#fangfiction

[vsmprarerpairstourney]

VSMP RARER PAIRS TOURNEY - BRACKET ONE ROUND TWO

BARKBITE (Owen/Ren) VS FANGFICTION (Scott/Shelby)

BARKBITE

FANGFICTION

Voting ended onMay 1

Propaganda under cut!

BARKBITE:

• @poeticsynapse's witch renhardt au! Owen is ALL genders and neurodivergent. Ren is cluelessly gay/bear gay and a literal puppy. Despite their incredibly limited interactions, I think they had similar beliefs in that they wanted to protect who they loved. Both strong fighters. Owen fell first, Ren fell harder. Their dynamic would be "i don't trust anyone, why are you looking after me?" x "if i lose one more person, I will cease to exist." A different angle could perhaps be the fact that Owen is a vampire being found out later, which could be great hurt/comfort & betrayal towards Ren. love them sm they've never done anything wrong in their lives <3

• More propaganda: what if the worst people you’ve ever know somehow manage to make each other better despite the insane capacity to make each other worse. What if love was meeting someone who bloodied their hands for you as easily as you bloodied yours for them.

FANGFICTION:

• Unfortunately no one has submitted propaganda for this ship yet…

[ybbag777]

My immortal doodles based on my memory of what some of them look like, might add more but idk

[burntsecrets]

Winter's Bite

Pairing: Spike x Reader Word Count: 1280 Prompt: @fluff-cember Day 7: condensed breath Summary: On patrol during a cold winter night, Spike keeps teasing you about your visible breath in the icy air, calling you a “bloody dragon.”  Warnings: mild suggestive themes, banter, and some violence typical of Buffyverse patrols (vampires/demons).

The cemetery is eerily quiet under the full moon, the kind of silence that makes you question every shadow. The chill bites at your cheeks as you walk the winding path, your breath curling into the icy air like tendrils of smoke. Adjusting your grip on the stake in your hand, you glance around, senses sharp for any sign of movement.

Behind you, a familiar voice cuts through the stillness.

"Careful there, love. With all that huffing and puffing, you’re liable to start a forest fire."

You glance back to see Spike leaning casually against a headstone, his leather duster flaring slightly in the breeze. Even in the dim light, his pale hair gleams like a beacon, and his trademark smirk is firmly in place.

"Really?" you say, rolling your eyes. "This is how you’re helping me patrol? By making fun of my breath?"

"Why not?" he replies, falling into step beside you. "It’s bloody freezing out here, and you’re the only thing keeping it interesting. Besides," he adds, with that infuriating grin of his, "you look quite fetching as a dragon."

You tug your scarf tighter around your neck, trying to ignore him. "It’s called being human, Spike. You should try it sometime."

"Why would I want to?" he retorts, flashing a teasing smirk. "All that pesky breathing, eating, and freezing your arse off nonsense. No thanks."

You shove your hands deeper into your pockets, exhaling a puff of frosty breath. "You’ve got to get some new material, Spike."

"Why? This works just fine," he quips, his voice dropping into a playful murmur. "You always bite when I pull your tail."

You ignore him—or at least you try to—but it’s hard when his gaze lingers on you, sharp and assessing, like he’s trying to see past the surface. Since Buffy left for Italy, Spike’s been different. Still sarcastic, still sharp-tongued, but there’s a new softness in him, like he’s figuring out how to move on from her. And then there’s the way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice...

A rustling sound pulls you from your thoughts, your body tensing as you grip your stake. Spike’s demeanor changes instantly, the teasing gone as his predatory instincts take over. A moment later, two fledgling vampires lurch out of the shadows, their movements erratic and feral.

"Finally," Spike mutters, cracking his knuckles. "I was getting bored."

The fight is quick but intense. You duck as one of the fledglings lunges for you, its claws slicing through the air where your face had been. Spinning on your heel, you drive your stake into its chest, and it crumbles to dust before it can even cry out. Spike, meanwhile, dispatches the other with his usual flair, staking it with a bored expression as though he’s done it a thousand times—which, of course, he has.

When the dust settles, you’re out of breath, your chest rising and falling in sharp bursts that fog the cold air. Spike leans casually against a tombstone, twirling his stake like it’s a toy, completely unruffled.

"You alright, love?" he asks, his smirk returning. "Not too winded, I hope. Wouldn’t want my dragon passing out on me."

"Would you stop calling me that?" you huff, brushing dirt from your jeans.

"Why? It suits you," he teases, stepping closer. "Fierce, fiery, and entirely too much fun to rile up."

"Keep it up, Spike, and I’ll show you fiery temper."

He raises a scarred eyebrow, his smirk softening into something more playful. "Promise?"

Your cheeks heat—not from anger but from the way he says it, low and flirtatious, the words curling through the space between you. You hate how easily he gets under your skin. Or maybe you don’t hate it as much as you pretend to.

