#Self-Aware Hunting Dogs

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

What kind of interaction would the reader have with the hunting dogs? (Mainly teruko, tecchou, and jouno) how would they treat the reader?

Btw I love your posts so much and you can probably tell because I reblog all your posts with a heart emoji.

I adore the hunting dogs and the thought of them being self aware is very cool.

💕🩷💗💝💖💓💞

Thank you for your kind words. I am glad, that you really like my ideas 🥰

Hunting Dogs will get full entries later. But, for now, I can share some Ideas with you.

Self-Aware! Hunting Dogs x GN!Reader

Headcannons

Warning: OOC. Yandere. Stalking. Mentions of harming other people. English is my second language.

General

🐾 Hunting Dogs never thought they were fictional characters.

🐾 And Hunting Dogs never thought, that after the moment they arrived at the scene to pursue after ADA, there would be not only all ADA members, but also Port Mafia, The Guild and some other people.

🐾 Fukichi also wasn't expecting, that Chief Taneda will be okay and will claps his hand with "Alright, the last horses have arrived. To the Office. Or, maybe, you should take a walk through the important for the next scene locations?"

Michizou Tachihara

🩹 🧲 Became Self-aware earlier, than other Hunting Dogs. Has been known about you ever since Fukuzawa and Mori decide to create an ADA/Port Mafia union.

🩹🧲 Despite only hearing some of your words and not hearing full sentences from you, can see Little Light floating above them.

🩹🧲 During the "chase" after ADA, give his colleagues a briefing. About you, about union, about plot, about Little Light.

🩹🧲 Will try his best to make other Hunting Dogs like you.

🩹🧲 Cares about you. Want others Hunting Dogs to protect you together with him.

🩹🧲 Want to become one of your bodyguards. Or helper, because he is sure, that his ability will come in handy.

Saigiku Jouno

💧 Can feel the Little Light's presence after the first moment he woke up.

💧 His senses are sharper, than everyone's. Can hear you clearly from the first moment. He can hear your heartbeat.

💧 Immediately knew that you aren't tricking them, and your emotions are real.

💧 After hearing, what you think about his past and new way of live, will become your guardian. Very protective.

💧 Will be listening, when you're talking with someone. He's making sure, that you are bot been tricked. Have a hit list of whom he will punish for wronging you.

💧 Likes listening to your playlist. Also likes audiobooks.

__________

Jouno was listening. You, Little Guiding Light, were talking to your 'friend'... You consider this person your friend. But Jouno knew, that he is lying to you. He doesn't care about you.

But don't worry. Soon... very soon, they will be in your world.

He will protect you. And all this people, who wronged you... Well, he will show them, what it means to be a Hunting Dog.

____________

Tecchou Suehiro

🌸 Tecchou is more hesitant into trusting you. He believes in Tachihara's and Jouno's words. But, he still will be on his guard, until he is 100% sure you are good.

🌸 It won't take long for him to trust you. Many people trust you already. Besides, he will also listen to your conversations with your friends and other people. Will look at your messages.

🌸 Want to carry you on his shoulders. Just because he can.

🌸 Another protective one. But, unlike Jouno, will use his words in dealing with people who wronged you. And will blackmail them.

🌸 Likes to watch documentaries with you. Because of that, he became buddies with Kenji.

🌸 Training every day. To make sure, that he will be one of the best of your bodyguards. For him, every bad things people do to you, are the worst crime. And he will bring you justice.

_____________

Tecchou was observing. He was looking at the messages, your friend left you. This person, once again, were passive-aggressive towards you.

Well, another one to put on back on their place.

Injustice must be punished. You must be protected.

________________

Teruko Okura

👶🧒🧓 While she is incredibly loyal to Fukuchi, she has her own free will. Will be a little bit taken aback by Fukuchi's dislike towards you. You are a simple civilian, right? Shouldn't Hunting Dogs protect civilians or, at least, be neutral towards them.

👶🧒🧓 It will take her some time, but, at the end, she will like you. It's hard not to like someone, who in fond of you.

👶🧒🧓 Another one, who is keeping an eye on you. She and Jouno will be the worst duo for your enemies. They will have to deal with two overprotective sadists.

👶🧒🧓 If you are willing, will help you with training. But not too much. Because she thinks, she would love to be your bodyguard.

👶🧒🧓 Likes watching sport competitions, either with you, or by herself. Try to learn more about how strong people in real world.

👶🧒🧓 She is a warrior. A ruthless one. She would do anything she can to protect you.

____________

Teruko's eyes glimmed with dangerous light.

She heard you been upset by a scammer, who didn't want to give you your money back for the damaged figurine.

Well, she wonders, it would be interesting to see, how this person will feel, when he will become a child again.

She is a solder. And she will do anything to protect you.

__________

Fukuchi Ouchi

⚔️ Let's just say, unknowingly, you have challenge Fukuchi's authority. And you won. Also, you have destroyed his plan.

⚔️ What is the point of his plan, if there are no people out there? One Order doesn't exist, others characters are broke from the chains of plot and have a way to read manga with you. Oh, and other DOA members likes you and don't want to harm you.

⚔️ Moreover, he has nowhere to go. Everything is empty. So, he has no other way, but to stay with others. Doesn't hide his dislike towards you. Oh, great, Hunting Dogs now also don't want to listen to him.

⚔️ Will change his attitude towards you, after hearing your talking for a few times. Also, by finding more information about your world. He won't be against staying in your world. So he and other Hunting Dogs will protect you.

⚔️ Now, he just had to prove others, that he can be trusted. He doesn't want to hurt you. He, as all of them, want only the best for you.

⚔️ At the end, all Hunting Dogs will become your elite bodyguards.

[hopelessromantic-ghost]

i need need need to sit down and imagine a mis.ide au with venus being the smooth attractive love interest in a cute little cozy game. and i play it constantly and then he uses both hands to DRAG me into his game world and i find out just how scary he actually is 🙈💞💕💖 so giddy just thinking about it.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Werewolf

There's something terrorising your town every full moon. And a stroke of bad luck has you running into it more than once.

There's something terrorising your town.

The chickens are turning up dead, torn apart with their feathers and blood clumped together all over the yard. The pigs spend every full moon squealing and running around their pens like they can smell a predator in the air. The hunters say there's strange tracks out in the deep woods, tracks bigger than any wolf they've ever seen.

And there's scratches on your door - deep, gouged out claw marks like something wants to dig its way into your house.

You try not to get worked up about it.

It's probably just a fox or a coyote, right? Everyone knows they steal a chicken now and then. And you've seen the six-packs of beer your dad takes when he goes hunting. Dog tracks look pretty damn big when you're drunk and it's dark out, don't they?

You try not to get worked up about it, but every full moon you double check your locks.

You're squinting at the local paper when your best friend comes up behind you and slings his arm across your shoulders. He plucks the paper out of your hand and scoffs at the headline.

"Chickens found dead at McKinnly farm? No one should be surprised by that. Old McKinnly doesn't even have the coop properly fenced in."

"Hey! I wasn't done reading that."

He balls the paper up and tosses it into the dustbin with a smooth overhead throw.

"You are now. C'mon y/n, don't tell me you're buying into all this werewolf business too?"

Your best friend towers over you, every inch of him well bred, football star muscle. You have to crane your neck to properly glare at him.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just sensational nonsense."

"Oh yeah? So you ain't scared of a big bad wolf breaking into your bedroom one night?"

It's your turn to scoff. "That's a pervert, not a wolf. How's a wolf even supposed to open a window?"

The school bell rings before he can give you an answer.

He groans. "I've got extra practice again tonight. Will you come watch me? We can get pizza after."

You grin. "Breaking News! Star quarterback needs his favourite cheerleader around to make life bearable."

He flicks your forehead. "Damn right I do. So whatcha say?"

"Sure. Someone's gotta be around to keep you on your toes."

It's only when he's long out of sight that you remember - you're one night away from the full moon.

He destroys his team mates at practice. When he's pounding down the field, head down and his fingers curled like claws around the ball, he almost looks inhuman.

After practice, he catches you before you can scramble away and rubs his sweaty face all over you.

"Ewwww." You shove him at him unsuccessfully. "You do that every time! It's so gross!"

"Gotta be faster than that squirt," he laughs.

By the time he's done in the locker room, you've already ordered pizza for the both of you.

You head up to the overlook, his old Mustang growling down the highway.

The overlook is exactly what it sounds like - a hill high over town with a great view of the twinkling streets far below. It's a clear night, and the almost full moon casts a silvery shadow over everything.

He slings his arm across the back of your seat and complains when you pick the olives off your side of the pizza.

"God, I hope your taste in men is better than your taste in pizza."

"My taste in men and pizza are equally questionable, thank you very much."

He laughs, "At least you're self aware. Speaking of guys, I know Murrey from Algebra asked you to prom, and Dave from Homeroom."

You groan. "How did you even hear about that?"

"I've got ears like a wolf." He turns to face you. "What did you tell them?"

"I said no. You and I go together every year."

"Atta girl." He sounds pleased.

You offer him some of your discarded olives and he bites them straight out of your fingers.

"Y'know, lots of girls were awfully disappointed you didn't ask them. When are you gonna get yourself a girlfriend, mister star quarterback?"

He leans down and ruffles your hair. "I got you in my life, don't I? That's plenty."

Eventually, his arm finds it's way to your shoulder, and he pulls you against his side. He's warmer than you and when you curl up against him, he smirks and says that's what you get for being hopelessly under dressed.

There's an old love song on the radio and you fall asleep with your hand knotted in his jacket.

He drives home extra slow and when he shakes you awake, his hands linger on your waist.

You rub your eyes groggily. "Goodnight mister wolf."

You're already halfway up the driveway before he replies, his voice too soft to hear.

"Goodnight little lamb."

On the night of the full moon, you wake up to a cloudy sky and your dog scratching at your bedroom door to be let out.

You struggle into your slippers and mutter about better toilet training. When you open the back door, he slips past your legs and shoots off into the trees. Yawning, you rest your elbows on the porch railing and try not to fall asleep.

It's only when you hear him yelping that you come awake fully.

"Cruiser? What's wrong boy?"

The street lights reach all the way to the edge of your lawn but the trees beyond are black dark. You make you way down carefully, your sense of unease growing with every whistle he ignores.

Your dad left his old wind up torch near the shed and you grab it. It whirs to life with a dull flicker.

Cruiser is whimpering louder now. You follow the sound of it, ducking under branches and trying not to slip in your flimsy slippers.

The clouds clear and for a minute or two, the forest is bright enough that you barely need the torch. You find Crusier backed up against a tree, his tail tucked between his legs. He ignores you when you call him, staring out into the dark and whining like you've never heard before.

"What's wrong boy? What's out there?"

You can't help the fear you feel. Your dog is hard to scare and you've never seen him this frightened.

Twigs snap in the gloom and you swing your torch around wildly. You try and tell yourself that it might be a deer, wandering in from the deep forest. But all you can think about is the local paper.

"Chickens torn apart. Vet suspects large wolf on the prowl."

But it can't be here, right? You're practically on the main road. You reach down and grab Cruiser's collar, your heart racing. The dog barely acknowledges you when you tug on it.

"Heel Cruiser. C'mon boy."

You try and whisper, but your voice comes out high and nervous. His whimper changes into a low growl that vibrates through his collar.

That's when the moon comes out again. And you see the werewolf.

It's coat is dark and thick, and it's crouched halfway behind a tree. Less than twenty feet away.

How the hell did it get so close without you hearing it?! Adrenaline slams into you and your heart skips into overdrive. You turn on your heel and run.

The funny thing about adrenaline is the way your own body takes control. You duck under branches before your conscious mind even realises they're there. You run faster than you ever thought possible, trees streaking by in black blurs.

You hear footsteps behind you but you can't tell if it's Cruiser or the wolf. You don't bother checking. You just keep your head down and sprint like the Devil is on your heels. Hell, he might be.

The werewolf catches you just as you break out of the tree-line. It slams into you from the side and sends you sprawling.

As you scramble to your knees, you get your first good look at the terror of the town. It's bigger than any wolf you've ever seen. Closer to the size of a small grizzly, with the thick fur to match. It's down on all fours, but it's forelegs are unusually long. It's paws are strangely misshapen and for a second, they look almost like hands. It's body feels more ape than wolf.

Oh, but it's teeth are all canine. All sharp, curving fangs, shining with spit.

It sniffs the air and with a start you realise that you're bleeding. Your palms are sliced up from trying to cushion your fall. Blood, you think numbly. Blood is supposed to make carnivores more aggressive. Whett their appetite.

Staring up at its drooling maw and narrowed eyes, you find it hard to believe anything could be more bloodthirsty.

It lunges for your throat and if it weren't for Cruiser, you'd be dead.

The dog shoots out from the forest, barking loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. He jumps at the creature's back, sinking his teeth into the fleshy muscle where neck and shoulder meet.

The werewolf roars.

It reaches up and tears Cruiser off with one nasty yank. Your dog thuds into the ground with an ugly cracking sound.

You scream - half terror and half rage. Cruiser is trying to stand, but can't manage it. One paw hangs uselessly. Oh, your poor, brave dog.

You act without thinking.

You lunge forward and punch straight at the werewolf's nose. It's hard and wet, and your fist keeps going even after contact. His teeth leave shallow cuts on your knuckles.

The werewolf yelps. Like a kicked puppy.

It backs away a few steps before lowering it's head and snarling. It gears up for another pounce.

That's when your daddy shoots it. The blast from his shotgun knocks the werewolf right out of the air.

It crashes down and scrambles to its feet. Its head swings wildly between you and your father. It growls one final time before turning on its heel and bounding into the trees.

How the hell could it even stand after a blast like that? You shudder, your eyes fixed on the trees.

You can hear your dad on the phone, frantically reporting to the Sheriff's office. You sink to your knees next to Cruiser. He draws his eyes up to yours and whines.

"My brave boy..." You stroke his head with the back of your hand and accidentally stain his fur with blood. "I'm so sorry. I'm so damn sorry."

He cranes his neck and licks the tears off your cheek. Just like when he was a puppy. You laugh, high and hysterical. And once you start, you can't stop.

Somewhere in the forest, the wolf howls.

You can't sleep at all after that. And when the Deputies question you, it takes almost all night. They don't believe you entirely, but the tracks their dogs pick up are strange enough to garner a few nervous looks.

You're on the porch, clutching a warm drink and watching the sunrise, when your best friend finds you.

He sweeps you up in a crushing hug, his cheek pressed firmly against your hair.

"Are you okay? I came as soon as I heard."

You pull away, confused. He cups your face in his hand and gently twists it left and right, scanning for any cuts or bruises.

"What? Who told you?"

He cooks his head. "You did. A few minutes ago."

Did you? You don't remember calling him. But you're tired and frightened. Maybe you just can't remember everything.

