#and the reason I figured it out is because of supernatural which is So fucking embarassing

[burgerrat]

Swan if he ever discovers Johann, after putting two and two together and coming to the conclusion that he technically is a father now:

#potp au: paradises antichrist #swan #its not even the fact that it's a whole supernatural creature that would grant any kind of reaction from his perpetual-muppet-face #mf is not phased by that at all its just another sunday morning to him #the PROBLEM is the fact that 1. he has a child #so that Could get juicy if any paparazzi found out #and 2. the kid has been raised by the same songwriter he's been fucking with (literally and figuratively) that hates his guts #(also probably somewhere deep down he feels somewhat hurt that he never even got to meet what would be his kid #but he squashes that emotion because regardless- the thing is also in a way not a human child. which is contraddictory #since Swan himself has been losing his own humanity ever since the contract. #but he just really wants a reason to disassociate himself from feeling anything towards someone he never even got to meet) #imagining swan in them dilf shoes is like. its absolutely a Vibe™️ and it's interesting to think about especially like. #thinking about the possible inner conflict of “i want to be a father” and “nothing else matters but Me. besides this thing isnt even human”

[fis-paprikas]

im unfortunately going insane about avatar (yes the one with the blue people)

#the tumblr avatar tag is just people wanting to fuck the blue aliens which i must respect #but i am obsessed with how it seems like it's haunted by the shadow of a much better movie #it's like supernatural in a way. where the premise is so absolutely full of potential they address something poignant and fascinating #but ONLY accidentally #am i being delusional??? well were the girlies delusional #when they wrote 5k word metas about cas-is-lamp and the self destructive nature od modern western masculinity #i don't think so #anyway the blue cat people have reached their full potential as a species. they figured out the meaning of life they're more advanced #THEY GOT IT OKAY THEY KNOW THE MEANING OF LIFE THEY KNOW WHY THEY'RE THERE. #there's no reason for them to want medicine or roads or whatever the fuck else humans have to offer #not because they're primitive. but because they KNOW WHERE THEY GO WHEN THEY DIE AND IT'S TO CHILL W THEIR GODDESS HELLLOOOOO #most of the human characters in the movies dismiss this as shamanism or whatever. specifically because they would dismiss it on earth #but THE NAVI ARE RIGHT THEIR RELIGION ISN'T EVEN RELIGION IT'S F A C T #whatever. none of this makes the movies good unfortunately #avatar (2009)

[cursedzucchini]

You know what? Fuck it

DC x DP prompt #3

I think at least lmao.

Anyway! Jason starts making videos on YouTube for one reason or another (is really stressed, no one listens to his rants Abt books who cares). His content is mostly bad books he read or really really really long rants Abt pride and prejudice. Like 3 hours on one tiny detail he noticed on his 214th read through.

He's kinda popular, mostly bc his terrible books videos. He talks Abt the ones that made him the most mad, which coincidentally are mostly romance and supernatural. Like he's one of the well known figures in the supernatural romance critique group (whcih is pretty small, but well). (Also he doesn't show his face on camera, bc secret identity and stuff, it's just his voice over a video of something mundane, like the sky or a room in which is a fly or something)

And now this can go two ways, that i can think of (w dead on main in mind at least)

1) one day Jason finds a book which is supernatural romance and is actually good. It has a kidna cliche system for the supernatural stuff, but with a refreshing twist. The characters have depts and flaws, yet are still very likable. The plot is actually interesting and overall the story's theme is death, not belonging anywhere and overall stuff that is very close to Jason's heart. The story doesn't shy away from violence and it is suprisingly accurate.

(I'm.gonna reblog this w pretty long idea of what this book could be Abt, bc i don't wanna annoy ppl lol)

Anyway Jason kinda falls in love w it, and it becomes famous for being the first novel Jason rated positively or something.

Meanwhile Danny, who was told by jazz writing is good way to get his feeling out, and just wanted to make a quick buck, is really fucking confused how tf did his book become so popular and who tf is this nerd who rates books for a living.

(basically big fan Jason and suspicious/awkward Danny lmao)

2) there is a famous series on Jason profile. It's the worst fucking series he ever read and it's just fucking awful. All the characters are fucking terrible, always going on and on about one thing, the romance sucks in a way that isnt even funny. Jason would love to believe some wrote this as a joke, if it wasn't for the absolute cringefest this was, and it wasn't a whole ass series!! Like who writes 12 books for a joke?

Danny ducking Fenton that's who. Dude was so ducking annoyed at his rogues, he threatened them w writing a terrible romance novels abt them. The ghosts, knowing his terrible grade in literature backed off for a moment, before someone crossed the line. And write Danny did. It was the worst thing he had ever written, the love interest was perfect caricature yet still faithfully go the original. And Danny, because fuck them he lost sommuch sleep over that one prank, decided to publish it. (The book was pretty thin so it didn't take that much time writing it). Unfortunately it became immensely popular in the infinite realm. So the ghosts started crossing lines on purpose. Before Danny figured it out, he had already published his fifth book and was writing another three. After some bargaining, getting a book written Abt them as a piece of shit love interest became a reward.

And while yeah, he had to say his writing was terrible and the books sucked, some small part of him was kinda proud y'know? Like a mother of her twelve ugly as fuck toddlers.

So when he saw some nerd on the internet not only shit talk his book, but also get money of it?

Danny decided to haunt him (just like his books did him, now that everyone knew Abt them thanks to this guy)

(enemies (sorta it's not that serious tho) to lovers ala terrible writer Danny who hates his books and kinda famous YouTuber hasn't who also hates Danny's books)

--

Fuck this is way too long wtf. Anyway imma reblog this w 1) book idea. Might add whatever i think the twelve books could be Abt. Pls if u want to add anything to this pls do!!

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #crossover #dcxdp #dp x dc writing prompt #jason todd #danny fenton #writing prompt #dead on main #youtuber jason #jason the youtuber lmao #writer danny #they r so dumb wtf #also i imagine batfam doesnt know and they find out by either jason crying abt how good this book is and how he needs to meet the author #and how he needs to make a video abt it or 2) the same thing but hes pissed off bc he juzt spend his time to read that abomination and #just wants to kill danny lmao #im not sorry #ghost zone #also i imagine the first one to get a book abt them is kitty w johny 13 as a guest and its just romeo ajd juliet parody #in jasons words the bike has the most personality lmao

[avelera]

Was thinking about how Hob and Dream could both be insufferable in some way because, in fairness, Hob comes across as someone who could make friends with bread if left in a room with it long enough.

Then I had a thought:

What if Hob Gadling is just super fucking insufferable to other immortals?

See, Dream is... difficult for mortals to get because he's got his whole eldritch thing going on. But while he's not particularly popular with them, I imagine other immortals at least get and respect his whole deal. Like, he's the Dreamlord. Of course he's weird. But they understand the laws and principles he's referring to at least when he's being weird. He seems to at least have a pleasant relationship with the Faerie Court. It's mortals who can't really connect with Dream and find him exasperating as a result.

Whereas Hob gets along great with mortals, just swell. He's Just A Guy who happens to live forever and people get along with him. But immortals? We don't really see it much but immortals positively loathe this guy.

Dream's reaction to the whole, "I've made up my mind, I've decided not to die!"? Hob tossed out in 1389? That's the teeth-grinding level of irritation Hob engenders in every immortal he comes across (before they have centuries to get to know him) and it is exactly why Death just had to make this man immortal because it would be hilarious.

Why doesn't Hob hang out with other immortals besides Dream? Because the minute he opens his mouth about how great life is and how he's never had even a moment's doubt about how much he wants to live, every immortal in the room starts to make the gagging motion.

You're an immortal just trying to have a bit of a kvetch about Kids These Days and how much times have changed and how it was better in your day, and there's Hob fucking Gadling again ready to throw down about how amazing antibiotics and automobiles and the latest iPhone number whatever are and like, sure, but you were just trying to say back in your day things were better, right? Not objectively maybe but you're just trying to indulge in a bit of immortal nostalgia and Hob fucking Gadling is not having any of it and is ready to argue you into the dirt about it.

You're immortal but haven't quite kept up on today's slang? Hob Gadling will absolutely call you out and he's a teacher now so he's going to be super nice about it but you know he's judging you for saying groovy unironically and thinks you should get with the times already.

You're a vampire living off centuries of generational wealth? Hob keeps talking about how you should get a job and get out of the spooky mansion more, and maybe you wouldn't feel so much existential angst. You like your existential angst!

Hob doesn't have a single ounce of patience for immortals who want to wax poetic about wishing they were mortal again. Diseases, he says, have you ever had diseases? Like even a cold? It sucks. It really fucking sucks. The Plague? The fucking worst. You don't need to be mortal to get involved in mortal life, Hob fucking Gadling keeps pointing out at the monthly eldritch coffee meetups. You can just live as a mortal and share in their problems and enjoy the fact you don't have to deal with the shit parts like getting sick. Completely missing the point of the futile lamentation of regretting one's lost mortality is something you enjoy.

Hob harshes the vibe of every single immortal out there. They are so goddamn sick of him. There's a reason he has no apparent immortal friends or connections to the supernatural world despite (in the comics) seeming to have met other immortals and having the occasional supernatural encounter that he immediately brushes off as dull when compared to what the normal, every day world has to offer.

No other immortal can fucking figure out what Dream of the Endless sees in this guy, and how he can stand to talk to him even once a century without storming off (which, in fairness, Dream has done on 2/7 occasions). Dream, not otherwise known for his patience, is seen as a saint in the eldritch community for even spending as much time as he has over the course of 600+ years with Hob fucking Gadling.

#hob gadling #the sandman #sandman meta #dreamling

[yournowheregirl]

read my mind

rating: G | wc: 1225 | cw: none

The first word that comes to mind when Eddie steps foot into the Harrington house is ‘chaos’.

Which is weird, because he had come to know Steve’s house as neat and very much put together. It was probably a combination of weekly cleaning and the fact of Mrs. Harrington’s obsession with interior design and keeping everything absolutely perfect, even though she wasn’t there most of the time. But this time there are loose pieces of paper all over the floor and a pile of books in the middle of the hallway, like someone had spent hours researching something.

Eddie also hears some kind of ruckus coming from the kitchen and he prepares himself for the worst. He might not be all that up-to-date with all of the crazy shit that’s been happening in Hawkins over the last few years, but he has been through enough to know that something weird can happen at anytime.

As he approaches the kitchen, Eddie jangles his keys, sliding them between his fingers as a makeshift weapon, just in case. He stomps his feet a little louder than usual and takes a deep breath, preparing for the worst, as he turns the corner.

