example. He wasn’t sure what to make of Molly’s reaction. He was even less sure how to comfort her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, staring down at the steps. His eyes focused on the spot between his shoes. The worn-down concrete, catching his attention as he felt Molly turn to face him. The tears were now undeniable in her eyes as he looked into them. Instantly feeling the pain she was going through when she spoke.

“I want you to know something.” She began, wringing her hands on the hem of her sweater. 

“Go on.” He said, leaning closer to her. Waiting for a full breakdown to come into fruition, but instead Molly wiped the tears away from her eyes. Beginning to laugh softly.

“I really want this baby Egon. I have wanted one for so long. This… this doesn’t change that.”

“I know… I know.” he said with a smile. Allowing her to rest her head on his chest. “Molly… there's something else.” Egon began, pulling her up to look at him. Molly’s eyes widening as she sat back up. Facing him head on.

“Oh god Egon, I don’t think I can take anything else.” she said half joking, half serious.

“I wanted to tell you that, I have developed feelings for you as well.” he smiled, his gorgeous brown eyes sending Molly’s heart racing inside her chest. Wanting so badly to kiss him.    

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A week had passed since Egon’s confession. Molly and him, ecstatic to find that they shared feelings for one another. Deciding to give a relationship between them a shot. Molly’s first order of business was to invite Egon to a Halloween party hosted by Sam and a few of her roadie friends. 

She was excited to share the love of the season with him as they counted down the days until they would know if she had conceived. They began learning more about more about one another. Molly, fascinated by Egon’s time as a Ghostbuster and Egon just as equally intrigued by her “normal childhood”. The two of them, quickly growing closer with each passing day.

Molly was doing her best to pretend nothing had changed when she made a routine trip to the lab. She was due for some follow up blood tests and a few rounds of questions. Careful not to look Egon’s way and smiling over to Connie as she entered. Her scientist friend, still completely unaware of their budding romance. 

Constance, too, was playing things close to the chest. Still under the assumption Molly was ignorant about the mix up, she continued on with business as usual. Egon finding other things to be conveniently busy with during the visit. Excusing himself to the storage room, leaving the two of them alone. 

“How are you feeling Mol?” Connie asked her, giving her back her arm as she finished collecting the blood samples. Molly, feeling a bit lightheaded from seeing just how many tubes Connie had managed to fill.   

“I’m doing well actually… Maybe I'm a little dizzy now.” she laughed, “But seriously no symptoms or anything… not sure if that's good or bad.” she explained as she held the cotton ball to the puncture in her arm. Connie quickly turned back with a band aid and a cautious smile on her face as she began placing it down.

“Well it may be too soon for anything. We will know in another few days.” she replied. Molly nodded in response. More excited than ever to get on her way, ready to get going to the party. 

“I understand. Was there anything else I needed to do before I leave?” she asked, hopping off the exam table and grabbing her coat. Connie quickly flipped through her collection of papers on her clipboard and replied.

“Nope, it seems we are good here. Next time I see you we will be ready to test!” she beamed. Molly smiled back at her, noticing Egon slipping out of the lab to meet with her outside. Molly made her way to the street walking a bit down the sidewalk until she reached the corner—Egon waiting for her along the side of the building. 

“Not sure how I feel about all this sneaking around.” he said, looking to see if Constance had followed her out. 

“I mean we can tell her if you want. I think it might help her relax a bit. I can tell she’s on edge. Maybe she’d feel better too if she knew.” Molly said.

“Sure. Next time.” Egon smiled, taking Molly's hand and walking with her down the street. 

“Do we need to stop over at your place to get your costume?” she asked him. Cuddling up close as they walked. The cold chill in the wind was beginning to settle in. Molly, taking it as the perfect excuse to get closer to him. 

“What do you mean? I’m wearing it right now.” Egon explained, the two of them stopping in stride so he could present himself. Still dressed in his normal lab coat and suit. 

“Egon.”

“What is it?” he asked her.

“That's not a costume.” Molly laughed. 

“It is actually, you see I am going to the part as a research scientist.”

“Uh huh…” Molly hummed. The look of skepticism was plain on her face. “Maybe try something else ok.” she laughed. Egon nodded, figuring that it was a long shot, but he had to try.

“I will figure something out. Why don’t you head back and I will meet up with you tonight before the party.” he told her, wondering what he could find to wear.

“Sounds good.” Molly told him lifting up on her toes to kiss his cheek before taking off down the block. “I will see you tonight!” 

“See you then!” he called back to her. Turning to head into the lab and grab his things before making his way to his apartment.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a few hours later as Egon paced his apartment. Wondering if he could make up some excuse to come sans costume. As enticing as it was, he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her. Suddenly deciding he had just the right thing—though he was nervous to put it on.

He threw his costume in a duffel bag, bringing it with him as he readied to leave for Molly’s. Hoping to let her give it the final approval, when he heard the phone ring. Egon let out a sigh, hastily making his way back into the living room and picking up the receiver. A familiar voice heard on the other end. 

“Egon, it’s Constance. Are you sitting down?” she asked him. Immediately he was put on edge. He hated when people started out conversations in that way. 

“No… Do I need to be?” he asked her.

“Uh… I would.” she advised. Her voice filled with sheer anxious energy. The feeling was palpable even over the phone. Egon took a seat, as suggested, on the sofa next to the table. Loosening the fit of his tie and taking a deep breath before he spoke again. 

“Ok, I’m sitting.” 

“She’s pregnant.” Constance told him, blurting out the words. Egon, feeling as if the wind was knocked out of him. 

“Are you sure?” he asked her. Rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses as he was convinced his vision had begun to blur.  

“I’m positive. I just finished running her tests. There’s no doubt.  We have to tell her.” Constance explained, freaking out on the other end. Despite his initial reaction, suddenly, Egon became as cool as a cucumber. This wasn’t a bad thing, right? Molly would be thrilled, wouldn’t she? Was he—thrilled?

“It’s alright… I will handle it.” he told Constance as he hung up the phone. Grabbing the duffle bag and heading out to meet Molly. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Come on, I wanna see it already.” Molly laughed. Waiting on her sofa for Egon to emerge from the bedroom. He had been in there a while putting on his outfit for the party. Molly, growing ever more impatient to see what he had come up with. 

On the other side of the door, Egon was sitting down on the edge of Molly’s bed. He had been dressed for some time, but hadn’t yet been able to bring himself to leave the room. Every moment of them spent together drawing closer to the time he would have to tell her. Full of more anxiety than he had never experienced before.

When he arrived at her apartment that evening, he couldn’t help but zero in on her lower abdomen. Knowing that beneath her sweater, cradled inconspicuously within her pelvis was his child—their child. Right now, what was a small bunch of cells, would continue to rapidly divide and multiply over and over. His DNA and her’s, forever combined in what would become a little person. 

It took everything in him not to shout it at her right there and then. Choosing instead to wait until the time felt right to reveal it. Hoping that they'd get some more time alone. Egon finally shook off his apprehension enough to leave the room. Molly's eyes lit up with an almost childlike wonder when she saw him. 

“Oh Egon! It's perfect!” She cheered, jumping up and down as she approached him. Marveling at the fit of a very familiar flight suit. His name in stark red lettering against the black patch. 

“Do you like it? It's really all I could think of.” He asked her, trying to stop himself from smiling too much at her delight.

“I love it! I get to bring an actual Ghostbuster with me to a Halloween party…and a handsome one at that. What's not to love!” She smiled, looking so beautiful in her Flashdance costume. Egon was particularly fond of the way her glutei maximi were accentuated in the tight black shorts. Her legs, that seemed to go on for days, were accented in black warmers and perfectly pink heels. Enticed by the fall of her baggy sweatshirt, peeking her bare shoulder to him. 

He was proud of himself for being so restrained as he looked at her. Wishing he had the strength to press his lips against hers. To forgo the party and take her once and for all in the bed. Claim her the way he should have before they had managed to make a child. For now, he knew it would have to wait. They had a party to attend—and he still needed to tell her. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Monster Mash was playing over the loudspeakers as they arrived. The semi-small studio apartment, packed like sardines with people. The crowd, a bit overwhelming for Egon as they traversed the room. Though he would take it in stride, knowing how much the event meant to Molly. 

It wasn’t long before they bumped into Sam and Elaine. The two of them dressed as Madonna and a wicked witch respectively. Molly, all too happy to introduce Egon to them as her boyfriend with the sweetest of smiles on her face. Thrilled to be on her handsome gentlemen’s arm for the evening. 

“Ghostbusters…I think I remember that from a while back. How crazy was all that?” Sam laughed trying to make conversation. 

“It was quite exceptional and dangerous. A thing of the past now.” he responded, leaving his answer short, but still rather encompassing. 