He sits you down on the porch swing and carefully inspects your palms while you tell him what happened.

"It wasn't a wolf. You believe me right? I saw it clear as day."

"You were pumped up on adrenaline and fighting for your life. You can't be sure what you saw." He sighs, "Maybe it was a wolf or maybe it was a bear or maybe it was some exotic animal that we've never heard about. But really y/n, it sure as hell wasn't a werewolf."

"Yeah... but..."

In the daylight, werewolves and horror feel silly. Illogical. You aren't a kid anymore, you shouldn't be letting your imagination run wild. There's definitely a reasonable explanation.

But every time you think about it, the more sure you feel. That creature was nothing normal or logical at all. It was wrong. Anatomy all out of proportion, eyes too bright and aware, the smell of it more like human sweat than dog musk.

No, you didn't imagine any of it. It wasn't a wolf at all.

"How's Cruiser doing?"

You take a sip of your drink and try not to cry. "Not good. The emergency vet came by and rushed him to surgery. Multiple broken bones they say, maybe some internal bleeding."

He sucks in a breath. "Oh y/n, I'm so sorry."

He opens his arms and you curl up against him gratefully. His letterman jacket is soft against your skin and the smell of him envelopes you.

"I still remember the day you got him for me," you say.

He rubs soothing circles across your back.

"He was such a runt back then. All eyes and big floppy ears. When you pulled him out of your jacket, I didn't realise he was a puppy. I thought you got me some weird stuffed teddy."

He laughs. "I tried putting a bow on him y'know. But he kept tryna bite my fingers off."

You laugh too. "I could never figure out why he didn't like you."

"Jealousy I say. Didn't want me to steal you away."

You punch his arm, smiling. "You're the only guy who'll compete with a dog for my attention."

"If that's what it takes. Put a leash on me right now if you want."

You scoff and curl up closer against him. "I would but they don't come in your size big guy."

You're too tired to notice the bruise on your best friend's nose, or the way he flinches when you touch his side. For a little while, you make the awful mistake of forgetting about the beast.

Prom comes faster then you expect. Your dress gets measured and tailored and steamed. You spend days practicing different hair styles. Cruiser limps around behind you, whining for treats like he wasn't touch and go just a month ago. The moon grows thin and then round again.

When you pull up at your best friend's house, his parents are on their way to a party of their own. His mother gives you a peck on the cheek and says you look stunning and to not forget the keys when you leave.

You laugh and wave them off and almost forget about the full moon streaming through the trees.

The house is quiet and you make your way to his room, your heels hanging from your fingers.

"Hey princess!" You knock on his door. "Are you ready yet? I'm coming in!"

You open the door to an empty room, his tux still on its hanger.

"Oh. My. God. How are you still not done?"

You can hear the shower running and you pound at the door. "We're gonna be late! I swear I'm going to kill you when you get out of there."

No response.

"Hey! I know you can hear me!"

Still nothing.

You try the handle and the door swings open a crack. Steam billows out and you slap a hand over your eyes before you can see anything too revealing.

"Hurry it up! We're gonna miss all the good songs if you don't get dressed soon. Do you really wanna slow dance to something Mr Jared the gym teacher picks out?"

You hear the slap of footsteps on wet tile and breath a sigh of relief. "Did all that football practice knock your ears outta wack? I've been yelling at you since I got here."

Something growls, low and deep.

Your eyes shoot open and you step back. But you're still too slow to react and the werewolf leaps at you. Its heavier than a man and you tumble to the floor together, its paws pinning you down by the shoulders.

Its snout is right in front of your face, almost touching your nose. Lips curl away from awfully long fangs.

It growls almost like a man, almost like it's saying, "Mine."

You scream, kicking and tossing and failing to get away. It's claws prick holes in the satin of your dress and draw little beads of blood.

You scream your best friend's name, terrified that the beast got him too. You're going to die, you think desperately, you're going to die and your poor mother won't even be able to refund your prom dress. If you weren't screaming, you might have laughed.

But the monster doesn't kill you.

Instead, it licks the tears off your cheek. Just like Cruiser did a month ago. It growls again, but the sound is lighter. Pleased almost.

You grow still, confused and terrified of provoking it. Your best friend's room is cluttered with football gear - trophies and jerseys and signed helmets. The moon shines dully off all of it. And you're in the very centre, with a monster pinning you to the ground.

The moon dips behind a cloud and the werewolf changes right before your eyes. Hair and snout receding, his eyes darkening from wolf amber to warm brown.

It's only his teeth that stay the same. All sharp points that peak through his lips.

Your best friend is on top of you, totally naked and still warm from the shower.

"I didn't want to hurt you y/n, I swear."

His voice is lower somehow, like the wolf's growl is just under the surface.

You're too shocked to move. Too shocked to scream. This must be a dream. It's too surreal to be real.

He leans down and kisses you on the cheek. "I wanted to tell you. But it would have sounded crazy. I grow claws and teeth on the full moon? I heal faster than I used to? I can smell when you're ovulating and when you're on your period?"

He pulls back and tilts his head. "When we were kids, we promised we wouldn't keep secrets. And now you know."

"You...you were outside my house that night."

He laughs. "I'm outside your house every night dummy. That was just the night you caught me."

"Why?"

He shakes his head the way he always does when you say something dumb. "To keep you safe. To keep other animals away from you. To protect you, like I said I would."

His hands slip from your shoulders to your waist. "But now you know."

He grins, his teeth awfully sharp. "Now I can make you just like me."

He holds you down and kisses you and nips at your neck hard enough to draw blood. And when the clouds clear from the moon, you feel your teeth start to lengthen.

Something is terrorising your town. And you should have know better than to cross its path.

[marsprincess889]

Basic themes of nakshatras

May edit this later, this is as far as I understand and have observed them, and I think it's pretty nice to see them simply.

Ashwini:

Newness, freshness, the unmanifest, speed, energy, vitality, instinct, healing, fast healing, unlimited energy, self-expression, selfishness, blocking outside noise, trusting yourself, self-empowerment, unfiltered actions.

Things that remind me of Ashwini: bees, the sun, horses, two white horses, golden deserts, horses gallopping, honey, long hair flying in the wind, apples.

Bharani:

Love, death, sex, the female, the feminine, limitations, the material, fate, destiny, coming into the body, struggling against limitations, struggling against fate, mind trapped in its own hell because of the inevitable, dealing with the harshness of life, harshness of mothers and mother nature, the hierarchy, privileges and deprivations, desire, going after your true desire, the immortality of the soul, adapting to changes, passion, tragic love, bravery, facing the truth, choicelessness, nessecity, revenge, violence, gatekeeping, reduction, denial of access, conquering your fate, everlasting beauty, immortality, eternal love.

Things that remind me of Bharani: hot pink and black, darkness, roses, the yoni, gateways, keyholes, caverns, boats, rivers, the damsel in distress, fantasy, high fantasy.

Krittika:

Adam, the main character, naming things, language, rationality, precision, sharpness, criticism, the poet, the "it" person, simplicity, cleanliness, expressing oneself, selectivity, the heat, the knowledge, the light, masculine ideals, stoicism.

Things that remind me of Krittika: knives, razors, lighers, sparks, fire, hearth, cooking.

Rohini:

Eve, sugar babies, growth, receptivity, enjoyment, pleasure, unrefined, doted on, subconcious, absorbtion, sharing, union, creation, the youngest daughter, naivete, feeling no shame.

Things that remind me of Rohini: sugar, stickiness, sweetness, heaviness, red, pink, flowers, the A.I(lol).

Mrigashira:

Distraction, realization, fickleness, adventure, running away, chasing, the hunt, excitement, softness, pleasure, altering conciousness, magic substances(iykwim), curiosity, fulfillment, insatiability, teasing.

Things that remind me of Mrigashira: silver threads, deer, green forests, green and blue, running in the woods, alcohol, the moon, Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream".

Ardra:

Disillusion, crying, lamenting, awareness of others, awarness of other's expectations, hyper-awarness of everything, intellect, the rational mind, pressures from society, rebelling against society, anxiety, hunting.

Things that remind me of Ardra: tears, water, storms, technology, teenage angst, emo culture, the rain, sad songs, dogs.

Punarvasu:

Mercy, forgiveness, permission, freedom, flying, expansion, gentleness, regrowing, realigning, returning, home, unconditional love and nurture, celebration, peace, peacefulness, centering oneself, sunlight, warmth, fostering, taking care, being taken care of, luck, unlimited fertile space, shelter, genuine kindness, believing in humanity again, cycles, patterns, seeing the cycles and the patterns, prophecies, the oracle, openness, second (and third, fouth...) chances, a comeback.

Things that remind me of Punarvasu: staying at home, pets, plants, cats, gentle rain, a bow and arrows, a target.

Pushya:

Asceticism, routines, self-restraint, servitude, control, self-control, working, working on yourself, patience, simplicity, striving for perfection, nurturing, nourishment, quiet ambition, symmetry.

Things that remind me of Pushya: milk, milkmaids, country life, milking, symmetry, goats, sheep, agriculture.

Ashlesha:

Manipulation, abuse, poison, emotional abuse, blackmail, resorting to everything for safety, protection, pent up energy, the nervous system, purity, water, sensitivity, cleanliness, energetic build-up, tension, restraint, preservation, self-preservation, virginity, feminine tactics, being "mean" for protection, lying for safety, sensuality, mother issues, agitation.

Things that remind me of Ashlesha: the color white, transparent things, cats, poisoning, snow white, Sofia Coppola films, teenage girlhood, ties, strings, knots, snakes.

Magha:

Royalty, power, ancestry, family trees, history, the past, regality, honoring the past, honoring the elders, honoring the authority, religion, tradition, customs, confidence, ego.

Things that remind me of Magha: crowns, thrones, churches, goth culture, smoke, big hair(like the lion's mane).

Purva Phalguni:

Pleasure, enjoyment, being spoiled as the feminine, loving to spoil as the masculine, procreation, sex, leisure, art, holidays, parties, exclusivity, pride, charisma, sexual dispersion, love as a method of self-expression, admiration, directness, active pursuit of your passions, indulgence.

Things that remind me of Purva Phalguni: fruits, eating fruits topless, rose gold color, the "rizz"(lol), the phallus, dramaticism.

Uttara Phalguni:

Favors from friends, family and partners, contracts, beneficial agreements, the perfect wife, likeability, popularity, friendliness, appearing cool, stoicism, beneficial arrangements, gain through partnerships, self-expression through relationships, wife/girlrfiend material, harvest, family associations, marriage associations.

Things that remind me of Uttara Phalguni: the "chads", simplicity, genuine friends, loyal companions, family business, the perfect male stereotype, the "rich heiress running away" trope, wheat, gold, power couples.

Hasta:

The earth, the veiled feminine, manipulation, denial of access, materialism, cheating, everyday matters, empowerment of women, deception, skill, seeking knowledge, wanting to be in control, activism, street-smarts, manipulation of masses.

Things that remind me of Hasta: the hand, Goddess Persephone, skilled hands, thieves, easy money, fairies, witches, scammers.

Chitra:

Crafting, building, perspective, truth, law, gems, sacrifice for your craft, vanity, stereotypes, aesthetics, the truth in stereotypes, building based on the law and the truth, the surface of things, the appearance of things, the substance reflected in the vessel, gossip, cliques, tricks.

Things that remind me of Chitra: the god Hephestos, martian gods in general, jewelry, fashion, make-up, drama, pettiness, the coquette aesthetic, pranksters, Olivia Rodrigo(ig).

Swati:

Space, the cosmos, shifting realities, love, rebellion, alternate realities, possibilities, seeing beauty in everything, inspiration, art, the cosmic egg, creation of the world, creation of worlds, microcosm and macrocosm, freedom through love.

Things that remind me of Swati: video games, the wind, plants beggining to sprout, the sword, technology, the Sims.

Vishakha:

The lightning, snapping, splitting, joining opposites, compromise, marriage, repressed anger, repressed aggression, alter egos, passion, enthusiasm, standing up for yourself and others, repression and then expression, energy, love and hate.

Things that remind me of Vishakha: lighning bolts, Zeus, Thor and other lighning gods, superhero "Shazam", celebrations.

Anuradha:

Friendship, devotion, depth, loyalty, unconditional loyalty, bonds, the occult, sex with love, numbers, gatherings, friend groups, groups, gentleness, humbleness, discipline, seriousness, organizing society, social groups.

Things that remind me of Anuradha: the color burgundy, dim lights, bunnies, "Sex Education" (tv show), sci-fi (for some reason), "The Vampire Diaries" (and very similar teen shows), frat boys, cheerleaders.

Jyeshta:

The battlefield, war, hunger, thirst, insatiability, conquering, the underdog, street-smarts, competition, strategy, extreme independence, mind games, the art of war, survival, ruling, rising above, self-reliance, wisdom, becoming the authority, the eldest, dryness, trust issues, enemies, destroying enemies, outsmarting all enemies.

Things that remind me of Jyeshta: grandmothers, owls, eagles, dry places, flags, marching, chess.

Mula:

Horror, the abnormal, the truth, the core, the center, the absorbing darkness, the black hole, the roots, violence against falsehoods, seeking the truth, seeking the cause, seeking roots, uprooting, chaos, from chaos to order, the unchanging truth, taming beasts, holding to your truth.

Things that remind me of Mula: "Phanton of the Opera", "Twilight", final girls, horror movies, dark murky green, the wilderness.

Purva Ashadha:

Art, beauty, alliances, artistry, ideals, fighting for the ideal, discrimination, exclusivity, philosophies about beauty and art, passion for love and art, attachments, secrecy, luxury, vitality, vigor, going for victory.

Things that remind me of Purva Ashadha: the sea, seafoam, goddess Aphrodite, seashells, mermaids, sirens, fans (the ones you hold in your hand lol), Arwen from LotR.

Uttara Ashadha:

Victory, loneliness, individuality, government, empowerment, independence, being looked up to, composed self-expression, ease, simplicity but regality, confidence, self-assuredness, melancholy and hardships of aloneness but contentment, stoicism, invincibility, unapologetic behavior.

Things that remind me of Uttara Ashadha: earnest people, goddess Nike, mint color for some reason.

Shravana:

Connecting everything, secret knowledge, interest in everything, reading between the lines, subconcious access, extreme sensitivity, holding the humanity together, secret agencies, percieving what others can't percieve, saving humanity, navigating, receptivity, mysticism.

Things that remind me of Shravana: Superman, Geralt of Rivia, Aragorn, King arthur, pathways, footprints, ear, color blue, spies, astrology, outcasts, fringe societies.

Dhanishta:

Celebration, celebrities, fame, visibility, aggression, agitation, action, bringing people together, idols, propaganda, wealth from fame, that which attracts attention, public image, benefits and downsides of fame, openness and flashiness, branding, movement.