If he thought the hallway was chaotic, it’s nothing in comparison to what Eddie finds in the kitchen. The clutter of books and loose papers had made its way onto the tiled floor, but it was joined with what looks like miles and miles of tin foil. Eddie’s eyes follow the silver trail to the other side of the kitchen, where he finds the two culprits.

Steve is sitting at the kitchen table with Robin sitting on the floor in between his legs, and while that isn’t something unusual, their accessories definitely are. Because Steve is wearing an absolutely ridiculous tin foil hat, with a pointy end and all, and for a second Eddie wonders if this is a new hair routine for him. Steve is focused on making a hat for Robin, it seems, as he’s wrapping even more tin foil around her head as well.

“What the fuck are you two doing?”

“Babe!” Steve says with a bright smile. “You came at the perfect time!”

“Uh, you invited me, and also, that doesn’t answer my question. What the fuck are you two doing?” Eddie asks again. “Is this the new and improved Steve Harrington hair ritual?”

“No,” Robin replies with a roll of her eyes. “We’re testing out our telepathy.”

Eddie blinks, completely dumbfounded at what Robin had just said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, there must have been something in that bunker, or in the Upside Down, something, because we totally have powers now. Like, I always know what Robin’s thinking, for some reason,” Steve says, and oh God, he’s being sincere isn’t he?

“Yes! So today, while I was shelving tapes at work, I was thinking about how the moon landing was totally faked, right? And then Steve just finished my thought, saying ‘oh yeah, they faked it for sure’ like it was nothing,” Robin says excitedly. ”I didn’t even say anything! He just read my mind!”

Now Eddie hasn’t been scared away from the freaky sides of things, it even earned him a nickname, but this is a little too weird. Even for him. There’s no way that Steve and Robin actually have supernatural powers, no matter how hard they try to believe it. But then Eddie notices how excited they both are, and the big smiles on their faces make him smile as well. Sure, they’re being ridiculous right now, but he figures they deserve to be after all they’ve been through.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What can I do to help?”

“Right, so…”

Apparently Robin has raided the Harrington’s personal library on all the science books they had (which Eddie had noticed in the hallway) and cooked up an experiment that will prove once and for all that she and Steve are telepathically connected. All Eddie has to do is a little word association, and if both Robin and Steve write down the same word without looking at each other’s answers, it proves their connection beyond any doubt.

Well, Eddie still has his doubts, but whatever.

Once Steve and Robin are all set, their backs against each other and a piece of paper and pen in hand, Eddie gives them their first word: chocolate. He gives them both five seconds to think of something, but while they look very confident, their answers don’t match up.

“Sorry. Steve said milk and Robin said cocoa,” Eddie tsks. “Not a match.”

“It’s basically the same thing,” Robin scoffs. “Another one.”

“Fine. Your next word is, uh, sun.”

After five seconds, Steve shows his paper, which says summer, while Robin’s says hot. Again, not a match.

“Well, summers are hot, so we’re getting close.” Steve shrugs. “We’ll get the next one, Robs, I can feel it.”

But with every word Eddie throws at them, they continue getting close to a similar answer (Steve answers ‘sky’ while Robin says ‘galaxy’ when Eddie gives them the word ‘star’) but it’s never an exact match. This doesn’t deter them in the slightest; they continue to be convinced of their powers while Eddie starts to believe less and less. Not that he believed it in the first place.

That is until…

“Okay, final one,” Eddie sighs, and because his stomach is rumbling, says, “Hungry.”

Steve and Robin scribble away on their papers and then show Eddie their words in unison. For the first time, they have the exact same word on paper: ‘pasta.’ Eddie must look either shocked or impressed at this turn of events, because Steve positively lights up at the sight of him.

“Did we get it?” He asks, looking over his shoulder at Robin’s paper and beaming when he sees the answer. “Robin! We got it!”

“I knew it! I knew we had a connection!” Robin exclaims. “Do you believe us now, Eddie?”

Eddie huffs in response. “That doesn’t prove anything. You’re just saying that because you were supposed to make pasta today, remember? You invited me over for lasagna?”

“Oh shit. You’re right,” Steve says with a sheepish grin on his face. He carefully removes the tinfoil hat and Eddie tries not to laugh at the ridiculous state of his hair. A very wise decision because he’s rewarded with a quick kiss from Steve. “I guess we got a little distracted. Sorry babe.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky you’re cute,” Eddie flirts back. “Now, where’s the pasta?”

After the kitchen is cleaned up, Steve starts working on the lasagna. Eddie offers to help, but Steve tells him to just sit back and relax. Well, Eddie can definitely do just that. Robin does get to help though, saying something about the lasagna being her mom’s recipe, so she has the final say with the ingredients.

As Eddie watches them cook together, moving around the kitchen in perfect sync and handing each other spatulas and seasoning without asking for it, he can’t help but wonder if Steve and Robin do have some kind of psychic connection after all.

happy birthday!! @stobinesque 🎉🎁🎂 me and @legitcookie cooked up this little silly stobin brainworm for you to celebrate your birthday!! we hope you enjoyed!

#platonic stobin #steddie #platonic stobin fic #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #stranger things fic #stranger things #alice's writing adventures

[reitziluz]

thinking about the way psychics both are and are not a known factor in the world of mp100. the worldbuilding is light, allegorical, and comedic, but even meeting it where it's coming from, it paints a delightful picture of how the rest of the world relates to the supernatural shit.

like, clearly most people don't believe in psychic power, or at least they don't assume it to be real. but when confronted with it, the more common reaction seems to be along the lines of "ah shit, huh, makes sense i guess." inukawa knew mob is a psychic, and brought it up without hesitation, like oh yeah, this is a known thing, but was then surprised among the others to see how much mob can do. the talk show is difficult to interpret, because it was a trap set up for reigen specifically, but how things play out, it feels like being a legitimate psychic isn't quite as outlandish an idea as it would be in our world. actual psychics don't seem to be putting much effort into hiding (if they're even trying to hide), there's unions, the goverment can put together a psychic suicide squad, the news can show a giant broccoli flying, there's books with instructions to meet aliens that actually have some truth to them, and yet people aren't that aware. and yet again, people like mitsuura and amakusa exist.

it feels like the supernatural is... kinda boring? weird stuff just happens occasionally, and it doesn't have much bearing on people's lives. the rest of it works like how essential oils do actually have certain effects and uses (for example, insect repellent), but then there's just a mountain of bullshit and people selling you things, so you don't really bother with any of it. cases like mob feel like ball lightning, as in i remember reading about it right next to absolutely fake shit as a kid and being told it's not real, but it is real, but fucked if anyone knows what exactly it is and some of the reports and theories are suspicious as hell. just. weird shit in the world that's ultimately irrelevant and uninteresting to most people.

the delightful part is that this all reinforces the idea that psychic power is just one quality among many that people can have.

but also.

when reigen founded spirits and such. i do not know how exactly it works where i live, let alone in japan. but registering a business. don't you usually need to put down what type of business you're running? did he have to figure out a close enough option, or is there a standard one to pick for psychic business, something they're considered to fall under, or even a psychic specific one?

delighted by the thought that spirits and such is officially a spa or something instead of what the industry standard is. reigen either didn't know which one people usually pick, or chose against the standard because it was less of a hassle. or tax reasons. imagine.

#mp100 #i love the casual vibe of the worldbuilding #but tbh mostly thinking about like #oops seri you can't become a full partner in the company #the govt knows you're a psychic so we'd be hit with the psychic tax #this is the only form of tax evasion i can think of reigen actually committing dfgdsfgdf

[auspicioustidings]

The 141 are all pretty pissed off that they're being told they need to go do a mission with NPC. They have never heard of this agency, but apparently National Pest Control are paid by the same government that pays them so off they go.

Honestly Price wonders if this is some pity party being thrown for them since they lost Johnny. It's been a year now, they all know that's the job and they all hate the idea of anyone treating the team like they are somehow delicate.

This team is actually who you've been assigned. You need the brawn for this next op to deal with the inevitable thralls and on paper these 3 are good at getting shit done and keeping their mouths shut. They don't believe you at first (obviously) about what it is National Pest Control really do, but then nobody ever does.

"Look, if you think hunting down a vampire sounds weird you're probably not going to like the reason I'm on this one. I can talk to ghosts which is handy when we're following a trail of drained bodies."

"Oh fuck off, the only Ghost you're talking to is me."

"Look, I don't know what a bampot is, but I'm being told you are one."

And thus begins a wild ride of 3 big military men, one spirit medium and the ghost who is frankly delighted that he can finally talk to someone again working together to hunt down all sorts of supernatural threats to the UK.

On one op you get possessed, like a ghost fully takes control of your body. You didn't know that could happen. Johnny didn't know that could happen. But now everyone is trying to figure out how it can be done because their boy deserves to stretch his legs in the land of the living for a few hours.

#mhairidrabbles #cod au #yes I rewatched Hellboy what of it #this one is crackfic material and I am ok with that #I feel the overarching plot would be a rumour of some artefact that can resurrect someone #and the big damn happy ending would be after everything Johnny getting brought back #or go the angst route and you die and they decide to bring you back instead a la the d&d movie

[therhythmafterthesummer]

The Taste of Love (M) ~Lee Know

Pairing: Vampire!Minho x Human!F.Reader Themes: Supernatural/Fantasy AU | Smut | Some Fluff | Mediaeval Setting Word Count: ~3k | AO3 Synopsis: Every handful of centuries, Minho found himself someone that was willing to let him feed off of them. It usually wasn’t planned, it sort of just happened. This time, that person was you, the baker that had just moved into town. He wanted nothing more than to have a taste of you, in more ways than one. Warnings: Minho’s POV · blood (duh) · vampire shenanigans (good ol’ blood sucking) · reader is implied to be chubby, but there’s not that much focus on it · possibly inaccurate mediaeval terminology · graphic depictions of intercourse (smut warnings under the cut).

Author’s Note: will i ever get tired of vampire!minho? no, i won’t. this is all just some monsterfuckery, as usual. don’t look at me 🫣 special thanks to @comet-falls for reading this before anyone else and letting me know it didn’t suck💜

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Smut Warnings: implied/referenced sexual acts · some sort of bloodplay, but this is a vampire fic, what did you expect? · explicit oral (F.Rec)

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

Ever since Minho was turned, he’d had trouble dealing with his feedings. 