“Egon now studies more lively things, like human emotions.” laughed Molly. It became quickly apparent to them that Egon wasn’t like most men. Wanting very little to talk about himself and more happy to enjoy watching Molly having a good time. Elaine and Sam, thrilled to see just how happy he was making Molly.

“Sounds good to me. If he wants some good subjects I know where he can find some toddlers for it.” Elaine laughed, choking up a bit at the end when she suddenly remembered the situation with Molly, “Oh Mol… any word on the…'' she finished looking down at Molly's belly. Wondering how her new ghost busting beau would fit into the mix.

“Nothing yet.” she said, a hint of nervous laughter escaping her. Egon, swallowing back hard the knot in his throat, knowing that there was indeed something yet. 

“Not to alarm you, but Seth is here tonight so he may ask about it.” Sam warned her. 

“Oh…that's ok…ah Egon actually knows about Seth and the um…” Molly began just as the man in question appeared from behind Elaine’s shoulder. 

“Talking about me behind my back?” Seth laughed as he approached. Immediately Egon was on edge. This was the man who was supposed to be the baby’s father. Long brown hair, broad shouldered, and conventionally attractive. He couldn’t help but think to himself, no wonder she had chosen him. Though his brawn did not seem matched by his brains. 

“Of course not.” Sam said, rolling her eyes. Suddenly Seth’s attention was drawn to Molly. Looking her over up and down as she stood there. His gesturing, clearly showing how much he appreciated the fit of her costume. 

“So Mol any word on if I knocked you up y—” he asked as Sam’s hand came hard across his chest, “What?”

“Jeez, Seth have some class.” she told him. Molly, looking horrified at how he had asked her. All the while, Egon was beginning to feel a bit unsettled hearing him talk to her in such a way.

“No Seth, as a matter of fact I have changed my mind about all that.” she explained. Her words sent a feeling of warmth throughout Egon’s chest. Feeling as if he had somehow managed to accomplish something without even trying.

“Oh really… that's a shame. We’d make some cute kiddos.” Seth laughed, the alcohol on his breath becoming more and more apparent.  

“Seth, this is Molly’s boyfriend. Dr. Egon Spengler.” Elaine said, hoping he would get the point. 

“Well I’ll be damned. An actual Ghostbuster. Boo!” he laughed, making a fool of himself in front of them. It was clear to Egon and everyone else that Seth was already inebriated. 

“Why don’t we go sit down Seth.” Sam suggested, leading him off to the sofa as she mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ to Molly. It was upsetting for her to see him like that and Egon could tell it was getting to her. 

“Are you alright?” he asked her. Molly, pressing her lips into a smile.

“Yeah…just not used to seeing him so wasted.” she explained. Egon tried to brush it off, stuffing down the jealousy he felt creeping up inside. 

“I am sure he’ll be fine.” Egon assured her. The rest of the night was going well. They mingled with a few of Molly’s friends from work and Egon was coaxed into talking about the glory days of ghost hunting when he heard a familiar voice in the crowd calling out his name.

“Egon?” 

“Yes?” he said, turning around to come face to face with Janine Melnitz. It had been years since he’d seen her and in that time it seemed so much had changed. She was now sporting a hipper contemporary aesthetic. Her now bright red hair, styled into a bob and her black-rimmed circle spectacles a statement on her eyes. She was dressed in a lime green flapper girl costume, still wearing her leopard print coat as if he had only just arrived. 

“Janine.” he said.

“Egon, it's been a long time.” she smiled, looking him over. “Though it looks like it was just yesterday.” she laughed seeing him in his flight suit. 

“Do you all know each other?” Molly asked. 

“Once upon a time. Right Egon. How do you all know each other?” Janine asked them. 

“Oh from volunteering at a research clinic.” Molly laughed nervously. “Egon is my boyfriend.” 

“Is that so? Well now Dr. Spengler seems you are doing well for yourself. You know Molly, a few years ago we almost got married.” Janine explained, the words instantly putting Molly on edge. Janine had been someone she met a while back. Hanging out with a group of Sam’s roadie friends and a bunch of artsy people they hung out with. Never in a million years did she think someone like Janine and Egon would have ever been an item.

“That was a long time ago.” Egon assured Molly, sensing her unease at the turn of the conversation. “How have you been Janine?” he asked, trying to maintain civil conversation, though he felt like he was stuck in quicksand. Unable to move from the awkward interaction without finding an appropriate out.  

“Oh I’ve been around. Doing some secretarial work for the local community college, but nothing too serious. How have you been? Are the boys getting back together?” Janine smiled. Her eyes lighting up in Egon’s presence. 

“Hardly. Peter is more interested in cable television than researching actual paranormal phenomena.” Egon explained.

“A shame.” Janine responded. Molly kept quiet while watching the two of them interact. At one point she was no longer hearing what was being said, but finding herself paying close attention to the way Janine would brush her hair behind one ear. Laughing as she placed her palm against Egon’s chest. It seemed like obvious flirting to Molly, but did Egon even notice? 

It was clear now that whatever torch had been lit all those years ago, for Janine it was still burning. Molly, wondering if it was the same for Egon. As they stood there suddenly Molly felt someone poking her. A finger, tapping over and over into her shoulder before she turned around to see Seth once again. Two beers in hand and looking even more sloshed than he had before. 

“Here Mol have a beer with me.” he told her trying to hand her the open bottle. Molly, politely refusing him as he carried on. 

“Really?”

“No thanks, I’m good.” she said, once again trying to get him to back off. Her protests, catching Egon and Janine’s attention. 

“Ah come on, it's just a beer. It’s Halloween, lighten up a bit will yah.” he insisted, shoving the bottle again in her face. Egon was overcome with anger. Watching the way Seth was treating Molly had his blood boiling. A feeling he had hardly ever felt before. He was unable to control himself as the beer bottle spilled over onto Molly’s sweatshirt. Molly, going to grab it from Seth if only to stop him from insisting she take a drink, when Egon finally lost it.   

“Back off you oaf, she’s pregnant.” Egon snapped.

[fgfluidity]

bon appetit

Summary: It’s only two weeks. He can manage.

Pairing: Damien x DA

Warnings: vampire damien; mentions of blood, raw meat, self harm (but nothing explicit), coercion/lack of consent

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@volbeast @moriimae @opprose @mirrorslament @otterlyinluv @flerpdederp

Damien is quite glad for his method.

The greenhouse staff know him very well, coming in for his weekly order. “You know,” the man at the counter says, “most people don’t need a whole two pounds of blood meal a week. Be sure you aren’t using too much on your garden, there, Mr. Mayor.”

Damien gives him a tight-lipped smile. “My plants seem to thrive on it, oddly enough. It’s worth the expense- besides, I have plenty of them to tend to.”

The man hums, not entirely convinced judging by the crease in his brow, but he doesn’t question it. “Well, your garden speaks for itself. Have a good day, now- oh,” he adds, raising a finger, “I almost forgot- we’re changing suppliers, so use it a bit sparingly this week, just in case we won’t have your order.”

“Oh.” Damien frowns, calculating his intake mentally. Two pounds are thirty-two ounces, divided by seven days is a little over a half-cup a day mixed into a full cup of hot water. That keeps him full and satisfied all day, no need for a hunt or another sip or god the cravings-

But divide it by fourteen days...

Anyone would grow hungry if their food source was suddenly halved for two weeks. A hungry person is weak and irritable, and often they can only think of their next meal.

Damien is no different in that respect, of course, it’s only…

His hunger comes at a far greater cost than most.

His eyes snap back to the gardener’s, and he gives another smile. “Well, thank you for letting me know in advance. That shouldn’t be too difficult a problem. I hope to see you in two weeks, then?”

“We should be fine by then. Take care, Mr. Mayor. And good luck on your re-election campaign.” Smiling, he proudly taps a pot on the counter, holding Damien’s signature white carnations, a bow wrapped around the outside proclaiming his support. “I have to support a great customer.”

That gets a much less strained smile. “And I appreciate every bit of it,” Damien replies, sincere and warm. “Thank you.”

He can’t afford to be hungry now. If the newly-halved blood meal won’t sate him enough to last through the end of his campaign, then…

He’ll have to try other avenues.

—

“While I know you to have focus to rival mine, it’s usually while at work.”

Damien looks to his friend, the attorney. Dressed comfortably, though it’s hardly different than their usual work attire, they sprawl over his loveseat, their book open but face down over their stomach.

He winces. “You’ll break the spine that way. Use a bookmark, please. I have plenty.” He waves towards a little jar on a shelf, full of thicker, colored pieces of paper.

“It’s already broken.” They lift the book to flex it, a hand in each cover. On cue, the spine bends at a crease right down the middle. “Books are made to be read, anyway. What are you so focused on?”

It should be innocuous. After all, a simple dive into research isn’t unusual for him, or for them— they have countless late nights in university to prove it.  “A book about various health foods,” he lifts it, just as they had. “I’ve been meaning to… adjust my diet.”

