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fracturedmotivationwriting · 4 years

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Datura had never felt more exhausted in her life. Even after she pulled that all-nighter after raising Mormo from Hell, she hadn't been this tired. It probably didn't help that she helped perform a banishing spell after being thrown into a tree and cut open hundreds of times by magic. While Ambrose had healed the deeper cuts, her back was still aching and she was almost certainly concussed.

As the adrenaline from the fight, banishing spell, and reanimating Grisha's body with Prometheus I's soul, Datura slumped into Ambrose. Thankfully, the demon was willing to wrap an arm around her and help her walk through the forest towards the cars.

The coven was silent as they walked through the forest. Prom kept glancing over her shoulder at her brother as if to remind herself that he was really there in Grisha's body. Pollux was walking beside her, his hand occasionally grazing hers. Datura didn't understand why he didn't just hold her hand. It was so obvious he wanted to comfort her at this time. Herself and the demon brung up the back. Their coven had been through a lot in one evening. Things were forever changed without Grisha. Even more so now that his body was being occupied by Prometheus' brother. Datura still couldn't get over it. Just as Prom kept looking at the boy, Datura couldn't help her gaze from lingering on him. It felt so weird that someone else was walking around in Grisha's body. As much as she may have hated the warlock, he hadn't deserved to die. And she wasn't sure how he'd feel knowing some other warlock was now walking around in his body.

"What do you say we all come back to our place for some pizza?" Pollux broke the silence, turning back to glance at the trio behind him and Prom. "We'll need to get Prometheus I situated in the apartment, and we could all use some food after the night we've had."

Datura didn't miss the shock on Prometheus II's face. Pollux was referring to her apartment as their apartment once again. While it was unlikely he'd completely move back in right away, it was a step in the right direction. Datura had a feeling that at least for the night, Pollux wasn't going to leave Prom's side. She would need comfort after the events that conspired in the woods. She would need someone to lean on as she worked through the emotions of her dead brother being alive again. The kind of support only Pollux could give her. And even if he wasn't ready to date again, he wouldn't abandon her during this. He loved her too much to let her go through this alone.

"Pizza sounds amazing," Datura moaned, closing her eyes as she pictured the cheesy goodness. She hadn't realized just how starving she was. When was the last time she ate?

"Sounds fantastic," Ambrose added with a chuckle. "Why don't you drive Prom's car, take the siblings with you, and I'll drive Datura and me?"

"I can drive," Datura and Prom both interjected, giving Ambrose offended looks. Their indignation was met with hard stares from both Ambrose and Pollux.

"Both of you suffered injuries," Pollux pointed out.

"Both of you are, rightfully, exhausted," Ambrose added.

"Therefore, neither of you are driving," Pollux finalized.

Prom and Datura both rolled their eyes, grumbling arguments under their breathes. But neither fought the issue. The boys had a point. It was probably much safer for them to drive.

"I can drive!" Prometheus I interjected. Everyone shook their heads no immediately.

"You were barely sixteen when you died. You are not driving," Prom argued with a sigh. "I don't care if you're in a twenty-one-year-old body now. You've been dead for twenty-two years, and therefore haven't driven in twenty-two years. You aren't driving."

Prometheus I opened his mouth to start to argue, but one look at his sister's face and he closed his mouth. He wasn't going to win this fight.

"Okay, so we'll all meet at your place," Datura told Prom and Pollux, following Ambrose towards her car as they broke out of the forest. The trio nodded, Pollux waving as he helped Prom into the passenger side of her car.

*********************

After devouring several large pizzas, the coven found themselves lounging throughout Prom's living room. Prom and Pollux were sitting on the couch. They weren't exactly cuddling, but they were sitting closer together than Datura had seen them in a while. Prometheus II had claimed an armchair on the other side of his sister, but he had looked mildly uncomfortable the entire night. Datura could hardly imagine what he was going through. She hoped that once he and Prom were left alone that maybe they could work things out together.

Datura had taken to sitting on the floor by the coffee table, and Ambrose had joined her. But now that she'd eaten more pizza than her stomach could handle, she was lying across the floor with her head in his lap. He had grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch for her a while ago, and now Datura was finding it increasingly difficult to stay awake. Between her full belly, the warmth of the blanket, and Ambrose's fingers running through her hair, Datura felt like she could fall asleep at any moment.

"I think maybe it's time to get Datura back to her own apartment," Ambrose murmured, glancing down at the sleepy witch. "Unless you want all of us crashing on your floor tonight, Prom."

"No, you should drive her home," Prom chuckled. "We could all use some sleep, and my floor probably isn't the most comfortable."

Datura chuckled, slowly lifting herself from the floor. Ambrose offered her his hand for help, but Datura brushed it off. She couldn't help but feel a little weird about how kind the demon was being to her. It had to be the guilt eating at him. And while Datura was thoroughly grateful he'd saved her life and done the right thing in the end, she wasn't entirely sure if she was ready to forgive him.

Stretching as she stood, Datura offered her friends a small smile. She tucked the blanket she'd been using around Prom's shoulders before following Ambrose towards the door.

"Prom, I'm really glad you came when you did," she spoke up softly, stopping at the doorway to turn to the witch. "And I'm glad you've got your brother back. If you need anything, just call me."

Prom simply offered Datura a small smile. Prom didn't smile much, but Datura knew that this was a sincere one.

"Goodnight, everyone," she called out before closing the door behind her.

As Datura and Ambrose left, Prom shrugged the blanket off her shoulders. Pollux immediately wrapped it back around her, however, earning a confused look from the witch.

"Why do people keep trying to put this blanket around me?"

"Because you're in shock," Pollux deadpanned. "It's meant to comfort you."

"That doesn't mean I need a blanket. It means I need booze," Prom argued, earning a small smile from her ex-boyfriend. He didn't even try to argue as he stood to grab the vodka.

"Do I get some?" Prometheus II spoke up, a hopeful look on his face.

"No!"

**************

Datura sighed as she and Ambrose climbed the steps of her apartment building. She couldn't help but stop in front of her door. She glanced back across the hall at Fiona's apartment door. Well, Fiona's old apartment door. Datura guessed that she wouldn't be living there anytime soon.

Ambrose placed a hand on her shoulder, startling her out of her thoughts.

"You okay?"

Datura forced a smile onto her face as she nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied, opening the door and making her way into her apartment. She scooped down to gather Hecate into her arms. She nuzzled the kitten as she made her way through the apartment towards her kitchen.

"Liar," Ambrose called out, closing and locking the door behind him.

Datura sighed, placing the cat onto the counter. She got to work fixing herself a cup of bedtime tea, refusing to look up at Ambrose as he followed her into the kitchen. Of course, the demon knew when she was lying. She'd just hoped he wouldn't call her out on it. She didn't exactly want to talk about what happened tonight.

"It's okay to not be okay, you know?" Ambrose said softly, placing a hand over hers. He took the kettle and herbs from her. He worked on fixing the tea, motioning for Datura to take a seat at the counter. He rustled through her cabinets, looking for some ingredients to add to help with her healing and the pain she was likely feeling.

"No one would expect you to be okay after what happened tonight," he added.

"I don't want to talk about it," Datura spoke up, wrapping her arms around herself.

"That's okay too," Ambrose assured her, warming up her tea instantly with some magic instead of waiting for the water to boil. He placed the cup down in front of her.

"I'm just saying, you don't have to process this alone. I know I haven't earned your trust or forgiveness yet, and I know it's going to take some time, but I'm here for you, Datura."

"You're right," she whispered, lowering her gaze from his. "I'm not ready to forgive you yet. But... Thank you. For everything tonight. And for being here for me. You're most definitely not a monster."

Ambrose felt his heart clench at her words. He wasn't sure if she was right about that. He'd done some pretty terrible things to her. He had deserved her calling him a monster. He wasn't sure he deserved that insult being taken back. Not yet.

Datura nodded, offering the demon a small, grateful smile. She stood up, her cup of tea in her hands, and started making her way towards her bedroom.

"You're welcome to take Pollux's room or the couch for the night," she spoke up. "I may not be ready to forgive you, but I'm not cruel enough to kick you out after what we've been through."

Ambrose chuckled. It may not have been much, but the fact that Datura was letting him stay (and even teasing him) made him feel a bit better. She was going to give him a chance to make it up to her. She'd forgive him someday. Ambrose just needed to earn it. He could do that.

"Goodnight, Tura."

"Goodnight, Mormo."

#witches and ghosts and demons oh my #the aftermath #mostly datura and ambrose #some prom and pollux #and some prom and prom?

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rxttenfish · 2 years

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DAY 2: Stars

Most merfolk live too deep in the ocean to see the sky, but those that do posit that it's a second ocean, far above our own, and that it twinkles with the bioluminescence of merfolk.

Made for @stitchesofsoulsart’s MiriMay challenge.