For long periods of time, he’d settled on a vegetarian diet, hunting deer, or moose, or any possible animal he could find in the woods. Every couple of centuries, though, he’d be lucky enough to find someone fucked up in the head enough to let him feed off of them. It was something he tended to avoid, because he’d inevitably grow attached, and getting attached to someone that aged and eventually died was something that took an immense toll on the tiny bit of humanity that was left in him.

Sometimes, though, it was unavoidable. Or, at least, it felt like it to him. 

The first time you crossed his path was during the very early morning, way before the sun rose in the horizon. Minho had just fed, he’d had so much the poor cow didn’t even make it. He was seemingly satisfied enough to go on for a few days without any more of his crimson sustenance, but the second you walked past him, his mouth went dry.

What an intoxicating scent, you had… Enough to cloud his reason completely, enough to make him turn around and walk after you–discreetly, of course. If years and years living in hiding had taught him anything, it was the art of discretion.

Minho knew it was wrong. That what he was doing was beyond creepy and immoral, but he needed to know who you were, he just did. So he followed you until you made it to a building, a new bakery that had settled in town just last week.

Soon after, the smell of baked goods started to emanate from the building’s chimney. It was pleasant, but nothing compared to the smell of you.

Minho left the place shortly after that, right before the sun started to show his head in the sky, and, as he walked the familiar paths to his manor in the outskirts of the town, he figured it was time for him to open himself up again. Now, it was just a matter of courting you, in hopes that you’d give him the time of day.

Trying to get someone’s attention while being a creature of the night wasn’t exactly easy. That was something Minho quickly came to find out after he turned. Which was why, the only times he was able to see you was either in the early morning when you went to your bakery and started preparing your goods, or in the late evening when you finally closed shop and made your way home.

The first time he tried to approach you, a friend of yours suddenly came out of nowhere, and Minho, admittedly, felt a bit shy, so he decided to try some other time. He’d lived for centuries, he was stronger, more dexterous than any human, and somehow he still felt uncomfortable around strangers sometimes. He often called this curse of introversion the remnants of his humanity.

He continued to try, though. He was persistent, but each attempt always failed. To this day, he found it both amusing and mortifying that the evening he finally got to meet you, to actually speak to you, was also the one he made a fool of himself. What was all vampiric dexterity worth for if he was still able to trip over his feet and fall face first to the ground?

Thankfully for him, you had quite the sense of humour, and his mishap simply made you laugh and offer your hand to help him to his feet. Your reaction made it so Minho didn’t feel half as embarrassed as he usually would, so it was easy for him to recover and start chatting you up.

After getting acquainted with you, Minho reached the same dilemma he always had in situations like these… He wanted you. Not only that delicious nectar that flowed through your veins, but also everything that laid under your clothes, and, most of all, your company.

He knew he had to reveal his true self to you, and if you wanted him back, vampirism and all, it’d all be smooth and dandy. However, if you didn’t, he’d have to make a choice… Respect your decision and leave you alone forever, or do as many of his peers did, to give into his instincts, drink you up, erase your memory, and carry on with his life as if nothing had happened.

When he had been recently turned, Minho didn’t even entertain the possibility of taking someone’s blood without their consent, but, after having lived as long as he had, morality was a concept that seemed to shift and drift into a muddier construct. He’d always thought that, if he ever did something like that, then that’d be the moment he’d known that tiny bit of humanity in him had left him completely.

Luckily, when he did gather the courage to tell you the truth, even if you had been a bit shaken at first, you clearly liked him enough not to care about it. If anything, you were immensely curious about it all. ‘How old are you then?’, ‘Were things as bad back then as they said?’, ‘Did it hurt?’, ‘Does it hurt now?’

Minho answered any and every question you had for him, as honestly as he could–although, ometimes, he believed that if he was too honest or too straightforward he’d scare you off. ‘I’m really old’, ‘They were even worse’, ‘It did hurt. A lot…’, ‘It does not hurt as much anymore. Only when I am hit by sunlight or when I have not fed in a long time…’

When you inquired about his feedings, he simply told you of his vegetarian diet. He didn’t want to go too deep into it. You didn’t need to know which animals he drank from, nor how his vegetarian diet made it so he had to feed at least once a week, as opposed to how human blood would keep him satisfied for a whole month. 

He decided not to ask you to let him feed off of you just yet… Just like it happened when he wanted to tell you about his vampirism, he was also apprehensive of asking you to become his main source of sustenance.

After all, to Minho, not only did it feel like a major commitment, but, also, you could very well push him away due to the proposition, and he honestly wouldn’t blame you if you did. Although, losing you now was something he couldn’t afford. He was too used to walking you to your bakery in the very early morning, to spending evenings talking with you…

Regardless of his very obvious attraction, he genuinely enjoyed your company, and this was probably the most understood he’d felt after a long, long time. And also, to him, it felt like you were enjoying his company, too.

The first time Minho kissed you, it had been a spur of the moment thing. He was notorious for overthinking these things, for wanting the situation to be absolutely perfect, but you just smelt so good, and you looked so cute, and your heart was beating so fast in your chest there was no way he could’ve stopped the words from coming out of his mouth.

‘I really want to kiss you…’

Lame, basic, completely void of flourish or romanticism… But your heartbeat still quickened, he could hear your blood rushing through your veins, all the way to the utmost sensitive areas of your body. For a brief moment, he wished you could feel that reaction in him, too. He was certainly feeling it–or, at least, something akin to it, even when his body had long since been incapable of showing it.

‘Are you sure? I am no longer chaste…’ 

How ludicrous. As if something as trivial as that mattered to him. He’d lived for so long, he’d realised chastity was on its own a ridiculous concept. Almost no one was chaste after reaching a certain age, either because of the thoughts in their heads or the actual physical implications of the fact. Which was exactly what he told you.

If Minho’d had a working heart, he was sure it would’ve leaped out of his chest the second you pulled him to you for a kiss. 

Your lips were soft, warm, they had a faint taste of strawberry–surely from one of your jam-filled pastries–and an undeniable taste of you. As he kissed you, as he held you close to him by the waist, Minho realised he was cursed now.

There was no way he wouldn’t be bound to you after this, after savouring the feeling of your warmth against his body, of your soft flesh under his hands… Things escalated further than he had ever expected that night, but he wasn’t going to complain, not when the sight of you, vulnerable, completely bare on his bed, was everything he could’ve ever dreamt of.

Minho knew then that he was ready to spend the next handful of decades with you, for as long as your mortal life lasted, or for as long as you wanted him to.

The first time you brought up the topic of feeding to him, Minho almost didn’t believe his ears.

‘Have you ever thought of feeding off of me, my love? Of drinking me up?’

It was not only the two questions themselves, but also the way you’d asked them, and your overall body language as you did, that made him think he was delirious. You didn’t sound scared, nor disgusted. If anything, there was a lingering curiosity in your tone, and, most importantly, a dangerous tint of sultriness, maybe even arousal, that hung to your every word.

‘Of course I have, my dear. More times than I could ever count…’

Minho had no reservations when he answered your queries. How could he, when you had shown him nothing but acceptance and love throughout these past handful of months? When you seemed to have absolutely no qualms when it came to his monstrous ways?

‘Would you like to do it?’

If he had the ability to, he was sure he would’ve fainted right then and there.

Of course he would like to do it. Scratch that, he would love to do it. There was barely anything he wanted more than to taste the scarlet liquid running through your veins, to have the undeniable taste of your humanity on his tongue.

What was seemingly an innocent walk along the stream in the forest had just turned into, quite possibly, one of the most satisfying feeds he’d had in centuries.

Minho sat on the ground, under one of the many trees that seemed to provide you two with an odd sense of privacy. Odd, because you were pretty much still in an open space.

Interestingly enough, even when Minho was a monster, he was still just as part of nature as you were, and, that night, all that booming life surrounding you in the forest simply protected you both; it let nature take its course.

With you straddling his lap, with one of his hands on the small of your back, and the other on the side of your neck, Minho pressed his lips to your pulse point, almost salivating at the minute thumps of your heart against his skin. You shivered in his hold, keeping your hands on his shoulders to maintain your posture.

“Do not make any sudden movements, darling. I do not want to hurt you…” He mumbled against the fragile skin, humming in satisfaction once you nodded. “If it becomes too much, say it. Or squeeze me if talking is too difficult, alright?”

You hummed, nodding again. Minho seriously hoped he’d be able to stop if you showed any signs of discomfort. He hadn’t had human blood in so long he wasn’t really sure how he’d react. Killing you was a very real possibility, he’d told you already, but you still wanted to go through with this. Being honest, he was just a weak man, incapable of passing up the opportunity when it was so boldly presented to him, even when it could possibly take your life.

So he delayed no further. He located the safest area he could on your neck, one where not too many important veins resided, and after a couple of tentative licks on your skin, his fangs enlarged. He lightly dragged them over your throat, letting you feel not only their presence, but also their sharpness.

“Take a deep breath. Do not move too much”, his voice was barely a whisper, but he knew you heard him clear as day.

As soon as you took that deep breath he’d asked you for, his teeth sank on your flesh, piercing the skin like it was a knife cutting room temperature butter. You didn’t move, but the moan that came out of your mouth was more than indication enough that you’d felt it all.

When your taste flooded his mouth, Minho couldn’t help but moan as well. It was all so much better than he had imagined. His whole body trembled, he felt as if he was burning up from the inside out in the best way possible, and he just closed his eyes to enjoy the taste of you.

What an absolutely delectable taste… So much so he had to remind himself to stop before it was too late. He was sure he had drank a bit too much for comfort, but you didn’t protest, you didn’t move one centimetre out of place, you just let him take as much as his heart desired, either because you trusted him that much, or because you had your own personal gains from this exchange–after all, no one just simply offered themselves to a vampire unless they had their own carnal reasons for it.

After soothing the pair of puncture wounds with his tongue, Minho finally pulled away from your neck to look you in the eyes. What he found was your blown pupils, your lips slightly parted as you took in ragged breaths, and even though his fangs were still very much at their full length, you immediately cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for a heated kiss.

It was messy, desperate, he was sure there was still some of your blood on his mouth that was now smearing all over yours, and he had to be careful not to hurt you with his teeth, but you didn’t seem to mind or care at all. You just kissed him like you needed him to breathe, and he let you indulge, mostly because he himself wanted nothing more than to have you as close as he possibly could.

Minho was constantly grateful that you’d crossed his path all those months ago, that you decided to move to this specific town in the first place. Not only did you let him drink your blood, but you also brought an irreplaceable spark to his lacklustre immortal life.

He tried not to think too much of the future, of the moment you’d inevitably pass away. There was no point in grieving this far ahead, he needed to remind himself that, yes, it would happen, but there were hopefully still many years before it did.