“Adjust your diet?” They sit up with some effort, shuffling around until they’re in a better position to face him, book finally set aside and laying as it should be. “Why? You seem quite healthy, aside from… is it safe for you to do that?”

Their kind, concerned eyes burn into him, and he can’t stop a little smile. “My doctor recommended a change, if only for a short time. I should be quite well so long as I keep taking my medication, though I appreciate the concern.”

His friend sniffs, betrayed by their own pleased little upturn of the mouth. “Well, someone must be. I’m no doctor, but I’ve picked up things here and there. What are you looking for, specifically?”

A ‘no, thank you’ nearly springs from Damien’s tongue before he can stop it, too accustomed to hiding his condition. This cover is sufficient enough to keep any suspicion at bay, at least for the time being; his friends are more concerned with helping him than putting the pieces together.

Beyond that, he only has theories as to a solution, and he’s never had a better puzzle-solver on his side. “The doctor seems convinced of a lack of iron and protein, more than a simple steak could provide,” he says, going back to flipping through pages. “I’m making a list of possible sources to introduce to my diet.”

“A lack of iron?” He can hear the raised eyebrow. “From the scent of your medication, I would have believed you had a surplus.”

His smile goes a bit more strained. Flip, flip. Focus on the burning pine candle, not their heartbeat, their scent. “One would think, wouldn’t they?”

His friend hums, the soft tapping of fingers on upholstery indicating they’re deep in thought. “Well,” they begin, finally, “if you’re looking for iron and protein… I mean, it won’t be particularly tasty, but a lot of people enjoy it.”

“What?” Damien sets down his book, one hand on the page to mark his place. If it’s popular, that means it must be readily available, and he’s not going to pass up something when it’ll prevent a catastrophe.

His friend grimaces, a bit nauseated. “Liver. I wouldn’t recommend it, I hate the stuff, but if you’re really hurting for iron…”

Liver. He can’t say he’s ever tried it— his family always preferred the more expensive muscle meats, not entirely for taste but simply status, of course— but no one’s going to bat an eye at a man simply going to the butcher shop. Fewer questions than asking for blood, as well.

“That’s a good idea,” he muses, shutting the book and setting it aside by his notes. “Worth a try, at any rate. I’m guessing you won’t have much in the way of recipes?”

Their lip curls even further. “No, and I’m not making it for you. You’re my dearest friend, but some lines I will not cross.”

Damien snickers. “Noted. Even if it saves my life, you won’t cook liver. You’re a wonderful friend.”

“The best you’ve ever had.” They settle back into their original position, picking up their book to set back on their stomach, legs stretched over one arm of the loveseat. “Oh, damn it, I lost my spot!”

Marking down a note on his legal pad, Damien dryly comments, “Find the crease you made.”

Mere seconds later, a paper ball— which looks uncannily like the paper used in his bookmarks— gently bounces off his forehead.

—

They’re staring at him.

Sitting on his kitchen counter, wrapped in pristine butcher paper, are three packages. The two flatter of the trio contain liver— one beef and one chicken— which looked disgustingly, deliciously bloody as the butcher packed away a pound of each for him.

There could be absolutely no doubt that they contain exactly what he needs, smooth and slick texture dark and packed full of iron and protein.

The third package was, admittedly, a bit of an impulse buy.

“What’s that, there?” He pointed through the glass case.

“That? Oh, that’s some black pudding. Most people here don’t eat it, but I was sent some extra product and there’s a group around here that can’t get enough.” The butcher snorted. “Brits, you know? Don’t understand them.”

“I couldn’t say I know of any,” Damien replied. “My political aspirations don’t foray into international diplomacy. What’s in black pudding?”

The butcher eyed him— not suspiciously, but almost sizing him up. “Well, I suppose a man so fond of liver might have a taste for it. Spices and breadcrumbs, like any sausage, but it gets another name for the main ingredient: pork blood. Blood sausage. Are you interested in any?”

The human part of him nearly recoiled at the odd idea of it, but… well, if he was already looking for ways around his new diet. “Sure, just a small portion to see. I wouldn’t want to waste.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you did with this one.” The butcher laughed, but packaged up a few slices just like the rest.

Now, just like the liver, it rests on the counter. Waiting for him to take his meal.

He can smell the blood through the paper, easily. Very little can halt the smell for him, these days; he could very nearly call himself attuned to the scent, a vicious sort of bloodhound able to track for miles.

Or, perhaps, a shark.

No shark— or even dog, for that matter— would stare down their food so intently, hunger and nausea fighting in their stomach. Dehydrated and powdered, the blood meal is closer to a supplement than a food; the idea of actually getting the blood from the organs… it turns his stomach.

At least, chilled as they are. Still, he can't cook them, for fear of losing the blood or its properties.

He swallows hard, hoping to keep down his meager ration of blood for the day. He’s hungry, he has to do this, just until he can get more meal. It won’t be long.

Which to do first?

It's an agonizing several seconds of decision-making, feeling like hours in all truth, before he hesitantly reaches out to take the package of blood sausage in hand. It's still cold to the touch, only out of the fridge a scant few moments for him to make his decision. Just a few slices, nothing to lift, shifting between his fingers.

"Get it over with," he mutters to himself, and pulls open the packaging.

--

God, does he hate black pudding.

He'll pay whatever postage it takes to send the vile mush all the way back across the pond. The British can keep it, thank you very much.

--

He takes to the package of chicken livers next, as they're smaller and less messy to bite into. He wrinkles his nose at one of the small pieces, held gingerly between his fingers, and pops it in.

Chews.

Absolutely not, says his sense of touch, and out it comes.

Okay. Full on raw is not the way to go.

He scrapes the spat out liver to the side, shuddering at the slimy-smooth texture now slightly warmed by his mouth, and reconsiders.

... well, he does have a juice press.

--

His kitchen looks like a murder scene, blood smeared along the cutting board, the handle of the juice press, his hands, a bit on the counter.

Honestly, it's likely splashed up onto his shirt by now, making the whole scene look even more unhinged and sick.

Despite all the troubles, though, he has a glass of, ah, 'juice', still cool and ready to drink. Taking a breath, as he always does before his morning cup, he takes a mouthful of liquid.

It's... fine. Or, rather, it's only slightly better than his reconstituted blood meal, thicker but fresher in flavor.

Licking his lips, if only to clean them, Damien looks to his cupboards. He should have a suitable pot somewhere.

--

A small mugful of warmed beef-chicken liver blood later, he feels full for the first time in days, satisfied enough to recline and feel somewhat human again.

From squeezing the blood out, he has enough to last for a few days, kept in the fridge and re-warmed as needed, in supplement to his blood meal. It'll work well!

Or, it would, if it weren't for the cost.

The cost isn't just counted in the hours he'll need to spend to scald his kitchen free of bloodstains, trying desperately to remove any from his washable fabrics by any means necessary. No, it also comes in the literal cost of the meat-- even without the rather pricy slices of black pudding, livers are not quite the cheapest in the butcher case, given their relative rarity compared to other cuts.

He may be well off by virtue of his birthright and by his vocation, but not nearly enough to afford this much liver every week.

It'll do for now, though. Just enough to last him, combined with his meal, until the election.

--

Even with the additional blood from the liver, his meals are still a bit on the bare bones side. Stretching out his total supply gives him hardly more than three-quarters cup a day; while satisfying enough, the deficit-- as all deficits do-- begins to catch up with him.

"Are you doing alright, Mr. Mayor?"

Damien blinks, looks up from his creaking pen, held in far too strong a grip. "Sorry-- yes, Mr. Miller?"

Miller frowns, setting down his sheaf of papers. "I understand that you are under quite a bit of stress, given the election count tomorrow. It's been a long and hard road. Perhaps, given that our campaign is nearly over, you ought to go home and get some rest."

"Rest?" At home, where there are no people but there is the rest of his bloodmeal, so tempting in the bag that he may forego stirring it into water altogether. He swallows hard, tearing his eyes from the jumping pulse in Miller's temple to smile. "I appreciate the concern, sir, but I'm alright. Once the week is over I'll be right as rain again; like you said, it must simply be the stress of the election."

"Hm." Miller stands. "Even so, you have a party to attend tomorrow night, regardless of your victory-- which," he adds, pointedly, "is all but assured. You're a popular man, Mr. Mayor, and no one will begrudge you time to rest after you've worked so hard to get here. As your campaign manager-"

"As your mayor," Damien replies, standing to match Miller's height, "I respectfully decline the offer. I would much rather stay and tie up any loose ends, and I won't be told to give up quite so soon."

It's only after he finishes his rebuttal that he notes his harsh breathing, the sound of blood in his ears, his pen cracked and leaking between his fingers. He's so angry, so hungry, and Miller in front of him, frozen, with his blood rushing red just under his skin--

"I--" He swallows hard, rocking back onto his heels and away from Miller. "My-- my apologies. I suppose... I suppose the stress is getting to me much more than I had realized. Please-- take the rest of the day, and the rest of the staff. I'll go home and... we'll reconvene tomorrow at the party."

