#Quick drawing because I need to quench my thirst

[oxideblack]

#Quick drawing because I need to quench my thirst #And now is a great time for him! #Kerr Avon #Blake's 7 #Illustration #art #sketchbook

[sallownights]

false god

word count: 2k

CW: sexual themes, fluff, sebastian in LOVE, they’re both switches. lets be real here

A/N: false god goes so hard. and for what. everything i write will be taylor swift themed until i forget or get bored. also, i wrote this at 2 am. i’m so sorry if anything is bad. i guess this song still does it for me. my girlfriend proofread this 😐

pairing: sebastian sallow x f!reader 🤍

Sebastian was a lovesick puppy when it came to Y/N. Complimenting her, brushing hair out of her face, doing everything she needed. He was convinced she was a Goddess. She was so powerful and that barely scratched the surface of describing her.

Her beauty, he could think of every word under the sun to describe her, but none of the words would be right.

The way she looked at him. When she smiled it made his chest burn. He wanted to be the only one to make her smile. To make her laugh. To make her happy.

He longed to be near her whenever they were apart. Sebastian loved the way she smelled. The way she giggled when he would make a flirty comment. The way she looked at him.

The way she could ask for him to help her on journeys. She needed to search an abandoned cave? He was there. She needed help studying some ancient tome? Sebastian’s on it. Oh, she’s gotta break into the Restricted Section? Seb was her go to guy.

Sebastian could watch Y/N for hours. He was so enraptured by her. Her aura drawing him in and not letting him go. Not that he wanted it to. Whatever she did, he would tag along. If you wanted to talk to Y/N, Sebastian would be by her side.

When they were in class, he would steal glances of her as often as he could. The way her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The small smile she had when she understood something difficult.

He loved watching her duel. Whenever they weren’t partnered in Crossed Wands, he would stand on the sidelines and watch her. She was graceful with her movements. She was calculated yet so free. Watching her duel was similar to a ballet.

When they would duel together, Sebastian was quick to protect her. Not that she needed it. She was a more than capable witch, but the thought of her getting hurt scared him. More than he’d admit. It was a thought that chilled him to his bone.

He couldn’t tell her this though. Oh, no. Absolutely not. They’re just friends. There is no way in hell that she could have the feelings he has for her.

No matter how bad he wanted to worship her, to make her his, he never said a word. Unless, he was speaking to Ominis of course.

Ominis was more than happy to hear about Sebastian’s crush at first. Now? After months? He would give nothing more than to cast a silencing charm on Sebastian.

He would encourage Sebastian to tell Y/N about his feelings. How he wants to be with her but Sebastian refused. He could talk about how it would ruin everything. He’d rather be a supportive friend than lose her because of his feelings.

Sebastian and Y/N would study often. Ominis would leave early every time. He’d make up some excuse as to why he had to leave. Ominis hoped if the two were alone, Sebastian would come to his senses and tell her how he felt.

One beautiful, sunny, autumn day at Hogwarts, Y/N asked Sebastian to hangout outside. It was a day she just wanted to sit near the lake and read. Sebastian was terribly excited to be around her. He packed some food for the both of them in his bag before heading out to join her.

When he arrived, he saw her sitting on the grass beneath a tree. The sun hit her in spots that made her seem like she was glowing. The shade perfectly casting shadows across her making her look more ethereal. The clothes she wore, the corset that was hugging her waist, he drank in her appearance. A thirst he could never quite quench.

Y/N looked up, seeing Sebastian and smiled. She waved him over and scooter over so he could share the tree to prop up against.

“Hey,” Her voice rang out in his ears, filling him with the indescribable urge to hear her speak forever.

“Hi, I brought some food. I’m not sure how long you wanted to be out here for,” Sebastian opens his bag, taking out food he had taken from the Great Hall. A soft squeeze is felt on Sebastian’s arm.

“You’re much too kind to me, Seb,” Y/N smiles warmly. Sebastian feels his cheeks burn as he blushes. He nods, looking away, back to his bag trying to regain some form of composure.

“Did you want to do anything? I was just going to read, but we can do anything you want. Maybe not exploring. I’m still a little sore from Tuesday.” She giggles, her laugh making all the darkness Sebastian faces fade away.

“No, just figured I’d join you. It’s a nice day,” She nods, agreeing with him. She takes his hand in hers.

“Well, I certainly don’t mind the company,” She smiles again and leans her head back against the tree. Y/N closes her eyes and sighs, happy to be basking in the shade.

Sebastian’s eyes are concentrated on their intertwined hands. His blush deepening, and moves his gaze towards Y/N. He studies her face, the scar she got recently healing nicely.

Sebastian gets a surge of confidence and raises Y/N’s hands to his lips, leaving a featherlight kiss to it.

Y/N’s eyes peel open, not taking her head off the tree. She hums before closing her eyes again.

“You know… your freckles become more prominent when you blush.” Sebastian’s eyes widen. He doesn’t say anything, just looks to her. Her voice was like honey to his ears.

“It’s quite adorable,” Y/N continues, giving Sebastian’s hand a small, comforting squeeze.

Sebastian’s mind was racing. She was always so quick to put him at ease, but her words could create hurricanes inside his mind.

He raises their hands again, kissing it softly before moving more up her arm. Leaving quick, burning kisses in his wake.

Y/N opens her eyes again, looking at Sebastian as he kisses her shoulder. Her eyes bore into his, Sebastian’s heart stopping. Had he read her feelings wrong? Had he completely fuc-

“Sebastian?” Y/N turns her body to face him. He drinks in her form again, looking her up and down. He didn’t care if he was shamelessly staring at this point. His feelings were burning to get out. His heart pounding so hard against his ribs.

“Yes?” Y/N’s eyes traveled down to his lips then back to his eyes.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Sebastian was sure he was hallucinating. Possibly dreaming. He didn’t want to wake up.

“Yes,” He whispers, frightened that if he talks loud enough, this’ll end.

“Go ahead,” She moves his shaky hands to her waist, bringing her face closer to his.

“Come on, love.” She closes her eyes as Sebastian closes the distance between them. He wraps his arms around her waist, bringing their bodies closer. Y/N pushes Sebastian’s shoulders back against the tree as she gets on top of him. She takes a swipe at his bottom lip, waiting for him to part his mouth. Their kiss deepening before Y/N pulls away, kissing down Sebastian’s jawline. She bites his neck softly, quickly smoothing her tongue against the bite.

Sebastian sighs. He couldn’t tell if he was dead and in heaven or if this was real. A goddess, his goddess, on top of him, her lips grazing his neck. He was sure she could make him feel anything. Everything.

Y/N pulls back, causing a whimper to leave Sebastian’s mouth. She runs her fingers through his hair, smoothing out his flyaways.

“You’re such a pretty boy,” She leans in close to his ear, her breath tickling him. “My pretty boy.” She kisses his neck again, biting down harshly. She moves back again, her hands on his chest.

“Say it,” Her voice was firm. He moved forward to kiss her but she pushed against his chest, keeping him in place. She shakes her head and moves close to him, close enough to touch but far enough away for him to be desperate.

“Say it, darling. I want to hear it,” Her eyes darkened. Y/N was clearly enjoying this. Sebastian coming apart at the seams by her touch. She loved how easily she could wind him up.

“Your- your pretty b-boy,” Sebastian moves to kiss Y/N, which she allows. She smiles into the kiss. She grinds her hips against his, causing an involuntary moan to spill from Sebastian’s lips.

“You’re so good for me, darling,” She kisses Sebastian softly, slowly moving her hips against his. Sebastian pulls away, letting his hands roam around her body. Frowning at the corset she decided to wear. He wanted nothing more than to peel it off of her.

“You’re, uhm, you’re really pretty,” She rolls her eyes and pulls Sebastian in to kiss her again by his tie. Sebastian wraps his arms around Y/N’s waist, again, flipping her to be underneath him. He lays her down softly, looking her deep in her eyes to make sure she was alright before smashing his lips to hers again.

Y/N brings her legs to wrap around Sebastian’s waist, bringing him closer to her. She tangles her hands into his hair, pulling him closer. Sebastian’s head dips his head to her neck, biting her roughly as she once did. She cries out in pain and pleasure and Sebastian smirks against her.

“So fucking stunning,” he whispers against her neck, moving to give her more bruises. As he bites down, Y/N grabs his hair, causing him to groan against her. His hips snap against hers, feeling her heat against him.

“Seb,” Y/N moans out. He tilts his head at her. Her moans are more than heavenly. He could listen to her moan for him all day.

“Yes, love?” His voice is low, rich, soothing. Y/N’s brain is semi-short circuiting. This cannot be the same Sebastian who was whimpering for her not even five minutes ago. Her mouth opens, but no words come out.

“Speechless? Adorable,” He kisses her neck, again. Bruises littered Y/N’s neck as well as Sebastian’s. She brought her hands to his chest, her legs moving to be between his legs. Y/N quickly flips the both of them over. Sebastian’s eyes go wide at the sudden movement. He goes to say something before she brings a finger to his lips.

“Sebastian. I’ve seen the way you look at me. The longing stares. The way you follow me around whenever I need. The whispers you share with Ominis when you think I’m not around,” She brings her lips close to his ear. “I know you want me. I know you need me. You’re practically drooling for me now.”

Sebastian’s face flushes with embarrassment, not knowing what to say. He looks away from her, blushing profusely.

“Darling,” she moves her hand under his chin, moving his face to look at her. “Look at me.” He nods his thumbs rubbing circles into her waist.

“I know you’re too scared to ask, so I’ll do it myself. Do you want to be my boyfriend?” Sebastian’s eyes widen again. He moves to sit up, making Y/N to have to shuffle against him, which almost causes him to moan out.

“Y-Y/N, love,” he takes a deep breath, “I would love nothing more.”

Y/N smiles and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him softly, tenderly. The kiss is filled with all the moment they ached for. The stolen glances. The whispers. The adventures they went on. Everything fell into place for them. Here. Now.

“Seb,” Y/N says against Sebastian’s lips.

“Mhmm.” He hums against her, kissing her more passionately before she pulls away.

“I conjured a bed in the Room of Requirement earlier today.” She smiles, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Ah, that’s nice.” Sebastian leans his head against the tree.

“Seb,” Y/N says again, her voice a bit more demanding.

“What?” He looks into her eyes and she widens them with an are-you-stupid look.

“Oh!”

#sebastian sallow #sebastian hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hl #sebastian x mc #Spotify

[personasdestinyy]

Sorrowful Love | Ch#1 | JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; All he desires is vengeance.

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: thriller, angst, love at first sight, au! sexting

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook × Sena oc!

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: This story contains explicit language, graphic violence(murders, blood etc), and other mature content, If you are easily affected by such themes, it might be best to avoid reading it.

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0.8k+

a/n: READ IT BEFORE YOU PROCEED TO THE CHAPTER.

So, years ago, my sister and I came up with this story that had us laughing like villains. We were pretty immature back then :⁠-⁠). Well I attempted to write it down about a year ago, but my writing skills weren't quite up to par, so I ended up abandoning this story (sadly) . However, now my soul is urging me to give it another shot. It's our very first story that we created together, and I feel compelled to give it a try. Oh, and PLEASE if you're not a fan of thrillers or action-packed tales, then refrain from reading it.

𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭⇢

Jungkook's Pov:

The constant echo of "I don't want to die" reverberates in my mind, drowning out any other thoughts. The fear of death has taken over, leaving no room for anything else. The throbbing pain in my head intensifies, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything. As the blood slowly drips down the back of my head, my eyelids become heavier with each passing moment.

As I struggled to regain control, my thoughts became fragmented, my focus slipping away. The world around me seemed to blur even further, as if my very perception of reality was being distorted.

The air felt heavier, as if it was resisting my attempts to draw it into my lungs. The simple act of breathing, something I had taken for granted my entire life, now became an arduous task.

Time seemed to stretch, each passing second feeling like an eternity. The haze that enveloped my surroundings only intensified. The once vibrant colors of the world now appeared muted, as if drained of their life and vitality.

As I believed everything was over, a voice suddenly called my name. A soft tap on my cheek soon followed, as if someone was gently trying to rouse me from unconsciousness.

And I jolted awake in my bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. My shirt clung to my body, evidence of the intense perspiration. The throbbing pain in my head intensified as I sat up.

Without wasting a moment, I rushed out of my bedroom, barefooted, and made my way to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, I grabbed a water bottle and took a seat at the kitchen counter, desperately needing to quench my thirst.

As I take a refreshing sip of water to satisfy my thirst, I notice my breath becoming more relaxed. With the water bottle in my right hand, I exit the kitchen and head towards the comfortable living room to find some painkillers. As I reached the living room, I quickly retrieve the pain reliever from the drawer and consume it, hoping for some relief. Just as I swallow the pill, the sound of my phone ringing emerges from the bedroom, grabbing my attention.

I walk into the bedroom, my curiosity is sparked by the caller ID on my phone. After a quick glance, I pick up the phone and hear my hyung's voice on the other end, filled with anger.

"Hey, Jungkook, why did you put my number on your Instagram page? Your customers keep calling me late at night and it's really getting on my nerves. If another one of your customers contacts me at midnight, I'll be dead furious. I might even kill you."

Unable to contain my amusement at my hyung's adorable angry voice, I attempt to calm him down.

"Hey, hey, bro, listen," I say playfully, but Jimin continues his rant.

"Bro, just hear me out," I state seriously this time, and Jimin abruptly stops talking and starts to listen.

"The reason I included your phone number in my bio is because I've been feeling isolated lately. I know it's not right, but at the moment, I just need a break from social media and don't feel like creating art for others. Please understand and handle the customers for a few days. If anyone wants to order artwork, ask them to be patient. I would really appreciate it if you could understand my situation."

And I know Jimin does understand. He knows me since I was four and a half years old and has always treated me like his own brother.

"Okay, bro, just don't stress yourself too much. I'll do as you say, alright!" Jimin says solemnly before ending the call.

Alternatively, I slip my phone into the right pocket of my pants and head towards my basement art gallery. Grabbing my paints and brushes, I settle down on the stool in front of a large canvas. With a whirlwind of emotions inside me, I feel the urge to express them all on the canvas, finding solace in my art.

As I pick up my colours, the weight of the world seems to lift off my shoulders, replaced by a surge of vibrant colors that dance before my eyes. With every stroke, I am transported to a realm where words fail to capture the depth of my feelings, and only the language of art can truly express my emotions swirling within me. The process is both exhilarating and exhausting, as I pour my heart and soul into every detail.

Finally, the moment arrives when I step out of the gallery, my masterpiece complete. The weight of the world returns, but it is now accompanied by a sense of accomplishment. With a contented smile, I whisper to myself, " Finally i can find some peace now". And then I retreat to my bedroom, ready to rest and recharge.

© 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲𝐲 [𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝]

#jungkook ff #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts x oc #oc #book series #bts series #jungkook series #thriller #action #agnst #sorrowful love #tumblr writers #ff writer #first person #multiple povs #pov story

[softlyjiminie]

love bites | k.n.j

⇢ pairing(s): vampire!kim namjoon x reader.

⇢ word count: 1.3K.

⇢ rating: 15+.

⇢ genre: fluff, slice of life!au, established couple!au, vampire!au.

⇢ summary: in a tiny hotel room, the night before your sister’s wedding, and namjoon is having a tough time resisting you—his teasing little human girlfriend.

 ⇢ warning(s): please read! mentions of blood, blood lust, fangs, mentions of sex, light mentions of divorce, tooth rotting fluff.

⇢ author’s note(s): happy valentines day everyone!! remember how joon said in that one v-live that we’re basically his lovers, well on this special day, I present to you... your vampire boyfriend joonie!! I hope you enjoy sweet babies, now don't mind my drowning myself in lindt chocolate.

“joonie, if you want to bite me—just say so,”

your soft voice filtered through the thick air filling the room and namjoon had to force himself not to look up, knowing that he’ll give into you if he does. it wouldn’t take an idiot to know that you were pouting at him from across the room, the thought had the vampire squirming in his seat. thoughts of him nipping ever so slightly at the soft, plushness of your lips just enough to draw blood— swirled in his mind, putting him on edge.

of course he wanted to bite you, he always did, but today he needed a little more self control than usual.

‘just one little bite won’t hurt her,’ the voice in his head teased with a sing song tone, and yet again the very idea had namjoon practically drooling.

“no,” he growled, mostly to himself, as he shoved his nose deeper into the novel he had bought himself on the way here. the vampire had always been fond of books— even from before he was turned and he believed that one of the only upsides of being so, was that he could read as many as he wanted and would never have to put a one down due to a lack of sleep. the fanged man’s attention is captured, as you  whined from across the room. the frustration at your boyfriend more than evident. before you could ask why, namjoon glanced up with a single raised brow and stoic expression. “i simply recall you, explicitly, telling me that i wasn’t allowed to bite you...until after the wedding tomorrow. The bite marks are a pain to cover, love.”

namjoon smirked in victory when you glared at him from across the room, tucking his nose back into his book. tomorrow was to be your older sister’s wedding to her fourth husband, and at the time of inviting your bloodsucker boyfriend, you had made sure he’d had his fill of your blood before coming. being centuries old and quite confident in his abilities to resist human blood— namjoon had happily agreed, he’d always been interested in your sister’s many failed attempts at finding a mate anyways.

but now, with you dressed in that cute little pastel camisole and you pouting like nobodies business, namjoon wasn’t sure how much more he could take. 