Things that remind me of Dhanishta: supermodels, Princess Diana, dancing, rhythmic drums.

Shatabhisha:

Complexities, seeing everything, lurking in shadows, holding the knowledge, secrets, secrecy, hiding, technology, innovation, being ahead of your time, advising but manipulating, society, the collective, trends, the conciousness of masses, propaganda.

Things that remind me of Shatabhisha: midnight sky, stars, the seas, water reservoirs, the circle, the all-seeing eye of Sauron(lol), Lord of the Rings, rings, the movie "Stardust" (the book too), the evil advisor/black cardinal trope.

Purva Bhadrapada:

Notoriety, expansion, uncontrolled expansion, persmissiveness, growth to ruin unless restrained, fighting for your soul, the scapegoat, going against society, getting tested, the point of no return.

Things that remind me of Purva Bhadrapada: gangs, famous criminals, laziness, femme fatales, the grotesque, deserts, werewolves, the black sheep.

Uttara Bhadrapada:

Finding grace, hardships, working, inner strength, steeliness, resilience, patience, restraint, contol, self-restraint and self-control, bravery, honesty, stubbornness, fighting for your truth, perfect control, freedom through limitations, seeking a permanent foundation built on truth, working for the foundation, long-term goals, innocence, purity of soul, stillness, refinement, honor and glory.

Things that remind me of Uttara Bhadrapada: butterflies, clouds, baby blue color, Cinderella, warriors, knights, knight orders, ice, coldness, queens, ice-queen, dragons, water dragons, deep waters, deep sea and its creatures, wings.

Revati:

Ultimate freedom, creativity, wisdom, gentleness, compassion, guiding, herding, fun, laughter, mischief, lightnness, ease, finding peace, reaching the end, enjoying what you have, contentment, nurturing, open-mindedness, conclusions, gratefulness, freedom and free will, having choices, diversity, finding the truth, true wealth, parenthood, the guide, guidance, individuation.

Things that remind me of Revati: shepherds, herding, everything easy and light, the tricksters, the fool, jokes, Loki, The Joker, fish, comedy, the movie "A Fish Called Wanda", caring for everyone and everything, light and soft shades of green and blue.

[writingforatwistedworld]

Hi!! I really love your writting🥰 i would like to request for the self-aware au, Reader hiding behind them after being chased by some particularly pushy NPCs with Rook, Trey, and Jack please❤️

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, murder, description of violence, blood, obsession, stalking

Trey Clover/Jack Howl/Rook Hunt-Hiding behind them

Ah, what a nice day. In fact, it is perfect for trying out that recipe with that dough that needed to rest for a while

Or rather, that was his plan for the day until he suddenly heard two pairs of footsteps rushing into the dorm kitchen

And no, it was not the kind of footsteps that spoke of joy like the ones of his siblings did. from time to time, it sounded panicked

Just a second later you entered the kitchen with an octavinelle student, the latter one trying to catch up to you

Before the baker could figure out what was going on, you were suddenly behind him, using his body as a shield

Oh… oh!

Was this guy harassing you?

How dare he? How dare-

Deep breaths. Very deep breaths - would be something he would have said to himself if he wasn't this angry

By some miracle, he was able to hold himself together

He was this close to loose his reputation as "that nice hat wearing baker"

A strict look towards the student and you were finally alone with him

For you the whole thing was over but for that student?

Suddenly the poor lad fell ill, claiming that he had stomach problems

Heck, he couldn't even keep his food down

Such a shame... Trey surely hoped he would survive

Who else could he secretly gift those cakes? You? Oh no... It's just that he experiments with some new recipes...

Ignore that bottle in the cupboard

Jack is someone who keeps his friends very close and is not afraid to stand up for them

Only that he saw you as someone more precious than a friend

So when he saw you running away from a student and slipping behind him he saw the world just a tiny bit tinted red

The young wolf beastman isn't someone who uses violence just because he can do or feel like using it

(Honestly, at this point he is more like your little dog than some fearsome wolf)

Just because he didn't turn the student into very biological and mushy fertiliser for the flowers then and there doesn't mean he was calm though

Grabbing the not so nice company of yours, he told you to not worry and leave your little problem to him

Ah yes, Jack Howl, that kind acquaintance of yours

How nice of him

But you know, there are also tales about wolves acting as if they are kind just to devour you

Of course Jack didn't do that

Does not mean that things went as peaceful as you thought they did after you left

Jack usually keeps his instincts under control but on that evening he had to cut his nails very short and scrub his hands

Anyone would be horrified after the sensation of calcium breaking under their hand, splintering like old, dried out wood under a saw

He should feel guilty but... it was hard to do so

Which brings us back to a sink being used by a certain beastman

Geez, some things are so hard to get off of skin once it dries, wouldn't you agree?

First of all, it's a wonder the hunter wasn't watching you from a tree (or something like that... who knew bushes could walk in this world)

If he had he would have immediately revealed himself by slithering in between you and that oh so foolish first year

But alas, apparently a miracle happened and this time it was you seeking out him

When Rook heart the certain sound of your shoes hitting the ground he was swivelling around, a poem about his devotion towards you already on his tongue...

And them you hid behind his arm curtains (you know, their dorm uniforms sleves)

Did hiw beloved Overseer, perfection and liberatir in person finally choose him as their most favorite- no? Ok that's cool too

If this was any other situation he would have started a speech in his wannabe French, stating how short he was by your rejection

But right now he had to deal with your little stalker (don't try to act all innocent, Rook, you did the same many more times than they ever could without being noticed)

Trying to calm you down the hunter brought you to Pomfiore

And nothing weir happened

No I am not joking, Rook was his usual normal self (if we want to call at best flirtatious remarks and at worst frantic devoted ramblings normal)

From then on you were much closer to the hunter

Especially after a body was found

And oh, how grateful Rook was for not having the time to get rid of the body on that day

Of course, he had noticed how ce fou followed you two to the dorm

How trusting you were when he told you that he wanted to get you two something to drink...

And there the parasite still was, lingering around the entrance of his dorm

The only regret Rook had was finishing his job so quickly

It was always such a bore whenever his prey wouldn't squirm

Well, at least you were now close to him

Just be careful, the hunter was also back then the one bringing her highness a false heart. Who knows how much he would lie to get you all to himself?

Uh and… maybe don't open that box he has in his room in a cooler. He told you he keeps some sort of trophy in there and I think that is all we need to know

[sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame]

*Angrily looks around* ok so we're not writing more werewolf Valeria???? Fucking fine I'll do it myself

En Sus Marcus Part 1/?

Part 2

Summary: Valeria hunts you through the woods, fucks the shit out of you. Congratulations you won and you're her pet housewife now <3

2nd person omniscient, black reader, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, no actual smut in this chapter but still sexy as fuck, kinda dubcon, but reader's DEF into it, bimbo reader, reader's dumb as shit y'all. That being said I could see myself doing similar, dom Valeria, sub reader, predator/prey dynamic, fucky and inaccurate Spanish (corrections greatly appreciated)

This is self indulgent trash and I the humble outdoor cat feasting on the week old chicken wings inside it.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

It was stupid to be out in the forest this late, you knew how stupid it was to be in the forest this late.

You were exhausted. Your boss had worked you to the bone for the last three fucking years and still had the nerve to complain when you used your pto for a single week off to enjoy Halloween—your least busy week of the year—by yourself in a cozy little cabin in the woods.

But you were also stupid. So stupid. And so scared. Your first day in you nearly gave yourself carbon monoxide poisoning when you forgot to open the fireplace hatch. Your second day, you'd left the gas on for an hour and set the smoke alarm off for the second time in three days, and now, your third day in, you saw what looked like a limping dog outside, in the pitch black darkness and your dumbass decided to follow it?

You were cursing yourself out the entire time. Horror movie rule number one was without fail, the black guy dies first. And here you were waltzing into the woods after a random animal that you full well could've hallucinated.

But you didn't. You know you didn't. And while that dog was huge, if it was willing to come that close to the house it had to have been someone's pet. Even if it was a wolf dog or something it was obvious it had been abandoned. You weren't a vet, but it seemed way too alert and aware of how you stood by the door. You'd seen YouTube videos of how animals with rabies acted. They were haunting, but the dog didn't move like that. Aside from a slight limp its head still darted in your direction when it spotted you peeking out the giant glass door into the backyard. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth when it heard you call after it for godsake.

You couldn't explain why or how, and you hoped it wouldn't attack you because explaining why you left the house to medical professionals would make you feel like the biggest wet noodle known to man, but it looked like it wanted you to come closer. So you did.

You walked towards it slowly, making sure to avoid eye contact and making yourself look too big or too small, trying to remember the "if it's black fight back, if it's brown get down" rule and whether or not that only applied to bears. You managed to close enough distance between the two of you that you could shine your phone's weak flashlight on the creature to check if there was any blood on it.

Thankfully there wasn't, not so thankfully it got up, and calmly walked further into the woods, turning its head back every few steps to stare at you pathetically.

At this point, maybe if you hadn't finished half a bottle of pink moscato, you would've recognized that it was probably just politely asking you to back off. In the way an animal does when it does not want to fight. But sadly, you had. And the wolf wasn't staring at you like it was trying to avoid a fight, It was staring at you like how dogs stare at people in those probably faked rescue videos where they lead the cameraman to a den full of newborn puppies.

You didn't know what was wrong with this animal but you knew you wouldn't be able to sleep at night if you didn't make sure. And you didn't know that there were multiple hotlines in the area you could call instead of risking both of your lives.

It kept looking back at you, tail flat between its legs, ears pinned back, what could only be considered a giant dopey looking smile on its face as you trailed behind it for long enough that your feet started to hurt despite the hiking boots you'd thrown on before leaving the house.

You were freezing sadly because it was the sole practical element of your outfit.

You were in a lacy pink silk nightie that stopped just at your thigh. Thick brown thighs jiggling a little with each step. If you'd bent over, the wolf could've gotten a nice and pleasant view of your pussy peaking out from underneath the fabric cause you never went to bed with panties on. You could've run to pick some up but you didn't want to chance that the animal would be gone by the time you got back with no proof of if it even existed.

Your phone battery was low. Not dangerously so, but enough that it made you really stupid for going out without your little pink portable charger.

But it was such a stupid spontaneous decision. One you'd spend the rest of your life paying for.

You froze when the wolf darted out of sight suddenly. So fast you didn't have time to point your light towards the direction it ran, it was gone before your eyes had caught up to your ears and processed the rustling of leaves trailing off into the distance.

And now you were painfully aware of the fact that you were alone in the woods. And you had no idea how far you'd gone off the path. And that even if it had stayed, the injured animal probably couldn't offer you much help against a bear, or worse, a man with a gun.

You started shivering, the crisp fall air was delightful in the early mornings, but the sun set at 5pm that day and it was in the high forties now. You weren't even wearing a little sweater to keep your arms warm.

Valeria noticed.

She hadn't actually been injured. She wasn't even limping believe it or not, you just weren't wearing your glasses and couldn't tell that she was walking normally. Let alone that she was much much bigger than a wolf dog.

You smelled divine with your pumpkin spice body oil and the cheap wine clinging to your lips.

Valeria was here for fun too. She owned these woods. And everything in them. She was stunned that you hadn't noticed how deadly silent your romantic evening walk had been. There were so many signs this was a trap.

It wasn't at first, of course. She rented the cabin out. She liked to see who stayed in her home away from home when she wasn't there. What they smelled like. Tasted like. If they looked fun to hunt. But then there you were. Standing outside in your pretty pink dress, her favorite color glowing against your skin and making you look like a goddess underneath the light of the moon. Normally she'd have left you alone. She'd always had a soft spot for pretty girls. But you looked and smelled so divine she just had to get closer. And closer. And closer.

She realized you'd spotted her the moment she realized you were her mate.

She could've shat herself she was so scared. The elation from finding her mate and complete dread at the fact that you were so gullible consumed her with every step you took further into the forest.

She'd have to teach you a lesson.

With all the spoiling she was gonna do to you, you'd probably get bratty. She'd have to teach you many more. She wasn't complaining.

But for now, you needed to learn why you don't follow strange animals into the woods.

And you needed to learn that you were hers. Quickly.

You looked around erratically. On the verge of tears. She could hear your little heartbeat racing.

That's when she decided to shift back.

"Excuse me, are you alright?" She nearly convinced herself she meant it.

You jolted around and immediately started bawling. She wrapped her arms around you, pressing you to her bare chest.

"Hey, it's alright. Can you tell me what happened, princesa?

You nodded, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I've just been so stressed at work and there was this dog—I think it was a wolf dog, and she's hurt and she's definitely someone's pet and she looked like she was leading me to her puppies and I got worried cause if she was willing to lead me there, that means she'd be willing to lead someone dangerous there, so I followed her and we went too deep into the woods and I'm on vacation, I don't know these woods, I'm from L.A.!"

She nodded along, trying to hold back her laughter.

"Pobrecita. You just need someone to protect you, huh?"

You froze. Suddenly and painfully aware of the fact that your head was pressed directly into the bare tits of another woman. You were far from displeased and it wasn't the first time, but still, why in the flying fuck would there be a woman in the woods even more naked than you were?

"Um, ma'am, why are you naked?"

She tossed her head back laughing.

"Ay, que rico, la niña que no lleva nada más que su lencería quiere saber por qué estoy desnuda."

You were kicking yourself mentally at the fact that you hadn't been more serious about learning Spanish all these years. That little green owl was going to kill you if this weird ass woman didn't do the job for him.

"I'm sorry?" Was all you said instead, trying to make your way out of her embrace.

It didn't work. She did let you wiggle around enough that you could crane your neck to look up at her, however, and by god were you grateful. Big pretty brown eyes, hair the perfect length to tug on while she ate you out, an aquiline nose. And the most beautiful, wolfish smile you could ever imagine.

She was the kind of woman that'd make you leave a room just to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of her.

You immediately felt guilty for sexualizing her despite the fact that she was naked and had pressed your face into her tits two seconds ago.

"Shit, you're not doing so hot either, huh? Do you wanna go back to where I'm staying and get some hot chocolate, maybe a shower? Alone! Of course! I can call anyone if you need help too! Oh wait I forgot I had my phone! I can just call the sheriff or something—" she grabbed your phone out of your hands and threw it off into the woods.

You were silent for an embarrassingly long time.

"What the fuck dude." You said it so quietly and calmly Valeria couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't worry. I'll remember where it went in the morning."

You tried with a lot more fervor to put yourself far out of arms reach from the woman, failing every time. She didn't even have to exert a large amount of strength to pin you to her. You didn't let it stop you, but you knew, you wouldn't be moving unless she let you.

She let her long, sharp—sharper than they should be, you had a fresh set of stilettos, they were not that sharp—nails graze your skin just slightly. A warning. You weren't dumb enough to miss that.