#Monster Prom #Monster Camp #miranda vanderbilt #mpmirimay #art #digital art #Monster Prom Reanimated #Monster Prom: Reanimated #all the care guide says is 'biomass'

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rinusagitora · 5 years

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The love, lead, and the undead.

Fandom: Monster Prom

Characters: Vicky Schmidt, Damien LaVey, Brian Yu, Oz, Zoe

Pairings: Brian/Damien/Vicky, Oz/Zoe, platonic Brian/Oz/Zoe

Words: 4.3k

Summary: Canon divergent. Chapter 3/?. WARNINGS— smut, alcoholism, depression, mentions of csa, childhood abuse, medical horror; Brian, Damien, and Vicky get together, but Vicky always has a reason to be nervous.

Brian spent a lot of time with Oz and Zoe. Their company was a pleasant reprieve from the hypermasculine mores of the football team. Besides, they engaged him pretty frequently. It was less like Brian crashed a date and more like three friends went out together and it was completely coincidental that two of them were an item.

Their company was healthy, Brian’s therapist told him weeks ago. He continued to struggle with depression even in undeath. The effort required for him to try anything was enormous. He didn’t watch television, he just stared at it. He slept through class. He winged it during games because he couldn’t remember Couch’s strategy. While Brian’s therapist was impressed with his ability to improvise, Brian needed emotional and mental enrichment. He was ill, possibly disabled, and he couldn’t do it on his own. That was where Oz and Zoe unknowingly came in.

While Brian felt a bit like he was a horse after a salt block stuck in a toy thanks to his therapist’s analogy, they were right. Oz and Zoe were good-natured and excitable, and they kept him grounded, even with their quirks. Who wouldn’t have gone a little looney if they were a timeless abomination? Brian was only in his twenties and he was already a fucking basket case.

Brian’s therapist-voice reminded him that wasn’t very fair to himself.

He appreciated their company, but he hurt too. It was better than the nothingness.

Brian wasn’t necessarily jealous of them. He was jealous of what they had: open and unabashed love. Oz adored Zoe and all her fiction, and Zoe adored Oz and all his crazy conspiracies. Meanwhile, Brian got to switch between selfies he had with Damien and Vicky for his lock screen because he didn’t have a picture of the three of them together. Brian felt pretty awful about his indecision. Vicky slept around in search of love, and Brian wasn’t what she deserved. Damien was active and vibrant, and Brian couldn’t have kept up. They deserved someone affectionate and engaged.

They deserved better. Brian smothered his therapist-voice.

Oz looked over his shoulder. The way he turned all the way around made Brian wonder if Oz had a spine. “Hey, you’re awfully quiet. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes. I was just wondering whether or not I want to go to the bar after this.”

"Oh, I wanna go drinking!” Zoe chirped. “I saw this spring break movie and everyone was drinking until they couldn’t walk straight and it looked like sooo much fun and there were a ton of really cute boys.”

“That’s not how a normal bar works, but I’m down for a drink after this,” Oz replied.

It was Brian’s turn to buy tickets and Zoe took care of the snacks. The movie was likable, at least.

Brian looked through the corner of his eye. Zoe was curled up against Oz. His legs were folded and Zoe had draped one of her appendages over his lap. She lovingly stroked his cheek. They were so stupidly in love, it went straight to his motherfucking chest like a knife. Why couldn’t he have what they had? Why couldn’t he settle on just an average Joe to cuddle with? Instead, he wanted Damien and Vicky, he wanted them so badly he would have riveted himself to their sides. He wanted Vicky’s waist in his arm, he wanted Damien’s lips on his neck.

Brian suddenly braced the bar top with a full glass of bottom-shelf vodka under his nose. He quickly downed the entire glass. The burn came seconds later.

Oz sat next to Brian. “No offense, but you look like shit.”

“I just wanna get hammered right now.”

Oz slapped his hand over the top of Brian’s glass a split second before the bartender refilled his drink. Brian gave him a dirty look.

“No. There’s something on your mind, and we’re gonna stay here, sober, until you spill it.”

“I’m fine,” Brian grumbled.

“I’ll keep it between us. I promise. But you’re my friend, I won’t let you abuse your body like this.”

Brian swallowed a thick lump in his throat. It didn’t do much. “Promise?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Everyone has someone special and I’m left out. You and Zoe were practically made for each other. Me? I’m miserable. I hate myself so much, I can’t choose who I love more: Damien or Vicky. If I was to tell either of them how I feel, I’d hurt them because I’d still be pining for the other, and I won’t ask them to both go out with me. That’s so selfish and perverted. But these feelings are gnawing at my insides the more I try to ignore them. I don’t want to keep feeling this, miserable, lonely, self-loathing.”

“Oh, Brian,” Oz said. “I’m so sorry. I won’t patronize you by telling you it gets better. It will, but it’s more important to me right now that you understand how fantastic you are. You are driven and fun, Brian. I love every minute I spend with you. There are people like me who want to be with you.”

Brian wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I wish I had a doll I could just take out of my closet when I need it and put it away when I’m done.”

“That’s not good enough for you. You deserve company; brilliant, fun companionship like yourself.” Oz rubbed Brian’s back. “Look. You don’t know how Damien and Vicky feel about you. You haven’t spoken to them in weeks, Brian. Maybe they’re okay welcoming you in as an equal partner. I know Damien at least used to be into you. Maybe that hasn’t changed.”

“No, I can’t. I’m a terrible friend. I’m just gonna bum them out.”

“Like you bum me and Zoe out?”

Oz’s argument made Brian pause. “I don’t know.”

“Humor me. Just ask them out, Brian.”

He nodded. “I will. Thank you, Oz. I think I’m gonna head home though. Tell Zoe I said goodnight.”

“I will. Goodnight, Brian.”

—

“Are you sure you want me to go home? My dads won’t mind if I stick around.” Damien asked. He lingered in front of her door as if it stormed outside. His concern touched Vicky, but she needed some time to mellow out from their fight because her wrist hurt from when she hit Damien earlier, and she didn’t want to seem like she wanted to keep Damien from his family.

“I’ll be okay,” Vicky said, “I love you, Damien.”

“Well, I love you too, but,”

“It’s okay, really,” she reassured him. “I need to call Vera anyways. Normally, I wouldn’t mind talking on the phone around you, but crime things might come up, and I’d rather not get you involved in felony conspiracy.”

“Well, okay. I love you. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Damien replied. He hugged her. She held his face, and she kissed him. He kissed her fingers before he left.

With her apartment to herself, Vicky popped in a set of earbuds and dialed Vera’s number.

“How’d it go?” Vera asked.

“We made up. It got a little heated and I hit Damien after I let you go, but he doesn’t seem mad. I just feel awful about the whole thing. I’ve never had an episode like that.”

“What happened anyway?”

“Just… when I was a kid, my dad got into an accident, and I ended up dying. I was reanimated by one of his uncles. He experimented on me for a long time. When he died, his brother took me in. I… was taken advantage of there. And beaten. It got to the point where it was easier to jerk him off because at least he was nice then.”

“Damien was asking about my death. I don’t mind, he just… started prying into the whole thing and I remembered everything and completely imploded.”

“Dear God, I’m going to ream him a new hole tomorrow.”

“There’s no need. I shouldn’t have kept it a secret.“

“He still should’ve been more compassionate. That’s a sensitive topic, especially with your history. He’s so fucking stupid. God, I wish I saw what you did.”

“Well, I hit him hard enough that I think I strained my wrist, so….”

“Fine. Just… red flags, hun. I like Damien and all, but you’re not healthy, and he needs to be aware of that.”

“I know, Vera. Thank you. I need to hit the sack, though. Goodnight.”

“Alright. I’ll see you later.”

—

A day passed since Vicky’s first fight with Damien. They were out for dinner because Vicky forgot to eat breakfast and she gave Scott her lunch since he forgot to eat breakfast too. Vicky’s endless pancakes were half-eaten beside Damien’s fritters.

“So… Brian,” Vicky began, "I don’t suppose you’ve talked to him about us.”

“No. I haven’t seen Brian in weeks, actually.”

“Me neither…. We should talk to him, though. This is something important to you.”

“I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Whatever happens, we’ll work through it.”

Damien smiled. “Thanks.”

“So… how do you wanna go about this, then?” Vicky tried to approach everything with a plan. Few things were done without a detailed outline of her goals and the steps of which to achieve them. If something went awry, she still had an endgame and a clear strategy to tweak. Her technique was necessary when she and Vera held up banks. Adaptability was essential, but winging it was dangerous.

Damien did not share Vicky’s viewpoint.

“Babe, we can literally just ask Brian out on a date.”

“I’m not gonna go up to him and ask if he wants to go out with us. He’s gonna feel like an afterthought. Or a fucking sex toy.”

“You like being a sex toy, though.”