“but joonie...” you sighed, standing to walk across the room. once you reached the vampire, you carefully pried his book from his hands and replaced it by sliding yourself into his lap with a cheeky smile. “i don’t care what i said, i just want you to bite me.”

namjoon inhaled sharply as your bare, warm thighs came into contact with his jean clad ones. the heat of your skin spread life throughout his undead body, letting your palms press against his chest so you could lean down and press a gentle chaste kiss against the swell of his lips. and like the little devil you were, you allowed the vampire to work his lips against yours for a second longer before pulling away slowly with a tilt to your head and your neck exposed. 

“my my, my...aren’t you a little temptress? you’re sure that you’re not a vampire, sweetheart?” your boyfriend chuckled with the shake of his head, hands settling on your thighs as the pads of his fingers sunk into your skin. you grinned at him, cupping the vampire’s face between your palms as you pressed another kiss to his lips. namjoon took your distraction as his chance to lift you into his arms and launch you onto the bed of your hotel room. 

your arms flailed as you collapsed onto the sheets, sending the fabric cascading into the air and when you sat up your hair had fallen out of place of the tight bun you’d put it in and the strap of your camisole had slipped down your shoulder. you pouted. “joon-!”

“sleep, princess...” the vampire hummed, pushing your shoulder back so you could lie on the sheets. he pulled the silken blanket up over your torso and fixed your strap back into place, the exposed skin of your collar bones enticing him ever so slightly. he’d have to get a possum to quench his thirst later. “you’ve got a big day tomorrow, miss maid of honour,” 

“but i don’t want to sleep, i want you to bite me, make love to me!”

namjoon smirked at your whine, his fangs poking out ever so slightly. with a fond laugh he took to your shoulder, only kissing it gently before brushing a hand over your forehead. “tomorrow, you can wait until after the dinner.”

“but that’s a whole twenty-four hours away!”

“and you’ll be asleep for most of that time.”

you grunted in response, rolling onto your side to hide your disappointment. with another laugh, namjoon left your side to have a quick shower, turn off the lights  and change of clothes before slipping into bed behind you. cold limbs circled around your waist, causing you to shift slightly. namjoon knew you weren’t sleeping and instead pressed a small kiss to the back of your neck, making you gasp and roll over to face him.

“hi...” he smiled.

“hi...” you whispered into the darkness, staring right into namjoon’s almost black eyes. if he shifted ever so slightly— you could see the dark ruby hue that decorated his irises. the vampire hesitated when your gaze fluttered down to his lips and your thumb came up to gently brush over them. namjoon wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, let alone with you. he knew how to lure someone into bed, have his way with them and then take what he needed— but sometimes in the quiet of the night, you would show him another side to intimacy. a gentler side.

when asked how he could love a human, the answer was simple. you taught him things that he hadn’t known when he was alive, and you brought colour to his otherwise grey immortal days. you cared for him regardless of what he was. so to namjoon, to love a human, was a gentle thing.

“you’re really not gonna bite me, huh?”

your soft voice lulled namjoon from his thoughts, his own eyes locking with your unmoving ones, once more. he shook his head, allowing you to push him onto his back so you could lay your head on the firm of his chest. “i made you a promise, love, and besides i know you’d be mad at me in the morning for not having more resilience.” the vampire whispered, tearing his line of vision from you to glance up at the ceiling. there was a quiet moment between you, with only minimal sounds of your breathing and the beat of your heart before. and then suddenly, you begun to laugh, the sweet melody filling namjoon’s ears. his heart swelling, well, if it was still beating.

“thank you baby, i know i can be a bit of a brat sometimes...” you sighed, relaxing into namjoon’s embrace as your eyes begun to drift shut.

“sometimes, hm? more like all the time.” namjoon countered with a breathy laugh, his finger tip booping your nose as you whispered a ‘shut up’. your breathing slowly started to even out and your heart rate slow, namjoon taking it upon himself to pull the blanket up, over your body and tuck you in how you liked. “you should sleep, sweetheart, big day tomorrow.” 

“sounds...like...a plan,” you slurred nuzzling into namjoon once more. “m’ sleepy,  I luh you...” 

“love you too, sweetheart.” the vampire hummed in response as you finally drifted off. even though there was no need for him to sleep, namjoon still lay next to you every night. when asked why, he’d only be able to say it was because he loved you— and looking up at the ceiling again, with you tucked under his arm, namjoon realised. he was under the sweet poison of love’s bite. 

#ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscollective #bangtanscenery #bangtanhq #magicshopnet #btsbookclub #btsguild #btswritingcafe #bts #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagine #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts au #bts vampire au #bts angst #bts smut #bts fanfiction #bts kim namjoon #namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon imagine #namjoon fluff #namjoon au #namjoon angst

[applejongho]

a vampire's guide to blood dealing | bang chan

genre: humor, supernatural, adventure, dumbassery

pairing: vampire!chan and female vampire!reader named Mei (platonic)

description: Newly turned vampire Chan and old vampire Mei form a friendship through their shared hunger for blood, but can’t help but get into wildly bloody situations as their friendship blooms.

word count: 5.9k

warnings: mentions of blood, vampires, swearing, (a small amount of) violence

author's note: SURPRISE, I'M YOUR SECRET SANTA @meiiyue!! Did you guess me correctly when you had a hunch as to what my identity was at the beginning of the month? ;) You've made my month of December so much fun and I can't wait to start talking with you not behind my chanon pseudonym >:) anyways, chan and mei being dumbasses together, I had a HELLA fun time writing this and I hope you smile when reading <333

masterlist here!

SHE HAD KNOWN when the tea on his desk, next to the scattered medical papers and signatures that bound people to donating blood, was just a bit too red for any normal tea.

There was also the fact that the tea smelled like blood, but then again, everything smelled like blood at a blood drive. Being a vampire, Mei had to pinch herself every few minutes so she didn’t salivate all over the floor and reveal her bloodthirsty identity. She had no idea how the biology major that was running this drive, and also clearly a vampire by his red tea - Christopher “Chan” Bang - was holding himself together. Perhaps the tea was what kept him tethered to reality. But a vampire running a blood drive - that was the act of a being who had lost his mind.

Mei sat in Chan’s desk chair in his office - a white, cramped, doctor’s office that smelled like hand sanitizer - waiting for Chan to realize she was there. She had her feet propped up onto the table, black boots obscuring what seemed to look like calculus homework or chicken scratch. She couldn’t tell. So he studied here as well. Mei couldn’t help but laugh as she looked around his office: paintings of instruments that looked like they came straight out of a museum adorned the walls, a printer sat in the corner that looked like it would fall apart if it was asked to print one more paper, and a coffee pot with stains that would likely never come off. This was most certainly the living space of a tired and stressed college student - he had hidden his vampirism well. She doubted he even used the coffee pot anymore, Mei herself couldn’t bring herself to swallow anything except for blood.

She wondered how she hadn’t noticed the other vampire sooner. But now that she had found him, she was determined to befriend him and possibly help him; he couldn’t have been a vampire for too long. Mei shuffled her feet so they sat over some chemistry homework instead. She hoped she looked intimidating because it would have been embarrassing for a two-hundred-year-old vampire to not strike some sort of visceral and primal emotion into a baby vampire.

Like on cue, Chan entered the office with such frantic movements that she swore he would trip on himself. He had tousled black hair and a white lab coat snug on his shoulders that looked a little too perfect to be a real lab coat, like one a small kindergartener would wear on career day. He also carried a clipboard, and seemed to notice his franticness before he noticed Mei because he made eye contact with her but was much too delayed in his reaction to say anything until at least a few seconds later.

“Hello?” He said after a few seconds, staring at her. He looked like he was going to pass out with her feet on the table, or maybe he was just startled that someone was so confidently intruding on his space. Mei kicked her feet back onto the ground.

“Hello,” Mei said in greeting, then gestured to Chan’s cup of tea on his desk. “May I ask what kind of tea this is? It has such a wonderful taste. I couldn’t help but have a taste.”

He looked like he was going to pass out. “It’s a really, um, exotic flavor,” Chan said, placing his clipboard down on his desk. Mei glanced at it. It looked like a medical form. “You wouldn’t like it. Or, no, I’m really surprised you like it.” His voice had a clear accent - British? Mei was slightly surprised he wasn’t asking why she was in his office. He was probably too worried over the tea.

“Oh, it was bloody delicious, whatever it was,” Mei said. Chan looked like Mei had just found his illegal drug stash. “Okay, I’ll stop teasing. I’m a vampire. And I’m going to be terrified if you’re not also a vampire because it would be weird if you were a human drinking blood.”

Mei hadn’t realized Chan was on edge until his shoulders shrunk down a few inches and he gave a small smile. He was refreshing to see at ease - Mei was far too used to people being scared of her. “You are?” He asked in that hopeful fledgling tone that made her heart clench.

She nodded. “For two hundred years. I’m assuming it’s hardly been a month for you.”

She could tell he tried not to be phased by her age. It was routine for humans and young vampires to not be able to comprehend her age. “Three weeks, actually,” he laughed nervously. “I signed up to run this a few days before I got turned. I would have never accepted had I known...”

He trailed off, but Mei understood. “Baby vampires are usually more thirsty than adult vampires, and even I felt a little unhinged walking by all of the vials. I can’t imagine how you feel.”

Almost on cue, Chan reached for his tea cup and took a long, quenching drink. Mei watched him drink. He let out a breath after he finished, and his hair flopped in front of his eyes. “It’s painful,” he said simply. He let out a nervous laugh and scratched his head. “I was going to come in here for a break from the smell. But you’re here.” He stared at her for a moment, and Mei could see the gears turning in his brain. “Can you help me?”

It was such a vague question, but Mei nodded with certainty. Can you help me be a vampire? Can you help me not kill everyone in this blood drive, because I seriously might? “Let’s first give you a mask to wear. Like one of those disposable doctor masks?”

“I already thought of that, it doesn’t work,” Chan groaned, but Mei shook her head at him. 

“Do you have gum?” She asked. “Peppermint flavored?” He wordlessly gestured to the main drawer in the desk, confusion etched onto his face.

Mei pulled out the gum. “I know you don’t want to eat it, and you don’t need to.” She unwrapped a piece, but threw out the gum, holding out the wrapper for him. “Stick this into your mask. I don’t think it will mask the scent completely, but it will certainly be a distraction.” She raised her eyebrows at him and urged him to take the wrapper. He took it, looking at her with wariness stretched across his face.

“Really?” He asked, pulling a blue mask out of his lab coat. He grinned and slipped the mask on, sticking the wrapper in it.

“Absolutely,” Mei said, not absolute at all. She had thought of this out of the blue. He seemed to relax at her certainty.

“Thank you,” he said. Even with a mask on, Mei could tell he was smiling. It was a smile of gratitude, a smile of being seen. “It’s... it’s so relieving that there’s another vampire on campus. It’s nice to know you’re here. Even if you broke into my office and ominously waited for me in my office chair.”

“That’s what I’m here for, I suppose,” Mei laughed. “I would say that I’d help you with the blood drawing, but I’m a music major. I certainly don’t have any license to perform anything related to human health.”

“Can you help me pack up the vials after the blood drive is over?” Chan asked quickly. “It’s just me and two more people, and they’re assigned to clean up. I’d trust you to, you know, not tamper with them.” Mei noticed he avoided saying the word blood. He must have been fighting his thirst harder than what he was letting on.

“Yes, and take another sip of your tea,” Mei recommended. He did so, rather rushed. He wiped his mouth and pushed his mask back on when he was done and gave a cooky grin that she could see through his eyes.

"I have to get back to... the blood tests, but I suppose you can stay here." He stood, silent for a moment. "Feel free to do my chemistry homework if you're bored."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Mei said sweetly, causing Chan to give a snarky eye roll. Then, he exited the room to continue with the blood drive.

Nearly six months later and with another semester gone by, Chan and Mei had formed an unlikely, yet close friendship. Mei preferred to say they were blood-bound because between Mei's music theory classes and Chan's cellular biology homework, the two of them had no academic similarities. They had first hung out together in the library of the university, both always carrying opaque flasks of blood that felt like an inside joke between the two of them. They had upgraded to spending a few weekends together, and now they were practically inseparable. Chan knew all of Mei’s quirks, like how she had to practice guitar in the mornings and piano at night, or how she had to always be in the same practice room to get anything done. Mei knew Chan’s sense of humor, which was essentially knowing his entire personality - quick puns that could slip by as casual comments, or teasing that was prolonged and never-ending. He had gone an entire month speaking in a British accent when Mei had mistakenly called him British. There were certain phrases he had taken upon himself to abuse profusely.

“Bloody hell, I’m Australian!” He had told her, giving a teasing grin. “Aren’t you old enough to have traveled to other countries to know their certain accents?”

“I’ve been all over Europe,” Mei had corrected. “Mostly Spain, Portugal, and France, and not so much Britain. There are so many different dialects of English in Britain that I had just assumed that your accent was from there, so shut up.”

Chan had taken a sip of his blood tea and had given the evil look of a taunting younger brother. “Then I suppose your mind isn’t as sharp as you thought it was. It makes sense, considering you’ve been un-alive for more than two centuries.”

“I’m going to stake you,” Mei had said sweetly.

Another fond memory was when they had gone to a museum so Mei could narrate what actually had happened in history as they walked through exhibits. What they discovered instead was a love letter Mei had written to a female lover when she was a young vampire that had an entire exhibit to itself. And, as historians usually were, they had erased the gay undertones of the note. Chan had to stifle giggles as he read an excerpt from the exhibit’s description that very proudly declared the note full of heterosexuality, while Mei had to hold back on murdering every employee in the museum. Mysteriously, that was the last time they had ever gone to that museum.

Yet none of these experiences or moments could top the underground blood ring.

Mei and Chan, during the semester, stole small amounts of blood from the monthly blood drive a few biological science majors held, enough to keep them satisfied for at least until the next blood drive. But now the spring semester was ending, and unlike winter break, summer break was much longer and hotter. Neither of them loved going outside because, as vampires, too much time in the sun would make them thirstier and sometimes blister.

“So what should we do?” Chan asked, sitting with his legs crossed on Mei’s couch in her apartment. “You’ve been a vampire much longer than I’ve been one. What have you done in the summer?”

“Back when I got my last degree, cameras were really terrible and too weak to see me,” Mei said, squinting while reading something on her computer. Mei had gotten a creative writing degree back in the 80s in Spain, and a history degree in the 60s. She liked to point out frequently that she would have gotten many more degrees, but sexism prevented her for a long time. “Which had made it much easier to steal blood or drink from a sleeping person, regardless of the season. But cameras are much better nowadays, and while they still wouldn’t be able to see either of us that well, they would see things being moved around and possibly changes in shadow. And we don’t want that. Also, with you being a new vampire that’s not an expert at stealthily drinking blood from someone, we can’t just have you slinking around peoples’ houses at night.” She sighed and shut her computer, then gave Chan a look that made his spine dance.

“I have a few ideas, but none of them are that ethical or easy,” she said, grimacing. “Do you have any?”

Chan pursed his lips. “I could try hosting another blood drive?” Chan suggested, then discarded the thought. “Or we could go to the hospital I intern at and steal blood from there.” He said that calmly, normally, and Mei was a little shocked at how nonchalant he had become regarding blood acquisition. He used to cringe when Mei gave crazy stories of how she had taken blood from people.

“Hospitals should keep their blood, though,” Mei said, ignoring Chan’s surprised expression. “It’s one thing to take a few blood vials from healthy college students. It’s another to withhold a hospital’s stock that could potentially save someone’s life.” Chan wanted to mention that the blood collected from the university’s drives eventually made it to the hospital, but he didn’t want to create an ethical debate. They were already unethical as it was, being undead beings that drank blood.

“Okay,” he said, sighing. “So what are your ideas? Because those are mine.”

Mei gave a little smile, and Chan got nervous. “Mei, what are you thinking?”

“I was thinking of an illegal blood ring,” Mei said casually, then folded her arms over her chest and frowned at him when Chan gave an expression that was equivalent to her saying she had murdered someone. “I know your track record is perfect, but as a desperate vampire, I don’t know what else to tell you. Would you rather starve?” Chan opened his mouth to speak, but Mei held up a hand. “Hear me out.”

A million thoughts were running through his head, but Chan did as she said. She was right, he did have a perfect track record because it was imperative for someone that wanted to go into medicine that it was spotless. A blood ring was the perfect addition to his record if he wanted to throw away his degree and any chance of employment.