Enjoying the present was of the utmost importance. Especially when the present was you on his bed, with your legs over his shoulders and his mouth attached to your plump, warm centre.

All the sighs, and moans, and deep breaths, always reminded him you were here, you were his, and that you trusted him. You trusted him enough to bare yourself to him, to move in with him to his previously lonely manor in the outskirts of town, and to let him feed once a month from any area of your body he wanted to.

Feeding off of a human’s neck was usually the most traditional way, but when Minho found a suitable partner, he always liked to get creative. He’d admit there were spots he usually preferred, that he enjoyed much, much more than the neck. The softer the area was, the better. It was always much tastier, especially so once pleasure was coursing through his partner’s veins.

Thankfully for him, you had plenty of those softer, squishier areas, and you also had no reservations when he wanted to sink his teeth in them. He was trying his best not to get ahead of himself. Getting his fangs to their full length when he had his mouth between your legs was incredibly inconvenient, he genuinely didn’t want to hurt you, and he was certain that the sharp tip of his teeth would damage such a sensitive area of your body.

With a hand on your belly, and the other on your thigh, Minho let himself enjoy the taste of your arousal on his tongue. Your grip on his hair was tight, but you made no move to push him away; if anything, you were pulling him further into you, as much as he could be, keeping him there for as long as he’d let you.

Licking his way up to your clit, he sucked the sensitive nub into his mouth, parting his lips enough to flick it with his tongue. The moan of his name that spilled from your lips made his head spin. Your legs trembled with his motions, especially so when he finally brought his hand from your thigh close to your core to spread your juices with two of his digits.

Minho teased you for a bit, dipping just the tip of his fingers into you only to remove them a second after, increasing the pressure and pace of his tongue. At least, he tried to tease you… It was hard to do so when you begged so sweetly from him. Never in his long life had he enjoyed the sound of the word ‘Please’ coming out of someone else’s mouth as much as he did now, even more so when you called him your love, your darling, your heart. 

My, my, my… Every time you addressed him as such he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit human again. If he had a working heart, he was sure he’d feel it swell in his chest. Yours, yours, yours… He was yours. For as long as you lived, he’d be yours.

When Minho finally stuffed those two digits within your warmth, the sight of your head falling back against the pillows was enough to let him know it was time. He was thirsty, and he was ready to give in to his primal needs.

He removed his mouth from your skin, but he kept massaging that sweet spot within your walls that had your toes curling with need. “Going to do it now, my love. Hm?”

You nodded. “Please, darling…”

Minho hummed, giving your clit one more affectionate kiss before he replaced his mouth with his thumb. If he could die, you’d be the death of him for sure.

He kept rubbing precise circles on the apex of your thighs, dragging his fingers within your clamping walls. At least, as precisely as he could while he attached his mouth to your soft tummy. Already, his fangs made an appearance, it didn’t take much for them to whenever he knew he was about to puncture your skin. It was second nature at this point.

Sometimes, Minho liked to start with your belly. Yes, start. He’d developed a bit more self control since he started to feed off of you, so he used that to his advantage, to feed off of as many parts of your body as he could.

When his teeth sunk on your flesh, you exhaled a shaky breath. Oh, how sweet you tasted whenever his fingers were on you like this. He could not only smell your arousal, but also taste it on his tongue when he started to drink you up. It was intoxicating, fulfilling, it was absolutely everything to him.

Before he could get carried away, Minho pulled away from your tummy, swiftly reattaching his lips to one of your thighs instead. He repeated the motions, puncturing your skin, drinking your essence, soothing the wounds with his tongue only to move along to the next area.

By the time he was full, you were trembling, whining, begging for your release. So he cleaned the remnants of your blood with the back of his hand before his lips found their way between your legs once again. Minho tried his best to will his fangs to decrease in size, at least enough for his own comfort. At this point, he was absolutely sure you wouldn’t mind, if anything, it’d probably turn you own, but he still wanted to be careful.

As soon as he started to suck on your swollen nub, as soon as the pace of his fingers increased, unintelligible noises of pleasure fell from your mouth. It didn’t take long for you to finally find your release, swearing and saying his name time and time again. Minho loved to feel your warmth around his fingers, especially as it spasmed with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Somehow, it always made him feel even fuller than when he fed.

When he was sure you’d enjoyed as much of your pleasure as you could, he finally removed his fingers, and he simply kissed his way up your body, until his lips finally found yours. You sighed, a content sigh that had him feeling tingly all over, just as you hugged him close to you and pressed tired kisses on his lips.

“Feeling fine, my dear?” Minho mumbled between kisses, relishing the fast pace of your heart against his chest.

“Mm… Just a bit lightheaded”, you mumbled back, dragging your fingers through his hair, making him shiver.

After a few minutes of kissing, of reassuring words against the other’s skin, Minho pulled himself away from your tight hug so he could fetch you some food. It was important for you to replenish your body, the healthier you were, the more he’d be able to feed, but most importantly, the longer you’d live.

As he fed you your meal, as he engaged in conversation with you, Minho reminded himself once again how important it was to live in the present, to not worry about the impending future of your relationship. You were on his bed, laughing, smiling, joking about how he’d almost made you a colander tonight, telling him story after story of odd encounters you had with your customers, and, for now, that was more than enough for him.

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[laenordeservedbetter]

For Samantha Carpenter x fem reader. (If you're doing requests, I'm not 100% sure if you are or not,please.)

Reader is Amber Freeman's half older sister (Sam Carpenter's age). Amber knows that Stu Macher is her sister's father, which she is jealous of. So after attacking Tara and luring Sam back to Woodsboro, Amber attacks Reader at Ambers and rs house. (Sam and Reader dated before Sam left, and once they've all moved to NYC, they get back together. R is also a little reliant on alcohol and weed after everything that happened.)

Holding On To You

Words: 3.3k (I think)

Relationships: Samantha Carpenter x Fem!Reader, Sibling!Amber Freeman x Fem!Reader, Implied/Referenced Tara Carpenter x Amber Freeman, Chad Meeks-Martin x Tara Carpenter, Mindy Meeks-Martin x Anika Kayoko

I wrote this this fic in bits, so the timeline is kinda jumbled. I only arranged which part should go where when I finished writing and decided to imply Tamber last minute because why not? Also, Amber's dad raised r as his own, which is why r refers to them as her parents.

The ' * * *' means a long period of time has passed.

Warnings: (18+) this is definitely not my best work, poorly written fight scene, angst, violence, cussing, grief, suggestive themes, reader has problems with alcohol. lmk if I missed any! (I don't remember if the core four were drinking alcohol in Sam and Tara's apartment, so I put something else here)

A/N: I didn't intend for half the fic to focus on reader's dynamic with Amber, but I felt like it's important to show how torn she is by how she feels with what happened. Sorry if I made it too angsty and not what you (anon) asked for 😭

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

-

Your phone buzzed at the same time you were about to go up the stairway leading to your room. Determining that whoever is texting you is more important than sleep, you unlock the cellular device to read the message.

(1:49 a.m.)

Amber: Tara was attacked.

Three words. Fifteen letters.

Your body turns stiff as if there was a supernatural force compelling you to stay still. Tara was attacked. The first thought that went to your mind was ‘is she okay?’ but for some reason you can’t explain, your fingers typed in different words.

(1:50 a.m.)

You: Does Sam know?

Is Tara in the hospital?

How is she?

(1:51 a.m.)

Amber: Such dumb questions. What you should be asking yourself is ‘who’s next?’

Your brows furrow and you frown. She shouldn’t be saying that, you thought. Amber was peculiar but if there was one thing you were sure she’s best at, it was being there for Tara - protecting her. The person on the other side of the screen that you’re talking to feels different from the Amber you know. Something is off.

(1:55 a.m.)

You: Don’t say shit like that, Amber. Tara got hurt. This is serious.

(1:55 a.m.)

Amber: Oh, this isn’t Amber.

(1:56 a.m.)

You: Then who are you?

(1:56 a.m.)

Amber: You’ll find out soon enough.

The chances of being given ample interval to question the sender of the text who is definitely not Amber reduces to zero the second a masked figure creeps behind you and slashes your arm. “What the fuck?!” Blood trickles down your skin, the wound deep enough to nearly make you see your bones. You have to look away from your own body or else you might collapse from the mere sight of it.

You’re panting, looking into the mask of your attacker. He tilts his head at you tauntingly. “And here I thought that the daughter of Stu Macher would put up more of a fight.”

You don’t react, but you run for the kitchen, grabbing the first breakable object you can find: the floral vase.

When Ghostface attempts to lunge forward, you aim the vase at his head, but he dodges swiftly, leaving the vase to smash against the newly-painted wall. You grimace. Your parents were gonna kill you the moment they decide to hop on their plane and get home. “They’re going to be so mad at me.” You complain while grabbing a kitchen knife.

This will do.

“What are you planning to do with that knife?” Ghostface wonders mockingly.

You make a face at him, “No more talking.”

And just like that, you got into a knife fight. You manage to stab Ghostface in the abdomen. He rolls over, his hand going over his stomach to assess the damage. Smiling triumphantly, you let your guard down, which proved to be an error of yours as Ghostface recovers enough to dig his knife near your chest. You drop your weapon, feeling your eyes flutter shut. Your attacker slowly removes his mask, shocking you, yet it was like the time you fade out of consciousness was also planned since you pass out way before you can see what he looks like.

* * *

“We’re waiting for you downstairs.”

You stop what you were doing to look up at Tara. She sends you a sympathetic look and you shoot her one back. “I’ll finish up in 5 minutes.” You say, motioning to the clothes that are yet to be packed into your suitcase.

“Okay.” Tara’s attention is drawn to the picture frame on the nightstand. It was of you and Amber when you were children. She was wearing a pirate costume while you wore a witch’s. “Are you bringing that with you?”

“Yes.” You reply, taking the frame in your hands, fingers ghosting over the photograph. “It was one of our happiest memories together. She was such a sweet kid. I’d like to remember her that way instead of…” You trail off, taking a sharp intake of breath. A month has passed since your sister attacked you and murdered people. You’d never know why she did it nor do you want to. Some things are better left unsaid. Tara, however, felt the opposite. She knew Amber differently and you can understand how she feels, to an extent. “You can keep it if you want. I have other photos in this room stored somewhere.”

Even though Tara shakes her head ‘no’, she is appreciative. “No, it’s fine. I have pictures of my own too.”

