I can already feel my soul leaving my body in self defense.
my soul will meet yours wherever they end up
Haha, jokes on me I’ve joined in. See you all in Hell.
Listen all I had to say about it was “I don’t get why people think this is a sexy thing that could happen, it sounds like a good half hour or more of awkward discomfort and trying to find ways to pass the time.” I can’t believe a supernatural erotica editor and a vampire fetishist in denial are trying to shame me for a very reasonable question.
Oh I’m not shaming you, not really. I know my place in this.
Also yea, as we discussed, I feel it would be super uncomfortable to deal with. Like maybe you’d be about it once or twice (or unless you’re heavily into bondage or something), but I feel like for the rest of the time you’d just be like “kay this is uncomfortable and I have to pee”, resulting in werewolves becoming the monarchs of pull out culture, contributing to humans making up a new kink about being Marked, and your werewolf partner just…he just wants intimacy man, why does everything have to be a power play, why can’t you just let them love you without making it into some kind of Thing.
Which is how they end up in Ghouls (where everybody fears your name) one night, staring morosely at the same drink they ordered an hour ago and drawing puddles in the spilled beer on the sticky counter top, when someone slides into the seat near them and after a while remarks, “Rough night?”
And of course it’s a vampire, of course it bloody is. And they wonder for a moment if that was some sort of speciesist pun or a simple slip of the tongue but the vampire doesn’t smell like they’re trying to be antagonizing so he lets it slide and they sit in mutual disgruntledness making remarks about the weather, the state of general affairs, the unlife, until several drinks later….
“It’s like…it’s like everything is a power play,” he bemoans, wondering when he switched from beer to scotch as the room gently spins. “Everything. It’s not even my fault it does that.”
“Oh tell me about it,” the vampire says, sipping their Bloody Mary through the mixer straw and pitting an olive with the length of one fang, “it’s all dark prince this and damned eternity that. Sometimes I think they’re only in it for the bite. Like I’m more than a set of fangs, y’know? I have needs and feelings too, what if I just want to cuddle? Hmm, what about that?”
“I mean don’t we deserve better? Don’t we deserve to be more than…than a fetish?”
“Yes!” the vampire exclaims, brandishing their celery in the air. “Yes, THANK YOU. That’s what I’ve been saying since the 90s.”
And then because it’s a vampire.
“Which 90s?”
“1790.” he says, stabbing the celery back into the remains of his drink and swirling it around before taking a morose bite and chewing it like they hate it. “It’s been a long fucking afterlife.”
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