"Come on," he says suddenly, nodding toward his crypt. "You’re freezing your scales off out here. Let’s get warm."

✦ ✦ ✦

Spike’s crypt is warmer than you expected, though that’s likely due to the small space heater humming in the corner. The air smells faintly of leather and whiskey, and the flickering candles scattered around give it a surprisingly cozy atmosphere.

"You’ve upgraded," you remark, eyeing the threadbare but inviting couch as you settle onto it.

He shrugs out of his duster and tosses it over a nearby chair. "Figured I’d make the place a bit more hospitable. Not that I get many visitors these days."

"Well, consider me honored," you quip, though there’s a weight to his words that lingers. Since Buffy left, Spike’s world has grown smaller, quieter. You suspect he’s still figuring out how to fill the void she left behind.

He grabs a bottle of whiskey from a nearby table and takes a swig before holding it out to you.

"Here," he says. "Warm you up."

You hesitate for a moment before accepting. The first sip burns, but it spreads warmth through your chest, chasing away the chill of the night. Spike sits down beside you, closer than he needs to, and you’re hyper-aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you.

"So," he says, leaning back and stretching his arms along the back of the couch. "What’s it like, being one of the Chosen?"

"It’s... a lot," you admit, staring into the amber liquid in your hand. "Buffy made it look easy, but it’s not. Sometimes it feels like I’m just trying not to screw up."

"Buffy was good," he says, his voice softer now. "But she had her share of screw-ups too. Don’t sell yourself short, love. You’ve got fire. You’ll figure it out."

The mention of Buffy hangs in the air for a moment, a ghost neither of you can ignore. You glance at him, trying to read his expression, but it’s unreadable.

"Do you miss her?" you ask quietly, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is low, almost a whisper. "Used to think I’d never stop missing her. Thought she was it for me, you know? But... things change."

His eyes meet yours, and there’s something raw and honest in his gaze that makes your heart skip a beat.

"And now?" you ask, barely more than a whisper.

"Now..." He trails off, his lips quirking into a small smile. "Now I think I might be moving on."

The air between you crackles with unspoken possibilities, and for a moment, you forget about everything else—the patrols, the vampires, even Buffy. It’s just you and Spike, the space between you shrinking by the second.

"You’re not as much of a pain as you think, you know," you say softly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

"Careful, love," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. "Say things like that, and I might start thinking you like me."

"Maybe I do," you admit, your cheeks heating despite the cold.

For once, Spike doesn’t have a snarky reply. Instead, he leans in, his hand brushing against yours. His gaze drops to your lips, and for a heartbeat, the world seems to hold its breath.

But before he can close the distance, a loud crash outside shatters the moment.

"Bloody hell," he mutters, standing and grabbing his stake. "Can’t a bloke get a moment’s peace?"

You laugh despite yourself, standing and pulling your jacket tighter. "Come on, dragon," he says with a wink, holding the door open for you. "Duty calls."

As you step out into the night, the cold bites at your cheeks again, but the warmth of his presence lingers. And as you walk beside him, trading banter and stolen glances, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one moving on.

[poubelle-d-elle]

Does your OC fear death?

For any oc

Hmm let’s see,

Morgan… what’s your deal in this one?

Well, in typical vampire style she is pretty comfortable around death. In non-traditional, but very ‘Lost Boys vampire style,’ she doesn’t particularly think about her own. The boys tend to live in the present more than any other vampires out there.

I also think that this addresses the way the movie translates it’s original text so successfully. The line in Peter Pan, where Peter says “to die would be an awfully big adventure”, which is then later changed to “to live will be an awfully big adventure,” suggests that Peter Pan’s relationship with the concept of death is flexible, but always seen as a potential for a story, and the story is what matters to Pan (and thereby Wendy, as Pan is a reflection of Wendy).

Both are surrounded by death—Pan on The Neverland, where life is whimsical but ultimately savage and harsh, and Wendy in Victorian London, where life is supposed to be neat as a pin, but is chock full of astronomical mortality rates. I think both are of a Chthonic sensibility, in that death is merely a part of life, and life on Earth cannot be separated from it, and instead, the question that weighs more on their hearts is whether or not one can find what makes one’s life full and meaningful.

This is interesting to me when I apply it to the Lost Boys, because so much of lost boys is meant to be a complete foil/mirror to the original text. While at the same time, so much of the movie is also meant not to be a foil, but a direct reference to different themes within the book.

This brings up the question of whether or not vampires are excluded from the life and death cycle (chthonic cycle), and are merely on the outside of it, or whether they are more deeply connected to the chthonic elements, for the same reasons?? The lore of Vampires is so often, deeply connected to the earth, dirt, and dust, that I feel they would have to be considered chthonic creatures?

That got way deep. But I needed that. Thank you.

[heathscringecompilation]

the amount of puns in the comics is horrific /pos

[vsmprarerpairstourney]

CALL FOR PROPAGANDA!

Second round of polls starts tomorrow, and almost all of the matchups still don’t have any propaganda!