The two of you bask in the silence. No other words needed to be shared. Tara leaves you alone after that, but the space she formerly occupied isn’t left empty for long when Sam appears by the doorway.

You grin when you see her, “Hi.” It’s the first time in days that you managed to smile authentically. Going through the worst thing imaginable can dim someone’s light and you were in no position to pretend that everything was okay when circumstances proved the opposite. Although it pained you to think about that night, seeing Sam made you feel that you weren’t alone.

“Hey.” She replies. “Ready to go?”

“Most definitely.” You answer with the truth as you zip up your last bag, ready to leave this place behind and start anew.

Sam holds out her hand, “Come on.”

You don’t take one last look back. You’d be lying if you said you would miss this house. Everything direful that happened in Woodsboro began here, so it is fitting that this is also where it should end.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

* * *

The bottle in your hand weighs lighter than your grief. That’s what you keep telling yourself during these types of moments. It’s a remedy. Ephemeral, maybe, but it helps you forget. That’s the one thing you could ask for.

You nurse your wounds at a bar stool. The time is a bit early for a Saturday for you to be drinking, just how you like it. You take a sip, then another, and another, making you finish your drink earlier than you’d like. “Fucking hell.” A new bottle slides over in front of you before you can ask the bartender for one more drink. Turning your attention to your side, you note a woman staring right at you, a sly smirk on her lips.

Once you give her a nod as a ‘thank you’ for the booze, you go back to the bottle, indicating you want to be left alone. Unfortunately for you, the woman does not take the hint. She moves to the stool next to yours, hoping to shoot her shot.

“Hey.” She says, her bright blue eyes shining in the dim light of the bar. Although you cannot deny that she’s attractive, you’d rather be gazing into a different pair of eyes, preferably brown ones on the face of the only girl you’ve ever loved. “I’m Jolene.”

“Hi, Jolene.” Putting down the bottle, you purse your lips, hoping that this exchange would end soon. You tense when Jolene places a hand on your right shoulder.

Jolene chuckles, unbothered by the signs that you were uneasy, “You’re a little tense.” She pauses, gauging your reaction, “I can help you relax.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but, uh. . . I’m kind of waiting for someone, so if you don’t mind. . .” You pull your arm away, pretending to look at the entrance to the bar as if you were meeting one of your friends. Truthfully, it should be a lost cause since you haven’t told anybody that you would be here, including Sam.

“Well, let me keep you company while they arrive.”

You internally groan. “Respectfully, Jolene, and I mean this in the nicest way possible since you seem like a good person, leave me alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent.”

Jolene smiles understandingly, about to get up and turn away, but then her mouth drops open as if she’s seen a movie star, “Wait, you’re one of the survivors of the murders at that one house in Woodsboro! Your sister tried to kill you and your biological father was a killer too, right?! Stu Macher, that’s what his name was.”

Of course. That’s why she approached you. She only pretended not to know who you were until you tried to convince her to piss off. Great. “Bye now.” You throw a fifty dollar bill on the counter, hastily running out of the place as if you were brought back to those nights spent in that house trying so desperately to get away. The feeling of tightness takes place in your chest. You see a stranger pass by with hair that looks exactly like Amber’s and you turn lugubrious. No matter what she did, she was still your sister. You want to hate her for everything she did to you, to Tara, to everyone you thought she cared for. However, missing her triumphs all the other emotions you have. Though that may not be an excuse for her wrongdoings, it makes you mourn what has and what would have been.

You wanted her to go to college. You wanted to be the one on the front row cheering her on as she accepts her diploma. You wanted to be the person she turns to for relationship advice. You would have wanted her there when both you and Sam began getting harassed online just because your fathers were serial killers. Amber would have fought anyone who attempted to cross a line. Sometimes it felt like she was your big sister even though you are technically older.

And then it hits you.

You’d always be stuck in that goddamn stupid, cursed house, persistently wishing that things had been different. That you hadn’t moved there, that your sister never met Richie, that you have the same biological father as Amber. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, you realized that maybe you never left the place at all. You are in New York (You’re not deluded. You know that much.), but a piece of your heart would eternally be in Stu Macher’s house with Amber at the doorway while the other half is chasing after a love that might never be.

* * *

Sam drops by in your shared room to ask what you want for dinner. On Saturdays when neither of you are working, you and Sam order food and watch a movie that is preferably a romcom or fantasy. The unspoken rule being: watching horror is out of the equation.

She notices your swollen eyes and discards her phone on the table to comfort you. Sam climbs into your bed, arms circling around your waist in order to ground you. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

You don’t speak, fearing that your voice might crack and that it might show that you are as weak as you think you are.

But of course, Sam notices. “I know you don’t want to talk right now, so I’ll just hold onto you. If or when you want to talk, you can squeeze my hand. Is that okay?”

You shake your head in affirmation, locking your fingers with Sam’s, granting yourself the permission to crumble in her arms.

Once your heartbeat slows to a calm rhythm and the heartache subsides to a low wave that stays at your feet, you squeeze her hand three times.

“I’m listening.” Sam says, sensing your hesitance. Understanding where your diffidence comes from (she sees it in herself too), she adds, “I won’t judge you. I’m here to listen and if you want advice, I’ll try to give one. If you don’t want me to say anything, that’s fine too. Whatever works best for you.”

She is giving you the space to feel. Not a lot of people can say that and still stay after you’ve poured your heart out. Sam is different from most people because she cares. You are each other’s anchor. That’s why it doesn't take much convincing for you speak of your feelings bit by bit without worrying about falling into a rabbit hole. Knowing that Sam is there with you, listening, holding your hand, is more than enough motivation to keep going.

“. . . Sam, is it wrong? To miss Amber? The whole world tells me what she is. A murderer. But I- I saw it in her eyes that night at the party. Hesitation. Remorse. She told me that she was jealous that I got to be the one whose father was a serial killer but when she pointed the gun at my head, I saw something else flicker in her eyes. I don’t know. It’s probably just my brain making things up to make me feel better. Maybe I should just accept that my sister was a killer and move on. I shouldn’t even be feeling like this when I know she murdered people in cold blood — people I used to know. Am I crazy?” Once you started talking, you couldn’t stop. It was like you’ve been bottling this up to release it at the right moment. The memories of that night resurfaced in the forefront of your mind, acknowledging them for the first time. By now, you were laying on your back while Sam had an arm wrapped around your shoulder and the other still on your waist. For less than a minute, you were scared that she would push you away in a literal sense.

She didn’t.

“It’s not wrong, Y/n. She was your sister, of course you have the right to miss her. Now, I still don’t understand her motive and I won’t try to because she hurt Tara and you. But you knew her better than me or the people calling her names. You knew the kid that she was. You know what’s real. You are allowed to have your own opinion of Amber even if it isn’t what others want you to think. You’re not crazy for feeling these things. I’d be scared if you didn’t feel anything at all. It’s normal. You’re human. Don’t be too hard on yourself because of something you can’t control.” Sam says, soft but stern.

You take this opportunity to gaze into her eyes, seeing reverence, sympathy, and devotion all in one. She took the parts of yourself that you hated and treated them as if they were something sacred. When you have a person like that in your life - one who helps you accept your flaws instead of turning them away -, you start to see flowers bloom in the pieces you considered damaged. She loved the things about you that you execrated.

Before Sam, you gave love a definition: it is a thing that enfeebles you - yet that’s not all that there is to it. Love can be a chain, it can be suffocating, and there is no doubt that it can shatter you until the only thing you have left is a piece of a broken mirror to prove that it existed; but it can also be a tune (like the song you sung as a kid that you never paid much thought to), a soft bed, a dance, or a simple look a person gives that sends your heart fluttering no matter how many times you have been on the receiving end of it.

“Sam?” You call out, realizing that you’ve spent a while not responding.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for listening,” You say quietly. “and for not becoming a stranger.”

She smiles gently.

Your heart flutters.

* * *

Tara lets out a deep breath. She’s laying down with a novel in her hand that became abandoned three minutes ago, her attention now focused on glaring at you and Sam from her position on the couch. “Just get back together already. I’m so tired of watching you two tiptoe around each other with your unresolved feelings!” She yells, roughly flipping a page of the book in order to prove her annoyance. Sam, who was currently on dish duty, dropped a plate upon hearing Tara’s comment. (It didn’t break, fortunately.)

“Are you talking about the book or…?” Of course, Chad would be the one to make the situation far more awkward than it needs to be. You don’t hate the kid, but he does get oblivious at times, which you normally wouldn’t mind if it doesn’t affect you. Mindy punches him in the shoulder. His mouth gapes. He looks at you, then at Sam. “Ohhhh.”

“Idiot.” Mindy mumbles.

“I agree with Tara though.” Anika comments, pointing her apple drink at Tara. (You and Sam don’t allow the kids to drink at the apartment, so the only beverages available are apple and orange juice boxes.)

“Me too, babe.” Mindy beams proudly as if Anika gave the answer to an unsolvable mathematical equation and gives her girlfriend a peck on the lips.

Chad makes gagging noises, averting his eyes away from the couple.

You see the scene unfold in front of you with a smile before you turn away to take the popcorn out of the microwave. “I think we’re driving Tara crazy with the suspense.” You joke, transferring the popcorn to a bowl and placing another bag inside the microwave. Sam shoots you a questioning glance, referring to the amount of popcorn bags that were already cooked. “I was thinking that each couple would have a bag or bowl each. Mindy and Anika, Chad and Tara. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to share with me, which is why I put another-”

Sam takes out the uncooked popcorn from the microwave, interrupting what would have been your rambling, “Of course I’d share with you. You’re my girlfriend.”

You look away, unable to keep a smile off your face. “I will never get tired of hearing that.” As you busy yourself with placing the popcorn on three separate bowls, Sam observes the group on the living room.

“I think we should tell them.”

“Huh?”

“About us. It’s time, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” You take Sam’s hands in your own, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’m ready.” You look at her lovingly. “How should we do it?”

Sam sports a mischievous smirk, “I know just the right way.” She ‘accidentally’ drops another plate (which, amazingly, didn’t break as well), drawing the attention of Tara, Chad, Mindy, and Anika. She gives you the go signal and you kiss her, bringing your bodies closer.

“TARA, SOMETHING’S HAPPENING IN THE KITCHEN!”

“WHAT ARE YOU- OH MY GOD!” Tara exclaims.

“CHAD, GIVE ME THE CAMERA!” Anika flails her arms chaotically for Chad’s phone, instantly snapping pictures of you and Sam the moment the device is handed to her.

Chad grins, giving you a thumbs up.