“Because I know you still care about me. I know I’m more than just a sex toy because you’ve defended my honor and my life in the past. I know because we’ve been good friends for months and months. We, the two of us, haven’t established the same trust with Brian. If we just ask him out, he’s gonna think the only thing we want out of him is a threeway. But I like him. Well, I like the idea of him, at least, but that’s another matter entirely. What’s more important is that he should feel like an equal, valued member.”

“… Vicky. I appreciate your sensitivity, it’s one of my favorite things about you, but you realize a date only translates to sex with me and douchebags, right? We’re asking him out on a date. Not a fetish ball.”

“Wait, what now?”

“Fetish balls. They’re like… demonstrations of certain kinks, but it’s a party. Sometimes they’re orgies.”

“What kind of fetishes?”

“All kinds. I’ll get us tickets when the next one rolls around,“ Damien replied.

“No, I digress!” she squawked. “Okay. We can ask him directly, but we have to let him know we’re asking him because we’re emotionally invested in him.”

Damien’s phone blasted a pop song. The caller ID displayed Brian’s name and Damien looked like he just shat himself. “What do I do?” he whispered hurriedly like Brian was within earshot.

“Answer it! Act natural!”

Damien picked up the call. “Top o’ the morning to ya!”

Vicky wanted to throttle Damien. Nonetheless, she pressed her ear to his phone to listen in.

“Hi, Damien,” Brian said. “I know this is a weird thing to ask, especially this late, but…” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“I… I really like you. I like Vicky too. Scott tells me you’re together now and I know how fucking bizarre this is, but I want to go out with the two of you. Dinner, a movie, whatever you guys want. I really just want time with you.”

Vicky’s mouth hung open. Damien looked over to her, helpless, and she furiously nodded.

“I-I have her here with me. We’d love to go, Brian. Let’s see Head Huntress tomorrow night at seven.”

“That works great. I’ll pick you up at Vicky’s.”

“Great, we’ll see you then.”

Before Damien even hung up, he whipped around and squeezed Vicky in a tight hug. “I can’t believe that just fucking happened! I can’t believe we have a fucking date with Brian!” He kissed her fiercely. “You’re amazing, you know. I love you so much.”

Vicky returned Damien’s embrace. “I love you too, and I’m so glad we have this opportunity.” That was all Vicky wanted, to make Damien the happiest man ever, after all.

—

Vicky held up her skirt and held a pair of lace panties against the polka-dotted pair she wore. Normally, she didn’t concern herself with the lingerie she wore, but she still felt guilty about her fight with Damien, and somehow, her guilt and libido were intertwined.

"Wear the lace one,” Damien said. He sat on her bed with his ankles crossed. “But you don’t have to… to fuck us, you know. I mean I’m not complaining if you’re horny, I’m always down for a blowjob, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to. Especially since everything kinda just crashed down the other day.”

"It’s more complicated than that.” She slipped off her panties. “I like having sex. I like the feeling, and I like the attention I get from it. But sometimes I’m in so much pain, I use it to distract myself, or make myself feel better. It’s situational.”

“Is this what you’re doing now?”

Yes. “No. Brian’s just hot and I want him to stuff his face in my pussy when he sees my underwear,” she lied.

“I know they make me want to stuff my face in your pussy.” Damien held her from behind and kissed her neck. “Are we almost ready to go?”

“I thought Brian was picking us up.”

“He’s outside.”

“And you waited this long to tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” Damien said. He pulled her to the curb where Brian idled his pickup truck. That time of year, it was dark, and his yellow headlights were oddly haunting. Vicky climbed into the back and she felt woefully overdressed. Damien and Brian both wore jeans and tees.

She felt… dirty, like she was about to explain her pricing to him.

"Hey, there,” Brian said. “How’s it going?”

“I’m having a good time,” Damien said. Vicky nodded, suddenly breathless. What the hell made her so anxious out of the blue?

They arrived at the movie theatre. Tickets and concessions were the kind of blur where Vicky smelled popcorn, blinked, and then they were ten minutes into the movie. Damien held her hand. His thumb stroked her knuckles. It made her want to cry. She was such a dramatic, selfish toddler. The second Damien hadn’t paid her attention, she combusted because she was a hypocritical brat. She fucked whoever she wanted, but she couldn’t take what she dished, and her loved ones had to pay the price.

When the movie ended, Damien stretched in the lobby. “I need to take a leak. Why don’t we go bar hopping once we’re done here?”

“I could go for a drink,” Brian replied. “See you in a second.”

Vicky mulled around next to Brian. He stood with his hands tucked in his pockets. Generally, he was stoic, it was hard to get a read on him, if at all possible.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

“What? No,” Vicky said. “I’m sorry. I think I’m coming down with a head cold.”

Brian combed back his hair. “I didn’t mean to drop off the planet. I just felt pretty bad about this whole thing. I didn’t want to make you guys feel like you were playing second fiddle or something. I still don’t want that.”

She smiled. "I know.” She ought to be honest with Brian, nonetheless. “I’m just… sick, emotionally. I want Damien to be happy, but I can’t help feeling like a third wheel, in a whorish way.” She held herself. “Some things happened to me years ago. I got into a fight about it with Damien the other day and… I’m still coming down, I guess.”

“I understand. I’m the same way. Oz had to twist my arm to get me to call you guys. I was miserable before I died, and I’m still struggling now.” Brian held her fingers like she was thin ceramic. “I want to burden your pain with you, though.”

Vicky looked him square in the eye. “I was sexually abused and experimented on when I was a kid. I have nightmares. I bury my feelings with sex. Sometimes, when I think back on it, I completely shut down. Just the other day, Damien and Vera had to deal with that. I couldn’t remember who Damien was. I thought my abuser was still a part of my life. Do you want to deal with that? Me dissociating? Screaming about how awful you are?”

“When I was a kid, I watched my mom overdose. I was shipped foster home to foster home until I ran away when I was sixteen. I have nightmares from when I was hitchhiking. I have scars. I’ve only been able to look at them for a couple of months without wanting to claw my eyeballs out. I overdosed and rot away in a ditch until I was reanimated by this bastard wizard who used me as a guinea pig. I was turned inside out a couple of times. Do you wanna deal with me tossing and turning in the middle of the night because I’m having nightmares?”

Vicky squeezed his hands. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to minimize your pain, but I’m so glad you’re with us now.” They were Brian’s family. Anything which dared harm him had better prepared to meet her assault rifles.

“I’m glad I’m with you,” he said. He pulled Vicky into a hug. She held his waist, and she felt better. Like there was no second fiddle. Like she wasn’t a novelty whore. “You two make me want to feel things again. I bury everything with alcohol, but I don’t think I’d mind cutting back if you guys were behind me.“

She smiled. “Thank you.”

Damien returned from the bathroom. “We need to hurry to the bar! My pee isn’t opaque.”

“Too much information,” Vicky groaned. She wasn’t opposed to a drink, however. Maybe she’d get some crazy drunk sex in the bathroom.

—

Brian and Vicky hauled Damien inside with his arms around their shoulders. Vicky was less than sober herself, but at least she cared to walk. Damien wanted to kiss her ear instead.

“This way to my bedroom,” she told Brian.

They dropped Damien onto her bed. She pried off his shoes before he pulled her on top of him. “Vicky wore sexy underwear and we let it go to waste, Brian,” he said. Vicky giggled as he reached under her shirt.

“C’mon, less horny, more sleepy,” Brian said.

“Are you really drunk enough that you can’t get wood?” Damien groaned. “Buuuullshiiiiiiit, I had like… ten times what you did and I’ve been rockin’ it for an hour.”

“I can get it up just fine, I’m just not comfortable fucking someone so drunk they can’t walk.”

“I can walk, I just didn’t want to. She’s so soooo pretty.”

Vicky held Damien up as Brian removed his jacket. When they finally got it off, Damien fell, and he reached up to unbutton Brian’s pants. “C'mon, let’s have some fun, baby.”

“No,” Brian swat Damien away, albeit unsuccessfully since Damien pried him out of his boxers and kissed the underside of his cock. Brian shuddered. “You’re impossible,“ he grunted.

Damien licked and licked. Vicky watched with rapt attention: the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, the way Brian reluctantly caved in and pulled up his shirt for Damien. Damien was always so violent, so commandeering, it was unexpected to see him fawn over anything phallic, let alone an actual phallus. The penis was always something Vicky groveled to. She enjoyed it, but on the other hand, she loathed the pain it caused her and the power it had over her.

The scene awoke something in Vicky.

Brian held Damien’s head and slipped his cock into his throat. It bulged against his trachea. Vicky held his neck with one hand and pumped his cock with the other. Damien gagged, but he seemed to like it since he played with her through her clothes.