To his credit, Miller doesn't seem afraid, or even angry. Rather, he chuckles lightly. "I understand, Mr. Mayor. It's alright-- politics can make even the coolest of heads act irrationally. Especially if they've run themself ragged, " he adds, pointedly.

Damien manages a smile. "Yes, quite. Have a good evening, sir."

Upon his return home, the scent of the blood still in his fridge, in his pantry, calls to him. It's so strong that-- combined with his roaring stomach-- he finds himself before the cupboard door before he can realize, already pulling out the last of the granules.

It's all he can do to make his supper properly, gulping down every last drop until he's stuffed at his dining table, napkin stained and stomach strained.

Hopefully, he thinks, hopefully this will last through the election party.

--

Fuck.

It's all Damien can really think.

The party is luxury, of course, because that's what his donors want and expect: a rented out hall in a grand hotel, flowing drink and posh music and formal wear. Packed to the brim with every socialite and politician and businessman in town, mingling and proclaiming how they just knew Damien would get re-elected, how their donation was really the one to push him over the edge.

He's always hated this sort of thing, even from an early age. Dressed up and paraded around as a status symbol. Seen but not heard.

Ugh. Celine may have the right idea, getting out while she could.

He doesn't mind that she didn't show up tonight. There are much better things she could be doing-- any of his friends could be doing, really. Hell, he'd go on another deer hunt with William if it meant he could be out of this crowd.

At least out there, he could manage to sneak a bite.

His binge the previous night didn't last him long, fading just after noon today. If he'd manage to save even a few swallows, left frozen in the freezer or even covered and left in the fridge--

But he didn't. And now...

While his little circle of colleagues continues on in conversation, he lets out his stale breath in a slow, controlled exhale-- through his nose, of course. It prevents any accidental scents from triggering him, just as his controlled inhale does through slightly opened mouth.

It doesn't prevent every  particle of scent from reaching him, but it's enough. Just enough.

If that bite had made him truly undead rather than diseased, the breathing aspect wouldn't be much of an issue. Alas.

"Damien!"

He knows that voice, and he doesn't have to force the smile that comes to his lips as he turns, spotting his friend.

The attorney, in all their finery, does their level best to push through the crowd, one hand with an iron grip held around a glass of champagne-- half full, by the looks. They smell of it, their eyes ever so slightly glassy; they've always had trouble with crowds, so a shot or three of liquid courage is expected.

"Have you pestered the servers too often and now you need someone to grab snacks for you?" He teases.

They scowl at him, though their light shove at his arm is little but playful. "One would think you'd be more gracious towards your friends," they say, lifting their chin. "Especially as I'm coming to warn you."

He raises an eyebrow. "Warn me?"

"Of your campaign staff." They tilt their head just a fraction, enough to indicate behind them, towards the podium at the front of the hall. It's decorated with banners and his flowers, just awaiting the re-elected mayor. "They're hunting you, it's time for your speech."

His speech-- "Damn it," he mutters, taking another breath through the mouth.  "I hadn't even practiced one. Surely they'll give me a few more..."

The circle pushes in a bit closer, bumping his friend another step or two towards him. The movement, the stress, their proximity-- it all adds up in the worst possible way, the perfect storm of bad fortune.

He takes in a sharp breath through the nose.

Blood. Food. Hunt.

Prey.    Everywhere he looks, there's prey. Not a single one of them aware of the wolf in the flock, laughing and cheering amongst themselves, utterly carefree.

It's a buffet of nourishment, all types of blood flowing rich and warm and plentiful in their veins. In some, he can see the flush on their skin, enhanced by the effects of alcohol. On others, the sound is what betrays them, the rhythmic thumping of their heart and soft wooshing as the liquid flows.

Still others-- and one specific other-- are given away by their scent. It's a full myriad of perfumes, colognes, from musk to florals to fruits to earth. Human sweat and adrenaline and hormones and emotion, a cloud so thick in the air he could open his mouth and take a bite of just oxygen.

But one. And oh, that one. The sweetest, warmest, richest of all-- perhaps not to any other vampire, but always to him. The attorney, within arms' reach, muttering an apology as they nearly step on his shined dress shoes.

Damien clenches his fingers hard into fists, fingernails digging into his palms, but the sharp sting against the tender skin does very little to break his focus. He can feel the itch in his gums, canines elongating against his will.

It'd only take a step. A single bite. What could anyone do?

"Day?"

Their voice is close, soft and concerned, their unoccupied hand hovering close over his arm. His eyes snap to it, then back to their face. "I--"

"Is it a flare?" Before he can answer their question, they've turned to hand off their glass, muttering something quick and sharp to a passerby he can't recognize through the haze. Whatever they said, it works like magic, as the air around him grows less crowded and he's ushered away, one warm hand hovering over his back.

There are mutters from the shapeless masses of prey, but he pays them no mind. There's fresh air and a chill outside, and he gulps both down like he's been starved all his life.

It doesn't sate his stomach, but he's a fraction closer to normalcy when he finally turns back to his friend, standing just inches away.

"It's alright, you're alright," they murmur, so soft and gentle. "There's a bench just a few more steps away, you'll be able to sit and breathe. I can go get you some water-- maybe a snack, too. You look a bit ashy; have you eaten at all today?"

Damien barks a laugh. It doesn't sound quite like himself, even to his own ears, so it isn't surprising that it gives the attorney pause, as well. "God, I'm starving. I haven't been able to-- I need to eat."

They nod. "Yes, yes, you do. I'll make sure you've eaten before you go anywhere near that stage, alright? I'll get you something filling-- with iron, if I can. Steak tartare might be the only thing--"

"I don't need steak," he spits, struggling against his fangs, his instincts. "I-- I need--"

"Day? It's alright, take your time." They step a bit closer, hand light against the back of his ribcage. "I'll help you however I can, just sit down."

The touch burns like fire, the heartbeat in their palm amplified. Crazed with hunger, the fight against the urge to just bite, he locks eyes with them, teeth bared. "I need blood. Now, right now, I need to drink."

He hadn't thought much of anything could break through the blood-craze, the burning instinct tensing every last muscle in preparation for an ambush. His own will couldn't, his techniques; even the admission of one of his closest-kept secrets matters so little to him in this moment.

Their expression going stone cold sober, surprised and shocked and perhaps a little frightened, strikes him right in the heart.

The moment hangs precarious, like a glass bauble dangling from the thinnest thread. If they move, if they breathe, if they say anything at all, it'll be the end of everything. No more comfortable afternoons in, no more wild evenings out, no more camaraderie or closeness or anything.

He's always felt disgust with himself, but he's never felt more like a monster.

Their eyes search his for the longest time, piercing deep into his soul. What they could possibly be looking for, Damien can't say, but it feels like an eternity before they take a deep breath, letting out a shaky exhale. "Alright."

His growling stomach forms into a ball of ice, and he swallows hard. "No, please, I can-- huh?"

He watches, mystified, as his friend fumbles with their sleeve, muttering to themself. Once it's secured above their elbow, they hold out their forearm to him, turning their head away. "Go on. It's there. Drink."

"What?" All he can do is blink, dumbfounded. "I can't do that. You-- I can't. Especially not you."

"I can get a knife," they begin, though the hysterical edge to their tone betrays their true feelings on the matter, "or you can go ahead and bite me. You will drink, and then you will go in there and do your speech while I finish a whole bottle of champagne."

The sting in his palms and the hunger pangs tell him he's not dreaming or in the midst of some kind of hallucination, but Damien still finds this situation impossible to believe. "You aren't even going to ask about..?"

They shrug, and the light pouring from the windows above illuminates the barest edge of their smug smile. "I nearly had the pieces together. I'll have time to ask. Besides... you're the best friend I ever had," they murmur, voice turning soft and quiet. "I trust you, Day. Drink, before you starve-- I know I'll be okay with you."

It doesn't make sense. They may trust him, but how could they know the exact pull of his hunger, what thoughts he's had? The line of a neck and a pulse under his lips, pressed fully against them in a horrible interplay of desire and violence-- his long-standing affections twisted grotesquely. They don't know, and they can't know.

Yet they're holding out their arm for him, swaying under the effects of drink but not backing away, not watching him. Giving up their lifeblood so that he won't go hungry.

He carefully takes their arm, raising it almost halfway before lowering it again. "You're certain? Really?"

He only gets a sharp, decisive nod in reply.

Swallowing hard, he lifts it to his mouth. Their skin is smooth and warm, tender and seemingly sensitive from how they shudder, his breath ghosting over their wrist. They smell perfect, sweet and wonderful, pulse strong against his fingers.

He wonders who's trembling more: himself, or his friend.

Then, he opens his mouth, and bites.