"Stop. Moving." Something was wrong. She growled at you. You'd been growled at before in bed by exes, they didn't sound like that. She sounded like she was barely able to form the words. Like she was twisting her vocal cords around to make sense of the random sounds and syncopations that just so happened to make your little pussy drool.

"Here's what's going to happen, princesa. I'm going to give you..." she leaned in to sniff at your bonnet, shivering and pressing her mouth to your forehead, letting out a moan as her hand snaked down your waist to rub at your ass, just above where your nightgown had already ridden up more than dangerously high. "Ten seconds."

"...Ten seconds to what?"

You could feel her grin grow unnaturally wide against you.

"To run."

This time you shivered. This poor woman was crazy and in need of help and here you were getting off to her delusions. What a creep.

"And then when I catch you, I'm going to breed that wet little pussy. I'm going to take you home. And I'm going to fill you up some more, sólo para asegurarme de que funciona."

You were having a hard time breathing. Her voice was so low and even. Her fingers danced at the hem of your dress and as awful as it was you didn't even want to run. You wanted her to snake her fingers just a bit lower and breed you here. You needed her fingers, her cock, her mouth, whatever she'd give you. You could feel your own cum pooling down your thighs which had literally never happened to you before. She was causing chemical reactions in your body you weren't sure had been previously seen within the human race.

She huffed, smiling a bit.

"Oh! Someone's excited."

You whimpered a bit, at the sensation of her claws digging into the fat of your ass.

"Let's get something straight, princesa. If you don't run properly," she pressed you even closer to her, "if you don't make the chase fun," she trailed her nose down the side of your face, pressing you impossibly close. Her grip so tight it was starting to actually hurt, "then I'll kill you."

You laughed a little bit, or tried to. Wheezed would be more accurate.

"Oh, I'm not kidding. Tengo que demostrar que serás una buena compañera, nena. Que te aseguraras de que tus hijas sean fuertes."

Valeria was of course, lying. But you didn't know that. You didn't know that she'd make sure your kids would grow up nice and strong and much much smarter than their ditsy mother was the day they first met.

"You ready, coñejita?" Her grip loosened slightly, and you immediately took your chance to bite her on the neck. Hard. Hoping she'd let go completely and you'd be able to run back to your cabin and use the ancient house phone before she cut the lines or something.

She didn't though, she just frowned. But you could see the edges of her lips fighting to twitch up into her normal Cheshire grin.

"I didn't say it was time to start running, coñejita."

She grabbed your jaw and tilted your head to the side, trailing her sharp teeth down your neck. You felt like they were cutting skin but her hot breath soothed the ache the second it started.

"En su marca."

She grabbed your ass so hard you could feel the chill night air on your dripping cunt.

"Lista."

She pressed a kiss to your neck with a gentleness you wouldn't have guessed she'd be capable of.

"Fuera."

You knew what it meant but she still didn't let go. She wanted you to feel it through your body when the chase had really begun.

She whispered into you ear, teasingly. Joyfully. An excited impatience emanating from her voice.

"Run."

[penvisions]

there's a place and time {joel miller x reader}

Pairing: Younger / No-outbreak! Joel Miller x Neighbor! Reader

Summary: Moving back to your parents house wasn't part of the plan, neither was being a thorn in your neighbor's side. but you roll with the punches, and hey, he's kinda cute when he gets huffy.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: age gap (joel is mid 30's / reader is mid 20's), angst, biting words, argumentative language, joel is a lil meanie but so is reader, grief, off-screen loss, depictions of depression, comfort, mushy stuff

A/N: this literally came out of nowhere, a random thought on the way to work and then a manic two hours of writing once i got home. this turned out a little different than first imagined, but i hope it reads well!

navigation || joel miller masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Why don’t you date?”

“Excuse me?” The form crouched in between kitchen counters looked up at you with a raised brow, surely mishearing the question.

“Dating, I know you know what that is.” You repeat yourself as you push your arms back to brace on the counter and hop up on it. The granite of it is cold on your bare thighs, the shorts you were wearing thrown on haphazardly when a panic stricken pair of teenagers had begun to bang on your door in the early afternoon. The words of ‘fire’ and “help!” spurring you into action where you had been napping on your couch. Now though, the oven was off, the blackened frozen pizza still on the rack and covered in foam from the fire extinguisher neither of them had known how to use. Their father had sent them upstairs, thanking you for helping them out and getting it taken care of. “Or the concept at least, yeah?”

“Don’t mean it’s any of your business, little lady.” Joel’s voice leaves no room for further conversation as he realizes you’re more serious than need be. Little quips between you two common, the unspoken understanding of not discussing the reason for your presence in the neighborhood mutual.

“I dunno, I remember you being real keen on the idea of me babysitting.” You take a sip of your soda, swiped from the fridge after everything had calmed down. “Would do you a favor now, should you need the night off for some…fun.”

“Dating and fun are two different things.”

“Dating can be fun, if you do it with the right person.”

“Yeah, and what do you know about that? Saw you move in all by your lonesome. No big, burly man helping you with your boxes.”

The fizzy drink sours on your tongue and you toss him a scowl as he stands. He’s a few feet away but you can feel the warmth of him as he stands at his full height. He’s reaching to close the oven door, the creak of metal on metal loud in the beat of silence.

“You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you on your perky ass, Miller.”

“Language, you’re in my house.” His brow furrows and he pins you with a stern look. Something you’d seen him give to his brother, his girls, the neighbor across the way when she wouldn’t take the hint that he didn’t want her dog shit in his yard.

“Old men like yourself deserve to have some fun every once in a while. They deserve happiness too.”

“Even if I did, it’s no concern of yours. Your daddy didn’t help pay for two degrees for you to end up babysitting for grocery money.”

The rebuttal on the tip of your tongue suddenly dissolved as you felt a shiver run down your spine. He’s right, you know he’s right. But you just…you couldn’t even open the envelope with the certificates let alone add them to your resume and begin the arduous task of job hunting.

“Fuck you, I was only offering to help out a neighbor.” The words are rough, rounded out with the weight of too many emotions. You shove off from the counter, abandoning your half-finished drink. A delicacy you enjoyed only over at his house, too expensive for you to indulge in as bills you never anticipated paying became your responsibility.

“I didn’t mean-“ He had the self-awareness to realize he said the wrong thing. His hands coming up from his waist to reach out for you, but you don’t look over your shoulder as you make your way through the kitchen.

“Don’t come to me if you do need someone to look after the girls. I wouldn’t take your money anyway.”

“C’mon now,” His full lips shape around your name, but you’re already out the door. Resisting the urge to let it slam shut behind you, your anger still so sharp and hot. But the girls didn’t deserve to feel it, even the echo of it in the slamming of a door. Despite being a dick, Joel was a good father to them. He’d made his home a nurturing and loving environment. You didn’t want to taint it with your stained hands.

As he stands there in his empty kitchen, the smell of burnt dough, smoke, and ammonia dizzies him as he watches you cross over his yard to yours next door. The blank expression on your face and the faint smears of dried pant all over your legs makes him regret his fast words. He had been going for teasing, but of course they had come out harsh and wounding.

You were someone he didn’t know how to interact with. So sweet and polite with the girls, with the neighbors. But you were a firecracker with him. Teasing, whipping words that rung around his head, and he recalled far too often. The little smirk that pulled at your lips as you said them, waited for his response or sputtering lack of one. His own pulled from him, making him feel like a teenager again, like a young man you hadn’t been suddenly left alone to raise a child. Like his old self, someone who stood a chance with you as you gave him your attention time and time again.

He had only ever met you through the words of your parents, the people who had once occupied the house beside his own. He had moved in with two six-year-olds just as you had shoved off to college upstate. The running joke was that it was perfect timing for him to have missed out on the perfect babysitter.

-

Graduation is supposed to be a time of celebration and proud smiles, at least that’s what everyone else got. The day you had counted down on the calendar and crossed off the passing ones as it neared was now a blur of too bright colors and phone calls with people telling you things you didn’t want to think about, let alone hear as your new reality.

A car accident, on the drive upstate. Both parents, reckless driver.

A house that had been recently paid off, left to you. Your name already on the deed, something you didn’t want to think about too hard. Close, you had been close with each of them and them as a unit. A small family but understanding. It was yours, the backdrop to your life and suddenly the two people were only memories.

The move had been quick, the apartment you shared with fellow graduate students mostly books and a beautiful desk. The bedframe taken apart to go while the shelves had been left for the next occupants.

You hadn’t shared the news with any of your roommates or friends, not wanting to taint their own celebrations and happy memories of the day you all worked so hard for. Addresses were exchanged, well wishes were meant, but of course it all faded as time had gone on. Their news of job offers and exciting dates had been good to hear, but with no good things to respond with of your own, it was hard to feel the same way about them as you once had. They reached out, worry coloring their words, which made you feel even worse.

It haunts you for days, as you seal yourself into the home that is now yours alone. The paint slathered on canvas dries and the brushes coated in it turn into hardened caps over the bristles. You’re allowing things to sit for too long, the water evaporating in the cups you use to rinse between swatches of color. The open paint tubes oxidizing and becoming unsalvageable. But you have no control.

The bed becomes damp with nights of sweat, from your tossing and turning body as the heat rises and the air conditioning that needs to be repaired is just another phone call. You don’t even think you know where your phone is. It can’t bear bad news if you don’t answer it. It can’t carry the end of your world if you don’t let it.

There’s a sharp knock on the door at some point, in the midst of the haze of days after storming out of Joel’s kitchen. You hadn’t been able to dissect the sounds of life going on outside your closed windows.

But it had, to the point where now someone was calling on you to make you return to it.

Shrugging on a robe, you hold it tight to your aching body as you push up from the bed. Bare feet sticking to the hardwood floor as the heat fills the home.

“What?” You can’t help but bark as you swing the door open, only to find a concerned Joel on the porch, with your phone in his hand.

“I found this in the kitchen, must’ve fallen off the counter in the madness of getting the fire out and callin’ me.” He holds it out to you, but you don’t move to take it. “Figured you needed it, there’s a lot of missed calls and voicemails. I may have left a few too, to check on ya. Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Been here, painting.”

“Okay, that’s…that’s good. Got everything you need? Food, water, someone comin’ to fix the A/C?” It’s an apology in the only way Joel Miller is capable of giving, the need to make sure someone is getting what they need, that they’re taken care of. He’s a good provider, to his girls, to his brother, to the neighborhood when he’s not beat down from long days in the sun with concrete and paint dried to his skin, with wood shavings and stain splotched on his jeans.

“No.”

“No?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m my own person.”

Your name leaves his mouth on a sigh.

“I know that, but your parents…I know that kinda thing is-“

“I’m fine. Thanks for returning this.” You snatch it from his hand and go to close to door, not willing to hear what he has to say on the loss of your parents. For his credit, he let’s you. Knowing that you’re going through the motions, through the event in your own way. It doesn’t stop him from speaking loud enough for you to hear him through the door.

“The girls will be by with dinner later! Try to be nice to them, they ain’t me!”

-

The meal delivered by two smiling teenagers does lift your spirits a bit, even if all you do is shower and do a few loads of laundry. It’s a long process, the climb out of the hole that you had found yourself in.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months. You’re back to quipping across the yard with the man. His daughters delighting in the comraderies that underlies it all. It’s the height of summer now, the girls spending time with you to try their hand at painting. Sarah is better with bursts of color that compliment each other, vaguely floral. While Ellie is better with a muted palette imposed between detailed line art.

They always thank you for the time and attention, offering to help you clean up or tidy the house in exchange for watching over them when you notice Joel’s truck is still gone from their own driveway until late. They aren’t helpless, but you know what loneliness feels like and you don’t want them to become familiar with it.

You finally open the envelope containing your degrees, the last letters from your friends and pen down long responses. The stamps cute as you drop them off at the post office, the ornate certificates framed and hung above the desk in your father’s old office alongside his own.

Joel joins them most days, mid meal if he can make it in time. Food finding it’s way into your kitchen, something you’re sure is the combined effort of two pairs of small hands and one pair of big hands. The least you could do is turn it into something for everyone involved to enjoy.

But just as things seem to progress, they fall back apart. It wasn’t over a throwaway comment this time, though, but a piece of mail delivered from a local gallery asking after your willingness to partake in an exhibit. That they expressed their deepest condolences in this trying time.

The paint dries up again, another set of brushes left to ruin. The door goes unanswered, as does the phone you can hardly stand to look at. The lights don’t glow in the windows once the sun sets, no music is heard from behind thin screens, nor the sound of you humming along to it.

The house becomes a burden once again, shielding you from the world you as you feel the loss of your parents all over again.

-

You don’t hear the door open from where you’re sprawled on the floor of the bathroom, the shower is running but you didn’t make it under the spray. You’re fully clothed, having reached down underneath the vanity for a bottle of shampoo when your fingers had brushed over something else. A bottle of your mother’s favorite perfume. The one that lingered in every room she occupied, on every piece of clothing she adorned. It was her, the perfect encapsulation of who she was.

And it was staring at you inconspicuously from the shelf. The mere sight of it tearing the wound open once again and making it hard to breath.

That’s where Joel finds you. In tears over something as trivial as a tiny glass bottle. But he doesn’t bat an eye, he’s taking in the scene and shutting off the shower in a few easy steps.

“Hey now, come ‘ere, darlin’,” He’s crouching down beside you, hands reaching for your shaking body.

He’s so gentle, so soft as he pulls you up from the tiled floor and into his chest. Leaning back against rhe now closed vanity to support your weight. One hand on the back of your head, holding it to his chest, pleading with you to match his breathing so you don’t hurt yourself.

“Datin’ is hard, you’re right.” His words make you pause, confusion crowding out the wetness lingering in your eyes. The words from a conversation long ago pulling you out of your breakdown, the casual way he continues it.

“It is.” You insist, voice small and muffled as you refuse to pull your face from where it’s pressed against the warmth of his chest.

“Maybe…. maybe you’d be kind enough to try it with this grumpy old man. I’d sure like to give it a shot with someone like you.”

“I ain’t nothin’ special. Just the neighbor girl your dead friends talked about too much.”

“They loved you, darlin’. With everythin’ they had.” He holds tight to the hand you move underneath one of his. Seeking him out, to feel his skin on your own. “You are special, those paintings they showed me, you got a gift, honey.”

“Gifts don’t mean nothin’ when you got no one to share them with.”

“You share ‘em with the girls, they loved coming over here to spend time with you. Share ‘em with me, if you want. The girls and I are in your corner, we got you.”

“You don’t…you don’t want to date me. Every boy-“

“Boys don’t know how to date, that’s only something us old men know how to do. Will you let me show you, how it feels to be taken care of and looked after? To feel appreciated and like you aren’t a hindrance on nightly plans to play fuckin’ video games?”