Damien popped Brian’s cock out of his mouth. "Fuck,” he gasped. Vicky worried for a second until he pumped Brian with his fist and licked the precum off the head. “Let’s get naked real quick.” Their clothes were quickly discarded. When they finished, Damien pushed Vicky onto the pillows and positioned her so his head was between her legs and his ass was groin-level with Brian. He looked back at Brian. “C'mon, I’ve wanted this forever, now.”

Brian’s eyes bugged out of his head. Vicky laughed. She rummaged through her nightstand, and then she tossed Brian condoms and lube. Damien stripped her panties as Brian applied lube to himself and Damien.

Brian pressed himself into Damien. They groaned in unison. Damien’s fingers dug into her hips, he rested his forehead against her bladder.

“Damien, are you alright?” Vicky asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Brian, you’re fucking enormous.”

Vicky almost wanted to give Damien a thumbs up. Anal sex wasn’t easy, especially if it was something large packed in there.

Nonetheless, Damien told Brian to go on. He turned his face back into Vicky’s crotch, and before he dove in, he smiled and licked his lips, as if he starved for her pussy even a day without it. It filled Vicky’s gut with heat again. Damien latched onto her clitoris, and he was furious as Brian was as he thrust into his pelvis. She grabbed his horn and smiled at Brian. Surely, it was an unbelievable visage, the objects of his infatuation intertwined while he fucked them. Brian whimpered, he grabbed Damien by the base of his tail, and Vicky realized Damien watched her, with his golden, fluorescent eyes, and his brows knit together. He blinked asynchronously as if Brian fucked him so hard he malfunctioned.

“Get in there,” she told Damien. He groaned as she used his horn as a handle to rub him against her groin. He pumped his cock with one hand as he used to other to hold her open for his mouth. He plunged his tongue into her, she hissed with elation as he rubbed the roof of her cavern.

Damien choked. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, he tremored. She felt his warm cum hit the back of her legs. Brian shortened and quickened his hip thrusts to milk every ounce of delight out of Damien.

Finally, Brian pulled out, discarded his condom, and kissed Damien’s neck before he laid him aside and crawled towards Vicky on his knees.

He looked hungry, she thought. Her breath picked up with anticipation.

“Let’s get you taken care of,” he said as he pulled her legs over his shoulders. She wordlessly stared into his eyes.

Brian awkwardly positioned himself and then pushed inside of her. She moaned. His cock curved up, it reminded Vicky of a banana, and with every thrust, it rubbed all the right places. She melted like Damien did. Her eyes rolled back, she filled the bedroom with her noisy rapture. Damien, once he caught his breath, held her by her neck and kissed her. Normally, Vicky wasn’t one for the taste of her own cum, but the entire situation overwhelmed her senses. Everything made her groan and moisten.

“Please,” she quietly begged Brian, “fuck me harder.”

Brian pushed Damien out of the way. He clutched her head with their bodies flush and fucked her hard enough the bedframe creaked like music. Her nails dug into his back. His teeth sunk into her neck. Vicky was in Heaven, so close to the edge of Paradise.

She climaxed quickly. Brian filled her like a hose, and her legs trembled uncontrollably.

Brian fell onto her. He kissed her bolts. “Stay for a second,” she told him as her chest heaved. Disobediently, he pulled out, and his cum oozed onto her sheets. “Dammit.”

“Sorry,” Brian said. He grabbed the tissues on her nightstand and wiped the excess of cum off her. She would have rather he left it, but her sheets must have appreciated his cleanliness. “I meant to come on you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t have internal reproductive organs, so I can’t get pregnant.”

“Well, I shoot blanks, so I’m less concerned about pregnancy and more concerned about smearing cum everywhere,” Brian replied.

“Well, thank you,” she said.

Brian rolled over and sighed pleasantly. Damien kissed them both. “You guys are amazing,” he said. Both Brian and Damien’s arms were thrown across Vicky’s waist. It wasn’t claustrophobic. She felt adored. Sated. She wished she had more mouths to kiss her boyfriends with.

“Y’know, my parents want to meet you guys,” Damien said.

Was Vicky not pinned by a set of heavy arms, she would have jumped out of bed in surprise. It felt like a hot ball of lead was punted into her belly. It made her throat swell.

“Since when?” Brian asked.

“My dad Stan texted me when we were in the movie. He’s wondering if tomorrow works for you guys to come down to Hell.”

“Sure,” Brian said.

“Me too,” Vicky agreed.

Nonetheless, Vicky was nervous…. The kings of Hell were sure to look down on a lowly whore and robber like herself. She almost wanted to beg Damien to reconsider. She knew she wasn’t good enough for a prince with a future more enormous than anything she was destined for. Damien’s fathers were sure to despise her. They were sure to boot her to the curb.

But Brian and Damien promised to shoulder the hard times with her. She convinced herself, well after her boyfriends drifted off to sleep, that she would wait to see how it turned out.

#monster prom #vicky schmidt #brian yu #damien lavey #oz monster prom #zoe monster prom #brian/damien/vicky #oz/zoe #platonic brian/oz/zoe

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whiskehorange · 5 years

Note

thank you so much!! if you could make the list i’d greatly appreciate it really 🥺🖤

Well, let’s get this show on the road

-The Night Brings Charlie

-The Prowler

-Candyman

-Psycho

-Chucky

-Sleepaway Camp

-The Town that Dreaded Sundown

-Rosemary’s Baby

-Carrie

-3 From Hell

-It

-Exorcist

-Poltergeist

-Wishmaster

-The Bay

-Pumpkinhead

-Leprechaun

-The Ring/The Grudge

-Cabin in the Woods

-Victor Crowley/ Hatchet

-Motel Hell

-Creature from the Black Lagoon

-Sinister

-Creep

-Puppet Master

-The Burning

-Rocky Horror Picture Show

-The Thing

-The Evil Dead

-The Fly

-The Fog

-The Howling

-Pet Sematary

-Scanners

-Prom Night

-Nightbreed

-Minutes to Midnight

-Swamp Thing

-The Orphan

-Valentine

-Don't Breathe

-The Strangers

-American Psycho

-Wrong Turn

-The Redwood Massacre

-The Legend of Halloween Jack

-Alien

-Predator

-Hellfest

-The Dark Night of the Scarecrow

-Boogeyman

-House on Haunted Hill

-The Hills Run Red

-Reanimator

-Lords of Salem

-Wrong Turn

-Crepitus

-Hatchet

-All Hollows Eve

-Digging Up the Mallow

-The Lost Boys

-Monster Party

-Ice Cream Man

-Misery

-Mind Ripper

-Strange Magic

-Home Sweet Home

-Drag Me Too Hell

-Thirteen Ghosts

-Cannibal Holocaust

-Monster Man

-The Rats

-Bats

-Charlie’s Farm

-Constantine

And those are sort of the movies I plan on watching/finishing, some I’ve even already seen but plan on rewatching, like Creep and others. I add to that list a lot and there are a TON of movies not on there I still plan on watching. As for our classics, you already know

Halloween

Hellraiser

Friday the 13th

Nightmare on Elm Street

Killer Klowns from Outer Space

My Bloody Valentine

Saw

Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Scream

Jeepers Creepers

Hannibal/ Silence Of the Lambs/ Red Dragon/ Hannibal Rising

House of 1,000 Corpses/ Devil’s Rejects/ 3 From Hell

The Boy

House of Wax

2001 Maniacs

Silent Hill

The Shining

Psycho

Terrifier

31 (Rob Zombie)

Hush

He’s Out There (Not the best Netflix movie but... the guy is mmm)

The Hills Have Eyes

Behind The Mask: The Rise and Fall of Leslie Vernon

The Collector (don’t bother with the 2nd movie)

Carrie

Alien

Predator

Repo! The Genetic Opera

Signs (I highly recommend this movie. It’s one of my all time favorite movies EVER)

No Country for Old Men

Gerald’s Game

The Sixth Sense

Se7en

And many many more

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scifigeneration · 4 years

Text

Zombie flu: How the 1919 influenza pandemic fueled the rise of the living dead

by Elizabeth Outka

Did mass graves in the influenza pandemic help give rise to the living dead? Tithi Luadthong/Shutterstock.com

Zombies have lurched to the center of Halloween culture, with costumes proliferating as fast as the monsters themselves. This year, you can dress as a zombie prom queen, a zombie doctor – even a zombie rabbit or banana. The rise of the living dead, though, has a surprising link to another recurring October visitor: the influenza virus.

One hundred years ago, 1919 saw the end of one of the worst plagues in human history: the deadly 1918-1919 influenza pandemic. The pandemic was a true horror show, with 50-100 million people dying and millions more infected. The United States alone lost more people in the pandemic than it lost in all the 20th- and 21st-century wars, combined.

This was no ordinary flu virus: It killed young adults in high numbers, and it came with grisly side effects, like massive bleeding from the nose, mouth and ears. It could damage the nervous and respiratory systems and could cause violent derangement, delirium and – in its aftermath – profound lethargy and suicidal depression.