So once again, if you would like your propaganda to show up in the polls when they are released please submit it within the next 12ish hours :)

Ships that don’t have any propaganda:

Cursedoctor (Legundo/Ren)

Mythicalapple (Apo/Sausage)

Moonmourne (Pearl/Ren)

Mythlocke (Abolish/Sausage)

Mythicalclues (Drift/Sausage)

Mythicalfire (Pyro/Sausage)

Cursebound (Abolish/Ren)

Necromancy (Cleo/Sausage)

Hopecure (Legundo/Martyn)

Bookrot (Cleo/Shelby)

Barkbite (Owen/Ren)

Fangfiction (Scott/Shelby)

Woodenstake (Avid/Martyn)

[fangletsfollies]

Title: Sing the Song that Sounds of You

Genre: Drama/Tragedy

Rating: T

After a tragic accident, nothing can ever be the same. But maybe, just maybe there's some good in all the sadness. Will Ai finally be able to prove himself to Rin?

Prologue

“Urgh!” Rin grimaced as another bout of turbulence rattled the cabin of the plane. He turned away from the window and punched his seatmate in the arm. “’Let’s take the red-eye, Rin,’ you said. ‘We can sleep the whole way!’ How am I supposed to get any sleep like this, Haru?” Rin poked Haru in the side until he finally grumbled something and opened his eyes. He stared pointedly at Rin and yawned theatrically to show just how little of his whining he felt like putting up with. “Is there a problem, Rin? I was too busy sleeping to notice.” “Like hell you were, the plane’s shaking hard enough to rattle the overhead.” Haru shrugged. “Just because you forgot to pack a pillow in your carry-on to cuddle with doesn’t mean you have to keep me awake.” “That’s not the point.” “What kind of adult still needs a security pillow to fall asleep, anyway,” Haru smirked, just enough for Rin to see. “Probably the same kind of adult who would complain that they’re gold medal isn’t made of real gold.” “Tch.” Rin scowled fiercely, and he would have continued complaining if Haru wasn’t already turning away and curling back up in his seat. He heard him mutter something about calling a stewardess to bring him one, and something that might have been “You big baby” before covering his head with his jacket to tune him out. Rin went back to staring out of the window at literally nothing because it was two in the goddamn morning and if he didn’t fall asleep in the next twenty minutes he was going to murder Haru in his sleep. Because he was right. Rin couldn’t fall asleep without a pillow, especially not on public transportation, and especially especially not on public transportation that was pogo-sticking through the air like a kangaroo on crack. But a pillow would help. He huffed, which quickly turned into a yawn, then reached up and pressed the button that summoned a stewardess from whatever hidey-hole they stayed in in-flight.  A little light pinged on to tell her just who was disturbing the peace in the last thirty minutes of the flight. He settled back into his seat to wait. And wait. And wait. ‘Shouldn’t someone be here? One of them has to be awake, right? Isn’t that like, a rule?’ He thought, craning his neck to look into the aisle. He bit his lip – never a good idea, he’d bitten right through once middle school and it had bled everywhere and looked awful, and all of the assholes in middle school had joked about his ‘piercing’ and honestly, middle school was full of bastards, but they didn’t matter anymore, he’d beaten two of them just two days ago and – “Sir?” Rin jumped. His mind had wandered way off-track, and it took him a second to remember what he’d wanted. Man, he needed some sleep. It’d been a day at least, maybe more. Thirty hours, probably. And that was probably – “Sir, was there something you needed?” Rin flushed, embarrassed that he’d managed to let his mind wander while the stewardess was right there, dammit. “Ah, actually, I was wondering if you could bring me a pillow..?” He grinned toothily, to say yes, I know I’m being an asshole for asking when we’re going to land soon, but seriously, I need a pillow. To her credit, the stewardess just flashed her politest everyone-is-an-asshole-on-this-plane-it’s-not-just-you smile and said of course, she’d bring one right away. He opened his mouth to thank her, and instead yelped when he felt his seat belt cut into his lap and holy shit he was floating and the stewardess was flying down the aisle, and then he didn’t see anything as all the lights in the cabin flickered and died. Now everyone was awake, and screaming, and everything was rattling and flashing as the lights cut in and out. Then the overheads blew open and the air was full of bags, and books, and people – people who’d left their seat belts open in an attempt to be comfortable were bouncing out of their seats and following the stewardess down the aisle. And now Rin felt Haru’s hand grip his arm, and saw Haru’s eyes lock with his, wide and panicky, and he was screaming something but Rin couldn’t hear, everything was too loud, and it was happening too fast, and, and They were Falling Out Of The Sky. He grabbed Haru’s hand and squeezed it tightly, even as he squeezed his eyes shut, to try and pretend this wasn’t happening. And his mind fixated on one thought as the plane continued to go down, and down, and down: Would he hear it? Would he hear the crash? Would he hear the crash? Would he hear the -