“I like video games,” You sniffle, voice gaining strength as the conversation goes on. He’s soothing you, even as he just sits on the floor with you in his lap, his arms around you and your body pressed up against him. It’s the most comfortable you’ve felt in months. And it’s just Joel being Joel, it’s just you being you.

“Show me, if you want. Let me get to know you, let me show you what it’s like to be loved, not just sought after for a night of fun.”

“I don’t date old men.”

“No?”

“You’re not that much older than me, so I wouldn’t really call you old.”

“Cause then you’d have to admit you’re old too, huh?” He reads the meaning behind the change of thought, as if he was in your head right there alongside you.

“Yeah, we ain’t old. Life just beat us down, but damn if it didn’t touch your perky ass.” You reach a hand down from where it’s cradled between your chests, to pinch at where his backside it firmly planted on the floor. He jolts a bit, not expecting the action. But his rumbling laugh lightens the air around you both even more so.

“You goin’ soft on me, a compliment like that is makin’ my heart pick up. Can you feel it?”

“Yeah, cause you’re a big ole sap.” You can’t help the breathy chuckle that escapes past your lips, the twitch of a smile trying to break out. You can, indeed, feel the way his heart is thudding in his chest. The truth of your words and his making you feel some of the weight lift from your own.

“You ain’t gotta clue how sappy I could me, lemme show you, huh?”

“Only if you promise it’ll make me roll my eyes and groan.” You lean back enough to see his face, the roll of your eyes up to take in his hopeful expression allowing you to know how much he means it. Your own heartbeat picks up and you swear he can feel it too, if the crook of his lips underneath his mustache is any indication.

“Only if you promise to have a smile on your face while you do it.” He leans in, nose brushing against yours. The action so soft, so welcome after the isolation you had subjected yourself to.

“Deal.” You breathe out against his lips.

“It’s a deal then.” He presses them to yours, and damn it all, but it does bring a smile to your face.

taglist: @sawymredfox @tuquoquebrute @littlemisspascal @hiddenbabynyc @jessthebaker

@joelsgreys @tonysopranosrobe @morallyinept

[matt-murdockk]

Human 101: Cooking

pairing: rk800 connor x reader

words: 2.1 k

warnings: language, self-deprecating humour, lack of proofreading, fic from reader's pov

summary: human 101 with (y/n) and Connor, a crash course on the basics of humanity, brought to you by sumo and a very sleep-deprived writer (comedy, fluff)

additional context: reader has a rampant crush on Connor, as established in Short Circuit, this could be treated as a sequel in spirit or just a standalone.

a/n: thanks for all the love for my previous fic, here's another one <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unlike other deviants, Connor took his time to come to terms with his deviancy. Imagine you live your entire life (even if your whole life was barely a couple weeks) thinking your only purpose was to, say, hunt dogs. What would you do if you woke up one day to find you were the dog all along? This feels like a bad analogy. You get the point.

That kind of revelation would definitely come with its own baggage. I mean, I can't even begin to imagine what it must've been like. So even if Connor has finally made his peace with being a deviant, I have made it my life's mission to help him experience the highs and lows of being fully human. Call it Human 101.

Lesson one? Cooking. Sure "Love makes us human" Yeah okay but if you really think about it, it is cooking. Literally no other species cooks. Everyone fucks. Go figure.

"Cooking is fundamental," I told him, as we stood in my kitchen. "It’s like… the ultimate human bonding experience. Families, friends, lovers-" I stopped myself there, flustered, oops, but he didn’t seem to notice. "It’s about creating something from scratch, with your hands. Plus, we get to eat it after. Win-win."

"I should inform you that I already have access to an extensive database of recipes and culinary techniques. If required, I can prepare any dish with precise measurements and optimal timing. There is a less than one percent chance of error."

"Oh, no no," I laughed. "We can't follow recipes, God, no. Cooking is about spontaneity. About chaos. Screwing up is where the fun is."

His head tilted slightly, LED blinking yellow as though he were processing my statement. "You believe the experience is improved by the possibility of failure?"

"Absolutely!" I said, grabbing a whisk from the counter. "It's not just about the taste, you know? You need to spill flour everywhere, accidentally burn the sauce, or switch salt with sugar. That's the human way. You mess up, you laugh about it, and sometimes you end up making something even better than you planned."

Connor stared at me for a long moment, as though trying to reconcile my argument with his programming. "This is… counterintuitive. But intriguing."

"Exactly!" I said, pointing the whisk at him like I’d just solved world hunger. "Now, step one: forget the database. No looking up recipes. We’re winging it."

He blinked at me. "Winging it?"

"Yes. We’re going to use whatever’s in the fridge and figure it out as we go. Trust me, it’ll be great."

He looked at me like there was a loading screen inside his head. "Statistically, this approach has a higher likelihood of failure. That is... good?"

"Exactly." I grinned, tossing him an apron. "Let's get cooking, Wall-E."

Connor caught the apron mid-air, holding it up like it was a wet sock. "Is this truly necessary for the process?"

"Oh yeah, big time," I said, tying my own around my waist. "It’s part of the uniform. Cooking without an apron is like... running a mission without a plan."

That got a faint quirk of his lips. "I wasn’t aware cooking was so strategic."

"It’s not," I said, pulling open the fridge and gesturing dramatically. "It’s pure chaos. Okay, what do we have?"

Connor peered inside with the precision of someone scanning a battlefield. It may as well have been, honestly. "Tomatoes, cheese, leftover chicken, and... two peppers approximately three days past their optimal freshness." No, I am not embarrassed about how I ration. Okay fine, a little bit.

"Perfect. We’re making pizza."

He straightened slightly, tilting his head at me. "A pizza is typically constructed using dough as a base. There is no dough present."

"There will be if we make it from scratch. Flour, water, some yeast if I remembered to buy it... probably. Easy."

As I started rummaging through the pantry, Connor stayed rooted in place, watching me like he was making notes like I'd be quizzing him on pantry rummaging etiquette later. When I turned around, a bag of flour in hand, I caught him staring.

"What?"

"I was considering how often you engage in these… unpredictable approaches. It’s unconventional. Yet, it appears to bring you joy."

I paused, caught off-guard by how earnestly he’d said it. "Yeah, I guess it does. Life’s too short to stress about being perfect all the time, you know?"

Connor seemed to mull that over, but instead of replying, he reached for the bag of flour. "Allow me. The chances of you spilling that are statistically high."

"Oh, wow, thanks for the vote of confidence," I said, rolling my eyes.

He smiled then- an actual, honest-to-goodness smile that made my stomach do a weird little flip.

We started working on the dough together. Well, I started working on the dough, he was fighting demons. It was hilarious. It was like the dough owed him money.

"Dude, dude, relax. The dough isn't your enemy. You're not interrogating the dough. You need to be gentle with it. We like the dough. The dough is our friend."

"The same way Hank is our friend?"

"Hank is dough, yes."

"Well, Hank is not responding well to my kneading."

Wait. A joke? Was that a joke? Holy shit.

I blinked at him, eyebrows shooting up. “Did you just…?”

His lips twitched, though it was still subtle. “I’m capable of humor when required.” I nudged him lightly with my elbow, the warmth of the moment sinking in. He gave the dough another half-hearted punch, then added, “I don't understand why Dough Hank isn't cooperating.”

“Well, firstly, stop punching it like it owes you money. You have to be gentle. Dough requires finesse.”

He tilted his head, his LED spinning in thought. “Finesse,” he repeated, his hands hesitating awkwardly above the dough.

His struggling with the dough was honestly the most adorable thing I have ever seen. He was trying, he really was, but his confusion from the dough not reciprocating for all his efforts and him not being able to wrap his head around it made for a hilarious staring contest between Dough Hank and Connor. He held it up and stared at it closely, possibly with malicious intent.

Earth to (Y/n), I stepped closer until I was pressed lightly against his side. “Here, let me show you.” Sliding my hands over his, I guided his movements, pressing gently into the dough, folding and rolling it in a smooth rhythm. “See? You’re not fighting it. You’re working with it.”

Connor followed my lead, his hands relaxing under mine. His head dipped slightly, and when I glanced up, I realized he was watching me instead of the dough. I was hyperaware of the fact that I was so close to him and was very sure he could figure out just how nervous I was feeling.

“So, we negotiate with the dough,” he murmured, his voice quieter, almost teasing now.

“Exactly,” I said, laughing softly. “Negotiation is key. Be nice, and it’ll be nice back.”

I watched him start over with dough Hank, this time, more gently. Like he was getting the hang of it. "I think I’m starting to understand," he murmured.

I raised an eyebrow. “Understand what?”

"What being human is about," he said quietly, his voice almost contemplative. “It’s about embracing it. The mess, the failure, the laughter. The joy of not being perfect. I quite like the idea of not having to be perfect all the time."

In all honesty, I was not sure how to respond to that. He looked like a huge burden had been lifted off his shoulders like someone had just told him it was okay to breathe for the first time. And, for a moment, I almost didn’t want to ruin it.

His LED flickered a soft yellow, his eyes- those damn calm eyes- finally looking a little less... distant. It felt like I was staring at the kind of person you’d want to confide in, the kind who’d get it.

I bit my lip, trying not to smile. “You okay there, Connor?”

He glanced up, that soft smile still hanging on his lips. “I believe so,” he said, voice uncharacteristically light. “I think I’m finally making progress. With understanding humanity. And dough Hank.”

I snorted, quickly covering my mouth to hide the laugh. "Well, dough Hank was a tough nut to crack, but you did it, so good job."

He smiled, like he was proud of himself, and looked so damn cute. I shook myself out of my thoughts and grabbed the rolling pin, ready to get back to work. "Alright, now that we’ve figured out how to negotiate with dough, let’s make this pizza. We’re going all in."

Connor, still looking oddly content, glanced at the ingredients on the counter. "I assume we’ll be using the tomatoes, cheese, and chicken? I’ve been considering possible toppings. The peppers are not ideal."

"Connor, I have no regard for my safety and you don't have a digestive system. I think we'll be fine."

"Suit yourself, (Y/n)." Again. That damn lilt in his voice when he says my name. It's like he knows what it's doing to me. Asshole.

After about 20 minutes, Dough Hank had fully become Pizza Hank and it was finally time.

"Alright, Baymax. Moment of Truth."

"I must ask. What is with the various robot nicknames? Are they terms of endearment?"

"Sure, let's go with that."

"Noted. In that case, it only seems appropriate to assign you one in return... Sugar?"

"Oh wow, no. God, just, no."

"Sport?"

"Nope."

"Champ?"

"Worse!"

"I'm bad at this, aren't I?"

"Baby steps, C3PO."

I liked this. Banter, his company, this... the whole thing. Whatever it can be called. Watching him discover things I have known my entire life is such an enthralling experience. It's like that one revelation you have when you're like 7 or 8 when you realize that you are alive TM. Except this time, you're watching someone else have it. I don't know if any of this makes sense, but what I do know is that I don't want this to end any time soon.

"Wow, this is disgusting."

Pizza Hank was a pile of dog shit. It was like a troll and an ogre had a baby on my tongue. No self-respecting person would put that in their mouth a second time. My mouth hates me for this.

"I thought failure was welcome. Is it not?"

"Yeah, but this is straight-up nuclear, my guy. I wouldn't eat this if someone paid me money."

"Well, while I cannot taste food the way humans do, I am able to simulate the experience of tasting by analyzing the composition of the food. I could describe it to you if you would like."

"Really? What do you think?" he picked up a slice and confidently took a bite out of it.

"Yeah, this is awful."

I put my hands up in resignation. Cooking was a disaster. I am useless and do not deserve nice things. Pain is eternal and hell beckons.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time, this is all my fault."

"Failure, as you pointed out, is part of the process. And it wasn’t a waste of time."

I groaned, dropping onto a stool and burying my face in my hands. "It’s not even edible. We can’t exactly bond over a pile of inedible sludge."

“I don’t think the goal here was actually to cook something edible, was it? From what I understand, it was about experiencing the act of cooking- and bonding with each other. By that measure, I believe we have succeeded.”

I was caught off guard. He thought we "successfully bonded". Please excuse me while I pass away.

"You really think so?"

He nodded while smiling at me reassuringly while putting the mangled remains of pizza Hank back on the plate. "Besides, per my observation, your shift in mood could be a result of hunger."

"Yeah, I haven't eaten anything all day, have I?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"You wanna get good pizza and go to Real Hank's place?"

"I would love to. I have been meaning to see Sumo."

cut-scene from the car ride <3

"I just assumed the pizza would be edible. You know? I can call it optimism all I want but that's just a lack of planning."

"Is lack of planning an inherent human trait?"

"Oh, Yeah. Top of the list, actually."

a/n: now I liked Short Circuit more but here's part 2 <3 also yes I took the cooking makes us human bit from another popular tumblr post, i just thought it was hilarious

[uneducated-author]

It's so nice that MaoMao both never goes too far with her negative qualities or too far with her good ones. She's remarkably balanced in a way most narratives don't allow for.

One piece of writing advice that I always take with a pinch of salt is 'characters should not be people'. Characters tend to have consistent values and a growth arc. They often have some symbolism or metaphor and even though they can be contradictory or relapse on their development, they generally have some level of bedrock in terms of their personality. That's not a bad thing, it's why we have the 'leader-lancer-heart' template for trios, the 'sunshine-moonlight' pair dynamic, the 'cat and dog' rivalry setup. People don't naturally fall into that, at least not to the same level of consistency (this is sort of adjacent to 'you never see characters coughing unless it's a sign of sickness' sort of logic, every scene a character is in has to be necessary and building).

Mao Mao is mindful of her status and self preserving so doesn't want to stand out, until there's a case where human lives are at risk. She doesn't come off as a vigilante, hunting out any perceived injustice, but she isn't passive to the extent of letting bystanders be hurt when she can help.

Mao Mao is manipulative and exploitative, making a friend based on her ability to give her relevant or potentially useful gossip or access to medical supplies, but she also has genuine affection for both Xiaolan and the Doctor, aiding them in situations where they require it and making active efforts to solve their problems. She acknowledges that she's being self serving but doesn't put them in uncomfortable positions or use them unfairly.

Mao Mao is curious and revels in unravelling mysteries, but never pushes it to an irreverence or carelessness of her position, or the impacts. She doesn't tear apart mysteries that could have tumultuous impacts on others just for her own satisfaction, and prioritises the prevention of further harm over amplifying the punishment. She doesn't fully expose the clinic or the conspiracy around Ah-Duo's child, because she's aware of the potential harm that 'justice' can lead to.

She's caring but conservative. She doesn't fawn over the new baby, but grows affectionate over time after repeated interaction. In fact, same with most of the attendants. She doesn't allow herself to be careless, doesn't overextend herself for them or sacrifice herself needlessly, but does consider their best interests and act accordingly.