“There are more blood rings than you’d think, and a lot of them aren’t nearly as scary or dangerous as you might think,” Mei started. “Think of doctors that are fed up with blood donation regulations because certain people, such as gay people, can’t donate blood. Think of psychopaths that want to sell tainted or drugged blood to scrape a profit. Think of people without ID that need blood but can’t get it through lawful means. These are the types of people we’d encounter, and considering that we’re both strong and smart vampires, being friendly with them, stealing blood, and then jetting wouldn’t be hard. We’d only have to do it once,” she said as Chan’s expression darkened with doubt. “I don’t love the idea either, but I think it’s doable. Allow me to ask around, and I should be able to find a place for us to go and get our blood within a week.”

“And what about next summer?” Chan asked. “And the summer after?”

“By then, you’ll hopefully know how to take blood from humans in their sleep,” Mei said evenly. “I should have taught you earlier, but I didn’t. Please, Chan,” she said and gave a look. “Just go with me. I promise things will be fine. And if it doesn’t, we can just change our names and go to university somewhere else.”

“You’re insane,” Chan groaned. There was nothing smart about this plan. Chan could name several things that could go wrong off of the top of his head: the blood they could get would be so drugged that both of them would kill someone in their insanity, they could get caught or ratted out and lose their place in the university, or they could simply get killed by the blood dealers. But Chan begrudgingly agreed with Mei because it was the only plan they had. And blood, as delicious as it was, was slippery to deal with. This was simply one shady deed in a life that would last an eternity. He was too young to understand the small weight of this blood ring that would carry on his immortal life. He had to trust Mei.

“And besides,” Mei said, climbing off of her bed to grab a bag of blood from her fridge, “you can think of it as a heroic job. Maybe we can rat out the blood dealers to the cops, steal their blood, but then tell the police they destroyed it all in a hairy crossfire. You’re not the bad guy, Chan, nor a vigilante. You’re just a vampire that needs his needs met.”

So a little more than a week later, Chan found himself in the passenger seat of Mei’s Toyota, Mei driving like she was on her way to the grocery store to pick up some eggs. “Mei, I don’t know if we should do this,” Chan said, shifting nervously in his seat and rubbing his hands together.

Mei turned smoothly to a dirt road. The highway they had been on before had been smooth, so the new bumpy terrain made the two of them bounce around in the car. It just made Chan even more nervous - this was territory that wasn’t crossed often. “Chan,” Mei said in the same way a mother would soothe a child, “we’ll be fine. Like I said before, I wouldn’t be able to do this alone. You’re here for backup. I told the dealer you have a black belt and can make shit fly if things don’t go as planned.” 

“I don’t have a black belt,” Chan felt he had to point out.

“And they don’t need to know that,” Mei said calmly. She turned again. Somehow this road was even bumpier. Chan felt like he was going to throw up. “You’re here for looks and intimidation. And if things do go awry, you look strong enough to do damage.”

Chan groaned. It was night out, and Mei turned off her headlights. It wasn’t a problem because both of them could see fine during the night; it was so no one else could see them. “Just relax,” she continued, which made Chan even less relaxed. “Think of the blood.”

Thinking of blood did make him feel better, much to his relief. He sat dazed while Mei navigated through the dirt path, thinking of the result rather than the work he had to do to get there.

Mei parked the car in between some trees and the two of them got out. Mei adjusted her hoodie and sunglasses, which made Chan pull out his sunglasses as well. He felt like a fake criminal putting them on. They only did this in movies. “This way,” Mei said, her voice amplified because of the silence that hovered around them. Trees were everywhere and Chan had no idea how Mei had managed to maneuver the car into the forest. He hoped a quick escape wasn’t going to be needed.

Mei trudged through the forest, Chan following. She led him to an old shack that looked like it was one breeze away from toppling onto itself. Chan had to duck to not hit his head on the door frame. The inside smelled exactly how a dilapidated and abandoned shack should smell like - grimy, slimy, and dusty. Then, of course, there was the smell of blood. He knew Mei could smell it too by how she stood straighter, or perhaps that was to seem more intimidating, because Chan had just noticed a few more figures already in the shack.

“I presume you’re Em and Bert,” said a cool, feminine voice across from them. The blood dealer.

“Bert?” Chan growled, quiet enough so that only Mei could hear, but she only smiled.

“That’s us,” Mei said, her voice devoid of the humor and carefreeness it usually held.

Even in the shadows, Chan could see the other woman give a smile. Despite the hood and mask she wore, the blood dealer wasn’t too incredibly intimidating. Chan thought she was sitting at first, but she was just short. A small lock of curly and blonde hair stuck out from her hood, giving the illusion that she was a small child. He almost snickered, but he was nervous himself.

Then he paid attention to her bodyguards. Three bodyguards were surrounding her, all tall, dark, and intimidating. The one to her right looked like he had muscles that could clock him into next week, while the one to her left had eyes of steel that he could feel scanning him. The one in the middle, right behind her, had the veiniest hands he had ever seen. He imagined them choking Mei or himself and he shuddered. Like the girl, they all had hoods and masks to conceal their identity.

“And do you have the money?” The girl said, a lilt to her voice. Mei nodded and pulled out enough money in cash to pay for an entire semester of school. Chan was amazed at his self-control to not do a backflip in the middle of the shack. Where had she gotten so much? He decided he’d have to ask later, or never.

The girl’s expression didn’t change at the sight of the money. “Put it on the table,” she said, then waved a hand to a three-legged table that sat in the middle of the room. Mei placed the wad of cash onto the table, then swiftly stepped away from it like the table was going to suddenly grab her hand if she didn’t move fast enough. 

Chan was hit with a pang of anxiety. Why hadn’t Mei asked to see the blood first? The bodyguard to the girl’s left pocketed the money. They could be murdered right there, and Chan still had to study for his anatomy final. He glanced over to Mei, who appeared to be unfazed. He gave her a look that he hoped she interpreted as, “do you still have an ounce of sense rattling in that brain?”

He didn’t need her to answer, however, because the girl motioned her hand. The buff bodyguard to her right bent down and picked up a box - Chan’s heart sank - a small box. His vampire senses started screaming because now the scent of blood had a visual paired with it, but there wasn't even that much. At most, this box of full blood vials would last Mei and Chan a month, which was less time than the two of them had for summer. The bodyguard placed it onto the same table where Mei had placed her money. This time, Chan took the case of blood. It was heavier than he had suspected, but it was still so little.

“You promised more,” Mei said evenly, echoing Chan’s worries. “I brought the money you wanted. Where’s the rest?”

“This is all we have left,” the girl said smoothly, and Chan had read enough crime novels to know that was a twisted truth. Likely, someone else had outsold them. And based on the amount of money Mei had given, that was an accomplished feat.

But even so, Chan could smell more blood somewhere, much like a human could smell both cookies and brownies being baked in a kitchen. Was it the blood from the girl and her guards? He didn’t think so, because that wasn’t the case when he was surrounded by fellow university students.

He didn’t have to look at her to know that Mei had smelled as much. Mei’s mouth twitched.  “I see more right there,” she said, pointing vaguely towards the girl. The bodyguards stiffened.

“We have no more,” the girl repeated, her tone stricter than any of her bodyguards’ body language. Her eyes narrowed, and Chan caught the hue of them - blue. “Perhaps if you had offered more money, or if you were a bit more reputable, I would have-”

The girl was unable to finish her sentence, because Mei had darted forward, faster than any human could have ever moved. Before Chan realized what she was doing, Mei already had a hold on a second box, identical to the one he was holding. It must have been hiding somewhere, and for whatever reason Mei had managed to see it.

Chaos ensued. The girl screamed, Chan screamed too, and Mei had delivered a blow to the muscular bodyguard, sending him to the floor. He realized that he was supposed to act the part of the strong sidekick, but Chan’s rationality and legs had a different idea. He was not fit to fight. While Mei sized up another bodyguard, Chan took off running. He ran out of the shack, blood vials rattling violently in his hands. He realized too late that under no circumstances could he drop the box of blood - it would defeat the purpose of Mei’s inception.

To his chagrin, he realized one of the bodyguards, the one with veiny hands, had taken off running behind him, and Chan deliriously wondered if he was good at playing piano as he dove into the dark forest around the shack.

“Stop!” The bodyguard yelled as if Chan would obey. He ran further into the forest, grateful it was nighttime. He could see easily, and based on how the bodyguard faltered around the frequent trees, he didn’t have the same advantage. Chan slowed his running when he saw how far behind the bodyguard was and crouched by a particularly large tree, cradling the vials of blood like they were a newborn baby.

He heard the bodyguard come closer, but Chan had faith that he was hidden and quiet enough to not be noticed. “Shit!” The bodyguard swore when he must have been about ten feet away. Chan remained perfectly still, crouched low, not breathing. He was dimly aware of the spiraling and sharp pain coming from his toes because of the way he was sitting, and he decided to ignore it. Then, without warning, Chan lost his balance and toppled onto the forest floor, the vials crashing into each other and creating a cacophony of noise. It was Chan’s turn to swear.

The bodyguard was upon him within seconds. Chan had barely gathered himself and the blood, and was still struggling miserably on the forest ground, pain exploding from his toes. “Are you insane?” The bodyguard growled, his voice rough. Chan squirmed away from the bodyguard and barely missed the bodyguard’s lunge towards him. He couldn’t tell if he was trying to reach for his neck or the blood.

“Yeah,” Chan answered him, tripping into a standing position, but the guard was too close for him to make a run for it. The adrenaline racing through his system had adrenaline, and briefly he wondered how Mei was doing. Could she hold off two bodyguards and that girl on her own? He wasn’t doing well even with one. His knees began to shake, and for a moment he wished he had never become a vampire - he wouldn’t have ever been in this situation. He wouldn’t have been moments from death or capture.

“You must be truly desperate if you’re willing to steal from people like us,” the bodyguard snarled. “What were you gonna do with it all, resell it? Give it to authorities to rat us out?” He backed Chan into a tree. “Or fucking drink it?”

Chan’s eyes widened, and a lightbulb glowed in his mind with a ridiculous idea. For the past few months, Chan had adjusted to being a vampire, but he couldn’t help but often felt alienated even with Mei being a new addition in his life. He avoided drinking blood in front of a human and even broke out into a sweat when it was in a concealed and opaque container in fear of their terrified reaction. Now, Chan took this opportunity to turn the tables in his favor. He just hoped he wasn’t the greatest fool for doing it.

“It tastes like cranberry juice,” Chan said in a voice that was much too cheery for how unhinged he felt internally. Then, without warning, he uncorked one of the vials of blood and chugged it. He let it slosh around in his mouth as a red sea, he gurgled it, he let it run over his mouth and onto his chin, and he prayed to some god, a god that likely had damned him already, that this plan had an ounce of sense. At least the blood tasted good.

“What the fuck?” The bodyguard choked, which was precisely the reaction Chan had hoped for. Chan kicked out and slammed his leg into the bodyguard, causing him to sputter in surprise before falling to the ground. His head connected with a tree and the sound was sweetly sickening. Chan stood, staring at the man lying unconscious on the floor, staring at his hands, staring at the blood. He must have stood there for a few minutes in stunned silence, before being interrupted by screams and shouts coming from the old shack.

“Seungmin!” A masculine voice shouted, and Chan assumed the voice was referring to the knocked out man lying on the forest floor in front of him. Unfortunate for both of them. A few more screams, and then, “-in the building!”

He heard a crack, and the most horrible, loud sound of splitting wood, metal chafing, and tile cracking overcame all silence in the forest. Chan cringed as he ran back towards the shack, fearful of Mei’s safety.

He emerged from the forest, only to have Mei dart in front of him to seize his wrist. Her hair, done in a ponytail under her hood, had become exposed and frazzled, but otherwise she seemed fine. She was carrying the second box, that special box, under her arm, and Chan wanted to cry with relief. They were both okay, they had done what they had come to do. “Car!” She huffed, then took off running, still gripping Chan. He felt like a rag doll being yanked by his five-year-old owner as Mei dragged him towards their escape.

He threw himself into the car, Mei already driving before his butt hit the seat. He placed his box of blood at his feet and felt out-of-body as Mei drove like a demon out of hell out of the forest and onto the gravel road. Chan had never felt so happy to feel the motion sickness that came from the rough terrain. He glanced over to Mei, who had ripped off her sunglasses. She looked like she had just slain a dragon and was glowing with adrenaline. Chan was filled with the happiness of knowing her. How could he ever have gotten so lucky? He broke into a grin, then began crying with laughter.

“We did it!” He cried, and Mei joined in with him after a few moments. He could hear the tension, fear, and anticipation leave her body as she laughed - a joyful, boisterous, and relieving laugh that seemed to be perfectly in rhythm with the car bouncing on the gravel road.

“We did, didn’t we?” She choked out after her laughter subsided. “But God, Chan, you look like you were shot in the mouth. What happened?”

Chan suddenly remembered his silly vampire distraction, and he burst into laughter all over again. “I scared the daylights out of the bodyguard that chased me by chugging some of the blood,” he giggled. His head was going to fly off of his head in the next few seconds. “It was all I could think of to distract him.”

“Oh my God, Chan,” Mei laughed. “That’s brilliant.” Mei turned, and the car gave a few jolts as it tore into another dirt road. “I destroyed the shack. It was sort of an accident, but it was only a matter of time.”

“And how’d that happen?”

Mei chuckled. "Throwing a bodyguard enough times against a wall causes a lot of strain on the house. I think I crushed everyone in the shack. Oh!" Chan's mouth dropped open as Mei reached into the center pocket on her hoodie and pulled out the wad of cash that she had used to pay for the blood. “There’s this.” She threw it into his lap, and Chan jumped as it touched him.

"Mei!" Chan gasped, unsure whether to laugh or be terrified. "We literally stole from them, and now we cut them short of-"

"Yeah, and they cut us short too," Mei shrugged, having an ethical compass of a seesaw. "Their leader, the little girl, promised me a second box. I was essentially paying for two boxes and she only gave me one. It's only fair. Well, at least for us." Mei stared off into the distance as she drove. "And I bet you smelled the blood of the second box, too. Perhaps she thought she could undercut us. Either way, I hope all four of them are screwed either financially or physically. Honestly, I might have killed the ones in the shack. But now I can pay for my next semester and not die of thirst over the summer." 

She said all of this causally, and Chan didn’t feel like lecturing her. He had sins too, lying unconscious in the forest. Chan also decided not to ask where Mei had gotten her money. He didn't want to, because he knew she didn't have it before this. "I mean, they're blood dealers," he said instead. "I don't think they care about laws or rules. But still..."

"Still nothing, Chan," Mei laughed. "We did it. Can't we celebrate?"

"Ah, two vampire college students stealing blood from a shady group of people that we might have killed. Congratulations to us," Chan said in a mocking voice, but smiled. "We certainly did it. Let's never do it again."

"You can say that again," Mei agreed. Her mouth quirked upward, and she barely suppressed a giggle. "Honestly, I thought we were screwed the entire time," Mei said carefully. "I thought they'd have backup in the forest or around the shack. Me reaching for that second box - that was pure stupidity."

"But we got our blood," Chan said with a note of finality.

"We got our blood," Mei echoed. Against all odds, they had pulled off a plan only a college student could conjure. "If we can do this, finals will be easy."

"Are you sure about that?"

Chan and Mei bickered back and forth over if finals or stealing illegal blood from shady vandals was harder (finals won) until Mei got onto the highway. Homebound and their goal accomplished, the two vampires laughed all the way home. In the sky, the moon's white rays glowed on them, the foil of the sun that they had grown to love as creatures of the night.

#skznta2020 #stray kids #stray kids fic #skz #bang chan #vampires #vampire au #platonic #x female reader #college au #staysource #cb97net #my writing #stray kids oneshot #bang chan oneshot #stayheavennet

[serararku]

The Addict’s Edict Finale

Era slowed her breath and flattened her ears against her head, with her bright blue eyes twinkling in the shadows. She crawled on all fours through the foliage and beneath the cover of the bushes. Her heart pounded against her chest and temples as she scanned the area; her prey was as cunning as he was quick, and she couldn't afford the luxury of underestimating his reflexes. So she stalked him from the dark like a ghost in the fog. The time to strike was close. She could sense it.

"Scurryin' about ain’t gonna help you none!" Thalen called out, stepping into view. He balanced his magitech rifle on his shoulder as he searched for her, with pupils so dilated she could barely see the yellow of his eyes. Era lowered herself when his gaze swept across her hiding place, but she released her bated breath when he turned to the side. "Is Isenhart's youngest pupil scared a lil'ol me? You ready to yield and drop this farce?" He jerked his head in the opposite direction. "Can't hide forever, lass. Alls you gotta do is knock me on my ass with that stick. Easy peasy, aye? Come on out n'get your ass-whoopin' while it's hot!" His back was turned and his guard was lowered -- it was now or never!

Era dashed out from the foliage and raced across the pond, as silent as a shadow and as quick as a coeurl. She held her bokuto with one hand, letting the tip of the wooden blade brush against the surface of the water. She saw Thalen’s ears point in her direction just as she almost made it to the other side. The Gunslinger whipped around to fire off a shot, but was blinded by a spray of water when she flicked the sword at him. Thoomp! The burst of aether cut through mist and smoke before diving under the surface of the water.