The pandemic turned communities into haunted landscapes. Coffins ran out as bodies piled up everywhere. Stores, theaters and schools were closed, and wagons were pulled through the streets to collect corpses. Funerals were often impossible to organize, and across the country, mass graves were dug to accommodate the many dead.

A literature professor, I have written about the flu’s surprising connection to zombies, spiritualism and poems like T. S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land” in my new book, “Viral Modernism: The Influenza Pandemic and Interwar Literature.”

The zombie connection

How did the influenza pandemic link to the appearance of zombies? After all, the term “zombie” arrived in the United States largely through William Seabrook’s 1929 book “The Magic Island.” Seabrook wrote, often in starkly racist terms, of various ceremonies, traditions and stories he had gathered in Haiti. He included an account of the zombie figure, which he described as a resurrected corpse raised from the dead by a master figure and forced to do enslaved labor. Depictions of such zombies soon found their way into popular movies like “White Zombie” (1932) or “Ouanga” (1936).

A different strain of zombie-like creatures, however, had emerged earlier in the work of horror writer H.P. Lovecraft. These zombies anticipate the ones George Romero would later depict in films like “Night of the Living Dead”: bloody, lurching, disheveled corpses intent on infecting the living and hungry for human flesh. A perfect incubator for these “viral zombies” were the grisly experiences the influenza pandemic brought to every community.

Lovecraft’s world of corpses

Seminarians from St. Charles Borromeo of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia dig a mass grave at Holy Cross Cemetery sometime during Oct. 21-24, 1919, for victims of the flu pandemic. The photographer wrote in his journal that steam shovels eventually had to be utilized, presumably because of the vast number of bodies. Catholic Historical Research Center of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, CC BY-SA

In his hometown of Providence, Rhode Island, Lovecraft was surrounded by the pandemic’s ghastly atmosphere. As one local witness remembered, “all around me people were dying… . [and] funeral directors worked with fear… . Many graves were fashioned by long trenches, bodies were placed side by side”; the pandemic, the witness laments, was “leaving in its wake countless dead, and the living stunned at their loss” (letter by Russell Booth; Collier Archives, Imperial War Museum, London).

Lovecraft channeled this climate into his stories of the period – producing corpse-filled tales with infectious atmospheres from which sprang lurching, flesh-eating invaders who left bloody corpses in their wake.

In his story “Herbert West: Reanimator,” for example, Lovecraft creates a ghoulish doctor intent on reanimating newly dead corpses. A pandemic arrives that offers him fresh specimens – and that echoes the flu scenes of mass graves, overworked doctors and piles of bodies. When the head doctor of the hospital dies in the outbreak, Dr. West reanimates him, producing a proto-zombie figure that escapes to wreak havoc on the town. The living dead doctor lurches from house to house, ravaging bodies and spreading destruction, a monstrous, visible version of what the flu virus had done worldwide.

Infection, prejudice and the viral zombie

Nurses treat flu patients at Walter Reed Hospital during the height of the 1918-1919 flu pandemic. Everett Historical/Shutterstock.com

In other episodes and stories, Lovecraft’s proto-zombies suggest an additional thread of prejudice that runs through the zombie tradition, one fueled by widespread fears of contagion during the pandemic.

Even before the outbreak, Lovecraft believed that foreign hordes were infecting the Aryan race generally, weakening the bloodlines. These xenophobic anxieties weave their way into his stories, as contagion and pandemic-soaked atmospheres blend into racist fears of immigrants and nonwhite invaders. Indeed, many of his stories are unwitting templates for how prejudicial fears may be problematically amplified at moments of crisis. Such fears are evoked and often critiqued in later depictions of viral zombie hordes, such as the infectious monsters of Romero’s “Night of the Living Dead” and the film’s subtle commentary on race, when the white police force mistakes the main African American character for a viral zombie.

Our fears as monsters

Lovecraft’s proto-zombies also provided a strange compensation for some of the pandemic’s worst memories. Like the flu virus, these monsters consumed the flesh of the living, spread blood and violence, and acted without cause or explanation. Lovecraft assures his readers that these monsters are far worse than anything they saw in World War I or in the pandemic – the defining tragedies of the era. Unlike the virus, though, these monsters could be seen, stopped, killed – and reburied. Every decade seems to need its own zombie, and Lovecraft offered his readers a version that spoke deeply to the anxieties of his moment.

While you may not be prepared for a zombie apocalypse this October, you can still prepare for the coming flu season. Along with your zombie banana costume, be sure to get your flu shot.

About The Author:

Elizabeth Outka is an Associate Professor of English Literature at the University of Richmond

This article is republished from our content partners over at The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.

#science fiction and fantasy #Halloween #Influenza #zombies

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dimples-of-discontent · 5 years

Text

Love, Necromancy, Cocks, and the Reanimated Corpse of Compulsory Heterosexuality: Watching Notes for 14x06

Oh my goodness this episode was pure fucking delight!! Is there a member of the NextGen writers’ room who isn’t binging wall-to-wall fanfic as inspiration? I mean, this even began as a library AU for crying out loud! I love these people and I love what they’re doing and they managed to do something I thought was impossible...not mind that this is our third episode in a row without Cas. We even got a nice lil’ shoutout to meta writers as Sam illustrated for Charlie why she was like the flyman and she gently insisted that, although Sam did have a point, she was not, to be clear, actually the same as flyman. (This will not stop me from proceeding with my flyman-type readings though. But thanks, Yockey!)

So obviously this was an episode about love and....love as we could tell from the tagline, “the things we do for love” and the title, “Optimism.” I’m sorry to say, though, that I ended up feeling that both those things were a setup for some very dark times indeed that are a-comin’! *rocks chair* *sips moonshine* We just learned from the PR that 14x08 will be an episode in which Cas makes an “enormous sacrifice.” And, well, there are only a few options for that at this point. I’ll talk more about it in a sec, but I think “the things we do for love” is pretty clear foreshadowing of not precisely what he’ll do but why he’ll do it.

So anyway, here are some bullet-point-type rambles about things I noticed immediately post-episode. If I have time I might get to expand on them but, the way my time has been lately, it’s a lot more likely that they’ll stay rambly and informal. Still, feel free to pick up and toss around/expand on whatever appeals!

Necromancers - it’s not real love if it’s dead: I reblogged the lovely @mittensmorgul already being smart as usual about the connection between this and last season’s Yockey treat “Various and Sundry Villains” but I thought of it the moment I saw Harper because she looked so very much like the Plum sisters--you remember, the codependent ladies who put a love spell on Dean to steal a book and then tried to raise their mom from the dead only to have it lead to their demise at each other’s hands. Harper mentions that she’s from a long line of necromancers and, well, seems pretty plausible to me. Where the Plum sisters brought back their mom, though, Harper is looking to bring back her man (or men, if Jack is her next target) to stay with her forever.

Just as the Plum sisters showed an unhealthy model of parent-child and sibling-sibling relationships that was allegorically appropriate to the Winchesters, Harper shows an unhealthy model of what a relationship is or could be. The Plums were unwilling to let their dead mother (or each other) go, clinging with slavish devotion to the idea of getting her, and their normal life, back. Instead of having real relationships, they cast love spells and sacrificed men (read: any possibility of a non-familial partner) to sustain it. Harper may have had a good enough relationship with Vance to start, who knows?, but she was unwilling to let him go in much the same way the Plums couldn’t let their mother die. He wanted to leave the town that she was tied to because of her family and her family business (necromancy). And instead of adhering to the idea that if you love something you should let it go she killed him and brought him back to participate in a kind of love that literally fed on other people to keep it going. Harper kept him against his will, forcing him to fit into her life in a way that required sacrificing innocent lives and kept her from being able to move on.

In both cases? It’s not love if it’s dead. Let it go.

My boyfriend’s back and you’re gonna be in trouble: Anyone else remember that uber-terrible 90s movie where a girl’s boyfriend came back as a zombie? No? I didn’t see it, but I recall seeing the preview in a theater and that it had a scene where they were making out and his ear fell off and it HORRIFIED me since I’d barely even heard of making out at that point. Anyway, I bet you anything Steve Yockey saw that movie which was called “my boyfriend’s back.” Harper has too many interested men, actually, which is the source of her “terrible luck” and being “perpetually single.” So, just to be clear, someone who says she’s “perpetually single” (and ready to mingle?) and has “terrible luck” with relationships is actually in a secret long-term relationship with her first love who she killed (all relationships have their issues!) and brought back from the dead as a supernatural creature who is terribly possessive of her. She wasn’t just single with terrible luck she actually had her boyfriend back!

Now, it’s not a 1-to-1 Destiel parallel and I’m not saying it is. This isn’t a flyman situation. But it’s suggestive of it anyway because all Harper’s “bad luck” with romance actually has a pretty simple explanation. She’s already in a relationship. So, uh, Dean you having some trouble there? Not finding any relationships that will stick? People you show affection for maybe keep dying? Try this explanation on for size.