--

Damien raises his hands to calm the cheering and applause, the bright flashes of press at the edges, giving his best smile to the gathered crowd. They're far less intimidating now that he's sated, rich and sweet blood still singing on his tongue, filling him with more strength than he's had in...

He isn't sure, but it's a hell of a rush.

"Thank you, but please, that's enough. I couldn't have won this re-election campaign without all of you, spreading the word and donating and cheering me along every step of the way. Please, take a moment for yourselves, your fellow citizens, for taking a stand for this community, your neighbors, family, friends." He pauses a moment, allowing the people before him to applaud to their heart's content, and his eyes scan the crowd.

There, at the far corner, one arm bandaged while the other lifts another glass to their lips, is his friend. They catch his eye just before they take a sip, giving him a warm if slightly dazed smile as they lift the glass in his direction. "Truly, your support means the world to me," he continues, more to them than anyone else. "I would not be where I stand without you, and this great city of ours will continue to grow and flourish with your advocacy and dedication. I can't possibly thank you enough, and I will do my best to honor your commitment with everything I can. It's an honor and a pleasure. Thank you."

He gives one last beaming smile to the crowd, a wave simply because he's feeling so well, and takes his leave from the podium.

He ought to get his friend home before anything worse happens.

--

When Damien awakens, the almost sugar-high rush from the 'donation' is gone, leaving him sated but feeling normal in the early hours of the morning.

That feeling only lasts as long as his morning stretch before the weight of the previous evening hits him in full.

The attorney knows. They saw his fangs, they heard his growl. They bared their arm and he drank from them, so deeply that they passed out on the drive home.

Yes, it may have been from the alcohol, but that only brings up further problems: if they were so far gone, swaying even as they offered up their own forearm, fumbling with the fabric of their sleeve, how could they have truly consented to what they were offering? It isn't sex, no, no matter his personal considerations, but it's still taking something important from them-- it's an important decision to make, one that should require a clear head.

He hadn't even considered beyond his own hunger that they may not be in the right space to agree.

It twists and sours in his stomach, whatever blood and bile seeming to curdle, and he retches into his own sink. Nothing comes up, but he still spits, rinses out his mouth from the blood he can still taste despite a late-night brush.

He drank human blood. His human's-- his friend's blood.

It was his first boundary, when he realized his condition. Animal blood only, from as peaceful a source as possible. He isn't violent, the thought of actually biting and hunting turning his stomach just as it did before the change.

He went to great lengths to avoid it, for years he managed, and then--

He couldn't stop himself. He was starving and they were perfect and they offered, but that doesn't make it any more excusable, does it? What should it matter if they couldn't really say yes to him?

Damien gags once more before he clenches his fists against the porcelain bowl of the sink, taking a deep breath of clean water and bath towels and peppermint toothpaste. Normal human scents. No more blood.

His blood meal should be back in stock. Or close enough to it to put in an order for four pounds, eight. Enough to stockpile, so he'll never grow hungry enough to prey on them-- or anyone-- again.

His fingers shake as he dresses himself, buttons going all wrong on the first attempt, his tie more trouble than it's worth. The water for his coffee splashes over his fingers as he attempts to pour it over the grounds, and he hardly winces at the sting; oddly, he almost feels better that it hurts.

One cup goes down quick, acid and bitter and better than any blood, he tells himself as he goes about pouring another. No blood tastes as good as his specialty beans, ground fresh and black as night, thin and boiling hot.

Not smooth and rich like honey and copper, just warm enough on his tongue as breath and heart stutter somewhere beside him--

A thud brings him back to himself, tongue probing his sharpened fangs as he glances down towards his newly de-handled mug, the ceramic almost powdering in his fist.

He never cared for it much, anyway.

The thud came from his front porch, though, not the mug hitting his dining table; curious, he heads for the door.

For a split second, he worries that it may be his friend, nursing a terrible hangover but ready to talk his condition, what they did the night before; in swinging open the door, however, he only finds the morning copy of the local paper. The election results are, of course, front and center on the cover. He may not be a scrapbooker, but it's something to keep for the memory and accomplishment.

He's just flipping through the pages, sipping on his second mug of the morning, when a particular headline-- and photo-- catches his eye.

'Is The Mayor A Monster?'

Beneath it is a photo of him at his podium, all smiles-- something dark staining his pearly whit teeth.

The second mug shatters, drenching both him and the paper in hot coffee.

Fuck.

–

It’s just the opinion section, hardly worth more than a tabloid. Some rogue reporter in desperate need for a story, catching the wrong photo at the wrong time and trying to capitalize upon the sensation.

It shouldn’t matter, no, but his anxiety attack doesn’t care much for logic.

With some effort, he focuses his gaze on his counter, the ostentatious house plant Mark gave him as a gift, thriving on the windowsill. Green and fresh and unbothered. Swaying in the slight early morning breeze.

Breathe in, breathe out, along with the motion of the stalks.

His panic won’t solve the situation at hand. He needs a clear head.

As loathe as he is to think of it, how did his father handle scandal? With grace and deflection and charisma, of course.

He had an advisor, as well, one who knew him and the truth and more than willing to make a plan with him. The only person Damien has of the sort is…

—

The attorney blinks blearily out at him, a mess of rumpled sleep clothes and wild hair. “Damien? It’s way too early for any of this; I have the worst headache and unless you have—“

From several feet back, he holds up a container and a mug, both radiating heat into his finders. “Please. We have to talk about…”

He can’t finish, the words catching in his throat, but his friend shuffles to the side. The mere scent of the coffee and breakfast seems to perk them up as he passes. “Sure, make yourself at home. I’ll be there in a second.”

Seconds tick by like hours as he waits in their living room, perched on the edge of their couch with one knee bouncing frantically. He can track them in their own home, he finds, their light footsteps from bedroom to bathroom, the sound of brushing and running water.

They look a bit more alive when they return to him, unchanged but much more presentable, and they bring the mug of coffee to their lips like it’s a lifeline. “Ah… okay,” they say after swallowing. “If it’s about me getting too sloppy drunk, I’m sorry. The bubbles go right to my head, I swear.”

“What? No, no, that’s— considering what I put you through…” Damien pauses, eyes drifting to their bared forearm. No bandage, but still a tender-looking scratch. “That, I mean. How is… I never meant to…”

They lift the arm, inspecting the wound. “Oh, that? I think that was when we went outside, I scraped up pretty badly against a rose bush. See?” They flip over their arm, showing a few more nicks and scratches, though far less irritated.

He furrows his brow. “You… don’t remember what happened?”

His friend chews a rather large bite, holding up a finger to indicate it’ll be a moment. Once their mouth is clear, they continue. “You were looking ill, I took you out to give you fresh air. Once you felt better, we went back in and I decided to drink even more. That’s all.”

Damien nearly protests, bewildered, but he catches something in their expression. Their eyes are too sharp, too knowing. In court they can fool anyone into believing their calm and cool facade, but not him.

They remember very well— and they’re trying to keep him from knowing. From apologizing.

His stomach turns, and he looks away. “Well, I appreciate the help,” he mutters. “I must admit, I didn’t just come to check up on you.”

“I thought you were just being nice— but that’s alright, what did you need?” They tilt their head, setting down their fork. “Really, anything I can do.”

Whether they mean to or not, their hand goes to their forearm, gently brushing their wound, and he swallows against bile. “Well— I’d hoped you might help me navigate a bit of a scandal.”

The attorney laughs once he shows them the page. “Oh, Day, your first scandal,” they coo, grinning. “A monster, honestly. They really need to find something better to report on. Something factual, for example.”

It’s factual enough, he thinks, bitterly, but doesn’t say it. “Any thoughts on how to deflect?”

“Other than just ignoring it?” His friend hums, considering. Then, they smile.

He doesn’t particularly like it.

—

“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. James. I understand it was sudden.”

The reporter shifts a touch uncomfortably on the other side of the table, eyes flicking between their cups and his face. “Of course, Mr. Mayor, but I’m happy you offered an interview.”

Damien smiles, closed-mouth. “I’m happy to be open with my constituency. Besides, there is a small matter I’d like to clear up with you and your readership, if you don’t mind.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his pulse ticks up to rabbit-fast. “Oh? Oh— the article.  I apologize, Mr. Mayor, that was— that was unwarranted—“

Damien shakes his head. “I understand. The media wants a sensation now and then; that’s how you earn your keep, isn’t it?” He reaches out to pour from his ceramic pitcher, the red liquid inside mixing into the blood meal in the bottom of his cup.

James keeps his eyes locked onto the stream, speechless.

“You’ll have to pardon me— ever since the party, I’ve had to adjust my medication schedule.” He lifts the pitcher. “It goes down best with tomato juice. Would you care for any?”

“Tomato juice?” His eyes snap back to Damien’s face.

