Summary: With all your memories gone, and the sudden information that you are now a vampire–who do you trust? Do you trust your mind that says to hate Yoongi? Or your heart that says you could never?
BASED OFF THIS REQUEST
Could I request a Yoongi vampire AU scenario where he’s the vampire
prince and you’re a human he’s chosen to be his so he turns you to be with him
and you have to move into the castle and all that, and you start out hating him
despite him trying to make you like him through kind/sweet actions and gifts
because you didn’t want to be turn and you keep rejecting him, until you
eventually fall in love with him too?
THERE WILL BE AT LEAST FIVE MORE PARTS. ALSO. WARNINGS. JUST WARNINGS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
“Y/N, what would
you do if I said that I wasn’t human?”
You grinned at him,
reaching for his hand. “What would you do if I said that I already knew
He let out a breath
through his teeth, and, with pain in his eyes, his hand tightened around yours.
“Why did it have to be you?”
You woke up to morning light leaking through curtains that
looked expensive–but maybe weren’t. The comforter on the bed, though soft,
seemed to swallow you whole. You thought that maybe the bed could have been
yours, but you weren’t sure; there was a sneaking suspicion in your otherwise
confused state that had you believing that you didn’t belong there. The elegant yet ancient brick of the walls of
your room appeared semi-foreign to you–this was not the home that you had
lived your entire life in, but you’d been there before.
Well, it wasn’t like you were sure that you didn’t live
there; you couldn’t remember your past, how old you were, what your house might
have looked like, the country you were in, or even your name. The only memories
that survived in your blanked out brain included a young boy with dark hair,
expensive children’s clothing, fangs, and a bright red ball.
“Y/N–you’re awake.” You shot up into a sitting
position, turning to face the owner of the voice. His hair was slicked back and
dyed a light pink, and, like the young boy from your memories, he wore
expensive looking clothing: a suit collared up to his neck; it appeared to be
made out of fabric that would be more suitable for palace curtains. For some
reason, when he opened his mouth, you expected there to be fangs.
She was one of those
people that you could swear you’ve met before, but you don’t remember when. She
tugged at my memory like a person you had a few high school classes with, but
never had more than a few conversations. She had a round face, with soft cheekbones and bright brown
eyes. Her lips were perpetually hinting at a smile that never seemed to fully
blossom. She had a full, curvy figure, and the way she moved in her short
summer dress had a subtle seductiveness that was far more attractive than her
The party we were at was slowly winding down. The host had
disappeared with some girl, or had otherwise ditched entirely, and he took the
energy of the party with him. As I was looking for the keys to my car, she
approached me. “Hey, I have some rum back at my place. Want to come drink
with me?” she said.
“Sure,” I replied. “Let me find my keys, I was about to
leave anyway. Do you need a ride?”
“No,” she said, as she grabbed my phone and typed in her
address. “Just meet me here, I’ll be home in 15 minutes.”
“Perfect,” I said, thinking that I had just enough time to
run home and grab some deodorant and mouthwash before heading over.
I drove home and freshened up, then took my dog for a walk
to kill a little more time. Didn’t want to beat her home, and I suspected she
might want a minute to herself too. After about 15 minutes, I drove over to her
It was nothing spectacular, just your standard suburban
home. The lawn needed to be mowed, and there was a little trash in the yard,
but I chalked that up to college kid’s general apathy. I knocked on the door,
and she let me in.
The inside of the house was comfortable, a big couch
dominated the living room, and sat opposite a large TV. The kitchen was
situated behind the couch and a hallway led from the living room to three
bedrooms. As I sat down on the couch, she offered me a shot of rum and drank
one herself. I drank my shot and poured each of us another.
“I thought we could Netflix and chill for a while, if that’s
alright with you,” she said with a smirk.
“Sounds good to me. Do you like horror movies?” I said,
figuring horror movies would be the easiest way to get her close to me.
anyways i love pansy & luna like?? they don;t even have to be dating theyd be great friends???