Like a romance novel: Again, I’m not suggesting this is all 1-to-1. But following up on these other two points I’d like to point out how Harper and Vance are stereotypical of a certain kind of “first love”. They met in high school. He was a football player she was the prom queen everything was going great. Then he wanted to leave and expand their lives and she wanted to keep everything the same. So she killed him. To keep everything the same. To combat change and the unfamiliar. So that instead what she got was the familiar, reanimated and always consuming everyone around her, living when it manifestly shouldn’t. They’re a romance novel gone wrong. A heterosexual romance novel gone wrong. Because Vance, “Archie,” is a certain kind of all-American guy.

And if you think there wasn’t some kind of symbolic resonance to the reanimated corpse of All-American masculinity beating Dean up after he got clobbered with a shelf full or romance novels, well, think again. And then Vance just...decided Dean wasn’t a threat. He just walks off and leaves him and we’re left going ??? until we learn that he’s after Jack and that, because he sees Jack as a more viable romantic threat than Dean, he needs to pursue him. Dean was judged by the specter of toxic masculinity (or compulsory heterosexuality) and found wanting. That’s kind of big, guys.

Dick’s diner (love them, uh, Roosters): You guys, the monster knew that even sweet lil’ cinnamon roll Jack is more heterosexual than Dean is right now. Jack’s the one asking (repeatedly) about sex and Dean’s the one (repeatedly) not talking about it. He’s all business with the waitress, even when she tells Jack that “sometimes you just have the sex,” and even though he’s spouting a lot of wisdom about love (as someone who has obviously read one billion romance novels for “research purposes”) he’s not saying anything about what women want in the bedroom (or wherever else they want it). Even the diner, canonically the site of all Dean’s hookups with a no-bullshit waitress who explicitly mentions sex is filled with cocks. Just...cocks everywhere. And, yeah, Dean’s going to touch some of those cocks. He can’t really help it when they’re just everywhere. And he’s NOT going to make any time for a classic diner hookup. He’s just...gonna keep staring at those cocks. (I know they are about Richard Speight directing--and certainly the diner name is a reference to that--but there is no way it’s not also about cocks. And also I make no apologies for my sense of humor here. Cocks are funny and they’ll always be funny. The end.)

Let’s give ‘em something to talk about....how about love? Whew! You know who wants to talk about love? Dean Winchester. Kudos to Jensen because I felt that any conversation that had the L-word going on was heavy with Things Unsaid. Dean distracting Zombie Archie by trying to talk to him about what love really is but stopping short just after saying “that’s not what love is...c’mon, think about it” but before saying what it was instead? Dean saying that people do a lot crazier things for love (see my long crack rant about just what those kind of things might be DEAN)? I was legitimately kind of prepared for Jack to ask Dean a question about love and Dean to give a revealing answer that allowed Jack to serve as a GA proxy and go “Holy shit! You love Castiel!”.

But hey, next week they’re apparently going to road trip to Vegas and Jack is going to drive the Impala (BEFORE CAS??? BLASPHEMY!!) so maybe there’s still going to be some time to callback to Sam’s Vegas wedding and how you know you want to marry someone.

My apologies to Sam and Charlie, whose plotline I did very much enjoy, but I’ve tired myself out. This was pure joy and I feel happy and well fed and, well, optimistic...which can only mean dark times to come because nothing good ever happens on SPN. Take care, lovelies, and stay away from necromancy!

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beanplague-moved · 6 years

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absolute social detriment

i wrote some mindless cute fic to make up for a bad day. monster prom is embarrassingly taking up a lot of my headspace at the moment.

writing commissions | art commissions | ao3 | donations.

Brian does a bit of art in his free time. Nothing spectacular—his art style needs some work, and he always fucks up the eyes—but you know, it’s something. Mostly just sketches to pass the time in class, when he actually bothers to go.

Currently, he’s doing his best to replicate this one image that’s been present in his mind for the last couple hours. He’s actually pretty good at this—translating ideas onto paper, that is. He’s got a good grasp on anatomy, though he does wish he could make it a little more stylistic. His poses feel too stiff sometimes.

Polly says, “Is that Damien?” and Brian closes his sketchbook immediately.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Brian, his tone deadpan. Polly is floating beside him, peering over his shoulder. “You can leave now. We’re in class.” This is a bullshit deflection, mainly because their teacher could not give less of a shit what they were doing. Polly glances at the now-closed sketchbook.

“He’s your boyfriend, you know. You don’t have to pretend not to like him or whatever,” she says. Brian blinks.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t draw. Go away,” he says. Polly’s eyebrows arch, and then she smiles.

“I’ll have you know that once a club announced it was at capacity and I physically possessed a bouncer in order to get in, and spent the whole night body hopping,” she says, “Closing things off only makes me more determined, Brian,” and then she leaves, floating back to her seat.

Brian puts his sketchbook in his backpack and makes a mental note to avoid drawing in class.

Brian goes to gym and tells the coach that he’s dead (which is true) and sits out the dodgeball round for the day. He instead spends the time drawing his boyfriend playing dodgeball and gaining creativity stats.

Liam, who has also used his undead state as an excuse not to play dodgeball, leans over to see Brian’s sketchbook. “You’ve drawn him to be a lot more aesthetically pleasing than I would have,” says Liam, glancing between the sketchbook page and the real-life reference, who is baring his teeth and threatening to punch his own team members in the face. “I didn’t know that you draw.”

Brian closes his sketchbook, “I don’t and never have,” he blatantly lies, trying his best to cut away from the conversation. Liam doesn’t get the hint.

“Ah, I see,” says Liam, “This is an attempt to remain cool and collected in the eyes of a social superior. Well, there’s no need, Brian. Social hierarchies are far too cliche, anyway.”

Brian says, “I honestly don’t understand any word that has ever come out of your mouth,” because it’s the truth, and he’s a very honest person. Liam nods.

“A very convincing persona. I’ll give you points for dedication, at least,” he says, and it’s at this point that Brian kind of just tunes him out and watches the game. At one point he almost reopens his sketchbook, but in the corner of his eyes he sees Liam glancing at it and he stops himself.

It’s not even that he’s embarrassed of the art or anything—or, well, he is. It’s objectively embarrassing. Brian, who is known for not caring, spends his time doodling his boyfriend in candid poses? That’s absolute social detriment right there. He doesn’t even know how he would prepare for such a scenario wherein someone noticed. What if someone pointed out how careful the linework was? What if someone called him cute? What if Damien saw? There are just too many variables.

And yeah, technically Brian is dating Damien already, and it isn’t particularly weird for him to idealize his boyfriend or draw him, but come on. A man is entitled to his particular complex, all right? Not every irrational argument or insecurity needs to be scrutinized for how much sense it makes.

Brian leaves gym class having lost several points contributing to his boldness stat. That’s just how it is sometimes.

At lunch Brian enjoys the very reliable practice of not eating anything (in this cafeteria? You’d be better off eating out of the garbage, which is legitimately what some students have been doing. It’s absolutely hilarious and also very indicative of the school’s quality of life) and finally finishing his damn drawing without a dating sim character breathing down his neck.

“Is that Damien?” asks Miranda, and does she have to be so loud? Well practiced in this particular method of avoidance, Brian shuts his sketchbook immediately. “That’s so romantic!”

Oh God. “Miranda, I will pay you at least two money to leave—” he’s cut off before he can finish his offer and/or threat of bribery.

“You saw them, right? The drawings?” asks Polly, who actually might be the devil. It’s a distinct possibility. She hangs out with Damien an awful lot for someone who isn’t the devil. Of course, you could say the same for Brian or literally anyone else in their circle of friends, but still. “I think it’s adorable!”

This. This is the nightmare scenario. Holy shit.

Brian is in the middle of considering his plan of action, and he narrows it down to two distinct choices. Either he can toss his own sketchbook into the garbage at such an angle where it constitutes as a rather impressive slam dunk and thus has a distinct chance of impressing his peers, or he can get up and leave and continue his drawing in the bathroom.

He isn’t so keen on the possibility of losing his sketchbook, and his boldness stat isn’t particularly high. He ends up taking the second option, wordlessly walking out of the situation like the corpse he is. He really is living up to his undead heritage.

Brian is almost done with his drawing, which is actually pretty impressive, considering he’s illustrating this in a bathroom. It’s a horrid environment for art. It smells weird and he’s pretty sure Polly does drugs in here, but you take what you can get.

Damien says, “You fuckin’ draw?” and Brian is considering that, perhaps, he has angered some minor god. It happens all the time, and it would certainly check out if he had. “What are you doing in the bathroom, dude? There’s another recess rave so I figured we could set something or someone on fire over there, if you’re up for it.”

Brian is kind of wordless at the moment, because all of his nightmare scenarios are playing in his head at once, and truly he is trying not to rehearse his own detriment in his head.