When you pull away from Sam for air, Tara runs up to you with questions at the ready. Sam did most of the talking. You added a few things here and there, looking back at how far you’ve come. The grief never went away. It’s still lingering. Except this time, you don’t feel the panic. You focus on the memories - the good and the bad. Those things are the reason why you’re where you're at right now. Although you’d have liked some of it to turn out differently, you can’t change the past, hence why you don’t shy away from what happened as much as you used to. You hold on to the memories the way you’d want to hold on to the love of your life.

“You okay?” Sam asks, rubbing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You realize that you’ve been crying. “Yeah, they’re happy tears. It’s just. . .” You breathe out, feeling the weight of hopelessness on your shoulders disappear.

It felt like finally coming home after a long journey.

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #samantha carpenter #scream 6 #scream vi #scream #tamber #tara carpenter #amber freeman #anika kayoko #chad meeks martin #mindy meeks martin #stu macher

[foreverrandomwritings]

soft & sweet prompt with stiles 😍😍❤️❤️😍romantic pls

“i’m not giving up on you.”

Treehouse Therapy

Summary: Stiles comforts you as you struggle to take hold of your life. I'm a complete fucking mess for this awkward ass lanky fucker.

Pairing:Stiles Stilinski x gn!Reader

Warnings:Angst, depression, anxiety, death, attacks, THEO, fluff uhm idk I think that's it.

Word count:1504

Masterlist M's Hundred Celly Masterlist

Stiles had been trying for months to get you to open up to him. You had been slowly pulling away from him and your crazy ragtag pack of supernaturals. Which was very concerning with the recent change of you becoming a werewolf. The pack had tried to be there for you and support you. But there was only so much they could do when you wouldn’t let them help. 

You hadn’t been at school that day so Stiles had cut class and drove over to your house. He had tried to call you and text you but you weren’t responding which had him extremely worried. He pulled into your driveway and took note of your car. So you were most likely here, unless you had run off into the woods to blow off steam. 

“Babe?” He called out as he walked into the house. He knew your father was out of town for work so he wasn’t worried about anyone else being here since it was just you and him. When you didn’t answer he walked into your living room but didn’t find you. He went through the whole house trying to find you but came up empty. You hadn’t even been in your room but your phone was beside your bed so you couldn’t have been very far. 

He looked up through your bedroom window to the woods behind your house and had a light bulb moment. His footsteps were quick as he ran out of the house. He came to stand beneath the tree house you and your father built while you were in the fourth grade. It had a few stained glass windows and had been painted a bunch of fun colors by you and your friends. He knew you were inside because he could see a light on through the windows. 

He took a deep breath before he started climbing up the ladder. His knuckles rasped against the wood of the door impeded in the floor three times, pause, two times another pause and then one more. The signature knock had been created when you first invited them over to the treehouse for the grand reveal. He waited patiently for a moment but when you still had not come to open the hatch he splayed his hand across it and pushed it open. It smacked against the floor loudly and he winced. If that was loud to him it had to have been headache inducing for you. 

“Sugar plum?” He called out again as his head popped up into the small structure. His eyes scanned it quickly. He found you laying on your back staring at the ceiling. You had an old battery powered light that spun around and projected fish along the walls. It had been turned on and you seemed to be in a trance as you stared at it. 

He softly closed the door and called for you again. This time you rolled your head to the side and looked at him. His gaze softened as he took you in. You had tears rolling down your cheeks silently. He took in the state of you and his heart broke. Your hair was a mess of leaves and twigs. You had on one of your dads old college hoodies and a pair of shorts, feet bare and riddled with dirt. 

“What happened honey?” He came to sit next to you bringing your head into his lap. You let out a low shaky breath squeezing your eyes closed. Your hands formed fists as you tried to calm yourself down. 

“I woke up in the woods again.” Your eyes slowly fluttered open looking into the browns of your boyfriends. He started to pick the leaves and twigs out of your hair making a pile beside his leg.

“How far away were you?” This was far from the first time that you had woken up in the woods. In the months that you had been a werewolf it was a regular occurrence. No one had been able to figure out why it was happening. The only reason Scott had wandered into the woods when he was turned was because he was unconsciously trying to answer the call of Peter. But you already had an Alpha and to their knowledge there weren’t anymore around in the area. 

“I think like ten or fifteen miles. It took me a while to get back home even while I was running.” a sigh left your lips, eyes studying his features. Stiles wished he knew how to help you. It had been easier with Scott since they also had Derek to help. But Derek had been in the wind for a while and the rest of them were still struggling with their abilities themselves. 

You had decent control over them during the day. Only really having issues while you were sleeping. There had been a few nights where you had woken up and your room had been torn to shreds. Then when the full moon came about you had an overwhelming urge to kill. It had been a close call during the last full moon. You had broken chains that held you and been seconds away from tearing into Stiles when Scott had arrived and knocked some sense into you. 

“Do you want me to try and call Derek again?” He had tried to call him a few times, desperately needing answers on how to help you. You shook your head weakly, his fingers stilled in their work of freeing the debris from your hair as you spoke. 

“Why don’t you just leave me Stiles? You don’t deserve to go through all this.” the freckled boy let out a long breath. This wasn’t the first time you had had this conversation and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. 

“I’m not giving up on you.” He took another breath, taking a moment to look at the walls around you both. There were pictures of all of you strung up with strings and clothes pins. Old drawings from when you were young tapped to the walls. So many memories were held in this wooden box. He would make sure there were many more put into it as well. 

“What happened to you wasn’t your fault.” You had been attacked by one of Theo’s little goons and Scott had no choice but to change you. It was the only way to save your life. You had been thankful for him saving your life when you had woken up in the clinic. But you had also been worried, you knew how your friends had struggled when they were turned. You feared what might happen with you. 

“I almost killed you last full moon.” Your chest squeezed tightly as the memory flashed through your mind. It had been an out of body experience, you weren’t fully in control of what you were doing but you had an overwhelming urge to rip him to shreds. You thought about that feeling daily and it scared you more than anyone knew.

“But you didn’t and I know you would never hurt me.” He pulled the last leaf from your hair and had now started working out all the knots with a hairbrush you kept in a basket. 

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did. I love you so much, I’d never forgive myself.” one of your hands came to run across your face. The fear had been something you never wished to experience again. Losing him would be your final straw, everything would fall apart without him.

“We will get everything figured out I promise you. Hell we even got Liam to calm down eventually so we’ll have you whipped into shape in no time. We just have to remain patient and positive. I promise you that we will figure everything out. I won’t stop until we do. I love you more than I can put into words.” He set the brush down and swiped a few stray tears off your cheeks. You trusted his words, knowing he would never give up on you.

“Kiss me.” You whispered out to him desperate to feel his lips against your own. A distraction from the thoughts barreling through your head. He did just that, leaning down and kissing you, your noses brushing each other's chins. You felt his love everyday, in the way he constantly checked up on you. The way he would buy you your favorite snacks or the way he shared his curly fries with you. You especially felt his love for you in this kiss. After a moment he pulled back and gave you a goofy smile. 

“I guess I’m your Spiderman and you're my Mary Jane.” your lips broke into a wide smile at his words. You knew in that silly little moment sitting in your silly little tree house with your silly little light spinning around you; that you would never have to worry about anything as long as Stiles Stilinski was in your life.

A/N: Thank you so so so so so much for this request @theeleggymeggy .I am so obsessed with this man. No one and I really do mean no one will ever make me feel the way he does. I would follow him into the wild hunt in a heartbeat. I can't put into words the feelings I have for him. This goofy little fucking adderall riddled guy has my whole heart. Happy written by a woman wednesday.

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell

#m's hundred celly #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski oneshot #stiles stilinski #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf oneshot #teen wolf #angst #comfort

[wazzappp]

ROBBIE DIAGRAM TIME

Ok so Robbie’s biology is really fucking weird because a lot of it relies on ‘i dunno man MAGIC I guess’ (which is very on brand for him honestly). Because people can’t just. Run around on fire. It doesn’t work. BUT. One part that seems reasonable to mess with is how that fire gets started in the first place.

Fire needs oxygen to burn, and oxygen can be ignited with electricity. So I figure having a pocket in the lungs of more concentrated oxygen that also has little nerve clusters to deliver electricity might be enough to start a fire. Having the ignition to his transformation start in the lungs makes the most sense because it’s easy access to MORE oxygen so a chain reaction can start.

This is also fun because you can get stuff like sparking when suprised or annoyed. Which could let him cough up soot or maybe even steaming from the mouth like we see in the comics.

Also I REALLY wanted to mess with his heart. Hearts remind me of engines anyway so why not make it more literal? Robbie is dead. Like super dead. Exceptionally dead. The only reason he’s still up and moving is because of magic. So this would be where the magic bits of his ghost rider form starts peeking through. The ‘pistons’ that keep his heart beating are powered by magic and move in and out to force the heart to expand and contract in the same way they would normally.

(Yes I DID add rib engravings like in supernatural because it’s a cool idea I don’t care where it comes from)

Also! I am not smart enough to understand how the chemical composition of this would work, hence no diagram, but Robbie’s skin probably isn’t made out of the same stuff as most people’s skin. I think when he lights himself on fire there’s a chemical reaction on his ‘skin’ that burns it into the riders suit. So he is, in theory, running around in a charred skin suit like the worlds most fucked up burnt marshmallow.

#sorry if my explanations are a little wonky this morning. my brain is being mean to me #but I needed to do something for my other favorite Reyes boy #his stomach is also probably weird too. we see him throw up weird shit a LOT especially in the 2016 crossover comic #idk how to mess with it yet though. maybe pockets of gasoline? hmmmmmm #I should mess with his spine to that could be fun #robbie reyes #ghost rider #all new ghost rider #my art #sketch

[mike-haters-dni]

Scalding, unnecessary take that I'm going to use as an excuse to yap about my hyperfixation characters more than anything, but El's character is actually impossible to stick into coffee shop fanfiction No Supernatural Shit AUs. That's Jane you're writing about. Jane and El are not the same person. At all. And like, Jane is interesting to think about, don't get me wrong. I have thought about Jane. I love Jane. She's adorable and vaguely autistic. But Jane != Eleven.

Eleven is the way she is almost entirely because of her experience/trauma of growing up in the lab and having supernatural murder powers. Her main characters traits are being a self-sacrificing hero and not being sure who she is due to the fact she grew up in an isolated sterile inhuman environment. Unless you're directly translating those things into something unsupernatural (like growing up in a fucked up cult or something and like fighting her way out and now she'll fight to protect other people from similar experiences or something idk) you're writing about Jane the normal gorl who got to grow up with a normal personality in a normal world. And like, you can do that. It's fine it's fandom do whatever u want. But personally, the first thing I come up with when I birth an AU is what crazy powers and fucked up backstory we give Eleven here. Also how do we make her and everyone else really fucking cool but that...might be beside the point idk.