Damien nods, stirring his drink and setting the red-stained spoon back on the saucer. “Masks any bitter medicine taste, and it’s quite nutritious to boot. The only downside is, well… it has a tendency to cling once mixed into my medication.”

He sips, watching James as the gears turn, puzzle pieces finally setting into place. “So what was on your teeth at the party—“

“Was an unfortunate and embarrassing accident. I usually brush after taking it, but I was unable to with all of the commotion.” Damien smiles, just a bit, allowing James to see a hint of red on his teeth. “I do apologize for any concern I may have caused; I’m aiming to keep better track of my schedule and health so it doesn’t happen again.”

“That’s alright, Mr. Mayor. Thank you for clearing that up— that does make quite a bit more sense,” James admits sheepishly. He reaches out for one of the cookies on the plate before him.  “For what it’s worth, it really was just for the opinion and goof column. I hadn’t meant to mix it up.”

Damien doesn’t believe that for a second, but he’ll allow the attempt to save face. “No harm done, so long as you post to corrections. I don’t believe many bought this particular story, anyway.”

“You may be right at that, thankfully. While I’m here, though…” James leans in, lowering his voice as if anyone else is around to hear. “Someone did say they saw you disappear with a local attorney. Is there anything you’d like to comment?”

—

Damien shuts the front door firmly behind him, dusting his hands and ignoring the sound of protest from the other side.

God, but he hates the press.

[everlastiingiimmortals]

🎀📚😍🌈

Shoutouts!! Accepting!

oh boy [cracks knuckles]

🎀 ― all-around kind person @shengyins !! Iris is super chill and super friendly! We got to talking regularly recently and I have been having so much fun chatting with them and coming up with High Elder theories and what not. They're one of the biggest reasons I have a muse for Glaciator Marum, and may end up adding them to my blog some time in the future!

📚 ― nice threads to read I know I said I don't usually have time to read threads as of late, but someone whose threads I almost always read when I can is @thegatesofinfinitespace, my other lifelong friend and family. <3 They and Kara (overx) have made me so deeply invested in all their worlds and muses, and it's been a genuine pleasure to learn about them. There's so much more I haven't heard of yet, and I've known the both of them for 7 years!! Story time from them is always my favorite; each new character or AU they come up with is extremely precious to me, even if I'm not familiar with the basis or preexisting material, and truly Cris' work and their threads are one of the biggest reasons why my own characters end up having so many branching AUs and why those AUs end up developing into OCs of their own. Knowing Cris and reading all their work has given me the courage and confidence to be able to discern when an AU has become far, far more than that, and take pride in claiming the newly evolved muse as my own character. <3

😍 ― admiring from afar I don't really like this phrase myself! It feels weird and it's also not exactly accurate to how I feel, as I'm not shy to reach out to others, I just have limited time/energy to start a thread with someone for the first time (the first thread always seems to take so much more effort to me...) or I'm lurking to read up on a new mutual's headcanons/threads to better learn their muse's voice first. That being said, someone I'm very much looking forward to interacting with in the future when I have more spoons is @zorkaya (hi Ren, v excited to toss my muses @ you soon!!), who has a lot of mutuals in common with me and whose OC I've gotten to learn through said mutuals. Zarina is a simply stunning OC, and the amount of depth that goes into all of her verses clearly shows the love that Ren has for her. It's amazing!

🌈 ― aesthetically pleasing blog I don't look at carrds/themes as often now unless I'm rereading rosters/rules since I'm so heavily on mobile as of late (I also do not judge on aesthetic because far too many times that comes at the price of accessibility and i Despise That), but highkey just looking at the dash-only header and icon of @celestial-sword-dance fucking slaps so hard???? (potential scopophobia tw so I'm putting it under a read more)

look at this oh my god IT HITS SO NICE

[titanchaser]

𝘼𝙍𝙑𝙀𝙉 of 𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘵 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘵. by percival (he/him, 30+)

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐧 [ . . . ] learning to let go / man vs. machine / looking back, looking forward / healing the soul / finding your treasure

public v. private info ╱ verses ╱ about ╱ his team ╱ tba

affiliated with [ . . . ] @rotharvest , @griefurias, @aetherceuse , @moonkssd , @directorstarfall , @fightingstargirl , @skullkxd, tba

𝐨𝐧𝐞. #TITANCHASER is an independent, private, highly selective and mutuals exclusive writing blog for arven of the pokemon franchise. except imagine it's actually written in the style of the final season of yu-gi-oh 5Ds (arc cradle / iliaster) ... among other franchises lmao.

due to the fact that i am OLD, this blog is 18+. please do not follow me if you are under 18!

on this note, this blog will feature dark and triggering themes. i will make sure to tag these things with the format of #trigger so that they can be filtered out! please tag #trypophobia for me!

𝐭𝐰𝐨. idk arven is an upperclassman at a goddamn college (21), but shipping isn't my main concern here. anyway there's nothing with any muse under 18 obviously, and arven won't be going for anyone too far above his age range, either!

i am very open to other sorts of bonds, though!

i should also note that i will accept mains and exclusives!

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞. i am known for writing metas across the blogs i have. in the wise words of a friend:

with this in mind, the metas i write are portrayal specific to this blog, so please give them a read! i know i can be rather wordy- anyone who has followed me elsewhere may know this, but for my first time followers, worldbuilding is one of my favorite things to do. i am particularly fond of analysis of character psychology.

𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞. to the point above, i do have other blogs! i am in and out of other fandoms, but i am trying to focus on a smaller group of things for my own sanity.

and by this, i mean i work 32-40 hours as a registered nurse in an inpatient psychiatric unit. i am busy, i am tired, and i can't keep letting my focus go all over the place. inevitably, it still may do that because i have a tendency to be scattered, so if i don't get to something immediately, it isn't you, it's me!

also related to that, i do love communication! i struggle with reading the room (it's the Autism tm) and so if something's up or if you're bothered, please be direct with me! i will not take offense, i quite appreciate feedback so that i can be better as a person! in return, i will communicate back! i am learning to curate my space (after 10+ years of being on tumblr).

𝐬𝐢𝐱. there are people i won't interact with due to various reasons- my dni list is on the carrd of my other blogs. i won't interact with genderbent versions of characters, people who are Real Life Individuals (not counting fictional depictions like in the typemoon franchise or whatnot because those really have nothing to do with the actual individual they're supposedly based on?).

please stay far away from me if you fall under the following categories (i'm censoring things because god knows tumblr just picks shit up idk): proshipping, writing inc*st, p*dophilia, r*pe/n*ncon, are transphobic/homophobic- the usual gross behavior! use your moral compass!

on top of that, i am a firm believer that we learn from the media around us. full censorship is just as dangerous as the aforementioned things- the world isn't all sunshine and rainbows! please refer to this post which essentially summarizes the gist of what i'm trying to explain.

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧. anyway, hello, i'm percival / percy. i am 30+ and use he/him pronouns exclusively! i am a hobby artist (it's my side-gig from nursing) and sometimes i post my art, tagged #whats my art tag considering i constantly forget my art tag if it's fancy. please do not repost my art without my permission.

mutuals, feel free to ask me for my discord, since i am much easier to reach there!

i look forward to writing with you!

[thetentaclecommander]

This is an 18+ blog. Pretty much anything under the Ao3 archive warnings section, and then some can and will likely be represented here, so no histrionics, plz. I don't have a DNI or 'required reading' but do have 'things' listed at post bottom in case they are like deal breakers or whatever so you cannot say you weren't given advance warning as to my content. *I will not waste my time reading DNIs or Carrds. The block button is a great (sex) toy and you are free to use it at will. I sure as hell do.* +++ FAQ Who is this? Hi, I’m TTC

I write Nemesis and Jill boning a lot. For the plot, supposedly. Been doing so forever ago. What are you? An immortal sentient tentacle who moonlights as a jaded fandom old. I can and will out-drink you. What other names have you've gone by? I've lovingly been called That Tentacle and Server Satan. I'm a walking kink-filled perv factory full of bad ideas, hence the names. + What fics do you write? Fic list for the Devil's Saga AU. The Ships in the AU My AO3 + Tags for Blog Navigation Here. + (Con't under the cut for more general info and disclaimers)