He says, “Oh, uh, yeah. Arson and manslaughter sound great about now,” and he attempts to close his sketchbook. He sees Damien narrow his eyes.

“Can I see what you were drawing?”

Hm. No. “Well, you see,” says Brian, “I would normally show you my sketchbook right now, but I’m about to throw it in the garbage, and—”

“No, really, I’m actually curious,” says Damien, with as much sincerity as he can possibly produce, “I like to see stuff you’re into, you know?” Oh, Brian is definitely into the things in his sketchbook, which is about 70% Damien. Brian hesitates.

“Sure,” he decides, handing the sketchbook over to Damien. He’s had a good, long, reanimated life. Brian has already dealt with a physical death, what’s a social one to boot?

He watches as Damien opens the sketchbook and pages through it, realization passing over him as relatively innocuous drawings of trees and tables and shit gradually become portraits of his own face. It’s a true facial journey, which eventually settles on an expression that could be Damien blushing if he wasn’t already a solid red demon who’s blush was indistinguishable from his actual hue.

Damien is about to push the brink of his charm stat and create some bullshit excuse, “You see—”

“So, like,” Damien pauses, “Do you ever do, fuck, I dunno, self portraits, or, uh. You know, drawings of us together or something?” and it’s a very genuinely sweet moment that Brian is having in this dumpster fire of a school bathroom.

“Uh, yeah, if you flip it to the next page,” Brian says, and they have a very nice, very cute conversation that they will describe as “kickass” and “definitely not cute” to close associates. Damien asks Brian to draw him taller, which is a valid comment, but Damien already gets to be tall in real life so no.

#monster prom #brian (monster prom)#damien lavey #my writes

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royalreef · 6 years

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(( So, I caved and made a Monster Prom OC to roleplay with. They’re going on a sideblog to this account, but I’m looking forward to playing with them! Like this post if you’d be interested in a reanimated chimerical creation made of floating fossils and wispy black magic to roleplay with!

#Shore leave || OOC post

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electrifyingstitches · 6 years

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MEET THE MUSE .

BASICS !

NAME . “Vicky Stitches!” NICKNAME(S) . “Well we have ”V“, ”Vik“, ”Blue“, ”Stitches“, ”Bolts“ and ”Crazy!“ ALIAS(ES) . “The electric girl~” AGE . “23~ I think… I don’t remember when I was created! Oops~” BIRTHDATE . "Uhhhh.... someday? Let’s say the 28th of August cause I don’t remember!” BIRTHPLACE . "I don’t remember when I was born as a human... I was brought back to life in Germany tho!” GENDER . "I’m a girl!” ORIENTATION . "Panromantic!” OCCUPATION . "I go to school and clean my creator castle!” SOCIOECONOMIC STATUS . "I work for my creator and they are rich! Dunno what that makes me...” CURRENT RESIDENCE . "I live in the castle on top of the hill... my master likes dramatic scenaries... or maybe it’s because people say they are a mad scientist”

FAMILY !

PARENTS . "Just my master, who is also my creator. I guess that makes them my family?” UPBRINGING . "Master and I didn’t always get along. They used to hit me and made me do stuff I didn’t want to do, but at least it’s not so bad anymore. It doesn’t hurt much now when they do those things!” BIRTH ORDER . “I was the first and only successful reanimation!” SIBLINGS . "None. Master tried many times to make me some brothers and sisters but they always fail” PETS . "I used to have a cockroach! But one day it disappeared”

PERSONAL !

MORAL ALIGNMENT . lawful good / neutral good / chaotic good / lawful neutral / true neutral / chaotic neutral / lawful evil / neutral evil / chaotic evil . RELIGION . "I don’t have one~ Master said that religion is all a bunch of poop and that science is absolute” PHILOSOPHY . cynicism / idealism / realism / apathy . SINS . greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath . VIRTUES . chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice . SECRETS . "Master is the only one that keeps me alive... that’s why I am too scared to stand up to them” STRENGTHS . "I am really durable and inmune to electricity! Also it’s really hard to kill me unless you know how to!” WEAKNESSES . "My stitches come off easily and it is really painful if I don’t reattach my body after a few hours”

MENTAL !

KNOWN LANGUAGES . “English and German” EDUCATION . “Spooky High... but I am mainly homeschooled” MENTOR(S) . "My master and Spooky High teachers!” INTERESTS . "I like food and games and... and hugs... and feeling others peoples love for me...”

PHYSICAL !

FACECLAIM(S) . Herself from the Monster Prom game. HAIR . Mainly Black and a White stripe hair EYES . Crystal Blue SKIN . Greenish/Blueish BUILD . scrawny / bony / slender / fit / athletic / curvy / full - figured / herculean / pudgy / average . HEIGHT . 5'1 WEIGHT . Never ask a lady her weight! SCARS / BIRTHMARKS . Vicky has tons of scars all around her body. Mainly because she is made of tons of body parts... others she gained after she was reanimated. CONSTITUTION / FITNESS . She is super active, but she doesn’t work out. She has a butt load of stamina tho.

FAVORITES !

DISH(ES) . All the junk food. DRINK(S) . Soda and Alcohol PIZZA TOPPING(S) . All the toppings. She would literally ask for all the toppings if she could. COLOR(S) . She loves green. MUSIC GENRE(S) . She doesn’t really listen to music. BOOK GENRE(S) . Anything with a happy ending. She wants one herself. MOVIE GENRE(S) . Same as the books

CURSE WORD(S) . “FUCK!”

SCENT(S) . She finds the smell of blood fascinating now... that is not something good. QUOTE(S) . “Let’s fuck some shit up”

FUN STUFF !

TOP , BOTTOM , OR SWITCH . Mainly a Bottom cause she has a rather low self esteem. SINGS IN THE SHOWER . If her master is not nearby, all the time. LIKES PUNS . She was born for puns. HOGWARTS HOUSE . Slytherin MBTI . ENFP TEMPERAMENT . Despite her sad background, Vicky tries her best not to let it affect her daily life. Sometimes its hard, and maybe that is why she calls for the attention of others. For help. But other than that, she goes with the flow, trying to live her life to the fullest. ENNEAGRAM . The Enthusiast ABILITIES / POWERS . She can take any ammount of electricity in her body like if it was nothing and not be hurt by it. She can sometimes channel said electricity to prank or hurt others, depending on the situation.

tagged by . @purpleshopkeep tagging . Whoever wants to do it and hasn’t done it yet!

#purpleshopkeep #🎈♥ ;;about Vicky;; ♥🎈#🎈♥ ;;queue;; ♥🎈

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addiehour · 7 years

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title: Amends. word count: 2,180 summary: instead of moping around for no good reason (canon), angel fights the First Evil by doing some good. and then he gives everyone some much-needed space.

notes: for @jenny-calendar!!!! i love u celia... ever since you suggested this i had, had, Had to write it.. thank u for being my friend

The first thing Calendar does when she comes back to life is cough up dirt.

She lies there, on the ground, coughing and wheezing and choking (hey, being buried will do shit to you) among what seems like an incredibly unusual amount of purple candles and some kind of bones. She props herself on one elbow to look around, surveying the pentagram-shaped thing she’s lying on, and then looks up and sees Angel.

“Welcome back,” he says quietly. Calendar sits up, holding her head, even though she can’t feel a headache. It’s sort of a spiritual pain.

“What...” she mutters, and he crouches next to her. She’s too-- in shock? Exhausted? Freshly re-alive’d? To react to his existence properly. God, she just forgot the word “reanimated.”

“I brought you back,” he explains, holding out his right hand, which has gone... pretty much entirely black; withered and burnt off in places. Calendar has never seen that kind of texture on a charcoal briquette, let alone someone’s skin. “I figured necromancy wouldn’t have the same kind of consequences for vampires, and-- well. What d’you know.”

“You killed me,” she mumbles, still holding her head. She’s not going to take his hand; she has no idea why he’s offering it to her. If he is at all; she’s too freshly reanimated to tell.

“And Willow...” he sighs. “Gave me back my soul. Anyway.”

“Oh,” Calendar says. “Oh-- Willow?”

“With your spell,” Angel adds.

This is too much to take in five seconds after she’s just come back to life. Calendar lies back down slowly, this time on her back.

“Merry Christmas,” Angel says, very softly.

Now Calendar really does have a headache. Either it’s a side effect of death, or Angel’s accidentally cursed her with something in the process of bringing her back to life. Either way, she’s too fuzzed-out to really comprehend what in Hell’s name she should be doing with herself, on Christmas Eve, after being dead for months. It’s not exactly the kind of thing you can Google.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas,” she says, much too inarticulately for Angel to catch a word.

Then she sits up again, remembering. She manages to rearrange her body into a mostly-standing position, stumbling to her feet (stupid clunky heels) before turning to look at Angel again.