The powers have to basically ruin or have had ruined her life at one point. They have to be a curse that she either reclaims or gets rid of at the end. If she isn't tortured she isn't Eleven Stranger Things lmao

And then yeah yeah my next step is to figure out how Mike AND THE OTHERS OK but mostly Mike get involved in this. Which brings me to my next point: Jane and Mike have no real reason to talk to each other. Mike x Jane is just Normal Gorl x Normal Boy which is like, fine sure if that's what you want, but also you kinda just erased everything interesting about their dynamic. You wanna know what makes El and Mike's relationship so compelling? Objectively? I'm objectively right about everything I'm about to say here? Ok their dynamic is this: Eleven is the most important person in the world, and Mike is the only boy who will ever love her. And yeah that second one sounds really sad but 1. yeah it kinda is :) 2. its not really true that's just what El thinks which is like a major theme for her character TO ME, her underestimating how 'normal' she is esp in her later years 3. it also is kinda true because he's the only boy romantically interested in her who actually understands and experienced all the supernatural/lab trauma bullshit and is actively fighting beside her through the plot of the show, and 4. he's literally perfect and also the only boy she'll ever love and need so it all works out.

And to explain the first one, I mean, you know she's saved the world twice right? She kinda literally is the most important person in the world considering its up to her to stop the apocalypse probably in the end? But its not the being important exactly that makes Mike love her ok, that's more of a meta character thing. Like she doesn't have to literally be the key to saving the world and the most powerful being in the universe. Its more that she has to have something really special about her that draws Mike specifically to her and binds him to her permanently and inseparably and he belongs to her forever and ever and they die in each other's arms. Like she deserves. In canon I imagine objectively and correctly that it went like this: Mike is a natural outcast collector and protector due to his pervasive unconscious need to be needed and his fear of losing the few people who like him, who meets the ultimate outcast girl who literally has nothing and needs him in a very real way, and this gives him an excuse to just pour his entire self into her, fulfilling one of his deepest interpersonal needs. The best part is that she's super selfless and amazing and she loves him the same right back so its actually a beautiful thing they get going. Basically the idea of being anything less than perfect for her is so sad and horrible due to how fucked her life was that it drives the already caretaking Mike into overdrive to make her happy. Not at the cost of him still being an individual person, mind you. But that's the vibe. Also let me just say, all the self-sacrificing vibes and obsession and desperation can become toxic under certain circumstances and that is absolutely a feature not a bug. Sorry you don't like watching your faves yell at each other but we are not the same.

Anyway what the fuck was I talking about? AUs? Yeah ok so when translating Mike (AND THE OTHERS...and the others) into other stories there's more flexibility u kno because he's mostly just Some Guy. He really just needs (TO ME) an excuse to be fighting with Eleven (she has to be fighting something with the powers I know you gave her). He shouldn't be directly involved with whatever gave her the powers but he should generally know of and be somewhat affected by it. Or become aware of it/involved with it over time. Like in the show. You get it. Honestly his only real consistent character traits are being kinda moody and being the leader of the party in whatever vague or not way. And being intelligent. Like he has to be leader for a reason. I guess that's a decent base for a character right there.

oh right side note: you have to do something fun with her name. like she was basically branded Eleven by the freak that gave her the powers so u gotta take that energy and translate it into another branded name that has el in it because she needs to get the nickname ofc. unless its a cyberpunk au in which case Eleven is a pretty normal name and she can just go by that lmao.

So the point ig is Jane and Mike break up when they go away to different colleges and don't talk to each other again until their next high school reunion, while Mike and Eleven are...well you should know by now.

#this is truly me rambling to myself but ig that's why we're here right #yes i want to discuss mike and eleven's characters more #yes its exhausting writing shit #yes u can ask questions/talk about ur own AUs or whatever #blah blah engage with me or don't ig #one like and i list my AUs tho #if i feel like it #ig ill tag this #mileven #not like theres anything else in the tag rn hahaha

[existslikepristin]

Unexpectedly busy week, that was. Except today. Today I got home and ate ice cream

Only two options in the poll this time! Is there a secret reason?! Yes, it's because I didn't have any more ideas The poll is only going to be available for 24 hours, because I should be able to get the next part up tomorrow!

Tags: NSFW, S.M.U.T., genie, microtransactions???

(Story Index)

Anime Girls

"I wish for a harem of anime girls!" you blurt out before you can think.

Joy appears mildly shocked for a moment, but then she gives you a wry smirk. "Look at you, making a wish like that. You perverted weeb."

You frown and put up a finger of protest, but Joy quickly continues, "I know. I know. You're not the first of your kind I've come across, master. Being a weeb is an honored profession nowadays, and you're all special because of your unique waifu and/or husbando selection(s). I know the drill."

The air around you seems to contract and expand simultaneously, and everything in your line of sight briefly tints green. Except, that is, for Joy herself. Even as space bends in front of your very eyes, causing no small amount of queasiness to knot about in the pit of your stomach, Joy remains on the table, sitting up with the same smooth grace she has continuously displayed up to this point and only looking as green as usual, which isn’t all that green, really.

And then it's over. The air feels normal again, and your standard color vision has returned.

"Was that the wish?" you ask.

"Sure was!"

You look around. Nothing has changed. You see no anime girls. Not even your waifu (though, considering Joy told you she can't read your mind, you're not sure how she would have known to pick her). "So, where's the harem?"

"I figured you wouldn't be able to list each and every anime girl you've ever wanted to fuck."

Joy pauses. After a few seconds you say, "That's not a useful explanation."

"Oh. Right. Check your phone."

"My phone?" you inquire, as you reach down to take your phone from the pocket of your discarded shorts.

"Yup! I've noticed that most weebs are very heavily invested in their own tropes, which I appreciate, as you can imagine. And one of the more common tropes in harem anime I've seen is that the protagonist controls some aspect of the world around them with a supernaturally-powered smartphone."

You tap your phone out of sleep mode. "So, I have a phone… harem?"

"No, master. You have a magic app that summons anime girls into your presence, all of which are suspiciously and sexually attracted and devoted to you, of course. This will make your harem as weebly wobbly as you can possibly get!"

You exit your phone's internet browser, where, obviously, you had been reading existslikePristin fanfics, and go to your home screen. A new app does a little inflation animation to let you know of its location. The icon is a silhouette of a lithe woman on a green, circular background, and is not labeled. You tap to open it. There is no waiting on load time. You're immediately taken to a very cluttered generic fantasy town isometric view, with bubbles of text all over the place. You think the text might be Sumerian.

"It's a mobile gacha game!" Joy looks and sounds far too proud of herself. "And with my special djinnfluencer promo code, you get one thousand free shards! And that's not all! You get ten free spins, five billion gold coins, and double daily rewards for the first week!”

Options:

Okay, that was exceptionally dumb. Ask if there’s a way to undo a wish.

Whatever. A harem’s a harem. Figure out this app and summon an anime girl.

[jasmancer]

I've never watched twin peaks but I'm really curious about your feminist reasons for not watching it if you'd care to share them.

Oh absolutely! it basically boils down to the whole Beautiful Dead White Girl trope being CENTRAL around the plot, and also the story having this weird loophole avoidance of the reality of a lot of cases like hers, which is that sexual violence is often perpetrated by friends and family. Of course, real cases also don't have wonky supernatural elements and purgatory and shit but I digress.

Laura Palmer has become a sort of patron saint of Beautiful Dead White Girls, especially when it comes to true crime (which is a whole different genre I have huge problems with but we can save that for another time.) Anyone who's familiar with Twin Peaks can tell you that Laura's absence is more of a character than Laura herself, and thats kind of the point. Audiences love women when they can't speak for themselves, when they're a dead and gone idea that can't object to voyeurism around the tragedy of their lives. They especially love white women with these circumstances because it plays into the hapless victim in need of protection trope which is like, instrumental in white supremacist narratives.

Like as a woman of color who lived in a majority black area, black and brown girls, and poor girls in general are far and away the most frequent victims of shit like this. Not to get too into it but there was a period during my high school career that there was genuinely a girl that got kidnapped walking home and no adults did shit. No warnings at the bell, no discussions with the girls at our school about safety, no acknowledgement that one of our classmates disappeared, nothing. I couldn't sleep for weeks. We had to like, stick together and look out for each other and it was awful and terrifying and it felt like nobody fucking cared.

But that's not the narrative people like. They ignore that shit when it happens to us, which is why it happens to us so much more. Nobody pays attention. We're not salacious and consumable like if it happened to a pretty rich white girl. And even then, why is the brutalization of those women so appealing that it's an entire genre?

It's so funny because I do also have a fascination with Laura Palmer as a cultural figure. She's such a poster girl of Haunting The Narrative that she's fully escaped the narrative and haunts reality. She's a frequent comparison in a lot of tragic real life cases, whether it's a shallow reference or an apt and thoughtful comment on how a victim's life is more complicated than people want to acknowledge.

I really don't want to engage in a narrative like that any further than I've been forced to by cultural osmosis. Even if it's a well crafted story, it's not one that I'm interested in because it has really strengthened a lot of tropes and cultural convictions that aren't only exhausting, but often directly harmful to real victims and their surviving families. Fuck Twin Peaks by Bikini Kill.mp3

Anyway, a lot of my thoughts about this are really well articulated in the book Dead Girls by Alice Bolin, which I HIGHLY recommend I'm obsessed with it. She has a really interesting dissection of how differently Americans approach mystery stories, fiction or nonfiction, and the sort of psychosexual aspects of how Dead Girl stories are told.

#thanks for the ask! #greggslife #ask #it speaks

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

Dick & Rachel and the Invisible String theory (part 1)

Well, I finally gave in and decided to write it all down. How can I not when the show is basically slapping me in the face with it? It's all right there, if you're only willing to look. I've been dropping the phrase invisible string in relation to these two here and there for a while now and it's time to give it some more sense.

And yes, I am well aware this might be a stretch - it's Titans, nothing is ever intentionally that deep. But if there's one thing that show ever did right, it's this relationship, from the pilot to the end. So it's worth looking into it for me even if it's only my delusion speaking and it's not officially a thing.