Why is...this? Because I want to see more Nemesis/Jill content, and it’s a bitch to find. Also, after years of putting off even joining Tumblr, I wanna share my AU and keep this crack ship alive. Maybe even fanwank on my thoughts about Toll and Onery or even on Jill, the long-suffering bad bitch that Cap keeps forgetting has a compelling storyline right there. But this is mostly just blatant shilling of my AU + What’s your fandoms? Resident Evil. To be clear, I mainly stan RE3: Nemesis, not the remake one. The 1999 one. But in general, I like this goofy series, boulders, nonsense science, bad plot, and all. I do like other stuff that I might occasionally reblog. Could be silly shit like Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel or Arcane to heavy shit like BTD. I'm random like that. + Format of each post: A snippet, a link to Ao3. I’ll list any pertinent CWs if needed. My fics tend to be 18+ some of them marked with Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings and DD:DNE (ie unapologetically dark shit cause RE is a survival horror franchise), so keep that in mind. I might drop early snips; I haven’t decided on that yet. + Is Nemmy -ever- nice in your fics? Pffft (well, he’s 'nice' in bursts, as in a burst of tentacles through Brad’s face). In seriousness, in my take on him, he’s complicated, having the ability to be kind, and caring but is a Tyrant through and through - basically closer to canon. I like canonical villains and I like my monsters monstrous and, at times, barely grasping that human/monster line. Expect infestations and murder. + What is your stance on RE3 (1999) and RE3: Nemesis (2020) 1. remake Carlos got the glow up omg 2. Jill was sassy in both and I do love og but ngl remake!Jill was so done and I feels her 3. the monsterfucker vibes was mostly immaculate 4. og Nemesis was hotter and scarier. 3make massacred my boy (I don't judge those that like 3make, but maaan my boi T.T) like my biggest gripe along with the cut content was the game missing the point of Nemmy entirely reducing him to an annoying superman jumping nuisance and honestly lessening the N/J shippy vibes for me + Do you do fic requests? RPs? No. I simply don’t have the focus/time to do requests or things outside of my stories. I write what I want when I want. + Do you do DMs or Asks? I just flit in the night and talk when I feel like it. I prefer all convos in the broad daylight on public posts. But I’ll open my Asks. Be stupid, and I’ll simply close them. Capisce? Also if you DM me wastes of time things like 'Hi', 'hello' - the kinda shit ppl mock on dating sites especially with a pretty much blank profile, you'll be blocked. In fact, I block pretty freely as I value my time. + Don't Whine, You Know What I'm About [Disclaimers To Save People Time] This Tentacle posts here: -sex acts that ranges from soft to oh gods please don’t kill me -urk- -tentacle murder/parasitic 'fun'/horrible things occurring -high/low brow story drama (think Gothic Horror-esque) -crack ships mixed in with canon with zero regard about their 'purity' -monsterfucker shit, duh This Tentacle: -believes that fiction does not have the power of a death note over one's actions and believes people are not inherently stupid or unable to understand for themselves what they engage in -holds sex positive/pagan/kink and leather/poly/queer friendly views -is against the -isms and/or -phobias used against others -laughs at killjoy puritans; your hell/churchy-speak means nothing to me a lifelong heathen eldritch egg laying being If you hate any of these you’ll -not- have a fun time with my content. Also, this shouldn't have to be said, but kiddos (under 18) Be not seen or heard as per ye old adult fandom rules. I reject all signal boosting requests/callouts; promotions will be at MY discretion. (More than likely, the answer will be 'no'.) We team SALS/DLDR/YKINMKBYKIOK in these parts. Be freely stupid with your ships; none of it’s real. Fandom is stupid, don’t take it so serious. Also, the murderkink. Gotta have the murderkink and worms. A'ight, Enjoy!

[gcldfanged]

🔥🔥🔥

Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion [I'm tagging as 'vent cw' and 'salty opinion cw' for those who want to blacklist]

I am getting real tired of all the virtue signaling and moral superiority in regards to content. I hate to be That Guy™ but back when I was writing on forums and on LiveJournal, we asked each other if our partners were okay with certain content we weren't sure of. We have a tagging system now, we have carrds and rule pages to explain what we don't want to roleplay and/or read. Tag and Blacklist, it takes five seconds (maybe less). Throwing a hissy fit and vagueing about people is stupid and does nothing to help the issue. I'm not even talking about kinks, specifically. I have received and my friends has gotten hate for roleplaying villains. Villains who may be bigots, fantasy racist, almost or did succeed in genocide- Writing about bad shit doesn't equal endorsement or excusing crimes or fetishizing/romanticizing abuse. What really blew my mind was some white roleplayer trying to explain to me what colonization and imperialism are (aside from the fact that I'M KOREAN, I do pay attention to and examine world history). I wasn't even saying 'wow i sure do love fascism and stuff!', I was writing an in-character drabble from the PERSPECTIVE of someone who believes in the oppressive political system ruling his fantasy country. The nation the character is from isn't even REAL, I don't know what else to really say. I swear people care more about oppression but ONLY when it applies to fictional characters- from what I've seen.

I'm gray-ace, I get being asexual in the RPC (or just plain not interested in writing smut) can be challenging sometimes when people expect smut to be included with the shipping package, but oh my GOD- you guys can act like such children about smut that's not even directed at you. See above: Tag it. Blacklist it. BOOM.

If you take it upon yourself to say your portrayal of a canon is the only 'correct' one and try to educate others about 'how to play the character the right way', please get a life. Did the content creators die and hand you the rights?

[musashi]

im here to essentially second the "its mostly projection" anon re why people are Like This to you.

most people on this website just really fucking hate themselves. You're the only person ive seen on this website afair that doesnt. i think a lot of these people see "oh autistic mentally ill queer person! we must be the same!" and then treat you the way they desperately wish someone would treat them, or the way they treat their friends, who may prefer things that way.

i think the assumption that everyone on tumblr hates themselves really hits whenever you talk about how people perceive you especially. a lot pf people on tumblr would see someone saying "people dont really find me attractive" and interpret it as "/I/ dont find me attractive and my ridiculously low self esteem means i assume all people feel the same way.

i also rather doubt that any of these people actually read your carrd unfortunately. they see what they perceive as someone in distress and in need of comfort and rush right in to "reassure" you. carrds are also one of the hip things to make fun of right now, the assumption may be made that its mostly unimportant stuff about like fandom bullshit.

I think also the fact that you are in fandom makes people think you're like a teenager. a loooot of people, especially actual teens, see fandom as something for "young people" and surely a tax paying adult wouldnt be writing fanfic? a lot of antis will tell older adults who dont buy into their bullshit to "go do your taxes" or "shouldnt you be taking care of your kids" and shit like that

finally, talking about like otherkin stuff, or really just being otherkin is seen as juvenile as well, especially by non kinfolk. i think a lot of people see it as sort of an extension of "playing pretend", rather than the legitimate spiritual belief that it can be

so yeah essentially people are projecting and or see that you do a lot of things they feel are childish or whatever and thats why theyre like that. i dont think theres much you can really do about that unfortunately, short of maybe changing the ask box prompt to like "i am an adult who pays taxes" or something

one small thing that might possibly help is changing your icon? it's ridiculous that people think this way, but from what i can tell, a lot of people see "cartoon character on a pride flag" as a juvenile trait, something only teens really do. whether they know your actual age or not, they could subconsciously assume you are a child essentially.

this is all so valuable information thank you for sending it holy shit.

to be honest. i forgot. that people in the current climate view ANY of these things as immature. i am so steeped in my own reality full of adults who collect toys and write fanfiction that i wholly forgot that there are swaths of the world who view those as hobbies for teenagers and kids. like that thought did not even occur to me. every single adult or friend i have in my life is in fandom in some way fsdgsfd

i really am sympathetic to people with low self esteem who need support but i just wish they wouldn't project onto me. i have my doubts and problems sure but they are not something i listen to, and when they are fixable i simply fix them. i wish people would understand that my peace in life comes from a conscious effort and dedication to loving myself and being happy. there is no secret caveat, there is nothing deeper than that. once upon a time i was miserable. it sucked. so i took the steps to change it, and i will do that forever, as things shift and change. end of statement.

you're right, there's really nothing to be done about this. prompting my ask box is a good idea though, that might get some people to stop. i can't change my icon cause i match with jessica :3 and honestly as much as i'd love folks to leave me alone, pride flag icons are too cute to pass up.

thanks again this is all good food for thought

[for the love of god someone please tell me why everyone treats me like an uwu soft baby who needs protecting/support]

[confusedkeyssys]

Tone tag masterlist!!!!! :]]]

I know we just posted, but the idea popped up and I had to post this before I forget

Here's a masterlist of tone tags and their meanings, along with examples :] Note that it's only the ones I know so far and please feel free to tell us if I missed anything!