“But I know someone who does.”

Giles isn’t asleep yet, mostly because he’s trying to get through the last section of the third volume of his collection of encyclopedias on vampires. It is, unfortunately, becoming extremely dull.

Calendar is not aware of any of this when she knocks on his door, rumpled and out of breath.

Giles answers. Calendar has to stifle a gasp-- he’s different, alone, and there’s something about seeing him after months of not seeing him, and she feels all the changes in him in herself, but he also looks just the same, and she missed him. She missed seeing his face; she missed him.

While Calendar is deconstructing Giles’ appearance to herself, Giles is busying himself looking first mildly surprised, then deeply saddened, then resigned, and then back to mild surprise. Calendar understands none of these expressions or her own thoughts, so she cuts to the chase.

“Hey,” she says. Not his name, not that she loves him, just “hey”. It feels like a solid enough start.

“Your hair,” Giles responds.

“What?” Calendar says, because Giles’ gaze is now definitively fixed on her head. He seems to be admiring her bangs, which is odd, because she doesn’t even know where they’re at right now. Probably somewhere strewn across her forehead.

“It’s usually quite perfect,” he says, marvelling. “It looks much more realistic now. How did you do that?”

“I got resurrected by a vampire who doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Calendar says flatly. “Rupert--”

“Fantastic,” Giles says. “Good night.”

And he slams the door in her face.

Calendar looks at the door for a second, processing the fact that Giles really... just did that.

Then she kicks it open before he can lock it, shoving it aside and walking right in. She ran all the way here because God knows where her car is, and she got lost twice, and she is not getting shut out of his house.

“Rupert, what is wrong with you--”

“I didn’t invite you,” he says, looking confused.

“I figured I didn’t need an invitation, being your girl-- oh,” Calendar says as Giles touches her face. She swoons lightly towards him, almost not realizing it until he pulls away.

“You’re a remarkably tangible dream,” he says, stepping back.

“Oh,” Calendar says again, softer this time. She moves closer to him, reaching out a hand, and he flinches away.

“Or a very skilled demon,” he notes, half-smiling in a brutally wretched way. Calendar pulls her hand back, crossing her arms protectively. Giles almost turns away, but he stops when hears her voice.

“Rupert, it’s me.”

He pauses, looking half-guilty, half-wary of whatever it is that’s going on. Calendar doesn’t know who else has been here, who else might have impersonated her, but--

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Giles says. And waits.

Calendar waits, too. For something, anything, to drop out of the sky and prove that she’s actually herself and actually here and that Angel brought her back and that she’s here now, she’s here, and all she wants to do is be with Giles right now. All she can do is be with him; she needs him...

“I’m real,” she whispers. Absolutely hopelessly.

Giles turns and enters his kitchen.

“No-- Rupert--” the only thing Calendar can really think to do in this situation is kiss Giles, because that would prove it was her, but she also can’t, she can’t do that, not while he thinks it isn’t her, because that would bring back too many memories, and, well, God, what is she supposed to be doing?

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Giles repeats, pouring himself a cup of tea.

And that is how Calendar knows he’s said that before. To visions, to demons, to monsters-- it doesn’t matter. The reply has always been wrong.

But maybe, she thinks, he’s giving her a second chance. He wants her to be real. He knows, somewhere, somehow, that this is her, and he won’t just let her leave without proving it.

Which gives her the answer.

“I helped you cast that demon out of the internet,” she says softly. Giles’ hand stops over the kettle. “And-- And I forced you to dance at the prom, and I got knocked out next to you, and I tricked you into a date, and I accidentally got possessed and had to take space from you for like three weeks-- God, that was awful-- and I shot a crossbow bolt into your back, and I tried not to betray you but I did it anyway, and then I tried to fix it, and I died, but I’m back, I’m back, I couldn’t stay away, I love you--” and she breaks free of Giles’ astonished gaze and looks away, willing herself not to cry because that would be so embarrassing. God.

“Jenny,” Giles whispers.

“Hey,” Calendar croaks, with whatever’s left of her voice.

And he kisses her, which is good, because otherwise she would have just started bawling, and he’s so warm, and she missed him (can you really miss someone when you’re dead? whatever, she did) and God knows what’s going on in the outside world but all that can just continue going on without her, because she’s thinking now she might just stay here in Giles’ arms for a week or a month or forever, maybe never leaving, and Merry fucking Christmas indeed, and then they break apart.

“Jenny,” Giles says, stronger now, smoothing her hair out. She leans her head against his chest.

“Rupert,” she manages, because a lot’s happening right now. Inside and outside her.

“What-- what happened,” Giles says, sort of flatly, without any actual question in the tone at all. It’s a very understandable thing to say, in Calendar’s opinion, because she has no idea either. Though, of course, she’s not keen on the idea of Angel coming in now to explain it to her.

“Angel used some kind of-- dark-- necromancy magic to raise me from the dead,” she says, more as a recap for herself than Giles. “Burned his hand off, too.”

“Oh. Good,” Giles says, and both of them laugh, the way they do about these very strange and almost not at all humorous things.

Calendar leads Giles out of the kitchen into his living room, where they settle into the same chair, with Giles sitting normally and Calendar sort of stretched out in his lap over the sides, and Giles moves her aside a little to get his tea, and she rolls her eyes at him, and he returns to pull her into his lap again, and this time they just sit together for hours, almost without moving.

And they talk, because Calendar has been dead for months, and so much has happened, and apparently nobody has done anything about Oz being a werewolf-- did she even know he was? She honestly can’t remember; nothing surprises her anymore-- and there were guns and masks and other slayers, and somewhere before and after and in between that Giles was hurt, and there are parts of the story where Calendar holds Giles a little closer, or they just stop completely and look out the window and wait for the moment to pass. And when Giles is done, Calendar looks him right in the eyes and says “Well, I’ve been dead,” and without thinking he just says “I love you,” and then they both do their stupid little laughing thing again, and Giles starts laughing less and crying more, and Calendar just kisses him. And kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.

“What happened to my car,” she manages between kisses. Giles pulls back for a moment to think.

“It might have been sold,” he says. Calendar smacks the chair in frustration, and Giles jumps.

“I liked that thing,” she mutters. “Perfectly good Bug.”

“You could’ve-- punched me a little less hard,” Giles says, rubbing his arm, and Calendar remembers that stupid Punch Buggy game she always played with him, where he never actually ended up winning because of course she saw her own car first; she was the one who parked it. “I think sometimes I still feel the pain.”

And Calendar kisses him again, because this feels like one of those magic moments where all she has to do to fix everything-- absolutely everything-- is kiss him. And they haven’t had one of those moments in a while; she’d like to savor this one.

Unfortunately-- fortunately?-- Giles and Calendar can’t seem to just kiss; it becomes some kind of heavy-petting fest where Calendar has her hand shoved inside Giles’ shirt and Giles actually can’t really decide where exactly he wants to touch Calendar the most, and this devolves into some kind of (in Calendar’s opinion, sexy) wrestling match in which Giles loses his glasses.

“Hold on,” he says, removing his hand from her chest and fishing around for them in the limited Not-Giles space on the chair. Calendar helps, feeling for something Not-Giles, and occasionally feeling a whole lot of Giles, and at some point just openly groping Giles. “Jenny--”

“In the grand scheme of things, who even needs glasses,” Calendar says, shifting so she’s sitting directly on top of him, on her knees, kissing his neck, because she hasn’t done that yet and why keep herself from it? She could die again any minute.

“Jenny-- Jenny, you’re very sweet, b-but-- Ah--”

“Found ‘em.” Calendar holds up Giles’ glasses, bent and crumpled and a little bit sat on but definitely not broken. Giles fumbles at her hand a little bit before Calendar takes pity and just puts his glasses on for him.

He looks at her for a moment. Just looks at her. And she looks at him; memorizing his face, thinking about every kiss they’ve had, just waiting for the next one. Like they could go on forever.

And she knows tomorrow there’ll be much more talking and much less kissing-- you don’t just rise from the dead and get back together with your boyfriend, after all. There are things to discuss, rifts to mend, vampires to punch...

But for now, and after that, this is and will be enough. Just being together. Just knowing that, even if everything hasn’t come out alright, things are on their way there. This is the first moment of an atonement, half a scrape at making amends.

Calendar can respect that.

She looks out the window and pauses, hand on Giles’ shoulder.

“Rupert,” she says, getting up off his lap. He follows her, and she leads him over to the window, which is frosting over in the sudden cold. She puts her hand atop the chill glass, pressing her fingers against it. Giles leans over her shoulder to look closer.

“It’s snowing.”

#jenny calendar #buffy #. this is a damn rollercoaster of a fic #. like things just. happen. and keep happening #. so uhhhhhhhhh yeah not my best work but certainly the giftiest #. congrats on having a bisexual calendar lover for a friend kljdfkhkd #benfic

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