Era reappeared from above, aiming to give this loudmouth a concussion with a downward swing. Like lightning he whipped his revolver up and pointed it over his shoulder! Thoomp! The bokuto bounced backward in Era's grasp when the aether burst ricocheted! Off balance and airborne, she grit her teeth as she tried to correct herself, but he had already stepped out of harm's way.

Her heart was pounding in her head when she landed, bringing the blade across to bounce his rifle away before he could aim at her! She whipped the bokuto back to smash against the side of his head, but he ducked and leaned back! Era stayed kept on the pressure, swinging high when she tried to knock him out, and low when she tried to throw him off balance; but the bastard was quick -- far quicker than she's ever seen him move in her life! When he spun on his heel to avoid another swing, he scraped his cupped fingers along the ground and threw a handful of dirt at her face. She closed her eyes and sputtered for a full second, and that was enough.

Thalen swung the back of his hand as hard as he could, smacking the bokuto out of her grip. Then he lunged forward, driving the butt of his rifle up and slamming her right in the stomach with a weighty thud!

"Haaugh!" Era buckled over and dropped into the dirt, gasping for air and in the fetal position. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and saw her weapon just a couple yalms away; Thalen once again had his back turned, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and basking in his victory. He was talking but she couldn’t really hear him -- she had one last trick up her sleeve. Clutching her stomach as she crawled, she hurried as fast but as quietly as she could to reach her discarded wooden blade. If she could get to her weapon before he had a chance to noti- BLAM BLAM BLAM!

Dust kicked up by her hand, stopping her dead in her tracks. Dust picked up by live rounds. She turned around to see Thalen pointing his hand cannon at her. She completely forgot about his 'pride n'joy'. "I win, princess." He sneered, spinning the sidearm on his finger before sliding it back into his holster. "I told you a swordsman ain't no match for a bastard with a clear shot."

“Woohoo! Yeah! Way to go Thalen!” Coroh cheered and clapped once it was perfectly clear victory of this duel was going to him. Mizuna on the other hand, who was here purely to ensure no one got seriously hurt, finally let out a breath she had been holding for what felt like forever.

Era rubbed dirt from her face as she sat upright, wallowing in her crushing defeat; eight moons of training under Hadriel and she still couldn’t defeat some drunkard with a spare pistol. “You cheated...”

"Cheated? Heh heh heh..." Thalen repeated, chuckling. "You think honor'll protect you when the chips are down? It won't. How did facin' your foes head on go back in Mor Dhona again? You got shot to hell, aye?"

“A real swordsman wouldn’t be beaten so easily…”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Era.” He offered his hand to help her to her feet, his eyes still dilated with attentive excitement. “How’d you think Garlemald conquered Doma and wiped out most of them swordmasters in the first place? With bullets, that’s how. Lots n’lots a bullets.”

She was reluctant to accept his offered hand, but she didn’t want to look like a sore loser; she was definitely sore though. “Hadriel can deflect bullets… I’m sure he can.”

“Aye, I’m sure he can too.” Thalen saw the frown on her lips and heard the subtle pout in her voice -- he felt good about today despite his crippling thirst, as it was always a treat to knock a blademonger down a peg or two. A grunt and a heave later and Era was back on her feet. “But that takes a lotta focus n’strain on the body to move that fast. Even the greatest Samurai can only move so fast for so long. They’ll run outta stamina long before I run outta ammunition, I can assure you of that.”

She dusted off her backside and nodded -- she couldn’t argue with that logic. “You think you can take on Hadriel with that peashooter?” Almost immediately he threw his head back and laughed in an exaggerated fashion.

“Of course I could!” Thalen chortled, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “And for the record… this is a ceruleum powered magitech mini railgun revolver. I could blow a squirrel’s brains out from twelve-hundred yalms with a clean shot, and at max power I could punch a hole as large as a hrothgar’s head in Garlean black steel. Course… the knockback would shatter my arm. But that’s besides the point! It’s deadly accurate and packs a wallop!”

“All that jargon is worthless against a katana wielded by a real master.” Era yawned, plucking her sword. “If you fought Hadriel, you’d be dead before you could draw your pistol…”

“Say it with me: railgun revolver.” Thalen turned to wave at Mizuna and Coroh, who were at a healthy distance. “Sure, if’n he could get me within swingin’ distance of that blade I’d be minced meat. But gunslingers like me fight at a distance, lass. And I’d be able to know where he’s at long before he can get near me.”

Coroh ran up first, still excited at that display of marksmanship. “Wow! That was really, really cool…! Can you teach me how to shoot like that?”

“Baby steps, darlin’.” He smiled, ruffling her hair. “Learn the bow n’I’ll teach you how to shoot a sidearm, aye. Plenty of folks at the estate are handy with precision guns too, so you’ll never be short a teacher.” He gestured to Era before grinning wickedly. “But show’s over. Let’s go ahead n’get outta here. I got jobs to do, gil to make, n’a thirst to quench.”

“Why don’t you take Coco along with you, S’era?” Mizuna chimed in, casually approaching the group with her hands deep in her lab coat pockets. “I need to speak with K’thalen alone.” Thalen and Era exchanged looks before the Samurai tentatively nodded, gesturing for the gushing Miqo’te girl to follow her to her chocobo Kwehzimoto.

With a lift and a plop, Coroh was in the saddle with the reins in her hands before Era climbed up to sit behind her. “Goodbyyyeee!” Coroh hollered, waving at them both as the two girls took off toward Ul’dah in a cloud of dust.

Mizuna watched them disappear along the horizon, waiting for them to be long gone before she turned to look up at him. “You can see aether.”

“Eh?” Thalen snorted, crossing his arms. “What’s this now?”

“You knew Ms. Rarku was hiding in those bushes. You knew where she would reappear when she vanished in that puff of smoke, and you dodged all of her swings perfectly.” Mizuna dressed him down with her gaze. “Half of those dodges happened when you weren’t even looking at her.”

“That’s just instinct, Doc.” He waved his hand dismissively, turning to make his way to his fenrir motorcycle. “Been sparrin’ with the hothead for moons now. She’s as predictable as the sunrise.”

Mizuna slowly blinked, before pulling a rubber stress ball from her pocket. She said nothing as she watched him wander away, halfway to his bike, before she lifted her arm and chucked it as hard as she could at him; Thalen ducked as soon as it was released from her hand, letting it soar clean over his head to bounce off into the dust and haze of the desert wastes. “I’ve made no indication I would do that. How can you call that instinct?”

He dusted off his hat before sliding it back onto his head. “Pfeh… I never let my guard down ‘round women, that’s why.”

“You can see aether. The only reason you dodged that ball is because it was in my pocket for bells. My aether had rubbed off on it, and you felt it leave my hand.” Mizuna took long strides to reach his side again. “I’ll need to run more tests to be sure you can help me with my problem…”

“A problem?” Never before had Thalen been so confused, and that’s saying something. “What kinda problem?”

“It’s confidential.” Mizuna tucked her hands back into her pockets and quickly changed the subject. “I also wanted to talk to you about your… addiction. If you have a moment to talk with me?”

“Doc, you ain’t comin’ on to me, are you?” He furrowed his brow and straightened his back. “Cause I got this rule where I nev-”

“I’m not hitting on you.” Her tone was curt and annoyed. ���I’m referring to your drinking problem.”

Thalen relaxed a bit, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I ain’t got no drinkin’ problem. Can’t a man enjoy a drink or two at his leisure?”

“If it was just ‘a drink or two’ we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Mizuna eyed him up and down before continuing. “You’re a grown man. I can’t force you to change your ways… I don’t know why you drink exactly, but I know you don’t drink because you like to have fun. You’re killing yourself trying to escape something… or someone. But you can’t run from whatever is haunting you forever, K’thalen. Trust me… I’ve seen what trying to drown your sorrows in alcohol can do to a man.”

Thalen wasn’t in the mood for another addiction lecture. He’s suffered through interventions before, from ‘friends’ who wouldn’t or couldn’t understand. The fact that this scaled wannabe mother of his could even suggest she has any idea of what it’s like to deal with his inner demons made his tail bristle, his face scrunch up into a snarl, and words laced with poison leap from the back of his throat. “Like who… you’re husband?”

Her faint smile vanished and she slowly blinked at him. The stone mask slipped onto her face as she slowly inhaled, but Thalen knew better than to trust a blank expression. “Yes. Like my husband.”

“Ah…” He sputtered, still more angry and irritable than embarrassed. “Sorry, Doc. I… didn’t mean it.”

“My husband tried to drown himself in liquor trying to forget the agony of losing not one, not two, but all three of our children. He became an angry, violent drunk, and although he never hit me… I could tell he wanted to. Alcohol has that effect on grief. But the pain can never stop until you face it head on.” She slowly inhaled as her gaze drifted to Ul’dah in the distance. “You’re one of the greatest shots I’ve ever seen. Maybe the fastest quickdraw in Eorzea. Alcohol is not your buddy. If you won’t cut back for your sake, think about the people around you who are concerned for your wellbeing. Their lives are affected too.”

Thalen gulped dryly, the familiar stinging thirst stabbing him in the back of the throat. Mizuna brushed past him and sat down on the backseat of the motorcycle, with the slightest scowl on her face.

“Take me home.”

---

Mentions: @hadriel-ffxiv​

[hawkbucks]

Okay, so I usually don't send this kind of asks or prompts, because I don't have any wishes - I'm happy with whatever I get. But if you're up for it, I'd really love some HEAVY Tony-centric angst. Ship or no ship, whatever you prefer more, and sad end - or if you're not comfortable with that not more than a hopeful end. I just want you to crush my heart and make me cry. A lot. If that's nothing you want to write, that's okay, I love your writing anyway! Thank you for all your hc's and fics! :)

HELLO, FIRST OF ALL, I AM SORRY FOR TAKING THIS LONG AND SECOND OF ALL, THANK YOU FOR BEING WILLING TO WAIT. 

I hope this quenches your thirst for angst! I’ll admit to not really? Writing angst that much? So I’m not sure how this holds up, but I hope it’s okay! 

Loosely inspired by canon.

As a child, Tony comes to the realization that he is not meant to be loved. 

His mother tries. Oh, God, she tries. She brushes his hair in the mornings, places bandages over his bloodied knees whenever he went to play out in the garden and inevitably fell due to an untied shoelace, but nothing--nothing--she does makes up for the way his father treats him, the way those barbed words wrapped themselves around his heart and lungs and squeeze until he could barely breathe. 

See, dear old dad makes sure that his dissatisfaction with Tony makes itself apparent at every turn. Tony isn’t smart enough, he isn’t quick enough, he isn’t careful enough, he isn’t tough enough. He cries too much, clings too tightly to his mother, spends more days reading about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table than brushing up on his advanced mathematics courses. 

“You're useless,” he remembers his father sneering, smelling faintly of alcohol and cigar smoke, while he desperately bites his lower lip to stifle his sobs as he picked up the remains of his toy car on the floor, “spending your time on those things instead of studying. I don’t see why Maria bothers. I certainly wouldn’t.” 

Clutching the scraps of metal to his chest, Tony runs out of the room as fast as his legs can carry him. He throws them in the trash, nearly retching up his entire lunch as he does so before going into his bedroom and curling up in his bed, buried under a ridiculous amount of blankets. He doesn’t know what to do to make his father happy short of running away and risking his life on the streets. 

He doesn’t know what to do to make his father love him. 

He keeps to himself at school. People don’t seek him out, and he doesn’t seek people out. He gets labelled as the “eccentric rich boy,” which is fine by him. 

Except there’s this other kid, James Rhodes, around 3 years older, that won’t stop trying to get him to come out of his shell. It probably helps that they’re roommates, otherwise Tony would be giving him a wide, wide berth. As in, making detours to the other side of the campus kind of wide. 

“C’mon.” Rhodes slides him a plate laden with a microwaved chocolate croissant. “Talk to me a little.” 

Tony eyes the plate. He hesitantly reaches forward, like he’s afraid that Rhodes is going to snatch it away from him at the last second, before bringing it towards himself. He nibbles at the edges of the pleasantly warm croissant. “Why do you care so much?” 

“Because you seem scared every time that I see you?” Rhodes answers. “Listen, Tony, you’re young. Younger than anyone else on this campus. I’m... worried, you know? You need someone looking out for you.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“And I’m not trying to be one. I’m just saying that you’d be better off having someone who cares for you. I’m not going to swaddle you and put you in diapers.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “You better not.” 

Rhodes smiles at him. Tony finds himself smiling back.

It’s nice, having someone with him at school. He and Rhodes--or Rhodey, as he now calls him--are basically attached at the hip. They do anything and everything they can together. Tony has almost forgotten how it’s like to be this happy. 

He tells Rhodey one day, tentatively excited, that he’s found this girl: Sunset Bain. She’s a brunette with hair all the way down to the middle of her back, she’s wicked smart with a rapier wit, and, most importantly, she doesn’t care that Tony’s a Stark. 

“Stop growing up so fast,” Rhodey complains. “It’s making me feel old.” 

“You’re 19.” 

“I feel old.” 

They go on dates--nice ones, but not expensive. 

He has his first kiss with her. It’s quick and chaste, but he liked it. She doesn’t push him to go further, and for that he’s glad. 

He holds her hand as they walk under the trees. 

As it turns out, Sunset did a little snooping in his stuff when he’s distracted and made off with Stark company secrets right after they celebrated their 6th month together. 

“Stupid boy,” his father snarls, slamming a hand down on his desk. Tony’s heard it all before, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. He doesn’t look up from the floor, hands clasped behind his back. 

Tony croaks, “I didn’t--”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t think she’d take advantage of you? Did you actually think she loved you?” 

Tony doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want to appear to be even more of an idiot, because, yes, he actually thought she loved him. She would whisper as much when they cuddled on the couch, anyway. 

“Unbelievable,” Howard mutters, taking Tony’s silence as confirmation of that fact. “Get out. I have to deal with this mess that you made.” 

Tony nods. “Yes, sir.” 

He leaves, each step heavy. Everything after that is a blur. All he knows is that he left that room and he ended up back in his dorm, face down on the floor, sobbing his eyes out with a half-empty bottle of Vodka lying next to him.  

His parents die at some point. Car accident.  

He sobs into his pillow. He wishes--

He wishes he was in the car, too. At least he’d be with his mother.

Rhodey has been his anchor through all of this. He lets Tony ruin his shirts with his tears and his snot. He brings Tony coffee and cupcakes whenever he thought he could use some cheering up. Hell, he even offers to TP Sunset’s house--a tempting offer if he didn’t know that Rhodey would end up arrested for doing so. 

Like most good things in his life, Rhodey ends up leaving to join the Air Force. Tony wishes he could be selfish enough to ask Rhodey to stay a little longer, but he doesn’t. 

He gives him a hug and a pat on the back, and Rhodey is gone.

Rhodey tries to contact him. He calls, sends letters, e-mails, but Tony doesn’t reply. 

He knows it’s self-sabotaging. He knows that it’ll end up ruining one of the rare positive relationships he’s ever had in his far too long-feeling life, but he doesn’t care.

He’s never deserved Rhodey’s love. 

Tony is unsure if he should feel the glad the morning he wakes up and doesn’t see a missed call from Rhodes sitting in his inbox. 

He drifts along in life. Stark Industries was handed over to Obadiah Stane, and Tony has no plans on taking it from him. 

He drinks, orders takeout, spends his days on his phone or laptop. He’s rich enough that he doesn’t ever have to lift a finger to work in his life. It’s a boring--if safe--life. 

Crossing the street one day, he literally runs into a guy: tall, broad shoulders, with pretty blond hair. He apologizes profusely, but the guy brushes it off, tugging him over to the other side when a car honks. “I’m Tiberius,” the guy says, holding a hand out.

Tony takes it. “I’m Tony.” 

He falls in love with Tiberius fast and hard. It’s like Sunset, but a million times more intense. There’s just... something about the man that makes adrenaline pump in Tony’s veins and gives him a high that he has to spend hours shaking off afterwards. 

Of course, he’s terrified. Rhodes isn’t going to be there if something goes wrong (and something usually does go wrong when he’s concerned). 

Then Tiberius kisses him right before he leaves Tony’s apartment, and he melts. 

“No one else could love you like I can, Tony,” Tiberius murmurs against his lips, the movie they were watching all but forgotten in the background. 

Tony hums. He wraps his arms around Tiberius’ neck and draws him closer. Tiberius loves him. Maybe all of his insecurities were wrong.

“Ty,” Tony says in his best soothing voice. “Leave him alone. He didn’t know.” Tiberius is weirdly territorial. He won’t let anyone near Tony, man or woman, young or old. 

“Like hell he didn’t.” Tiberius continues to glare at the trembling man in front of him. “I should knock his lights out.” 

“Don’t.” Tony grabs onto Tiberius’ bicep and starts to pull him away. “C’mon, let’s just leave. We’re going to miss our reservation.” 

Tiberius rips his arm from Tony’s hold. “Oh, so you’re siding with him? Maybe you should go on a date with him if you care about him that much!” He stomps away, leaving behind a scared, slightly frazzled Tony. 