She's self serving and opportunistic, frequently considering how to monetise of profit from various materials, techniques or excursions, but also willingly trades or shares secrets or methods with the people she's fond of, or people who would need it more/utilise it more effectively.

Mao Mao's characterisation is a scale where she actually winds up pretty average, because she keeps a level of conscious autonomy in a plot that allows her to be nuanced. She's never fully driven by her emotions in acting impulsively, but she doesn't feels dragged along by a complex plot, but instead everything builds to a satisfying interaction that feels realistic. Mao Mao and the plot are a Venn Diagram, where she has a realistic affect on the events around her, without feeling too large within the narrative or too skilled to be realistically countered.

[nuggetpool-hi]

Guess who watched X-Men origins again

OK SO I got THOUGHTS of this movie but specially Wade's fight style because it's really similar to our current Deadpool's fighting style... so yeah I wanna yap about that hi

WELL FIRST OF wanna talk a lil about Victor, Logan and Wade's different styles... from a mortal's view point I am no expert on this just insane about these movies and I need to write my thoughts or i'll explode

Starting with Victor!! the ultimate kittycat girlypop

I love his kitty self I'm sorry ANYWAY EXAMPLES

OKAY SO VICTOR. Victor's style is obviously very animalistic but also stylized, he makes the fight a show for himself! He likes to hunt and he tries to always give chase or play around a bit before the kill, just like a cat playing with his food!

AND IF you pay attention to the start of the movie, this game he's got with his target isn't initially how he fought, he kinda developed it as the years went by and the eviler he got the more he played with his food. The first few wars he goes to he's fighting like a human soldier, then you can see him slip up some animal jumps and uses his claws more until at the end he's full on predator chasing his prey (just like when he captures Scott, my god I love that scene he's terryfing)

AND A BIG DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HIM AND LOGAN (that I will also talk about later I guess) is that with this play thing Victor has going on it SHOWS that he THINKS about the stragety when fighting, he's aware of his surroundings and his target's strenghs and weaknesses, he's good at coming up with solutions on the spot (see his fight with John, he can predict where he's going to teleport and catch him) and how to give a good chase without losing WHILE LOGAN WELL, at least in this movie he seems very lost when fighting?? he mostly just launches at his target and attacks, if the target runs away he chases, very animalistic but in a feral-based on instincts way... prolly why he coulnt win agaisnt Victor at first, because he was being blinded by his rage while Victor was quite literally playing with him lmao

ANYWAY LOGAN our favorite traumatized babygirl

and boy does he suffer in this one aughh EXAMPLES

Now you must be wondering why did I put the bathroom scene, well I feel like it represents Logan's general situation pretty well! (and its silly let me be), hes confused destroying everything and just keeps making it worse every time he tries to fix it.

The thing about Logan in this movie is that he's honestly just- confused and angry from the moment he killed his father, he runs away over and over again from EVERYTHING and he's constantly being manipulated BY EVERYONE!! Poor man has no idea what to do with himself of who he can actually trust but damn he tries, his enviroment is contantly changing and he's trying his best to adapt but he does it in a messy way.

The way he fights and acts in general is animalistic, yes, but more of the "scared dog attacks" kind of way, he's always acting on his instinct that it's mostly led by anger. When he fights he just throws himself and tries to slash whatever he can, he runs he hides and then when he gets the chance to he attacks again.

He constantly has little to no control of the situtation WHICH IS SPECIALLY SEEN pre-adamantium where he keeps losing to Victor because unlike him- he has no plan, he's being manipulated and kept blind of everything ON PURPOUSE which obviouly puts him in a disadvantage so yeah.

AFTER he gets the adamantium you can see his skills strengen with his knowledge, the more he lears about his situation the more focused he is and his fighting it's cleaner, he still moslty just launches himself head first into fights BUT he's not running away, he's able to evaluate his situation and adapt (See his fight with Gambit, he looks at him when running away and then destroys the stair so Gambit can't run away OR with Deadpool where he decides to gain height as a way to create the space needed to evaluate his enemy?? that one might be a lil bit of a stretch tho)

WADE WILSON THE ULTIMATE CUTIE PRINCESS

let's ignore how dirty they did him ok...

OKAY SO SADLY- The bullet scene is pretty much the only scene where we see him fight and it's honestly not enough to tell how his normal style is BUT I WILL SAY his general style is fancy to look at and scarily effective (which is mostly seen with our current Wade but you can see a bit in origins deadpool) he makes a show for everyone to see, which is also his stragedy to make himself even better at combat! He uses a lot of fancy movements and acrobatics that help him AND takes his enemies off-guard, confusing them as where they should attack or what he's going to hit?? anyway-

Comparison time yippieee THIS IS WHAT THIS POST IS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT LMAO

I did not get side tracked idk what you mean.... and now seeing it over and over I'm realizing not that noticeable.... so it's just not that much to talk about oops

LOOK AT THIS WADE, LOOK AT THE MOVEMENTS HE DOES WITH HIS LEGS!! HIS HANDS??? THIS MAN IS SHOWING OFF he's using all kinds of acrobatics and fancy movements while fighting, he attacks with his hands and dodges using mostly his legs, he's using all he has!! and it's making Logan lose BECAUSE LOGAN CAN'T FOCUS!! specially since he's so "target locked will attack", Wade makes it SO HARD for him to focus on a pose long enough to actually stab him also Logan ain't too good at dodging, I'm guessing it could be because he heals? dunno

now what inmediately came to my mind upon rewatch was THIS scene (maybe because I saw it recently who knows)

THE SETTING IS SO SIMILAR!! Wade is using a lot of fancy movements to get up, dodge and attack all way too fast for Logan to process, once again Logan is looking everywhere confused about where to aim bc this silly red guy it's dancing on his face and he's struggling to keep up JUST LIKE IN ORIGINS except well he IS able to get a hit bahah

Dodges like crazy, jumps over Logan (he did in origins too) just moves a lot between every attack

Actually now that I think about it Wade feels a bit less effective in the car, like yes sure he's putting up a good fight but Logan still feels like he's leading it BECAUSE WADE IS MORE EFFECTIVE WHEN HE HAS MORE SPACE!! he likes to be able to move around and do gimnastics while Logan it's a lot better the closer he gets to his target so omg yeah... ALSO LIKE WADE STILL TRIES TO MOVE AROUND he shoves Logan away from him, he gets out of the car choking logan with a seatbelt and gets to the back, he tries to create space because that's where his speciality WHILE LOGAN keeps trying to get closer to have him in his power, which he gets to do since the car isn't allowing Wade to move as freely as he would want to...

AND YOU CAN SEE HIS FANCY MOVEMENTS WITH FRANCIS TOO he's constantly circuling him, dodging and spinning while Francis is just trying to get a hit, Wade keeps his enemies chasing him when he fight THAT'S the way he controls it and gets it wherever he wants aughh

ANYWAY YEAH I think that's it, don't really know how much sense any of this does since I've been writing it on-and off the whole day lmao it's so messy but yeah feel free to add onto it I'd love to see opinions on this wahoo

Might keep talking about stuff I find interesting in the movies bahah this has been funn

[goingdownorup]

Thinking about limited life again.

It made sense Etho went with TIES.

Etho went with TIES because he’s comfortable with the three of them. Because even though Bdubs was there when Scar asked if Etho could be their dad, Etho wasn’t comfortable enough with Scar and Cleo to even attempt…whatever they were trying to do with him at first. He had been with Tango and Skizz once before, and Impulse and him worked really close together the previous game, even if it was mainly for Etho and Bdubs benefit. It was based around being comfortable with each other.

All three of them knew Etho’s flaws. All three of them were well aware of Etho’s bias to Bdubs, and honestly, used it to their advantage. All three of them knew how to work around that, how to plot under Etho’s nose and sometimes even in front of him if it meant Etho could keep plausible deniability. They knew his strengths too, his loyalty, his mind. His mob farm was probably the biggest supplier of gunpowder that season, for everyone. The flaws and strengths didn’t matter as much as the fact that Tango, Skizz, and Impulse all wanted him on the team, and that the team never felt like it was fracturing. It wasn’t two and two like BEST was, it was four strong from the beginning. It was comfortable, because all three of them wanted Etho there. Not just Bdubs, not just Scar for a bit, SIT was prepared to do what it took for Etho to commit to their team up.

And maybe, that’s why it hurts so much that they had Etho take the final kill for Skizz.

They had built a comfortable place for Etho and now they were asking him to destroy that. Etho could go back to TIES tower and be greeted by people he KNEW were friends and allies. These guys would never betray Etho, just like he would never betray them. All three of them had the same kind of loyalty that Etho has, self-destructive in the name of character. Etho had just been hunted and hunting his own family down for time, getting knocked down time and time again and had finally come back to his home with his tail between his legs. He was panicked, more panicked than normal with his clock ticking down at the corner of his screen, he was walking into a scene half done and taking it over with a frustrated cry, which isn’t something Etho usually does.

But he did, because he felt comfortable doing so.

And then Skizz throws him the ax, Tango acts like someone shot his dog, and Impulse just stares.

And suddenly, it's not comfortable anymore.

It’s not comfortable that Impulse is one step away from dissociating. It’s not comfortable that Tango has tears trailing down his face, that both of them look almost angry that Etho picked up the ax in the first place. It’s horribly jarring, to come into a meeting expecting comfort for his failures and be greeted with a worse opportunity.

Because Skizz- the nicest guy in this match, the man who looked at Etho and said “i want him to join us”- is telling Etho to kill him. Ordering him to, actually, his final order of the game. No amount of pleading looks will get Tango and Impulse to do what Skizz wants done, Etho’s only defense is quickly shut down when they bring up just how much time Etho still had.

It’s not comfortable to see Skizz’s head roll off the edge of skynet. It’s not comfortable, the next session, when Impulse and Tango look to him for leadership. This game wasn’t meant to be comfortable, and Etho forgot about that. TIES was the most comfortable team up for him, and in the end, it created one of the most heart wrenching ends for all of them.

[malevolentconfessions]

listen this isnt a huge thing im aware niche characters mean less and not the same quality material but this is my blorbo im talking about here I wish more people did not default to the butcher as just some serial killer and leave his characterization at that in stuff. 1. That is a man who gets paid to kill people his only bribes are blood and money. The only reason he does not kill Mr. Privett is literally bc Arthur said he would come quietly and that meaning he would not be another witness he needs to dispose of (he expected arthur to run) because this is still a job hes getting paid to do. The man has no morals, but its about this being a job and how allowed he is to hurt people. He told police officers to let him go and that they would go home tonight if they did. 2. You put those animal themes and daddy issues back. These are huge pillars of whatever is wrong with him. Literally his music thing is likely from being put in a catholic choir since his dad thought he was "scuffed from the start" and that at times was done to straighten kids out. the guy does full on vocal warmups with controlled breaths at Daniels door if you listen. His whole animal thing is because he is so devoid of morals and so self motivated Arthur says "what are you" because he cannot comprehend someone like this even being human. 3. The themes the themes the themes look at me when i say this these are crucial elements to sell the character. He is both the huntsman and the hound. He revels in being called an animal and refers to targets as though they are animals, he follows the trail of blood and knows enough about hunting to tell that Arthur was pacing at someones door and not be fooled by Arthur smearing blood on windows he says "fair enough" when a bunch of dogs are snarling and barking on the other side of the door a symbolic way of saying he is just like them GRAAAAAAAAAA i need more people to grasp this bc i see when they use serial killer they are not using it according to definition, they are entirely ignoring how this guy is for hire and this is like his job that he is also married to and there is something so so wrong with him

.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

For your safety

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter crossover

Self-Aware! Tetchou Suehiro x GN! Reader

Description: Monster followed after you. Tetchou won't let him hurt you.

Warning: OOC. Implied torture. Mentioned of serious injuries. Nightmares. Panic Attack (heavily inspired by "Puss in Boots: The last wish" scene), English is my second language. Dehumanisation (Capitano calls Reader 'it', Captaino is called an 'it' by Hunting Dogs). Tetchou is a soft protective yandere (yandere, if you squeeze) towards Reader.

________

Who would think, that Watasumi will let Fatui into Enkonomia.

But, catching Imposter was more important, than honoring old traditions.

Because Imposter was here.

And it was finally in Capitano's clutches.

Dirty Imposter, a creature, that dared to walked on the land, blessed by the Creator.

This thing was hiding in an old ruins.

Dressed in rugs, it was biting huge chunks from mushrooms it cooked earlier.

Capitano adjust his hold on claymore's hilt. Just one swing, and it will finally stop poisoning Teyvat.

Capitano took a step forward.

And he made a mistake. He stepped on a twig.

It turned around. It looks scared. It has dried tears on its cheeks.

It ran. As fast, as it can.

And Capitano followed after it.

He catches it.

He raised its claymore.

And Bathysmal Vishaps attacked him.

The damned oversized lizards were attacking non-stop. Keeping Capitano away from it.

Fatui Harbinger saw, how it was riding away on one of the vishaps.

Capitano failed.

_______

It, eventually, was caught.

Justice was almost served.

Until it disappeared.

_______

Capitano, the strongest warrior of Teyvat, head of the Holy Guard, was laying on a deck of a small boat. The boat itself was covered under camouflage awning from camouflage net, seaweeds, rotten wood, old bones of sea serpent and dried dead fish. Few mechanical birds finish the picture. The camouflage was done so skillfully that even from a close distance the boat could easily be mistaken for a dead creature, entangled in garbage and slowly driven by the waves.

The navigation was hard, almost impossible. But Capitano didn't utter a word of protest. He must find, where the dreaded Imposter was hiding.

One month ago, right during their execution, they disappeared. And ever since then, Capitano was ruthless.

If it weren't for vishaps, Capitano would kill it. Capitano was too weak.

So, it was his fault, that Creator was in distress. That, while they were remaining perfect in every way, their cheeks have wet trails from tears on them.

But, this time, Capitano will do it.

He learned about a strange portal in one of the coves, located on a small island in the sea.

Capitano destroyed all documents he had.

No need to worry Creator even more.

He will get to the island unnoticed. And he will get Imposter's head.

The boat finally reached the island.

There were no humans, no animals.

And the portal was here.

Capitano stepped into the portal.

________

Tetchou tuck you in, making sure, that you are laying comfortably under your blanket.

"[Y/N], I will go and bring you some flowers, okay?" softly mumbles Tetchou, looking at you. You nodded, the corners of your lips weakly quirked upwards.

"Sounds good." whispered you. Tetchou's finger ran through your hair. He liked, that you started to smile. He didn't like, that smile didn't reach your eyes.

Tetchou left, and Atsushi Nakajima walked inside your room to stay with you.

Tetchou heard Atsushi's voice behind the closed door. It seems, he was telling you a story.