one am phone calls or floo messages or something because luna never sleeps and pansy is biting her freshly manicured nails because of a test, or something that seems inherently ridiculous after five minutes on the phone with luna’s soft, steady voice
pansy shutting down boys who keep bulling luna by dangling secrets and spitting sharp words, luna basking in her glinting eyes and the safeness of being by pansy’s side, because it feels like no one can touch her
luna gives pansy pressed pansies in letters over the summer, telling her about the adventures she’s gone on to find proof of the crumple-horned snorkack because pansy gets so lonely in the summer, in an empty house
pansy drawing pictures of the world for luna, because her mother thought it was feminine and sophisticated to be able to paint (and thus spent too much money on art lessons) and luna taking pansy to muggle art museums to admire the art
luna drawing pictures for pansy, not delicately sketched, like pansy’s own refined style, but art, messy and abstract and poetic and pansy keeps them in a chest in her room, locked under her bed because they’re sacred and she doesn’t want her mother to touch them
pansy teasing luna about being weird, but at the same time, ready to listen to whatever strange theory she’s come up with, being snarky and pansy, because in whatever friendship, she’ll always be a little too cruel, a little too sharp, but luna sees past her cutting tone and can feel the softness that resides behind it
luna being able to understand pansy and her cruelty, her bulling, her unkindness, to see why she does it and when she means it and when she doesn’t and helping pansy grow, because pansy is cruel because she is afraid
just,, pansy and luna giving each other simple things, like unconditional love and happiness and protection and finding warmth in one another
trickyarchangel replied to your post “Pssst. Talk to me about Steve Rogers finding out that Tony is dating…”
Oi - not hijacking this because I love the idea - but you know that post that is going around about how no one would mourn if Tony didn’t come out of the wormhole? Well, I was thinking – what if somehow the Guardians knew Tony was going to come through that portal with the nuke and NOT survive? Maybe a time traveling Dr. Strange told them, or whatever, and so they arrived at the appointed time and place in space - avoided the evil centipede shits (I’m too tired to think
of the aliens’ names) and scooped Iron Man up to save him? Tony and Peter meet and hit it off right away. And because for some reason they can’t take him home right away - you know, because the Avengers shut it from the other side - so they have to take the long way home - And shenanigans ensue with sexy times and space science and Tony charming even Gamora.
And they LIKE him.
*chin in hands* Precious, he needs to be appreciated properly.
I haven’t seen that post but it’s sad to think how accurate it would be because the Avengers never really took in Tony in the beginning. Even before Civil War, the whole team dynamic wasn’t there and I blame MCU entirely for that.
But I DO love this idea of The Guardians rescuing Tony and Tony falling in love with Peter while finding a home there with them. That even when they arrive to earth, Tony doesn’t want to leave and they don’t want him to leave.
Fandom: Life is Strange Pairing: Grahamfield (Max Caulfield/Warren Graham) Rating: Uh… T? M? It doesn’t go all the way, but there’s a sexually charged situation I guess you could call it? I’m embarrassed, don’t look at me. It might be worth mentioning that no clothing is removed. Warnings: I’m such trash I only remembered this while making this post but Warren is under-age for the US… whoops… if that upsets you, turn back now. Also, I might have implied that alcohol is involved but that’s up to interpretation. Words: 1,150
Imagine Bones and Spock having to wait for Jim before going into some important meeting and Bones gets very bored so he just up and boops Spock’s nose and after that instead of paying attention to the meeting Spock spends the whole time trying to figure out whatever strange human custom he was just a part of.
MODS NOTE - ill have you know, theasgardiandetective, that ive been staring at this doodle for like ten minutes ‘awwh'ing at my computer screen thank you SO MUCH
Her thumb hovered over the send button for a moment, shaking her head at his response. He’d agreed to it so easily and so readily that she’d found it strange.
Sabrina glanced at the time — half past whatever she and her alakazam agreed she would stop working. It would take more than a day to finish developing this technique and then explaining the process. If the pile of papers left in her recycling were any indicator, she’d made little progress today anyways. It would be better to get back to it with a cleared mind.
She backspaced, deleting the message entirely, and wrote a new one.
[text]: You have 10 minutes.
[text]: I will not provide snacks.
What I know is that I want to be loved and I don’t want to be left behind.
After leaving, what is there? What could be done? Never enough to simply bridge the gap, retrace steps, find again the old, familiar places, wipe away the dust.
The Japanese have a technique of repairing cracked pottery with gold, so that after its misfortune it is more beautiful than ever. This could be the same- a story worth telling, the fissures, the breaking and the going away, the finding again, reforged softbright, full of grace.
But gold is the weakest metal, and the bowl or cup is no stronger for being more interesting. Dust still settles.
Only if it had never happened at all. If I had been different. If there had been no cracks, no history.
Reylux prompt: Rey, sharing a force bond with Kylo, shares a completely unexpected dream of his (you can describe the dream, or just imply), of Kylo... and Hux. She finds she likes it very much.
oh lord ok took this to a way different/way weirder place, i’m so sorry
tw for gender dysphoria, maybe??
also: i wrote half of this at two thirty in the morning so
This happens, sometimes.
Rey doesn’t precisely know how to deal with it. How to wake up shaded beneath Anch-To’s slate-grey, shelving cliffs, wriggling with something in her belly that’s much too hot for hunger, a cooling wetness between her legs. How to explain the flush that stains her cheeks and neck to Luke when they meet for breakfast, her sated sleepiness, the hum in her bones. The satisfaction.