“I’m sorry about him,” Tony says to the man next to him, trying his best to put on an assuring smile. “He can get riled up.” 

“It’s--it’s fine,” the man replies. “I should be the one apologizing to you. He’s... you’re going to be alright, right?” 

“Of course I am,” Tony replies, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

The man looks at him with pity.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Tiberius says, arms around Tony’s waist, kissing his neck. “I just love you so much.” 

“Yeah.” Tony’s tone is empty. Tiberius has... well, he’s changed a lot. Tony thought that he was possessive before, but now he’s like a monster. All the woman did was wink at him and Tiberius yelled at her to the point where she was on the verge of tears. 

He still loves Tiberius, though. He thinks he does. He’s not too sure. Tiberius loves him, though. He knows that. 

Tiberius pauses. “Do you not love me anymore?” 

“What?” Tony places his hands on Tiberius’ shoulders. “I do!” 

“Why didn’t you say it back?” 

Tony swallows. “I was... distracted.” 

Tiberius narrows his eyes, gaze going steely. “Are you thinking about her?” 

“Ty--”

“You are, aren’t you?” 

“You’re being ridiculous--” 

Tiberius’ hand moves up to the back of Tony’s neck, and Tony feels the ice cold grip of fear in his stomach. “Who else is going to love you if not for me, Tony? I’m the only one who can put up with you.” 

Tony feels bile rise up the back of his throat. This isn’t healthy. This is far from it. 

But if this is the kind of love that he deserves, then he’ll take it. 

#Oh lordy what do I tag this with? #abuse tw #depression tw #alcohol tw #Hope those are fine. If anyone needs anything else tagged just say so! #justsomeoneunordinary

[sassysweetstories]

the dead pool

Request: “TW and Percy Jackson imagine the reader is Scott demigod half sister and she comes home after awhile w/ the wars and stuff and the dead pool list is happening and the reader is on the list bcuz she is a demigod and stuff like that she new about their world but they never new about hers besides Deaton and their mom.” 

Ship: Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader under-tones 

Warnings: angst, yelling, fighting, blood, war, conflict, fluff, swearing, flirting, etc. 

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners. I didn’t get to this season so I apologize if any of this is incorrect 

Third P.O.V

(Y/n) stood above the carcas, reveling in the blood and fight that had finally been quenched inside her heart. Ever since the young girl could walk, there was a thirst unlike any other. No food or drink could quench her hunger. A supposed “gift” given to her by her father, Ares, god of war. Though few, children of Ares lusted over violence and physical untamed aspects of conflict thanks to dear ol’ dad. (Y/n), on the the contrary, was built more like a daughter of Athena, blessed with her mother’s brains however cursed for fight, so much so one salivated to the thought. 

Melissa met Alex, Ares name given at the time, outside a nightclub. Alex planned on creating complete havoc, pain and anguish that would make mortals perish. Melissa had first seen him pull up in a motorcycle, the deep color of a raven. And with a face that would steer most away. His rough exterior almost covered up his small gruff beard and warm chocolate brown eyes. Women asked themselves if he terrified them or excited them. But good girls like bad boys. And Melissa was no different from the majority. 

And for the first time, Alex swayed from his mission and enjoyed the frisky college graduate. That night, he took her away and treated her just the way she’d hoped for. Rough, lustful embrace and only highs between the two. They spent the next few days together, throwing caution to the wind before Melissa would return home to continue her nursing career. He enjoyed the wild woman who was as rough with him as he was with her, couldn’t believe a human could tame him. They separated and soon, Melissa found out she was pregnant, changing her life forever. 

(Y/n) took her father’s built, tall and strong. But she wore her mothers gorgeous facial features, entrancing everyone with her gaze. The combination of both created the perfect soldier, the perfect demi-god warrior. Pleasing not only her mother but especially her father. Ares believed himself to be cruel, a heartless god without compassion or love. (Y/n) refused to believe that though, knowing well he’s been watching over her since birth. Sending her little signs of himself to her just the way he may for all his children, she wasn’t sure about that last one though. 

Cleaning off her blade to sheath, she made her way back to Beacon Hills. There would be no blood shed this night or the next. Her lust and thirst had been quenched and she longed for her little family. Tonight, she would not serve Camp-Half Blood, nor would she take orders from her superiors, not even the Gods. Tonight, she wanted to be a normal twenty-two year old college student. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scott’s eyes never left the list, heart beating quickly as he scanned the names. The pack stood around the kitchen, some trying to look strong while others wore their fear plainly. What haunted Scott more were the kids who were slashed out. Dead. Mercilessly murdered to rebuild something better. An idea created from the mind of a lunatic. Stiles looked over his shoulder, gawking outright as the young boy pointed to the screen. “Son of a bitch..” The tone that left his friends mouth drove fear down Scott’s spine. 

“What?’ He asked, not actually wanting to know the answer to the question. 

“Is that...” Stiles pauses. “Your sister..?” Scott’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Not wanting to believe his eyes. But there it was. (Y/n) McCall. The highest name on the list. Suddenly, he heard the front door creek open. Scott stands with blinding speed, almost throwing the chair to the side in the process. Though human, Stiles is the first to throw himself into the danger, bat in hand. His heart beating out of his chest for the first girl he ever had a crush on, worry washing over him as they make their way over to the living room. 

Turning over the corner, they came to an abrupt stop. Melissa held her eldest child, clutching her close and pulling her down to her level. A few faint tears slipped from the mothers eyes, longing for her beautiful daughter. She looked tall and strong, built like a bolder with the face of a goddess. “Mom, get away from her..” Scott’s voice croaked, fear festering in his heart. Melissa pulled away perplexed before he answered. “She’s on the list..” The older woman sighed, stepping in between the two which made him more confused. (Y/n) put her hand on her mother’s shoulder, smiling softly. 

“It’s time, mama.. He’s old enough to know.. “ Small but distinct tears slipped down her mother’s cheeks when she nodded before clearing her throat. “You kids better sit down for this..” Scott sits amongst the pack, on the edge of his seat, begging to understand why his older sister was on the dead pool. (Y/n) leads Melissa over to sit before standing amongst her brother and his friends. She smiles faintly to Stiles, noticing how much he filled out into the man he is today. 

“Before you were born-” She says to Scott, “Before I was even born, mom met a man at a nightclub. His name was Alex. Or that’s he told her. They fooled around and not long after mom returned home to continue her nursing career, she became pregnant with me. When she was with Alex, he told her something strange. Something she didn’t believe because it was far too insane to be real. That was until she gave birth to me and she believed..” 

Glancing over to her mother for confirmation to continue. And with a simple nod, she drove on. “Alex had told her his real name.. Ares.. God of war. During her pregnancy, women often go through unbelievable amounts of pain.. Mom didn’t. I took all of her pain. Ares loves violence, conflict, enticing pain, and practically feeds off it. And that’s exactly what I did. I took all her pain away, fed off of it almost.. That’s when she started questioning. When I cut my hand, reveling in the blood and pain, the gash quickly healed. But that’s when she knew for certain.” 

Melissa sighed, feeling quietly for keeping such information from her son as her daughter continued. “Scott, what I’m trying to tell you is.. I’m a demi-god. When my.. aggressive tendencies became too much for mom and Deaton to handle, she sent me to Camp-Half Blood. A school for demi-gods. It’s a place where we can not only get our human education but understand the gods and goddess, how to fight and survive and train. I’m one of the top ranking demi-gods. The past two years, I’ve been sent around the world on missions sent by the gods in order to keep tranquility. Funny to think they would send a demi-god who loves conflict to stop conflict.” 

Silence. He wasn’t sure what to say. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. (Y/n) was aggressive, never to Scott or Stiles, rather gentle with them actually. But when it came to people who picked on them, she could be vicious. She was far stronger than the whole lacrosse team combined. “Scott-” She mutters, drawing his attention. “I don’t want you to think of me as a monster.. I would never hurt you..” He knows that deep down. Maybe that’s why he’s quick to pull her into a much needed embrace. “I missed you.. so much.” He admits, openly. 

When she pulls away, she sniffs. “Also, why does it smell like dog in here?” This time Scott laughs outright, beckoning her over to a chair. “Now I think it’s time for you to sit. There’s a lot I have to catch you up on.” (Y/n) misses this, the connection she had with her family, though jagged and strange, she ached for it. And for at least tonight, things would be as normal as they could be. 

(I hope you guys liked it. Please comment below) 

#teen wolf imagine #teen wolf au #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #person jackson imagine #au #Percy Jackson AU #Scott McCall #scott mccall imagine #scott demigod half sister #demigods #dead pool #ANGSST #such angst #angry #fanfiction #angst #stiles stilinski #Stiles #stiles stilinski imagine #request #reader #Female reader #reader insert #reader x stiles #reader x stiles stilinski #pure angst #minor angst #yelling

[erandir]

The Old Ways of the Gods - Chapter 1

While we’re all trapped inside, I thought I might post the first chapter of an original novel I’ve been working on. Because it suddenly became thematically relevant. This is a first draft.  Summary:  Life in the temple is all that Malta has ever known, priestesses his only family. But as he approaches adulthood after years of seclusion from the outside world, Malta cannot help but wonder what lies beyond the temple walls.

Amber is new to the priesthood, and full of the same curiosity that has begun to plague Malta's mind. Together, they hatch a plan to sneak outside the temple's grounds. A glimpse at the world beyond is all they seek, enough to quench the thirst for knowledge. 

But like a drug, one glimpse is never enough.

-----

Rain pattered softly against the window panes. Malta watched the drops draw rivulets of shadow and light on the fogged glass, finding pictures and shapes in them the same way he did clouds. Beyond, the world was grey from sky to ground. Dark clouds hung heavy over the lonely gardens, bereft of people in this weather. The rain had turned the earthen paths between the trees to dark mud, branches hung heavy under the weight dipping down to the floor as though the whole tree were attempting to lay down to rest. 

The misty air was almost enough to obscure the high walls that bordered Malta's life. Grey stone, dyed black by water, looming above the tops of the garden's demurely manicured trees. 

"The weather has dulled your mood today.” The woman at his side spoke softly. "You are distracted."

Heaving a sigh, Malta turned his gaze away from the window and to the book laid open on his knees. In stark contrast to the gloom of the outside world, his room was warm and bright. A fire burned contentedly in the fireplace on the far wall and half a dozen orbs of magelight hovered at the ceiling to light the space as brightly as though the sun was shining. An effort to keep him cheerful on such a dour day. 

“Your ears give you away,” the woman said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, when he did not immediately reply.

“Oh,” Malta gasped, cheeks warming. On instinct, his hands moved up to cover the length of them, but then he stopped himself. Only children covered their ears to hide their emotions, and he was not a child. Not any longer. No, he would turn 50 this autumn, and be officially recognized as an adult. He needed to learn to better control his tells. "I suppose I am not in the mood for reading today.” Besides, he had read this book at least three times before, as he had read every other book in the temple library.

 "Is there some other entertainment I might provide?" the woman asked. His attendant for today was a young woman scarcely older than himself, with almond eyes and pale skin. Like all of her order she wore a plain linen shift with a high collar and wide sleeves, and a cloth tied about her hair. A single ebony curl had escaped beside her left ear, betraying her newness and tying it. Malta did not point it out.

"You are newly sworn, are you not?" he asked out of curiosity. “We were introduced only a few days ago."

“Yes,” the woman confirmed.

“It is so unusual for me to meet anyone new,” Malta mused. 

“Have you lived in the temple long?” he asked, then realized he might be overstepping his bounds, “If you are comfortable speaking of such things, of course.”

After an uncertain pause, she answered, “Since I was a child. It is all I can recall.”

“Then we are alike,” Malta declared, smiling. “To have known only this place our whole lives.” But his smile faded soon. "But now you will be able to see the outside, just like all of the others," he said, turning his gaze once more to the view beyond his window panes. "I confess that I am jealous."

The woman’s eyes widened in surprise. An unusual color - golden brown. That would be her name, in his mind, Amber. "Whatever would you have to be jealous of?" Amber asked. "You are the Mother's Chosen Son. That is an incredible blessing."

"I know," Malta sighed. Or so he had been told his entire life. "And I am not ungrateful, but I have known nothing but the inside of this temple for my whole life. At times it grows mundane, and I wonder how such a life can truly be worthwhile."

"Are you doubting your Choosing?" Amber asked, voice dipping so that they could not be overheard by anyone passing through the hall outside.

"No, not at all," Malta was quick to assure her. "I only wonder... " he paused to collect his thoughts. "I meet no one other than the Devoted, and I know nothing of the world outside the temple. I sit here in comfort and leisure while the rest of you go out and do her work, but I know almost nothing of what that entails."

Amber's considered his words. He had never dared to voice this particular doubt to any of the other Devoted. They had ensured, when he was a stir-crazy child, that he knew his place well, and knew better than to question. But he had never before met a Devoted close to his own age. He had never met someone who shared his ignorance about the world. Maybe that was why he dared open up to her. 

After a long moment of thought Amber sighed. The headscarf slipped back from her forehead and this time she noticed, hurrying to pull it back into place before more of her dark hair was revealed to her charge. "I believe I understand your meaning," she said carefully as she tucked each stray lock back beneath its covering. "You wish to bring the Mother's teachings to the world by helping those in need, but you do not know what they might need."

"Precisely," Malta breathed a sigh of relief that she understood and did not grow angry with him for any sign of doubt, the way some others did.

"But I do not believe you are meant to help people in any physical way," Amber explained.

That was a new revelation for Malta. All his life he had been told that he was Chosen to embody the teachings of the Mother, her compassion, her mercy, her innocence, and her willingness to care equally for all people and creatures of the world, regardless of their circumstances.

"What I was taught," Amber continued in the face of Malta’s shock and confusion, "Since my training began, is that you are a symbol. The Chosen Children of the Mother embody her essence. They are the purest form of the Mother's love, and they exist to show us all the purity of heart and spirit that we strive for."

Malta frowned and looked down again at the book in his lap, long forgotten during this conversation. "No, that cannot be correct," he said, voice barely a whisper.

"I apologize," Amber said quickly. She reached out a hand toward Malta, but stopped before touching him as though not certain it would be welcomed. "I spoke out of turn and I have distressed you. Forgive me."

"No," Malta shook his head. "I mean... Do not apologize," he corrected himself. "You have done nothing but what I asked of you. If you spoke out of turn it was my fault, and I should be the one apologizing."

"Well," Amber said with uncertainty, and then a very shy smile crossed her face. "I suppose we forgive each other, then."

"Yes," Malta smiled in agreement. "And let us talk of more pleasant things. Perhaps you were correct, that the weather has dulled my mood, to be asking you such silly questions about the outside world." He spoke, but found the words tasted like ash on his tongue. It was impossible for him to not be curious about what was beyond the temple grounds, and yet he was not permitted to ask. He was told to love and care for all beings of the world, but permitted to know nothing about them. And now this revelation, surely something that was meant to be kept from him.

All his life, Malta had thought that when he was old enough, when the Matriarch deemed him ready and worthy, he would venture beyond the walls of the temple to bring the Mother's light to the people of the world. Had he thought wrong?

He knew that his isolation in the temple was to keep his mind unsullied by the evils of the world. He was not to develop prejudices against anyone or be influenced by any teachings other than the Mother's. He knew only vaguely of the other gods. He could name them, and their purposes in the world, but knew nothing of their specific teachings. This had never mattered to him before. 

Again Malta turned his gaze out the window and looked down into the garden. It was still raining, still grey. The clouds that weighed heavy in the sky seemed to have taken up residence in his mind as well.

What was beyond those walls? How cruel was the world that he need be protected from it so entirely?

"Are you hungry?" Amber asked, pulling Malta back out of his thoughts. She must have caught him staring out the window again. At his age, his teachings were over, and it was the Devoted's task only to see to his needs and entertain him through his monotonous days. Entertain him so thoughts such as this did not plague his mind.

"I suppose it is nearly time for noon meal, is it not?" Malta asked. He flipped shut the book he had long since stopped reading without bothering to mark the page. Then he swung his legs off the window seat and stood, stretching slightly and tucking a stray lock of hair behind a pointed ear. "Shall we see what today's cooks have for us?"

"A fine thought," Amber replied, relieved. 

He had caused her trouble today, on her first day minding him. For that he felt some small amount of guilt. It was never his intention to give his caretakers trouble, but it was impossible for him not to occasionally seek something new in his life. The day-to-day of the temple grew boring after so long. The Devoted rotated their tasks, but for Malta there was no such relief. Each day was the same, differentiated only by the face of his companion, the weather outside his window, and the day's meals. And by now even that small change had grown dull and predictable. 

With easy strides Malta crossed the room to place his book back in its place on the shelf. The library's shelves were high and filled with tomes, but they were all the same. Tales of the Mother's deeds, explorations of Her teachings, histories of their society and the workings of the natural world. There were no tales of people outside this temple's walls, of the unpledged members of society. There were no tales of people who lacked the virtues that the Mother embodied. But he was certain that such people must exist. He had been told so, by his teachers. It was those that he was meant to save.

"I hope Rosie is working in the kitchen today," Malta commented absently. "She always makes my favorites."