Tetchou bit his lip and headed to the first floor. He needs to go outside and pick you some flowers.

Maybe, they will lift your mood, at least for a moment.

But, before going here, Tetchou took his sword from his room. In case, people, who did this to you, appeared.

Two months ago, you disappeared. No matter, how hard they try, they couldn't find you. Until, one day, one month ago, you reappeared again.

And you looked awful.

Every part of your body were covered in burns, woulds and scars. You were starving, thirty, and terrified.

Doctor Yosano treated your wounds.

All of them made sure, that you are well-fed and always have water.

And they were doing whatever it takes to help you regain your mental health.

You were terrified of being alone.

And there were always at least one of them next to you.

You were terrified of being hit.

And they were treating you like the most fragile thing in the world.

You were terrified of Mori's voice.

And Boss of Port Mafia spoke only through Elise, whispering in her ear. He never raised his voice.

You have nightmares, waking up in the middle of the night, crying, shouting, that you are not an imposter, begging someone invisible not to hurt you.

And they were always near you, hugging you, drying your tears.

And mentally thinking about killing people, who did this to you.

Tetchou's hate was focused on Capitano.

________

A heavy foot stomped on your stomach, just below your ribs. It took all of your air out of lungs. You gasp, your mouth was wide open, but couldn’t get any air.

Capitano's booming voice filled your ears.

"Got you, little Imposter. Now, let me take that. We don't want you to miss it, aren't we?"

Two fingers pressed against your eyes.

A sharp, unbeatable burning pain.

"Here. Now, you won't be able to close your eyes ever again. Well, it's not like this ever will last for long."

Capitano raised his claymore.

You wanted so badly to close your eyes. But you don't have eyelids anymore.

The blade quickly sank down. Right in your face.

_______

Blood ponded in your ears.

You were breathing heavily.

Your heart was beating fast. You won't be surprised, if your whole body was shaking because of your heartbeats.

You can't focus your gaze in anything. Everything seemed like in a fog.

No sound escaped from your lips. Your moth and throat feels dry. Like you spent all your life without single drop of water.

You were choking. You were crying. You were sweating. You couldn't hear anything.

A heavy stone hand was put over your eyes. Now you were surrounded by darkness.

A heavy stone head was put on your chest. And it was moving.

up... down... up... down...

up... down... up... down...

up... down... up... down...

up... down... up... down...

up... down... up... down...

in... out... in... out...

in... out... in... out...

in... out... in... out...

in... out... in... out...

in... out... in... out...

You put your hand on Tetchou's head, that he laid on your chest. You whisper.

"Thank you... Tetchou..."

He took his hand away from your eyes. You two were silent. Tetchou were still breathing in the same rhythm.

And you were breathing with him.

______

Tetchou never told you, that you were screaming one name in your sleep.

And it was a scream of terror.

Capitano.

His enemy.

Tetchou was halfway to the flower beds, that Kenji made specifically for you, when he heard a loud crash coming from an empty barn.

_____

This man was huge.

Much taller, than Tetchou, dressed in strange armor, the man was towering over the member of Hunting Dogs.

Both males stood on the opposite sides of the barn. Tetchou was still standing near bars gates, while strange mad stand on the furthest wall.

Yellowish-ember eyes stare right into the black void of a mask.

"Who are you?" Tetchou's voice was emotionless. The man's booming voice echoed off the walls of the empty barn.

"I am Capitano, one of the Fatui Harbingers. I am searching for a sinful creature. Have you encountered an ugly creature this big?" Capitano moved his hand forward to show your height. "It has hideous..."

The rest of the words stuck in Capitano's mouth. A thin blade pierce through his palm, shoulder and sword's tip draw blood from his neck.

Tetchou didn't even move an inch. His eyes shrink.

"So... You are the same Capitano, who dared to hurt My Sakura Blossom... Our [Y/N]."

Tetchou dash forward.

And the floor cracked under his feet.

______

Tetchou never moved so fast in his life.

His sword was bending in impossible corners, piercing through Capitano's armor. Wounding, drawing blood.

Not killing.

The Strongest Warrior of Teyvat couldn't land a hit. Tetchou's determination to protect you, to avenge you, to keep you safe gave his strength.

The fight ended, when Tetchou manage to grab the hilt of Capitano's claymore.

Tetchou never used his ability on two-handed sword. Yet, a sword is a sword.

Without his legs, Capitano wasn't so tall anymore.

______

Capitano woke up in a room, that looked similar to Dottore's lab. He was suspended from the ceiling. Heavy chain was holding his arms together.

Hunting Dogs, except for Tetchou, were here. Jouno was the first one, who noticed, that Capitano was awake.

"So, it is finally decided to wake up." Jouno's voice was cold. Deadly.

Tachihara used his ability, to tie chains tighter. Accidentally' breaking Capitano's arm in a process.

"Here. It won't escape."

Teruko was almost dancing in one spot.

"Finally, I was dreaming about the moment I can get my hands on anyone, who dared to hurt our dear [Y/N]."

Fukuchi put his hand on Amenogozen's hilt.

"You aren't the only one, Teruko-kun. Doctor Yosano, should we start?"

Yosano, who was sitting in the dark corner, nodded.

Capitano got a taste of her ability for a few thousand times.

_____

Tetchou put flowers he picked for you in a vase. He noticed, how brighten up your eyes.

"They are beautiful, Tetchou. Thank you."

And a small smile. And this time, it reached your eyes.

Tetchou opened his arms, offering a hug.

And you hugged him, laying your head on his chest.

His arms wrapped around your frame. Protecting you from the outside world.

Tetchou promised to himself, that he will go beyond limits to protect your smile. No matter what, he will do anything he can.

For your safety

_____

Tag list: @withered-blossoms

[morgana-ren]

Throwing out the idea that Astarion furiously masturbates over your sleeping body while he drinks your blood. Your blood is the first he’s ever drank in 200 years, it also dosn’t help that you keep being so nice to him. He can’t help it.

I am sorta back after months of medical troubles and I am announcing it in my normal fashion: with a reprehensible smut piece.

Warning: Extreme sexual content, vulgar language, thoughts of noncon, references to noncon, semi-dark Astarion, things that could be interpreted as sexual violence and regular violence, blood and the works.

The skulking has him feeling like more of a lowly rat than usual. He slinks quietly through the fauna like a cat stalking a canary, sneaking across the camp where he has made his own nest, his eyes darting about at every slight flicker of light and every unexpected noise. His comrades-in-arms sleep peacefully, strewn about the ground and various makeshift tents, blissfully unaware that a monster lurks within their midsts, and he fully intends to keep it that way.

As dastardly and lowly as he feels, an unknown feeling courses through him. Something that leaves him feeling strong– predatory. The weak blood of rodents and livestock thrums through his veins, every synapse sparking alive, the string and sinew of his body singing to his limbs in anticipation. Anxiety sends his thoughts racing, and yet, he is giddy as a child with mischief on the mind.

A long-denied truth demands acknowledgement, and so he finally acknowledges it. He is vampire. And he is hunting. 

Even a spawn possesses fangs sharp enough to rend flesh from bone and claws of steel, honed to a fine point. His senses so keen that he is aware of the deer that scamper in the forest and the birds coupled away in the branches of trees on the outskirts of the meadow. The pulsing of blood that rings a siren’s song in his ears, awakening the long-dead glands nestled alongside his teeth.

He finds that, for once, he is not the victim in the arrangement. No, he isn't. In fact, he is the horror, looming over his vulnerable and slumbering mark, their body entirely at his mercy— His right to his to sink deep fang and claw and anything else he might deem fit, helpless to stop him. For once, his true self shines through in the dim firelight of camp, and he is not the Astarion he has been browbeaten into seeing himself as. He is not unmolded clay, ready to be shaped at will by clutching hands and eager thoughts. He is not malleable and he shall not bend. 

He is not Astarion the spawn; Astarion the mongrel; Astarion the Honeypot; Astarion the tool to be used and discarded. He is not the meek, or the charming, or whatever else his prey finds need of. He is power and gluttonous greed incarnate. He is the prowling shadow over the unsuspecting sweet and he will take what he needs. 

He is Astarion the Vampire– and he is ravenous.

The gentle toe-tip-toe through the grass to where his prey lies ignorant, sleeping so terribly peacefully, his silken shoes making nary a sound as he creeps ever closer. Feet light as air, graceful as a swan. Even the wind seems to disregard his presence, passing over him with hardly a fuss through his silver curls.

They suspect not a thing. Even the warrioress Lae’zel, her sharpened senses whetted like a blade, keeps her eyes sheathed shut, her breath even and her body unmoving. There is no cry of anger or protest as he approaches the clutch of blankets where you have made your rest, leering over your slumbering form, feeling all parts pure need as he observes.

Saliva slicks his ivory teeth like a slavering mutt, his hands almost shaking as he kneels on bended knee to witness the gently pulsing column of your exposed throat. It calls to him, sings to his senses, and every ounce of his being begs him to shred hungrily into his meal like a carnivore– like a beaten animal starved of nourishment. Like a dog offered scraps of offal.

But he is not an animal, and you are useful to him yet. He is dignified, but more than that, he is in control of himself. He is in control of his words and actions, and for one time in his all-too-long life, he will not yield to the whims of another, even the dark voice in the back of his mind that urges him to rip and tear and maul like the wretched thing he is. 

No, his first meal will not be one of viscera and terror and screaming, even as the idea appeals to the baser parts of him. It shall be quiet and quick as a rogue in the night, and though he would expect disappointment from the revelation, he finds that this moment shared privately with himself and only himself is something he intends to treasure. 

He has named you for his mark for this most special of occasions. Even as he knows you likely wouldn’t feel honored by such a thing, he feels a quiet sense of pride on your behalf. You are his first taste of true life. A place of high honor in the triumvirate of freedom:

His first glimpse of the sun; his first venture into the world; his first true meal. 

Gentle as a lover, he kneels over you, teeth bared, scarlet eyes flashing in the firelight. A calm hand on your shoulder to steady you, the other splayed across the grass to anchor himself. His fingers quake in both eagerness and anxiety, his hearing hypersensitive to every rustle and sigh that does not belong to the chorus of nature in the evening hours. He has committed himself to this, but to be caught is to condemn himself red-handed to the stake– a fate he’d rather avoid. 

As he leans, his teeth gliding gently across delicate, slightly dampened skin, he believes it worth the risk. 

The tang of sweat and flesh hits his taste buds as he softly glides his tongue across the pulse-point of your throat. He licks where he intends to find his feast, savoring the flavor of his intended prey. Many times he had caught himself staring, wondering what it might be like; what you might be like, and he fully intends to satiate the curiosity that had been building in his brain for weeks on end.

As he indulges himself in the thought, he finds he can no longer wait. He tells himself he cannot stall– cannot draw this out as he might’ve liked to– but the nagging churning in his gut rings above all else. He is starved and he must sate it. He does not join in the argument between the two warring forces in his mind, and instead resorts to pure instinct to settle the matter. 

His fangs dimple tender flesh at first, and then, soft as a whisper, sink inside. Lifeblood floods his mouth like a symphony of rapture, the taste of ecstasy on his tongue, and his lips clamp like a viper on your throat, eager and yearning for more. It is as liquid fire as it slides down his throat, your soft whimpering spurring in tandem with the  glory that branches through his every quivering limb and sets his mind alight. His eyes, vigilant at first, now flutter shut, allowing himself to fall into the velvet-cloaked abyss.

The thousand-year fog lifts from his brain as he drinks and for the first time since breath still filled his lungs, he feels right. 

Raw strength almost seems to inflate his lean muscle, plucking a harpsichord on his tendons. The pounding drum of your rabbiting heart beneath your ribs plays in tandem with the rush of blood in his ears. The deafening cacophony of the cold, miserable years is blasted away and finally stitches together in unison with an ethereal orchestra of utter intoxication. A preternaturally beautiful song that lulls him into the first sense of peace he has felt in years– perhaps that he has ever felt. A tune he shall never forget for as long as he lives.

His senses soar so high that he swears, beneath the deafening chorus of euphoria, he can hear the revelry as far as Baldur’s Gate. In his mind’s eye, the unsuspecting citizens of the Jewel are celebrating the birth of a new man born under the silvery spears of moonlight miles away. These many long years, he has been truly dead, and only now, he is resurrected in the swaddling shroud of blood and dark. He has been truly reborn. At one with himself at last, he thinks. At one with you. 

The blood falls easily down his throat, pooling warmly in his gut in glorious fulfillment. The delirium tendrils outward, gently coaxing bliss and promise where it caresses. His legs buckle, pale cheeks hot and flushed, some unknown sensation taking hold like a fist as he suckles and refusing to relinquish the iron grip. The low of his abdomen tingles, drawing in life like a vacuum to a place once desolate and lifeless. 

It is a feeling he cannot place at first. Something dusted and forgotten and placed far and away in his mind, out of reach. And yet, as the delectable warmth floods every inch of his body anew, he experiences it as plainly as when his heart still beat in his chest and youth was as inevitable as the rising sun. The needle-thin hairs of his body stand on end, palms beginning to sweat against your shoulder. A primal need swells in his stomach, a gentle throbbing between his thighs that translates into pain as he strains against the leather of his breeches. 

Arousal. 

Desire bleeds into itself, separate colors swirling together to become one enthralling splash on the rapacious canvas of his brain. The scalding hot bliss of the feed and the tiny, breathy mewls of your still-sleeping form. You have given him what he so desperately coveted, and now, it seems, his nature demands he take more– everything you hold dear in its entirety offered up at the altar of his superior strength and cunning and existence. 

The inherent eroticism of feeding is not lost on him, but it has never held any meaning until this moment. Lust is a cruel stranger that he has opted to spurn. Something wielded against him as a weapon– a barbed whip that has flogged and scarred him into conditioned disgust. It is unfamiliar at first, and yet it screams now with the same familiarity as every other function and twice as demanding. 

Pale lashes flutter open, doubled vision focusing in almost too sharply on your strained features: the soft furrow of your brow, the scrunch of your still-closed eyes, the soft pout of your petal-pink lips, slick with moisture from your unconscious whines of pain. He has noticed you, yes, in the way another might notice a dagger or a halberd or a stocky shield to wield. Your appearance is just one in a long line of defenses he intended to harvest for his own gain, and yet now, as he hazily stares at the shadow of your profile that flickers in the flames, he feels the unmistakable curl and coil of a different kind of need. 

Something steely clamps onto his consciousness beyond the haze of unreason. He cannot. That is too far, and something distant and shrill in his mind knows it. As desperate as he is to crawl atop and mount you, leaving you breathless and hoarse in his wake, he cannot. Some things can never be forgiven, and he has already crossed that line for his own well-being. Ravaging you as you lie vulnerable and helpless– trusting– serves no purpose in keeping him alive.