Click the "Keep reading" for the masterlist <3

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

/j - Joking - Used to indicate when the tone of text/speech is a joking one, or to indicate that something is a joke and/or someone is joking {Ex: "I lit the dog on fire again /j" "You're a damn fool timothy /j"}

/hj - Half-Joking - Used to indicate when the tone of text/speech is one that is half or partially joking, or to indicate that something is partially a joke or someone is partially joking {Ex: "My dog will bite you /hj" "Well then i guess i'm santa claus /hj"}

/hsrs - Half-Serious - Means the same thing as /hj, but usually has more serious undertones, or more on the serious side {Ex: "Aw darn it the cat broke another fine china /hsrs" "they have no idea what that is /hsrs"

/srs - Serious - Used to indicate when the tone of text/speech is serious, or that one is not joking, and that what is being discussed is not a joke {Ex: "My sister just ran outside to catch a worm /srs" "I lost my limited edition jesus christ plushie /srs"}

/pos - Positive - Used to indicate when the tone of text/speech is a positive one, that what is said is in a positive or non-insulting manner, or that something is positive and uplifting {Ex: "HE LOOKS LIKE A WORM /pos" "Jason just got like 6 dollars in xer bank account /pos"}

/neu - Neutral - Used to indicate when the tone of text/speech is a neutral one, that what is said is in neither a negative or positive manner, or that someone is neutral on a topic {Ex: "i think umber needs to get off the subreddit /neu" "Oh my god he has a baby face /neu"

/neg - Negative - Used to indicate when the tone of text/speech is a negative one, that what is said is in a negative or insulting manner, or that something is negative and gloomy {Ex: "Their haircut looks like walter white /neg" "THIS SODA TASTES LIKE ARTIFICIAL FLAVOURING /neg"}

/sar or /sarc - Sarcasm - Used to indicate when the tone or text/speech is a sarcastic one, that what is said is in a sarcastic manner, or that what is said is sarcasm {Ex: "i love being single /sar" "Yeah sure you totally dont like xim /sarc"}

/ref - Reference - Used to indicate that something is a reference to something else, like a show, movie, book, video game, or other {usually fictional} work {Ex: "Thats because ey have 70 alternate accounts /ref" "sorry my girlboss but your princess is in another castle /ref"

/lyr - Lyric{s} - Used to indicate that what was said are the lyrics of a particular song {Ex: "A PETTY LINE OF WHITE NOISE PACK UP YOUR BAGS AND THROW OUT THE TOYS /lyr" "i kissed a girl and i liked it the taste of her cherry chapstick /lyr"}

/p - Platonic - Used to indicate when something that can be interpreted as romantic is platonic and not with romantic tone or gesture, or to indicate that something is platonic {Ex: "god i love you so much /p" "Yeah rai're my damn wife /p"

Thats all of them for now :] I know I definitely missed some, and I suggest doing your own research into tone tags and tone tag carrds and these can also be very helpful {Also, tone tags are also sometimes called "Tone indicators" if that helps at all}

Edit: An anon sent a large list of tone tags to add to the masterlist so I'm putting them here! {Ty, anon!} {I'm also copypasting them and not adding descriptions because I'm lazy but I'll probably get to it later(Hopefully-)}

/j = joking /hj = half joking /mj = mostly joking /nj = not joking /ij = inside joke /s or /sarc = sarcastic / sarcasm /nsar or /nsarc = not sarcastic /srs = serious /msrs = mostly serious /nsrs = not serious /g or /gen = genuine /gq or /genq = genuine question /rt or /rh = rhetorical question /naq = not a question /lh = light hearted /t = teasing /nm = not mad /u = upset /lu = little upset /vu = very upset /nu = not upset /ay = at you /nay = not at you /nbr = not being rude /nbm = not being mean /nbh = nobody here /sbh = somebody here /th = threat /nath = not a threat /cb = clickbait /f = fake /nf = not fake /q = quote /l or /ly or /lyr = lyrics /c = copypasta /m = metaphor / metaphorically /li or /lit = literal / literally /hyp = hyperbole /p = platonic /r = romantic /fl = flirting /nfl = not flirting /sx or /x = sexual intent /nsx or /ns = not sexual intent /pc or /pos = positive connotation /nc or /neg = negative connotation /neu = neutral connotation /vpos = very positive /vneg = very negative /e = embarrassed /nabr = not a brag /br = bragging /nafx = not a flex /fx = flex /st or /state = statement /nao = not an order /ao = an order /nav = not a vent /ny = not yelling /ot = off topic /irre = irrelevant /unre = unrelated /npa = not passive aggressive /pa = passive aggressive /c or /conf = confused /av = a vent /nav = not a vent /ex = exaggerated /aff = affectionate (i.e. I hate you /aff) /tech = technical /h = helpful /ns = not sure /fi = figuratively /curi = curious /sg or /sug = suggestion /tys = typing stim /stim = stim /sat = satire

[scytheral]

OH MY GOD AN BRAZILIAN COINER THAT'S SO SO SO COOL I'M BRAZILIAN TOO!!!! but i'm not a coiner ( not anymore because of online harassment ). not only that but you are nonhuman and i am too which is pretty nice!!! and your blog aesthetic is so so sooooo pretty and aesthetically pleasing to my eye!!! i don't really know to say because i just discovered your blog and love at first sight. i didn't even liked your posts yet ( i am at my limit of likes today ) but i bet the prince is so nice ! ! ! and i hope prince have a good day or night i don't know when you're reading this! sorry of i said so much, i've never seen a mogai blog since the last time i used tumblr!!>__<

ANOTHER NONHUMAN BRAZILIAN !! YAY ^__^ Thou dove of Acrimony was Just abt 02 Create a Temporary carrd On dear Non-humanities ! What an Coincidence !! && So sorry about That , Beings can Be so Impolite. Hope you ' re Okay nowadays. 🤍 && Thanks sm , The Prince feels Revered ! His Angelically appreciates Your notes Sm , You don ' t Even know !! and It ' s evening For dove As of Recent ! ( 14 : 20 ) — && Dw about That , it ' s Truly admirable. ( And pretty Cute , if That ' s a Word that Can be Described as ). :3 🤍

[hyvnjinns]

Hi! If I wanted to get into stray kids where should I start?

Oh my goodness anon, I'm so thrilled to receive this ask!! ❤️ Apologies in advance for the long reply ahead, and please don't hesitate to ever send in any other asks if you need clarification or have any other questions! I'm always happy to talk about Stray Kids ^^

I'd say the first place to start depends on whether you are already a kpop fan! If you aren't, it might be helpful--but not required at all!--to take a look at some guides to kpop to get an idea of what people mean when they talk about liners, generations, bias wreckers and daesangs. A good starting place is the kpopfairy carrd--it's a very good introduction to the terminology and culture you might encounter if you choose to become a more dedicated SKZ fan (side note: SKZ is the abbreviation for Stray Kids!).

In terms of getting into their music: a lot of their discography is heavily influenced by trap/EDM and even, notably, psychedelic trance (Side Effects--probably one of their most polarizing songs. It's incredible live though, I have to say). But even if those genres aren't quite your thing (they aren't always mine!), SKZ have one of the most diverse discographies in KPOP and almost certainly most Western groups. The music is almost completely self-produced by three of their members, and their lyrics often focus on issues like growing up and mental health. They have 18 albums + EPs + repackages in total, so the discography can be a bit overwhelming. I recommend watching their most popular title tracks--for instance, God's Menu (2020), the song about their unique musical style that catapulted them to fame both inside and outside of the KPOP circle. I also recommend a video that speedruns their songs across genres, like this one, to get an idea of their varied sound! As far as personal recommendations go, I love Phobia, Cover Me, Winter Falls, Haven, N/S, and SUPER BOARD. And, if you're into something a bit more...mature, Red Lights (a subunit song featuring only 2 out of 8 members) is their most-watched music video ever. Not only is the song amazing (and horny!), but the MV was directed by a queer Korean director who incorporates some kink elements in his work, and it's incredibly sexy. (And pretty rare to see something like that in KPOP, tbh.)

As is common in KPOP, Stray Kids have a lot of "variety" content--their SKZ-Talker series goes behind-the-scenes of award shows and when they're on tour, they sometimes do individual vlogs showcasing days in their life, and on and on! There's also their main variety show, SKZ CODE, where the content ranges from them solving murder mysteries, doing drag for an elaborate "SKZ Family" skit, or playing baseball. While all of these shows are hilarious and very fun to watch, they can be pretty overwhelming at first due to trying to tell everyone apart + reading subtitles while 8 men are shouting all at once! My biggest recommendation is to start by watching some fanmade Intro to SKZ videos like this one or this one. They're not entirely up-to-date (for one, Chan doesn't do Chan's Room anymore, which is tremendously sad), but they provide a great insight into the members' info and personalities. There's also this video which was a godsend when I was trying to figure out who's who! Once you feel comfortable enough with that, it is pretty easy to start watching some of their variety content, especially if you begin with individual vlogs where it's generally just one member!

I hope this makes sense and isn't overwhelming--I know it seems like a bit much since there's a huge amount of content from them! There's absolutely no pressure to consume all of it; I've been a fan for four years now and there's definitely still things I haven't seen and probably never will. Stays (the name for SKZ fans) are also by and large very accepting of casual fans who aren't hugely active within the fandom, and the SKZ Reddit in particular is really welcoming/drama-free with an entire weekly thread for new fans called "Baby Stays" where people can chat with others and ask questions. Have fun!! 💙

[wretchedwoes]

I can’t believe I forgot to put my carrd in my bio here oh my god anyways yea please read my carrd!!