"Who?" Amber asked, uncomprehending.

Malta flushed in embarrassment as he realized his slip up. "Forgive me," he said sheepishly. "I know you are not allowed names after you become Devoted, but I needed some way to differentiate you in my own mind. Rosie is an older woman whose cheeks are always red, so that is how I think of her. I know it is improper of me, please do not inform the Matriarch."

Amber looked as though she was not certain whether to be amused or scandalized. Then, she turned her face away from him, looking down to the ground somewhat sheepishly. "I confess the same thing has troubled me in the past," she admitted quietly. "I think your solution is not against the teachings, although I am certain the Matriarch would say you should not define us by our physical appearance. I will not tell, I swear."

Malta breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said earnestly.

"If I may be so bold as to ask, for what trait have you identified me?" Amber asked shyly. "Or have you not decided yet?"

She would be the first person he ever gave a name to aloud. Although she was the first one to know that this habit of his had not been broken in childhood. "Your eyes," he told her. "They are an unusual color. Amber."

"Amber," the Devoted woman repeated. Then a small smile crossed her lips. "I like it."

#original fiction #oc: malta #oc:amber #my writing #original fantasy #fiction writing

[fandomoniumflurry]

Don’t Worry, Omega

for @spnabobingo Square Filled: Feral Alpha

warnings: 18+ explicit ABO, AU, mentions of torture, quick rough sex, angst with little fluff at the end

Mystery Pairing (No Spoilers!)

1.5k words

Taggers: @keepcalmimthecupcake @becs-bunker @hunterswearingplaid​ @janai-mcgarrett

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-----

The scent was diving her mad, torturing her just as much as the beatings inflicted on the man down the hall. Concrete and iron separated them along with a wide hallway with betas, alphas and omegas between them. And yet it was his scent that was soaked into her clothes and fogging up her cell, piercing through her skin.

In the years she had been here, locked away or allowed to roam, no one had affected her like this. She had been here since she presented, a young girl when she was stolen away, pure and soft. Years of brainwashing and conditioning, tested and studied by curious minds and prodding hands. 

This place was all she knew, all she understood. The blonde was only seventeen when she finally presented as an Omega and from that moment, she was given to Alpha after Alpha, made to be with Betas and Omegas as well, all for what her captors called science. After a while, She had agreed to aid them which meant she would no longer be studied but instead assist them in the study of others. This usually just meant that she would feed the other captives or help clean and dress other test subjects. 

But ever since the older Alpha showed up, she hadn’t been able to leave her room. The pain was too great, the fever too hot, the heat too intense. She had plenty of heats and she was always given suppressants that always made it better. She had her choice of young Alphas to knot her as well. This time though was far different. She burned through the drugs and every Alpha’s scent made her retch.

Her captors couldn’t understand why her heat was so strong and so she became a test subject once again. They never asked her even though she knew exactly what was different about this time. It was Him. The Alpha down the hall. He wasn’t feral when he had arrived but it was obvious that he had been in rut recently. They had been the reason he had gone feral, starving him, worsening his ruts, not allowing him to quench his thirst or satisfy his urges. They gave him food, sure, but that didn’t feed every need. He was given liquor, medication, scientific concoctions that seemed to only further drive him into insanity. 

This was what they did, what they wanted. Drive people to the edge of death, take notes, and if they survived, they would start a brand new form of study. She didn’t know why, who they were, where they were. She just lived and they allowed her to breathe as long as she followed their rules. 

There were plenty of people she had helped clean up after, some she helped dispose of, some she had helped take out altogether. She wasn’t weak, as a matter of fact, she was taught and trained to be strong. Her frail and helpless appearance worked to her advantage and her lean petite frame and big brown eyes masked the dynamite. She was also pretty smart for not being allowed schooling. She read books, ones that they allowed, of course, watched films and television of their choosing, even the music was regulated. 

And yet, she was the most spoiled and the best treated of all the captives. She had been there the longest, endured the most tests, survived the most torture. Now, here she was, crying and writhing in agony, rolling around on her thin cot. She was drenched from head to toe, and even naked, she felt like she was melting. She knew exactly what she needed but she wouldn’t ask for it. She had been here long enough to know her limits. 

This was all because of a little touch, a simple contact of skin. The slit was only big enough for one hand, it was made for a food tray afterall. She had gotten too close, allowed herself a moment to pause and catch those wild hues staring back at her through the narrow slot. He saw the moment of opportunity and his long calloused fingers took advantage, wrapping around her wrist. It just caught her off guard, it didn’t hurt or scare her even, though she had screamed and jumped away. The food tray crashed as the Alpha growled, the sound causing her to shiver, a sheen of sweat coating her body almost instantly. She ran before the punishment began. But she could still hear the scientists beating him for his outburst and she cried as she listened to his cries of pain. 

She felt like she hadn’t stopped crying since then and that had been days ago. Pale and malnourished, she was losing all her weight and beauty. They fed her but she couldn’t keep anything down, they gave her an IV and yet she was still dehydrated. 

“I just don’t understand it.” The British accent was familiar but muffled as if she was hearing him through layers of cotton in her ears. “She is going to die and for no reason I can find.” This man had always been nice to her, and she almost considered him a friend. Mick Davies actually seemed worried as if he truly cared for her well being. Her heart ached at his words but she still hadn’t opened her mouth. It was too dry to form words anyway. 

“Guess it’s just time to put her down.” This Englishman was harsher, more cold and she whimpered. Not because of Arthur Ketch but because she could hear the howls of the man down the hall. 

Her body quivered as the feral Alpha growled and scratched the concrete walls and rattled the iron bars. The scientists heaved a sigh and left the blonde so they could attend to the troublesome Alpha. She could still hear him along with screams and loud thumps. Then she could feel it, feel him drawing closer and her body yearned for him. 

She screamed as she arched off the gurney but she was quickly silenced by a rough crash of lips, stubble scratching against her skin as teeth and tongue attacked her mouth without mercy. Her growled against her lips as he climbed on top of her, straddling her and covering her body completely with his. The heat and weight of him immediately soothed every ache in her body. She couldn’t move and she didn’t wish to. She just gave into the power of her Alpha. 

That’s what he was. Her Alpha. He was rough and calloused and yet he seemed so soft and gentle with her. She clearly calmed the beast within him as much as he soothed the agony within her, both filling the emptiness within one another. 

He wasted no time with undressing her and it was just a flick of the wrist that freed himself from the confines of the musty scrubs they had fitted him with. The same lightning fast move slid down her own scrubs and he swallowed down another scream when he plunged himself deep inside her. She sucked him in and squeezed him tight, a perfect fit that caused them both to groan. Their lips parted to suck in tight breaths A moment to adjust was unnecessary and he started a merciless rhythm, ripping her apart with each ruthless thrust. 

If he hadn’t been feral, she was sure that he would have taken his time with her. She could see in his eyes that this was only the beginning of their relationship. There was something in those lust blown pupils that told her he was a good man just not in his right mind. But neither was she and so she gladly welcomed the brutal fucking he gave her. It was fast and primal and she erupted in orgasm twice before his knot finally swelled, holding them together. It was only then that he seemed sated, able to hold her to his chest and bury his face in her neck. 

He was gentle now and the fog seemed to clear from their heads. “We have to get outta here.” The sound of his gravelly voice only seemed to excite her again and he chuckled when her walls constricted around his softening cock. “Those guys won’t be out for long and I’m sure backup won’t be far behind.” He looked into her eyes, softly brushing damp locks from her face and tucking them behind her ear. He smiled then and she nearly climaxed at the beautiful sight alone. “I’m John. John Winchester.”

She smiled in return, lifting weakly to give him a chaste kiss. “I’m Jo.” Her voice was rougher than she expected and she groaned when he pulled his deflated knot past her tight walls. He quickly pulled up his pants before doing the same for her and lifted her in his arms. “I’m gonna get us out of here. Don’t worry, Omega.” She relaxed and actually found herself falling asleep in the warmth of his embrace and she wasn’t sure how he would manage an escape but it didn’t matter. She was where she belonged.

#spnabobingo #feral alpha #SPN #supernatural #abo #alpha/beta/omega #omegaverse #smut #au #spn au #older alpha #younger omega #mick davies #arthur ketch

[snowdog49]

Behind Closed Doors

ROYAI Week 2019

Day 1: Coincidence

Rating: Mature

Her fingers gently ran through the thin chest hair. Her cheek rested nicely against his bare shoulder, his arm tucking back to hold her close, as she watched her fingers tug on the hair. He didn’t have that many, but what he did have would tickle her nose when her head rested on them. She could clearly hear his breathing slow, even out, and a slight hum of satisfaction as she continued to touch him. A quick peek would confirm his affection with evidence of the slightest smirk from his thin lips. She could have thought he was asleep, however, his fingers started lazily drawing scribbled designs on her exposed back. There was no sound, not even the pitter-patter of her dearest canine walking around. The radiating heat from his core brought her unconsciously closer from the chilly room temperatures. It was too easy to forget everything, including themselves, as they had each other, unbarred. For two who lived their lives of painted faces and theatrical roles, the darkness of the room allowed them to expose the soft underside of their neck. The sighs were not so much relief as it was of contentment. The sweat that dripped from their exhausted forms was clear evidence of their greatest secret, the part of their lives that could never be revealed past the frosted glass it hid behind.

Words were never needed in times like these. Touches spoke volumes while their breathing created a symphony original to the moment, yet rehearsed for years before. Riza closed her eyes as she replayed how he had held her in his lap, lowering her gently for her to fall with such grace onto the mattress before he ran his finger down her chest with an approving smile. No one ever could ever make her heart stutter in anticipation. The heart needed to be steady, to consistently beat evenly for a sniper to be efficient. He broke that essential part of her trained existence. Riza couldn’t say it upset her in the least bit. For a distinguished officer, she only saw his brows soften and his smile gave way when the door closed to the world beyond it. His murderous fingers gave the sparks which flared her nerves to life. He held her hands above her head, his fingers intertwined with hers and their bodies connected from their lips to their toes. She knew that it would all cease when the blue wool uniforms were donned again in the morning. 

“Thank you” was forbidden to say. The touch on the shoulder was too illicit. A soft smile exposed the crack in their iron walls.

Her lips pressed against his inner chest, an inhale capturing his aroma from his underarm. Why couldn’t they run away? Why couldn’t they abandon the right and just obligations they swore to, and flee to freedom? The thought unintentionally made her cringe. It wasn’t within their spectrum of duty to abandon the hope and trust of the people. They had an obligation to those who needed protecting. Without that, they’d fall apart. She’d be found somewhere else, and he’d probably cease to exist.

“What?” He breathed as he turned his head without opening his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer at first as she took another consideration of her desires. “I just wish that we could run away. But we can’t even vacation together.”

“I run away with you every time we close the door,” he snickered. “You are my vacation.”

The hand that rested on his breastbone tapped him lightly as she chuckled. “You’re too cute.”

She felt him kiss the top of her head as his body shifted to gain more comfort in the pillows and thin blankets. His other hand slipped behind his head, touching her fingers which had previously been running through his ruffled back hair... “I have to thank the universe every day that I was able to meet you.” His arm tightened around her. “I see you at work and ask myself every day how it was that we met again?”

She hummed as she kissed his ribs again. “Quite the coincidence isn’t it?”

“That we knew each other as kids and we came together again as adults?” Riza lifted her hand to see his smirk grow into a grin. His relaxed eyes opened to return her loving gaze.

“There are higher powers at work.” Roy turned his head to see her fully. “When we start to venture apart, we come together again.” He chuckled, letting his nose graze her forehead. “Or maybe it’s because I love you.”

She chuckled with him. “Or maybe that I love you,” she countered.

He jumped, opening his eyes in surprise. His body rolled to face her. Her hand fell between them and acted as the only barrier as he laughed. “You love me?”

Riza couldn’t hold back a louder laugh.

“Now that is a coincidence,” he breathed before kissing her softly, both arms pulling her closer to him. “That two people like us,” kiss “ doing what we do,” kiss “done what we have done” kiss “and falling in love.”

“I thought you believed in free will,” she whispered against his incoming adorations.

“I do,” he breathed back. “I’m freely loving you. But you, Riza, are not an opportunity. You are destiny.”

It was meant by life for the two souls, of all souls, to conjoin in that dark room. No other lips would fit against hers so perfectly. No other moans would fill his soul. Neither could ever find a taste that would quench their thirst. Destiny or not, they chose not to forfeit the gift the world had given them. They’d cherish the moment of laughter and complacency that was presented, even if it was behind closed doors.

#royai week 2019 #royai #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #Mature #kisses #coincidence #fluffy #last minute

[otheroutlandertales]

Anonymous said: Modern day au where Fergus and Marsali are members of opposing biker gangs.

The Borders Between Us

by @wunderlichkind

One

The bar is dim, light coming only from the low hanging lamps over the counter and the narrow set of windows right under the ceiling, facing the highway. The setting sun streams into the room in starch beams cutting through the dusty air, bathing anything outside their reach into a muted amber. Her hair, golden like ripe corn, seems to emit its own light, the brightest spot in his field of vision. He can’t help but stare at it.

The barkeep slides his drink over the counter and Fergus accepts it without taking his eyes from where she’s dancing and laughing with some other girls. He knows she’s aware of his gaze from the way she moves, knows she’s taunting him, even though she hasn’t so much as blinked at him since she entered the bar.

The black jeans hug her legs and ass in a way that makes him remember exactly how her milky skin feels under his hands, reminds him of every curve of her body, and creates in him the urge to drag her out of the dingy bar before anyone else sees – a surge of possessiveness he hadn’t known to be a side of him. She runs her hands through her hair laughing, and he can’t decide what to focus on – the memory of his own hands tangled in her blonde tresses or the ghost of her kiss eliciting goose bumps all over his body.

He empties his glass in one long swallow, setting it down on the counter again, onto a crumpled ten dollar bill. Without looking at her again, he stands and walks out through the back door.

The sun has almost set now and the parking lot is bathed in a muted evening light, almost orange in color. Fergus leans against the whitewashed brick of the bar’s outside wall, lighting a cigarette. He takes the first drag and closes his eyes, reveling in the warmth of the fading sun on his skin. He’s uncomfortably conscious of the heavy leather of his jacket weighing on his shoulders, and not for the first time asks himself if he made a mistake getting involved with these people, if he’d been too desperate for a family, any kind of home.

His stomach flutters with nerves and he is thankful for the small remedy the cigarette provides. They chose this bar carefully, it being located in a sort of no man’s land between the gangs’ territories, but it wouldn’t be wise for her to be seen with him, even here. So he waits, like he always does, and he prays she’ll come to him eventually, like she always does.

Fergus is just putting out the cigarette under the heel of his boot when the back door opens and releases her into the almost dark lot. Her own leather jacket is blacker than the approaching night, taunting him like a bad omen for a moment, until she smiles and nods towards his bike.

„Let’s go?“

He nods, returning her smile and pushing himself off the wall. His stomach settles a little when she swings onto the seat of his bike behind him and wraps her arms around his middle. The roar of the engine coming to life beneath them is soon joined by the sound of the wind rushing by their ears. The outside noises drown out his worries bit by bit, catapulting him into a simpler place, one made up of freedom and the warmth of her touch.

___________________________________________________________________

„How did it go?“ Marsali asks softly, stepping back into the small living room and closing the door to her mother’s bedroom behind her, careful not to wake her up.

„It went well.“ Her father smiles at her from across the room, shrugging into his jacket. „To be honest, I havena seen yer mother this content in a long while.“

She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. „Hmm, aye. I think she remembers ye from when you were young. She doesn’t recognize me anymore most days.“

He crosses the room in two big steps, enveloping her in his strong arms and she releases a breath that has been stuck in her throat, inhaling her father’s familiar, comforting scent, feeling the soothing softness of his jacket’s worn leather under her palms.

„Ye’re being a wonderful daughter to her, a leannan. I’m so proud of you, ye ken? And ye can call me anytime if ye need someone to watch her, I dinna mind.“

He kisses the top of her head and she sighs again, reluctantly letting go of him and following him to the door. He has to duck his head just slightly, stepping through it into the stairwell and she smiles to herself. Her father, the soft giant, the protector, the president of the charter.

„Thanks, Da. Tell Claire I said hi, okay?“

She closes the door only when she can’t see him anymore and the echo of his footsteps on the stairs has faded away. From the counter by the door she picks up the mail and distractedly sorts through it, balling up a takeout menu and an ad for a car dealership and tossing them into the trash when she reaches the kitchen. She opens the fridge and scans its contents, then closes it again, regretting for a second that she threw away that menu, but deciding it was too late to eat anyway. She eyes the two letters left on the table, sighing for the third time since arriving home.

Drawing up her shoulders, she sorts them both into the piles of unopened letters on the shelves – the bigger one with the unpaid bills, the smaller one with the growing stack that she can’t open, won’t open, but can’t bring herself to throw away yet. She knows what it says, because she opened the first one, and she’s missed the appointments for the lab tests ever since. She doesn’t want to know. Not yet, possibly never.