So what is the Invisible String in this case? It's a connection, most likely supernatural, linking these two characters together and tethering them to each other in a way that is unexplainable by either logic or feelings. It plays into the definition of soulmates, though in this particular case other things like fate or magical powers might be connected. It's a bond made of love, fueled by love, but not responsible for it - the characters' feelings feed into it and strengthen it but they are their own and aren't affected by the existence nor strength of the bond. After all, even with the connection already in place, Dick and Rachel could have met and ended up hating each other.

Which means that not every scene they share will end up on this list I've put up here. Most of the time, the characters' actions are driven by their feelings, and the circumstances surrounding the scene are easily explainable. But sometimes, something strange happens and no matter how you look at it, you can't figure out how it happened without the so-called "higher power" at play.

(the higher power in question is most likely my delusion but fuck it we ball)

So where does it start? Obviously, in the pilot episode.

The dream that had started it all. The show is opened by it, it sucks you right in. This is where the String is born. Rachel walks right into Dick's memory of his parents' death and lives through it with him, even though she has no idea about it at the time. The dream we see in the pilot is also not the first time she has it; when she wakes up screaming and her mother comes in to comfort her, Rachel tells her what happened in half-sentences and broken words, not bothering to explain further and Melissa's look of understanding tells us that she already knows the story. The most important detail proving the connection's existence here is in Rachel's words.

"He was so scared. I felt it."

Somehow, thanks to her still developing powers, she was able to feel what he was feeling in that moment, proving that she is indeed inside his memory. Rachel didn't sense Mary's or John's emotions - only Dick's. Because they are gone and he's still alive so the memory is still alive as well.

The only thing the show had never bothered to explain here is the why. Why him? Why this? It feels a little random at the surface level, dreaming about a memory of some stranger you've never met. Even if we're talking about fate, about destiny bringing them together, the question still stands. Why Dick? Why didn't Rachel dream about the moment Gar became a metahuman? Or the moment Kory came to Earth? That one would have made sense, since Kory had been sent with the mission to kill The Raven. Guess we'll never know.

The connection is the most visible from Rachel's end, because her powers come into play. They might even be the reason the String exists in the first place. After her mother is killed, Rachel runs to her hometown's bus station and seemingly randomly picks Detroit as her destination, unaware that this is exactly where Dick is. The String is leading her to him without her even knowing.

But we can see it working through him as well, even though he's human and doesn't have any magical abilities.

We're introduced to a detective/vigilante, who's known in his day job for helping kids. The very first scene we see him in, he's looking through a file of a physically abused child. So the situation in the pilot is not his first rodeo. He's been dealing with kids in his line of work before, troubled kids more often than not. Rescued them from sticky situations (either with or without the Robin suit), and most definitely signed off some papers and handed the kids over to social services. And he never got attached. No matter how bad the situation was. His job required him to not get involved.

But then this kid shows up, a kid who recognizes him somehow (she can sense something familiar about him the second he walks in but doesn't clock it until he tells her his name) and she knows things about him she's not supposed to know. She tells him her mom was killed and his demeanor changes from slightly hostile to compassionate immediately because it's something he can relate to. She's begging for help with eyes full of tears, so blindly trusting despite just meeting him, talking like he's her only hope and his resolve is already starting to break.

And then she takes his hand. Whether intentionally or not, she dives into his head, and her dream and his memory become one. They expand, giving Rachel further glimpses into his past. And they both feel it.

And boy, does it spook him. The weird and very conscious feeling of getting sucked into his own head, the unexplainable connection to this kid in front of him who for some reason is able to dig in his brain, a connection that only seems to be fueled by his growing concern for her and her situation. It clearly freaks him out. He's a lone wolf, he doesn't get attached. Neither his day or night job allow it. So what does he do about it? He runs.

"I can't give you the kind of help you need." But he wants to. And it scares the shit out of him because this shouldn't be happening. This should be easy. Get her statement, check it, call social workers. Sign off a few papers and be done with it. Just another kid, another file, another day at the office.

And yet he has to force himself to leave the room and not give in to her desperate begging. He goes to do what he's supposed to do, turns it into just another case.

He tries to leave it. Makes some calls, grabs his coat and heads out. Dude is already out of the building, ready to call it a day and let someone else take over but something stops him in the middle of the parking lot. A sense of duty? Strange worry twisting his gut? Instinct telling him that something isn't right? Something is pulling him back to this girl and no matter how hard he's trying, Dick can't walk away.

Because you see, the moment Rachel took his hand and they both experienced the memory at the same time, the String solidified. I visualize it in my head as two opposite ends slowly reaching toward each other and when this happens–

–the ends meet. They snap together and two separate pieces of the String become one. Only the thing is, right now it's just a thin thread. Now it's up to them to either break it or make it stronger.

(if somehow you're still reading, I assume you know what happens)

As we dive further into Season 1, there are plenty of moments along the way that show how the String strengthens with Dick and Rachel growing closer. 1x04 especially has a moment that is a definite milestone in their relationship — Dick making a conscious decision to stay and take care of Rachel, no longer afraid of the connection and responsibility. But we don't see the String at work again until episode 1x07, "Asylum".

Now, as a singular event, this next scene doesn't necessarily qualify, because it can be logically, scientifically even, explained. But it's here because it's the first of the several instances creating a pattern across all seasons: a pattern of Rachel bringing Dick back to reality from the confines of his own mind.

She seems to be the only one to have this ability to such an extent as she does, and as the seasons go, we even watch it grow in its effectiveness.

When she finds him, he's been pumped with drugs and kept trapped inside his head for an unspecified amount of time, we can assume more than an hour. He's limp, completely unresponsive and it takes her several tries to wake him up. And what does it? A reminder of what connects them, of the promise he made her, the promise that he will never leave her.

It's not that easy to notice unless you look closely but his eyes gain focus and snap to hers the second she says "You promised!" Unknowingly, Rachel tugs at the String and yanks him back with those two words — she needs him to remember, she needs him back because she's scared, and even though her own mother is standing right behind her, none of it matters because Rachel won't feel truly safe unless he's there to keep her safe — and it works because keeping that promise is a priority to him, it's what keeps him going. "Yeah, I guess I did," he says as he comes to his senses and gives a tiny reassuring smile to let her know that he remembers. And we all breathe with relief (well, I did).

Then we move to the very end of episode 1x10 "Koriand'r".

Why is Dick the only one able to cross the cloaking barrier around Angela's house? Why did he run at it at full speed, determined and so sure he'll break through even though he risked literally crashing into a wall, and went right through it with no problem, while neither Kory nor Donna couldn't? It's simple: Trigon allowed it because he knew about the String. Having similar powers to Rachel, he could sense it in his daughter and decided to use it against her. He even knew when Dick and the girls appeared in front of the barrier. Trigon recognized how important all these people are to Rachel, but there was something about this particular bond that caught his attention and made him realize Dick is the perfect pawn. If he wants to break his daughter, he first needs to break the one person she loves the most.

What deserves a special mention here is a little moment at the end of episode 1x11 "Dick Grayson" because this is the first time in the show that the word "love" is used to describe Dick and Rachel's relationship. And it comes from none other than Trigon himself.

Because you do. He knows. Despite never having met either of them before. Trigon has been back on Earth for what, an hour? And he sensed it right away.

That's it for season 1. I was originally planning to put all seasons in one post but obviously didn't consider that there is a 10 image limit and that I talk too much lol

So if you're curious for more, read part 2 and part 3 here. They will dive into how the Invisible String manifests itself in season 2, and check out part 4 for seasons 3 & 4!

#dc titans #titans #dcu titans #tv: titans #dick grayson #rachel roth #dick and rachel #nightwing #raven #kory anders #garfield logan #graysonfam #titans season 1 #titans season 2 #titans season 3 #titans season 4 #titans meta #fathers and daughters y'all

[cosmicclownboy]

Look there was always going to be ONE show that did the canonizing of a heavily popular m/m pairing first. If we're being honest a lot of fans wanted their show to be first.

The reality is a lot of the reasons it doesn't go there is because 1.the network they are on and 2. the viewership numbers and demographics they choose to target. What people don't get is half the time the actors and the show WANT to go there. Supernatural the NDA's may of been ironclad but the actors disappointment is forever visible.

Now when it comes to 9-1-1 imo I think why they went fuck it lets do it is multiple factors.

This was always a queer show since day 1. People can fight it deny it try and jump through hoops but since day 1 it has centered queer characters regularly. In real life queer people are drawn together whether they have figured it out or not so Buck and Eddie and Hen all actively working on the same rig makes sense to me. Just like Tommy being gay and originally being on the rig makes sense to me. It's always unintentional but it happens. And probably part of the safety for being there is knowing they will always be actively accepted regardless even if they don't know who they are.

The network change. Now being on Fox they clearly had marked the demographics they cared about the most and threw an odd crumb here and there to the younger fans. And I think that's changed. I think with the transition of networks they just want viewership numbers to be high. Which means looking at what all fans want in general. People were never clambering the seats for Buddie because they were two hot men or whatever. It was about how they both had queer coding and that their relationship moments would often parallel the romantic pairings in the show. Further giving more queer coding. When one of the men is having a panic attack and admitting that they are performing when being with women my thought isn't damn he'll meet the right one eventually. It's um buddy are you sure you like women? And with Buck- Eddie's introduction is centered on his pov so the mighty good man song the slow mo that's all Buck's seeing. There was actively nothing about Buck that was straight he's always been open and nurturing.

THEY HAD A CHANCE TO DO THE FUNNIEST THING AND THEY DID. Between the memeability of Buck being canonized Bi in 4 episodes with a different network. The sheer amount of fandoms who went through the M/M queer coded long running shows - they had an audience they could target with good results. People are already starting the show because Buck got to be himself .And they have actively marketed to Buddie fans.. The interviews with the actors. Buck's bi walkthrough being a positive experience with a guest star. Everything about this story is treated with respect because it was never just the fans who wanted this. Poor Oliver wanted Buck to be kissing men for years. AND ALL THE QUEER CHARACTERS DOING FAMILY FUEDS DURING PRIDE MONTH!!!! Iconic marketing actually. We love to see it.

And lastly out of every m/m pairing Buck/Eddie is the easiest imo to sway general audiences. Think about it. Buck and Eddie are basically raising a child together. Eddie wrote a will that said if he dies Buck raises his son. Eddie forces himself to be with women who he doesn't like out of duty. Buck seeks out unattainable women or relationships he know won't work. WHY IS THAT? The story gives a reason to both characters behavior. Why they keep repeating the same patterns over and over. You won't stop the closeminded people and the ones who are biphobic or ignorant but it opens the door for fans who are none of those things. And changes the game of television.

#buddie