Her mother smiles at her from the picture on the living room wall, a radiant smile, full of unbridled happiness. It’s a healthy smile, a present smile, one from before dementia.

___________________________________________________________________

Fergus watches her stretch like a lazy cat on his sheets, his fingers spread on her belly, following the dip of her hipbone, not wanting to lose touch with her skin. He feels anchored, next to her in bed, in a way he hasn’t in as long as he can remember, and in a way he knows he won’t as soon as she leaves.

„Stay,“ he says hoarsely, voice coated with emotion and a remnant of the thirst she instills and quenches in him whenever they meet.

„Ye ken fine I can’t,“ she answers, turning towards him and propping her head up on her hand. Her tone is soft but final, the message one she’s told him a thousand times.

„I can quit. You could quit too. We could leave this place together.“ He argues because he can’t give up just yet, not because he really thinks it will change her mind. He’s said all of this to her before.

„It’s not that easy. Ye ken that as well as I do. And I have family here. I canna leave them. I canna leave my mother.“

He nods, and they’re silent for a while, him watching her closely, once more trying to memorize every line of her face, every lash, every speckle in her absent eyes.

„I love you, Marsali.“

The look in her eyes is so tender and melancholic, he wants to jump out of bed and punch something, crank the bike to full speed, get into a fight. Instead, he lets her kiss him, tastes himself on her lips along with the borders between them, lingering before his inner eye when she gets up and dresses, bending down to smooth the hair out of his forehead gently in a quick gesture of affection.

He opens his eyes to see her standing at the door, lingering, and for a short moment hope flares up violently in his chest until he sees her expression.

„Ye ken I can’t,“ she says again, an echo of her own words, heavy with meaning. „I’m not meant to have a big romance in my life. It’s better that way, I promise.“

And she leaves, as she always does.

#outlander fanfiction #otheroutlandertales #mod wunder #pair: fergus x marsali #ch: fergus #ch: marsali #ch: jamie #ch: laoghaire #modern au #category: mf #the borders between us #oot #*

[imspardagus]

A pub the way they ought to be

Leonard Cohen once sang “A scheme is not a vision”. Sadly, we have lots of schemers these days trying to sell their nasty little schemes as visions, don’t we, Nigel? Don’t we, Jacob? Don’t we Boris? So it is good to be able to celebrate a true vision. One that made the grade and brought happiness to a lot of people.

It was twenty years ago, not today but this year, that Bev and Mary opened the Old Cross Tavern in St Andrews Street, Hertford. The place had been an antique shop and, fittingly, Bev and Mary’s vision was to create a pub “the way they used to be”.

What they actually created was a pub the way they ought to be: a place of community, where people come to drink and stay to chat, a space where you can always find a welcome and a smile of acceptance, a sanctuary.

I’m in danger of eulogy here, but the thing is it is all true.

A lot of it is down to simplicity. The beauty of the Old Cross can to an extent be summed up by what it doesn’t have.

No juke box.

No fruit machines.

No Sky TV.

No MTV.

In fact, no TV.

No brazenly gilded and painfully bright beer taps offering fake lager so awful that it has to be sold, and drunk, ice cold.

No “Happy Hour” with its purpose of getting you to neck far more of the product than sober reflection would dictate.

So what does it have? Well, on a utilitarian level, a light, airy room with two booths, some tables, benches and stools, floor space to stand in and two fireplaces for the winter, a bar housing 8 handpumps, a chilled cupboard full of bottled beers, wines and soft drinks, a shelf of spirits (and pink elephants, but let’s not dwell on the pink elephants), a display case full of pork pies and scotch eggs, a jar of pickled eggs and a stacker full of bar snacks. And out the back, toilets and a covered courtyard.

On a service level it has one, sometimes two,  people serving behind the bar.

It sounds easy, doesn’t it? Simple. But, as any acrobat, any concert pianist, any artist will tell you, simplicity takes a lot of skill. That seemingly effortless backflip that makes your heart stop, that almost childlike tune that catches your throat, that apparently crudely daubed vase of bright yellow sunflowers that draws you in and fills your nostrils with the unmistakable scent of a hot, dusty southern summer you have never known, each one belies hours of careful practice and solid artistry to make it just so.

To run a pub as sublimely good as the Old Cross takes commitment, constant effort and a lot of heart. And if you can’t see that, it is because they’re good at it. Really good.

Let’s start with the beer. A workaday product, beer, you might be tempted to think. A humble thing, the staple of the masses across the centuries. Just a pint of flavoured, slightly alcoholic water to quench the thirst. But British beer is a living product and an unforgiving one. Every step of the way to making it has to be taken with careful precision. And then it must be kept in the right conditions. And then, when it is ready to be drunk, it must be served well.

This last part is where so many publicans fall down. Pipes not cleaned and flushed through, beer engines not maintained, clumsy drawing on the handpump, the misuse of “sparklers” to impose a creamy head on a beer brewed not to have one, all of this will taint and corrupt the beer and spoil your experience.

Back in the 1970s, when, sick of the industrialised, insipid, gassed-up awfulness that the biggest brewers had foisted on the public in search of ever easier and greater profit, a handful of enthusiasts, including the great Roger Protz, founded the Campaign for Real Ale and started the revolution that has led to this indisputably Golden Age of Beer that we are now experiencing, some pubs were quick to jump on the bandwagon. I recall one, the Sun, in Lambs Conduit Street. It seemed, as you entered it, like you had been transported to heaven. Twelve handpumps greeted you at the bar each bearing the name of a different brewery, a different ale, often a name that you had only heard of in legend. And as a pint was dispensed you would start salivating at the prospect of what was to come. But even before you could get the glass to your lips, the cidery stench of a beer that was off assailed your nostrils and the first sip, coarse and acidic, shrivelled your tongue and bit your throat. They had no idea how to keep and serve the stuff. It was like opening a Christmas present as a child, hoping for a toy car or a new doll to love, and finding a box of grey woollen socks.

The Old Cross Tavern has a passion for good beer, so much so that in all the years I have been going there I have never had a bad pint. That is, of course, as it should be but it is still a remarkable achievement. And why that is so is down to the people who work there.

Mary is a good picker of beer but she is also a fine picker of people. The people who work at the Old Cross, young and not so young, women and men, regular or occasional, all have a commitment to what they are serving. Mary takes them on and trains and nurtures them until they know the condition and quality of each beer, how to set it up and how to serve it well. When you enter the pub and approach the bar they don’t see another mug punter, they see you and they are looking forward to providing you with the pleasure of a drink you will enjoy. And they are confident that they can do it.

But that is just the start of the experience. Because they treat you as a human. They remind you that you are human. It is all done quietly with just the gentle dash of warmth and everyday kindness. And before long you start to remember that you are human too. You came in here in the hope of escape from the callous indifference of the rest of your life and here it is, being offered to you with a welcoming smile.

You can enter as a stranger but you won’t stay one for long. I have known pubs where, as you open the door, a silence falls and the walk to the bar is like a walk to the gallows, hostile eyes watching you and judging you. Yes, we tend to look up when you enter the Old Cross, but only to see if you are someone we know, and, if you are not, you will still as like as not receive a smile and a nod of welcome. The Old Cross has at its centre the beating heart of human warmth and it spreads throughout the place to touch us all if we will only allow it.

You don’t need to be gregarious, though. You can sit and read a book, read your paper, work your phone, if that is what you need. No-one will think the worse of you. You can read the Guardian or attempt the crossword. Many do. That is how it was for me when I first started going there, because I was excruciatingly shy and felt sure I didn’t belong. Gradually, I relaxed and opened up. And they were there waiting to embrace me. But there are still times when I need to be on my own and that is almost instinctively respected.

All around, there are conversations to be had. Real conversations, the way they used to be. But that’s something else it doesn’t have. Aggression. People who don’t know it – and to be fair even some who do – think of the Old Cross as an old men’s pub. We sometimes refer to it jokingly as the Old Geezers and, yes, the average age of the top table is on the high side. You might expect it to come fully charged with the stench of testosterone and the obstinate resentment of young people and of anything or anyone “not like us”. But the only raised voices you will ever hear are of occasional raucous laughter as a group of men and women celebrate the end of another gruelling week.

We have our discussions but they are governed by mutual respect. There are probably as many “remainers” as “brexiters”, as many “Corbynites” as “Tories” but here, like the many beautiful dogs who bring their owners to the place, we keep the peace.

And women know they are safe here, too, as they should be able to: that bad behaviour by men will not be tolerated. And so we all benefit from that extra dimension that the company of women bestows on the otherwise sad banality of a man’s world.

Bev said to me on Sunday that the Old Cross is the way it is because of its customers. I replied that its customers are the way they are because of the way it is. Here, just off the centre of a small town 20 miles north of London, twenty years ago, a virtuous circle was born and is thriving. This truly is a pub the way they ought to be.

Here’s to the next 20 years.

#Old Cross Tavern #community #everyday kindness

[shalandrassil]

This story uses my boyfriend(@buttcollectjellyfish)’s demon hunter, Noitora, as its’ main subject. He didn’t have a name yet at this point as he’d forgotten it along with most of his other memories, so he’s mainly referred to as ‘Felblood’ in this little story. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

He was awake. He was truly awake for the first time in months.

Face pressed to the cold stone of whatever dark place they had thrown him, he found his ankles and wrists encircled with manacles far too large for his own body. He slid his extremities out from the bonds that held him for so long, wrapping his arms around himself in a crude form of comfort. He assumed the fetal position, laying in one of the far corners. 

He was naked as the day he was born, though it wasn’t as though he could remember being clothed. While he had brief flashes of what he assumed was his life before this cool, dank room, he could only remember the faint chill of armor, the sweat on his brow in the middle of the day, the soft caress of a woman’s hand on his cheek—

Hunger pangs seized his gut. With a mewl, he rolled over, cuts all over him stinging. His ribs cried out suddenly, angered at this quick shift of body weight, only now telling him several of them were bruised, and broken. He let out a cry of pain, then, and heard footsteps from one of the far walls. Someone was coming. The thin sliver of light at the bottom of the door was blocked. Then more light. Too much light! He shut his eyes. “Holy shit—“ Whomever was guarding him swore. “Guys—“ His ears twitched at the pitter patter of more feet. More people. The light was blessedly blocked once again. “Aww, he’s so small now.” “What’s wrong big guy, run out of steam already?” “Where—“ His voice cracked, “Who?” “Out of my way—“ A male broke through the crowd. “Oh wow, you haven’t changed at all, despite all this time. Impressive. Lord Illidan will want to see you.” “Who?” He croaked again. The other man leveled with him, kneeling on one knee. He was a redhead. “Lord Illidan. Our leader, Felblood.” The last word was spat with scorn. Spat at me. What did he do?

“The master is out.” One of the members of the crowd crooned.

“Really?” The redhead turned. “Oh. Then you can stay here.” The redhead looked over at him for a moment.

“No wait—“ he started, getting on his knees to crawl after his presumed captors “Please—“ But everyone filled out of the room. The door shut with a resounding bang.

He sat back. Slumped. Closed his eyes and tried to remember.

He was ‘felblood’. He was ‘my love’. He was ‘you there’ and ‘come here’, but he had no name. He didn’t remember.

And now he was crumpled up in the corner of a cell, with barely any memories, naked and afraid. Did the previous version of himself foresee this? Was he attempting redemption for crimes he had committed?

He remembered the faint trills of a beautiful song, as if it were sung by a divine wind chime.

He remembered being called a ‘Sunfury’, whatever that meant. There had been black banners with red hawks embossed on them. From what he remembered, the great bird seemed to have been taking flight.

He remembered putting ice packs on his upper jaw to try and relieve the pain from his fangs growing after nearly two hundred years of stagnation.

Two hundred.

“Happy two hundred and --- birthday —!”

Was he really that old?

The door to his cell screeched open again. The same redhead from before was there, flanked by some night elves and another pale elf.

“Hey there Felblood. Listen, you need to be bound as soon as possible so if you’ll just follow me—“

“I can’t walk.” He mumbled. His legs hurt at the idea of walking.

“Get him up.” The female night elf said, and two other elves entered the cell, though they looked scared.

Scared of me.

They roughly grabbed him by the arms and hauled him to his feet. He crumpled with a whimper. They just repeated the process. This time he swayed, but didn’t immediately fall. He took a tentative step forward and faltered.

The redhead at the door waited rather patiently for him, arms crossed over his chest. The female night elf next to him looked less than patient, however. Her face was stony, nearly unreadable. After he took a few more steps, they both deemed him sufficient at walking and walked out of the doorway, discussing something in hushed tones. He was no longer important enough to pay attention to, not that he minded.

He braced himself against the door frame for a moment before being prodded at from behind by the other two night elves behind him.

“Get moving, Felblood.”

His surroundings were fuzzy. His face felt hot, he felt dizzy and sick. He took his first step out of the door of his cell before his stride faltered once again, swallowing a heave that was creeping up his throat.

The female demon hunter’s voice cut through the haze in his brain. “He’s going to faint--!”

His brain lost focus on his surroundings. When he regained consciousness, much to his confusion as he didn’t remember fainting, he looked around.

He was splayed out on the floor. Everyone was looking at him, but no one was helping him with whatever just happened. Some of them just stared at each other with uneasy expressions on their faces.

Finally, the redhead spoke. “You alright?”

He rolled on to his back with a groan.

“I think he’s dehydrated.” The female night elf spoke up.

“Which one of you were suppose to feed him?” The redhead directed to the other two night elves in the hallway right outside his cell.

“W—we— I didn’t, but he was growling at us Sergeant Felwarden—“

“Was this before or after he got smaller?”

“B-before?”

“And then I told you to check the cell after he turned back, yes?”

The redhead’s tone had shifted rather abruptly from joking and laidback to the voice of a no-nonsense sort of leader.

“Yes..”

“Did you?”

“No.. sir.”

The redhead sighed. The female night elf had scampered off somewhere and returned with a waterskin. She hauled him up and pressed the opening to his lips.

“Drink. You bite me, or make any attempt to run off and I will end you swiftly, Felblood.” She commanded, standing up.

He nearly fell back without her support. He sucked on the water greedily. He knew he should probably stop, but he was so thirsty— why was he so thirsty?

“How long have you two been skipping?” The redhead was astonished.

“It isn’t just us, Sergeant! Everyone’s afraid of it! It tried to eat someone yesterday!”

“Because you two idiots haven’t fed him in three days—“ The woman touched the redhead’s arm.

“We should get him to Tylos soon. We don’t want a repeat of six months ago.” She said. The redhead nodded.

Felwarden. That was his name. The redhead had a name.

What happened six months ago?

On if the night elves behind him hooked their arms under his armpits and hauled him to his feet a third time. He hunched himself over the waterskin as if it were a precious resource— because to him it truly was. Thankfully, his thirst was quenched for now, but the ache if hunger was already gnawing at his stomach again.

As they walked, the two Illidari in front made small talk.

“Hey Rave, you still dating that naga chick?”

“Her name is Ssiv’tessa and yes.”

“Is it the arms? Are there any dudes with nice faces and four arms?”

“Terras that’s so inappropriate and— wow now that I think about it I’m not sure.”

A hound and a spider. Pitiful. They could be ended quickly with my help.

He flinched. Those weren’t his thoughts— were they?

“Alright here we are. Tylos’ll get you all fixed up and then we can take you to medical.” The redhead-- Terras, as the female had called him, said.

Do not listen to them. They deceive you. These are the people who chained you, hurt you, treated you like a dog--

“Felblood? Come on dude.” Terras beckoned. The other elf seemed so sure that he would follow him into the room, as if he knew him.

The hound, your jailer. He and his associates seek to hold you down once more.

He found himself taking a step back.

He didn’t know who gave the order to grab him, but he suddenly found himself in the hold of several pairs of arms. He was manhandled through the doorway, but he didn’t start to actively fight until they placed him on a long, hard metal board, barely cushioned with any sort of fabric.

“Wait--” He tried to say, flat on his back now as someone secured his arms and legs. He felt exposed, completely naked for everyone to see, and now he was bound, and no one was coming to save him. “Wait please what are you doing--”

“I just need to wet the ink, keep him calm.” A voice came from out of his strange field of vision.

He breathed hard, it felt like he was hyperventilating. The face of the redhead came into view again.

“Hey big guy. It’s gonna be alright, trust me, every fledgling goes through th--!” Before Terras could finish his sentence, he managed to headbutt him right in the nose.

“Ow! Fuck!”

“Did he bite you?”

“Not this time--”

“Hold him steady for me--” The voice that he had heard only once before, the one who was wetting ink-- ink, why did he need ink? --was coming closer, telling them to make him be still. He shook.

Fight back, imbecile! Free us from these bonds and tear these aggressors apart!

Something soft came in contact with the skin of his abdomen. For a moment he felt silly for resisting as lines were traced onto his skin in what he could feel was most likely a pattern for runes. How did he know that?

She liked runes. She used to trace them on his back when he couldn’t sleep--

A line was drawn on either side of his ribcage, and then the person drawing them-- this, ‘Tylos’ as the others had identified him as, began to draw on his shoulders. When he was satisfied, he said;

“We’ll do his back tomorrow. This should be enough to keep him turning in his sleep, once they’re complete.”

They weren’t done. Now he felt stupid for believing just having symbols traced on his skin would have been the end of it.

Free us! Now!

“What’s happening--”

Sharp needles came into contact with his skin. He breathed in, holding for a moment. It was just needles, it was just needles, they were just tattooing him.

Or they were branding him. Tattooing someone with runes, he’d heard that before, from somewhere, from before he woke up in that room, he could just barely remember someone telling him that runic tattoos could do-- something.

Needles came into contact with his ribs and he gasped, both in pain and from the cacophony of angry screaming in his head from whatever was inside of it.

“Stop--” His pleas turned into threats, “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you, I’ll maul you all to death and leave your corpses to rot in the toxic air of this cursed rock--”

“Fight him, Felblood. You’re stronger than this.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hold him--”

And then he couldn’t remember anything else.

He woke up to the taste of acid.

He wasn’t in a cell anymore, as far as he could tell. He was on a threadbare mattress, laid out on his back. Iron manacles encircled his wrists, smaller than the ones he had first woken up to.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and let out a groan as a stinging ripple traveled through his abdomen and shoulders. He laid back, legs still hanging over the side of the cot. He cursed whomever thought tattooing him was a good idea.

Instead of trying to get back up, he twisted his head around every which way, taking stock of the entire room. He felt an odd, swooping sensation in his gut when he realized that this room didn’t have any windows, just like his cell. He was chained, just like in that cell. He was alone, behind what he assumed was a locked door.

He was in a cell.

#Noitora #illidari #demon hunter #belf #sindorei #world of warcraft #Terras Felwarden #kaldorei #my writing #long post #whump #tattooing #demon hunters #wow legion

[aperplanes]

The last few months have been some of the most beautiful months for me. God led me to Prescott, Arizona to draw near to my dad during his decline in health. It’s been so wonderful being able to spend quality time with him and see him whenever I want to. What I didn’t expect for God to do was also lead me into a sabbatical rest time, with plans for a deep restorative work in my soul.  It has been a season of drinking in His love in the most real way I ever have.

I came here with a heavy heart, wearied and overwhelmed by things I had experienced for the past several months - even years (it’s amazing how you can still function so highly even in the midst of pain). Due to many offenses & walls that had built up in my heart against Love, I had gone for a very long time refusing to let any love touch me, even God’s. Don’t get me wrong, I was fully aware that God, as well as my family and friends, loved me. But there was a deep mistrust in what I thought love was, that caused my heart to push it back before it even had the chance to enter in. It’s like when you see the rain coming down, but the window blocks it from wetting you, so you notice it dripping outside, but you don’t actually experience it touching you. Many areas in my soul therefore became very dry and brittle. That, along with the aching rot that lingered from past wounds, led me to wonder if I’d ever truly feel happy again. There was this nagging essence to my days that said I was never truly safe.  I began experiencing what seemed to be a new “normal” of chronic loneliness, wrecked nerves, neverending disappointment, and just an overall non-excitement about my life.  I would still have wonderful encounters in the glory, get high on the Holy Spirit, and enjoy pleasing times of worship and fellowship.  But the deeper pain that radiated in the background started taking a toll, and I began manifesting fruit that didn’t resemble Him. It was heartbreaking. Even worse was that I didn’t have energy to engage with my friends or people as much. It felt like my engine had truly run out of gas, and there was no going anywhere quick until someone brought me fuel and manually put it in the gas tank themselves. While I usually had so much to say, like revelation I was always excited to share with my friends and community, now I had nothing.  I was sick. Heart sick. Soul sick.

I knew that this was something I was both unable and unwilling to “fix” myself - especially on a symptomatic level.  The Gospel I know is that of a deliverance and salvation by GRACE, and that means if Jesus finishes work for me, He would have to fix this by HIS strength, brilliance, and genius - not mine. Further still, He would have to get right to the root of things, not just apply medication to the symptoms.  So, as much as it saddened me to see things in my life that felt so inglorious and non-Gospel, I knew deep down that they had to be given the time and space not only to run their course, but to be met by Jesus Himself. I couldn’t save myself. Nor was I willing to try. Nor was I willing to put on a show or facade. I just had to be where I was at.

Meanwhile, a recurring theme would arise that eventually became a deeply embedded principle in my heart: that if there was an area of a person’s life occupied with worldliness, it pointed to an area in their soul that had not yet become acquainted intimately with the love of the Father. One of His roles toward us is “Lover of our Soul” (Song of Solomon, Psalms). This is very relevant because every human soul thirsts for love above all else. Although I had known Jesus for a long time, for the majority of our relationship I typically would talk to Him about things other than His love towards me specifically.  Truth? Great. Drunkenness in the glory? Fantastic. Trances and supernatural ecstasies in Christ? Give it to me. But someone having faithful love towards me? Even God? No way, Jose. Bye. Too many hurts and disappointment in that arena. So I went on with life, expecting that it wouldn’t make a difference to not know. But, you can bet that if the soul has not experienced and been *satisfied* (#satisfied) ((note: actually satisfied)) by His love, it will proceed to go in search for it from another source. And in the long run, that never works.

As I began realizing that now that exact theme was being directly applied to Kelsey Aper, God gently began meeting and relating to me in ways necessary to match where I was at. With each passing day of realizing how in dire need I was to actually let His love in, Holy Spirit wooed me (as She so famously does). One day She led me by the hand to just sit. To listen. To be held and rocked like a baby. Still and quiet. For the first time in my life I felt way too weak to resist anymore. And I knew it was time to drink in what is indeed His very essence: Love. The Father began slowly approaching, like when you hear the door behind you open and feel someone’s presence enter the room. The undeniable Presence of Father God. It feels like magic… like you’re aware that something magical is about to happen. And He just sat there with me. He looked at my face with such understanding.  His Love for me that I had been rejecting (yet nonetheless had always been there) began to tangibly warm my body.  I kept sitting. Love came over me like glimmering waters. Like the softest, warmest cloak. It lingered, non-threatening, like a little Lamb.  My nerves were quieted as I finally began to receive this true, honest love, so full of faithfulness and purity. And I felt the achy parts in my soul celebrating as they were finally being relieved of their dry desert thirst. He said to me, “The Love I have for you is eternal love. It will be here always, it will never run dry.”

***

The quiet place... 

The place where I am doing nothing for Him or for anyone else, but just sitting on my rear end, existing… 

This slowly but surely evolved into my Home. My safe place. The place I come back to.  After a prior season of relearning how to love and prioritize my own heart, the fresh doses everyday of His heavenly love has become the kind I am now addicted to (the kind that enables a deeper self-love as well). But apparently in order to get there, I needed the time and space to simply sit where I was, in the season I was in, and just rest. Let Him be the Savior and me be the daughter; the human that needed to be loved, too weak for anything else. After experiencing this I’ve realized there is nothing more important to my existence than being loved by Him. On one level it’s the only thing that will empower me to love and serve the world around me to my greatest potential. “Lovers will always out-work the workers.” On the other hand it’s the first and most basic reason we’re alive; to be loved and enjoyed by our Daddy. <3

“If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but do not have love, I have become a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.  If I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.  And if I give all my possessions to feed the poor, and if I surrender my body to be burned, but do not have love, it profits me nothing.” -1 Corinthians 13:1-3

“Set me as seal upon your heart

like a seal upon your arm.

For love is as strong as death,

jealousy enduring as the grave.

Love flashes like fire,

the brightest kind of flame.

Many waters cannot quench this Love.”

Song of Solomon 8:6-7

Photography: @ryanclossonphoto

[blackrainboes]

(im)perfect | erik killmonger/reader

words: 2k even

notes: this idea came to me post watching the movie while trying and failing to fix the straps on my bra and being jealous of the dora milaje's armor, knowing that they're designed for maximum support and comfort. it was supposed to be joking and then it wasn't because thinking of erik gives me mixed emotions that are hard to articulate except maybe in reader insert fic

notes 2f2f: this is a black!reader to be clear, like read it how you want but she’s black

Despite the very warm, hands-on (and they’re all over, all over), distraction flexing beneath you, you stare at the clothes scattered on the carpeted floor. But Erik’s hands keep moving and you keep having to catch your breath, so eventually, your deep consideration gives up the ghost, and you ask, “Do you think Wakanda has perfected the bra?”

“What.”

You finally look at him then - unwilling to have risked it before. His thick brow is scrunched in confusion, but his lips are upturned in faint amusement.

You shrug a shoulder, your whole body following the motion against him so he answers with a soft grunt.

“You know -” You pause a fraction, trying to hold in the anger of this train of thought but failure comes just a little too often. “Do you know how difficult it is even to find a decent bra? You end up having to choose between comfort, coverage, and style because of course all three is too much to ask for - I swear to God they do it purposefully so you have to buy more just to have something that might work for any situation.”

“The fashion industry hates women, I know.”

“And then if you can’t afford anything decent - which is like everyone I know, we’re all broke, and everyone I don’t but I can tell when I’m waiting on the bus, and there’s this lady who’s always pulling at her side, trying to fix the underwire. But she can’t buy another, she’s stuck. You’re stuck in pain and wearing a bra until it’s falling apart. I’ve had some bras since I was sixteen.”

He looks at your chest, and then at you, a smile teasing mischief in his face.

In a huff, you say, “They stopped growing then, thank God.”

Erik lifts a brow, still with that same “But titties!” smile on his face.

You insist between grit teeth, “Thank. God.”

“Praise the Lord. Amen.”

You almost reach forward to smack him - he plays too much, which is why your bra is lying broken on the floor - but his hands leave your waist to skirt up your sides. A shiver rakes up your spine. You press back on him with a gasp, his caresses deepening, more pressure, more pleasure. His hands finally cup your breasts, and you’re unable to keep your eyes open; they flutter shut to the gentle way he runs his thumb on the underside of your breast.

You’re halfway (more than, really) to making a really (really) pathetic sound, when he murmurs something, drawing your eyes open. There’s plain lust in his gaze as he follows the motions of his hands, but he has a serious edge in his teasing words.

“Why do you need the perfect bra when you have these perfect hands?”

He grins but it’s flat behind his eyes - and maybe your question was a little too pointed.

Perfection.

A perfect land, where there is only beauty and none of the pain heard in the angry words hurled beneath the window in the dimly lit street circling the apartment complex and the sharper pain in the long silence that follows, a breath bated, hoping to hold until day, until the argument is just an argument and not agonized cries and an ambulance that comes too late or not at all.

Wakanda - is it quiet in its peace or is it loud, happiness bursting at the seams of the land they keep hidden away?

Wakanda.

You don’t mean the reminder, to be thoughtless of the thought that weighs on him - heavy is the crown, heavy is the crown - but still you wondered, and you asked, and he is smiling beneath you, heavily though.

His smile could be light.

With a quick glance to your torn undergarments, you say, “You’re up to two bras now. One more and I’m taking you shopping.” You try to be aggressive, direct, but failure again as you near smile the words, “Your treat.”

He grins, wide and goofy, acting the child and pouting. He knows what he’s doing - his lips so damn kissable, and he has the puppy eyes that your weak ass always gives in to.

“What about another form of payment?”

“Certified check?”

You try not to smile at your own response, but damn, it was good, especially for you, when Erik can make you stumble over your words just by actually listening to them.

Your bar isn’t that low, to be clear. But he gets you with that one.

He shakes his head, scoffing at you with a smile.

You place your hands metaphorically on your hips as you say, “If you think your no chin having ass is getting out of this -”

Your argument is lost to a gasp, a long moan, and an instinctual roll of your hips as he grinds his erection into the apex of your thighs, where you’re still so sensitive, and pinches the nipple he just spent so long sucking on.

“This is a coordinated a-”

You grab his arm, fingers digging crescents into the lean muscle, but he doesn’t let up, rolling your nipple between his finger and thumb, just the way you like it, the way you hate it, the way he has your words breaking to pieces in your mouth.

“Coordinated assault, Erik!”

“It is,” he confirms.

It isn’t really payback, not at all, more a coordinated motion of you gliding your hand down his chest, over his collarbone and the raised bumps of skin, almost on a third line spiraling down to his bicep. It’s a dance really. In the fire in his brown eyes, a predator bares his sharp teeth, and you ready yourself for the kill - he releases your abused nipple to lift you like you’re nothing, like you’re something he’s so desperate for that he can’t wait to sink his teeth into your skin.

He nips along your collarbone with a whispered, “no chin having ass”, with painful bruises sucked into the delicate skin of your neck, soothing licks of his tongue followed by open-mouthed kisses from your collar to your ear. It’s a dance, all the while, your hips circling and grinding to the pulsing of his blood.

The friction is good, it’s too much, the dance can’t last, was never meant to. You’ve been spinning forth and now he’s reeling you back in.

With both hands you grab his face and draw his head up to yours. It’s a moment for a look, for an emotion, for more than lust. And as a cat allows a mouse a moment to feel terror, Erik allows a smile, a promise in the crinkles of his eyes.

“You don’t need perfect, do you?” he asks.

You don’t look away.

“I want it.”

He’s looking at you, but he’s looking far off, too.

“I want it,” you say again.

He looks the cat then, but not one who’s found a mouse, but another cat, just like him.

There’s a fire in you too, try to ignore it often because it’s usually useless, but now you let it spring free, burn its mark into your words.

Erik echoes it with his eyes of fire.

“I want it, too.”

You pull him to you, but he’s already moving in. Your foreheads touch, his nose brushes yours. Erik breathes into you and you capture that breath in a kiss. You love his kiss, love it enough to feel your heart burst at the pressure, at the insistence and resistance. The taste of him is like pure, sweet water, and a thirst that can never be quenched so long as those waters run free.

You don’t mean to hold him so close that he can’t pull away, but your fingers curl around a loc and tug. He draws back, pecks a kiss to your bottom lip, swollen and inviting more - always inviting. He answers a different invitation, releasing you and falling back against the pillows.

Your hands crawl up the jut of his hip, the sparse dark hair leading to the defined planes of his abdomen to meet his. The foil wrapper passes between your fingers.

You both like to watch as you slide the rubber over him, and watch as you rise above and slowly sink down, taking him in slow - the initial burn gives way to a warmth spreading you, spreading you open and you’re so full, and he’s gripping your waist like he wants to guide you. His eyes ask, “Do you know the way?” and you can only answer by starting an easy rhythm along the path you’ve walked before, will walk again, following behind until he takes your hand, threads your fingers with his, clasping your joined hands tightly to his chest before he tugs you forward so you’re right by his side.

Astride him, chest to chest, you can kiss him, but it isn’t easy to move now so he lifts up, plants his feet to the bed so he can thrust into you, hard and deep while you rock against him.

“Erik,” falls from your lips.

He takes his name back with a hard, swift kiss, and the whisper of a name he keeps closer than the way he’s holding you to him. But maybe he wants your name as well, to hold it close to his own as he groans it, reaching between your bodies to draw circles with his thumb on your swollen clit. He brings you with him into that bliss where you see no color, no white lights, just black. You see Erik, and you reach out for him, blinking the orgasmic haze away to see him as he really is.

His brown eyes smolder.

It isn’t perfect. Nothing so messy, so good at ruining the hair you just spent six hours in a salon getting done, and leaving you in desperate need of water, not the sweet kind but the purified tap in the fridge can be so.

Nothing like this can be perfect, but he reaches up and cups your cheek. You smile at him, leaning into the touch and he has a way of stealing your words, he really does, but what is given cannot be stolen and he gave you that name so you say it, quiet but not like a secret hidden away from those deemed unworthy but like the peace of it that you want to share with him.

You take the hand stroking your face and kiss his scarred knuckles. Erik breathes your name as he’s never said it before, and you both look away at the same time. You aren’t ready. You aren’t.

Neither is he.

But perfect - you both want it, so there’s time enough to become ready.

Before your deflected gaze, you can see your bra again, the poor thing still lying broken on the floor.

“You still owe me two bras.”

When you look at him, his expression is schooled into normal Erik, or maybe he doesn’t wear that Erik and the Erik whose name you’ll hold close isn’t the Erik he truly is. For how can he truly have an identity he wasn’t allowed?

It tears you. You know it tears him.

You try to school yourself into other thoughts, but he replies, “I’m off on another tour Thursday so spend the night. We’ll go tomorrow. You can borrow my ‘bra’ until then.”

Thursday.

You offer him a won over smile, knowing full well he’s just going to give you one of his old Jerseys, cut in half specifically for ease of access when he cuddles up beside you tonight. Tomorrow.

And then Thursday.

“Tomorrow works.”

He grins wide and scrambles to get you off him so he can get himself back from fucked out to decent, something you need to do, too. You don’t move though, just stare at his back. The bumps there are more than you can count through hazy eyes that don’t yet understand.

But you want to, because you want perfect after all.

(You want him.)

#black panther #black panther imagine #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger imagine #erik killmonger #xoxo words #i made a whole new blog and ao3 just because of this fic #this is also on ao3 but since tumblr doesnt like links in posts im posting it as is #if u prefer to read on ao3 link's in my bio