He tells himself this, his suckling receding to a temperate drawl, laving tongue and teeth across the puncture wounds. The baser parts of him cry protest, the pulsing becoming more insistent with each passing second, until it leaves him knock-kneed and clutching at the grass for purchase against the cresting tide of want. All variety of debased scenarios fly through his mind, each one more debauched than the last. 

Control and lust, two things unfamiliar with each other before now due to the cruel nature of his existence, fold in perfectly as one and sharpen into a vengeful blade he craves to use. How he longs to leave a wound as deep as the one he carries day after day, unrelenting and open as the day it was wrought. He wants to lash out, to strike, to take as he pleases as the world has taken so from him–

A wound not meant for you, he must remind himself through the hot-pink haze, even as it defies him. 

No. It is a line he will not cross. He is a monster, but he is a monster of a different breed. You have given him everything, even as you do not know it. More pragmatically, he will not give his life for one brief, violent encounter of forcefully obliged desire. He is worth more than such vile things, he tells himself, and strangely, he finds as he ponders it, so too are you. 

He repeats it in his head as a mantra, over and over, practically yelling it over the tidal wave of instinctual impulse that threatens to drag him undertow. He is his own man, and he shall not be controlled ever again; not by Cazador, and certainly not by the more wretched pieces of himself, even as they screech and claw at the cell where he has locked them away, howling their dreadful, unspeakable demands.

It does not abate. The insistent pulse of blood that brings long forgotten life to his appetite, the mortifyingly genuine urge that begs him to touch you, feel you, taste you in the ways he has not craved in eons. It frightens him, and yet, even as he longs to pull himself away, to run and run and run into the darkness where neither you nor this horrible need can find him, he does not. He sits still as a marble statue, almost as if carved in some grotesque form of this heinous moment captured in one rotten, eternal exhibit: half atop your sleeping body, clutching and panting in need, and half splayed absurdly in the dirt, straining and desperately trying to conceal his shame from some invisible force that mocks him.

He cannot have you. Even as he yearns and craves it with a fire that singes and burns his overactive nerves and imagination, he cannot. Yet, his body will not relent, demanding release from the torment that plagues both his mind and his nethers in equal form, paralyzing him in a dangerous inactivity. You won’t awaken– he has taken too much and your weakness is apparent– but the others might and he must act. Compromise is a risk he cannot take–

And still he must. 

And so, even as he should withdraw and return to the pitiful, empty loneliness of his tent, he does not. Instead, he realigns himself, as quiet and swift as the wind, still half-perched over you, but with a newly freed hand to his disposal for a contemptible purpose. It snakes the length of his torso to the waist of his breeches, his dexterous fingers undoing the laces with desperate speed and agility, his expression equal parts humiliation, shame, and anxious desire. He slides the waistband down enough that his long-neglected cock springs free, his muscles bracing and tensed as his newly blood-warmed flesh is chilled in the cool night air. Pinprick pores betray his discomfort at the crisp evening gale, but the rest of himself is otherwise occupied, consumed by his present task. 

One of his sharply tipped fangs worries at the swell of his plush lower lip as he wiggles his pants further down, both internally cursing and praising the newly unlocked spectrum of his vampiric grace that make such conspicuous actions effortless and reticent. Even as he is agile and practiced, each urgent movement feels fluid and natural. Silent as the grave and insignificant against the sounds of nature that envelop their surroundings. He does not fumble or falter, smooth as satin and with steely resolve as his palm finds his shaft and a shiver runs the length of his spine, settling readily in his abdomen.

In his previous encounters, he could put himself into working order, but nothing like this. It was a job– something that must be done, no matter how distasteful or degrading. What he feels now, it’s almost foreign to him; his cock strangely hot and pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. Heavy as sin in his hand and just as demanding, just as cruel in its insistence. Stiff and throbbing, a compass point dogged and unrelenting as it seeks to nestle between your wet, silky thighs and burrow there. It shrieks in his head, unsatisfied and wailing at his refusal to acquiesce. 

He ignores it, testing with one brusque stroke with his palm. It twitches, pleasure blooming upward through his gut even at the slightest of contact. Again, he tightens his fingers around his girth, pumping slowly as the sepulcher where he had locked away all dead semblance of lustful craving and fervor comes to life once more. As he thumbs the top, he feels the thin, sticky fluid leak from the tip, betraying his eagerness even as he pretends composure– as much composure as he can pretend in this unbelievably humiliating debacle. 

He will have to worry about that later. 

His eyes sweep over your face once more, peaceful now that his teeth no longer injure your tender neck. Your lips slightly agape, eyelashes fluttering softly as you sweetly dream once more. He imagines how different it might look if he were to uncage his urges– to allow himself the forbidden pleasure of sinking himself inside of you twice in one night. How your eyes might fly open in horror, your lips ready to shriek, little fists balled in defense, only to gasp as he pushes his length between your splayed thighs, enveloping himself in your tight, wet heat. White-hot. Exquisite. Immaculate.

The companions are gone– no, they don’t exist. It is only you and him now, you sprawled beneath him, half shock and half horror, and he– the predator that has stalked you from the shadows, the vampire in the night– taking as he pleases, as is his right. He feels your velvet walls flutter around him, trying to adjust to the cruel new thickness bullying inside them, squeezing him in the most delicious way. Your mouth is still open in a wordless cry as he plunges his tongue between your teeth, tasting a different part of you now, swallowing the desperate sounds you begin to make. 

His cock throbs against the calloused flesh of his palm as he strokes himself, teeth gritting to quiet the noise that bubbles in his throat from the blossoming pleasure that takes root and begins to grow rapidly out of control. The fantasy plays in perfect form in his head, and it almost feels real as he gathers the precum in the crook of his thumb and slicks it over the shaft with firm fingers, pretending it’s your body that wets and grips him.

You would fight and struggle– he knows you would– but you are nothing in the face of his sheer strength and dominance. Pinned by the deceptively strong muscle of his lean body, you have no choice but to follow his lead, thighs forced wider to accommodate his narrow hips, back pressed firmly against the ground by his weight. Your tits, warm and soft beneath the thin fabric of your nightshirt and begging to be squeezed, squashed against him with the frantic rise and fall of your chest.

The squeal his first thrust would rip from you would be heavenly. High-pitched and pathetic, and yet almost drowned out by the equally sweet clench of your body around his. So tight that it almost aches him, unaccustomed to the intrusion and compelled to yield to him, moulding itself to the shape of him inside of you. He slides out slow, almost callous and so terribly casual in his malice, making you feel every inch of him drag against the supple walls of your cunt before slamming in again, vicious in his impact. Your body jumps beneath him from the force, whining into his mouth. Your blunt nails digging into his arms and tearing at his frigid, stone flesh. It is futile– he can barely even feel it, and the slight sting he can is laced with pleasure and the reminder that you are at his mercy now.

He is panting, breath coming in ragged staccato bursts even as it is unnecessary to him. Pure instinct has a hold of him now, his hand working in unfailing rhythm between his thighs as he loses himself in the vision. Your injury weeps ever so slightly, and he cannot help the flick of his tongue along the twin-pocked bitemarks, leaving a thinly shining trail of blood-streaked saliva in his wake. He aches to touch you; to slip the delicate sleeve of your nightwear down and indulge himself in the softness of your body. 

He is not so subtle in his mind. He simply tears the garment, ripping it from your body with terrible ease. One hand busies itself with containing yours above your head, squeezing at the wrist to keep you captive even as you thrash, the other luckier still as it gropes and pinches your breast. Warm in his hand, he can feel your pulse skyrocketing in fear or perhaps excitement– whichever suits him most– as he reels back and cants his hips forward again. 

His hips slap against your thighs with bruising strength, your body beginning to respond to his in kind. He feels your wetness slick over his cock and lubricate his next few thrusts, heightening his pleasure. You mewl against his tongue, body arching into his, perhaps against your own will, fingers flexing and furling fruitlessly in his grasp. He settles into rhythm, cruel but precise, hips grinding with every punctuating impetus. It takes an absurd amount of mental discipline not to simply take you in furious, animalistic fashion as he longs, but he manages through the impulse, lower body moving in circular rhythm, his pelvic bone stimulating you with each contact. 

Your panicked breaths become heaving pants, flittering eyes glazing over and becoming heavy, the muscles that are pulled so tautly in defense waver and eventually flop, accepting your defeat at his hands. Perhaps you are betrayed and hurt and hateful, but you desire him. He is beautiful in the moonlight, pale as a ghost but alive and burning with unhinged need and that same fire kindles between your legs and winds and winds tighter like a top before the spin. He releases your swollen, puffy lips only for his fangs to find your throat and your cry is desperate and howling, your blood sweeter than the finest wine as it touches his tongue. 

You cannot formulate words– neither of encouragement nor protest– as he fucks you relentlessly into the ground, helping himself to your body and your blood. Only nasally, frantic cries can make it past your throat, your hands grasping at him, pleading and desperate. He hooks your thigh around his waist, fingers digging into the flesh with bruising strength, and you clamp it there, almost as if clinging to him for purchase as he bucks and snaps, snarling like a beast perched to pounce.

You are helpless and small and defenseless and vulnerable in the face of him, and he is strong and virile and predatory and fearsome. He has no need of your protection; he is the ruthless power of the night and the fear the lurks in the dark. He ravages you with no regard to the future, knowing only that he holds it in his palm, and if he wants you, he shall take you. He does not walk in shadow and skulk in fear, but boldly in the open, the world and you ripe for the plucking. 

He cannot help it. His hand is not enough. Ecstasy builds in his apex, building and bubbling at his fantasy, but he needs to feel. The hand not currently stroking himself in frantic need finds a way under the loose opening of your shirt, defying his mental mantra. The curve of your breast coaxes his skin, swelling and warm against his flesh as his insubordinate fingers find their way lower and lower under your blouse. Your nipple peaks as he gently rolls it in his careful, ghostlike fingertips, squeezing at your chest with an inhuman tenderness that only has him craving harder, more– 

Your cries would come in unison with his own, yours wailing and pathetic and squealing, and his rugged and husky and snarling. You would bare yourself to him– all of you– acquiescing to his unrelenting power. He would take you there, on the ground like an animal how he pleased and for as long as he pleased. Now you are the clay for him to shape and play with and use as he pleases, existing only for him and his wants. Your blood is in no short supply, and he sups and dines as he pleases while he uses your body to pleasure his cock and the baser parts of himself that have reignited inside of your core. You are powerless to fight him, so you give yourself over completely to him, debasing yourself for him, crawling for him, needing him. 

You’d beg for him, body and soul, so eager and ready. Desperate and pathetic. He’d fuck you until your whines became higher and higher, eventually spilling into the night in humiliating urgency as you came undone beneath him. Your legs quivering and shaking, senses gone and inhibition nonexistent. Your fluttering walls would tighten and squeeze and damn near strangle him, the absurd sound of your wetness utterly mortifying if you had your wits about you, but music to his ears. 

Harder and faster with no regard for your overstimulated crooning, he’d take you, working himself to his peak, almost rabid in his unhinged, disjointed movements. His rhythm would fail, becoming more convulsive and urgent with every plunge of his hips. He’d chase his end inside of you, the blissful heat of your body, the cadence of your moans, and snug, velveteen swaddling of your sopping cunt the closest taste of the divines he’ll ever have– that he’ll ever want. 

He’d cum inside of you, burying himself so deep that he’d be certain you could taste it. It would spill out of you as he milked himself to completion with your pliant body, heaving against your bloody neck, a hand in your hair to rip your head back and drag down against him. Bruised inside and out in the shape of him, his hands, his teeth, his cock all leaving their permanent mark. It won’t heal, it won’t ever heal, he’ll make sure of it–

It’s his– it’s his– it’s all for him and no one else. Not even the Gods could wrestle this away from him. There isn’t a force in the planes that could pry him from atop you– you belong to him, your body, your mind, your tongue, your taste, your cunt–

His cock throbs furiously in his hand, gritted pants and strangled noises escaping his throat. It is only through sheer supernatural ability that he is able to withdraw his hand from your shirt and catch himself before he slumps completely atop you, no doubt waking you with the force of it. The ecstasy spills over, unfettered bliss exploding outward from his core and sparking fire throughout every inch of his body. His eyes roll backward, head slooping forward as he works his pulsing cock, every last ounce of self-control in his ancient body holding back a howling cry. 

He spills into his palm, carelessly covering his shaft in the sticky, gossamer fluid as he milks clean the very last remnants of pleasure from himself with the fervor of a man starved of it. His toes curl in his shoes, teeth gritting to the point of pain as he withholds a sigh of euphoria. His extremities tingle as his body sags, muscles exhausted and screaming from the exertion, and he almost collapses as it fades from him as quickly as it approached, still singing beautiful contentment somewhere deep inside of him.

Sagging completely into the dirt, he lies there, bare and open to the sky: Hand defiled and dripping with the seed of his shame, sweat wetting the delicate white curls behind his ears, breeches pulled cleanly to his akimbo knees. It takes a moment for the world to settle into his foggy brain once more, but shame cuts as cleanly as a knife as the clouds of desire split and the light of reality once again illuminates the situation. 

Frantic fear takes hold of his stomach, and his head swivels towards where you sleep, calmed only by the fact that you still sleep soundly with no inkling or inclination as to what he has just done. As he glances around, the rest of the camp is equally unaware, each person neatly in their place, unmoving and unalert. His secret is his and no one elses.

He allows himself a few moments to catch the breath he does not need, wiping the evidence of the encounter into the grass with a sense of disgust and indignity as he does. He feels remarkable– alive for the first time in centuries– and yet it is marred by the yoke of scandal he feels having been bested by such an absurd thing. Overwhelming desire he has not felt since he was a young, handsome elf brimming with potential and swarming with suitors, back when his chest still beat with blood and his skin was flushed and warm rather than pale and pallor. 

It’s unfamiliar to him, and he bares his teeth at the thought. Sex is something filthy and cursed– and yet it didn’t feel so in the moment. Even now, his fingertips tingle at the thought of your puckered peak gently caressed, the soft sound of your sighs, the vulnerability you show him. He’d barely touched you and yet you sent his senses alight like a bonfire. The taste of you still lingers on his tongue, and he cannot help but savor it. As he hikes the band of his pants back up his hips, he feels shame, yes, but also something different. Something oceans away from the helpless misery he usually feels after the degrading act. 

He feels at peace. He feels satisfaction. He feels right. He does not feel debased, but empowered– almost giggly as a schoolboy at the wrongness of it all.

He chose this. For the first time he can remember, he chose this. He took control and his pleasure did not come at his own expense. It came at yours, yes, but he doesn’t like to make a habit of grappling with fragile, banal things such as morality. He is a libertine, and where he finds pleasure, he shall take it, because he knows all too well what it is to be starved of it and all that makes life worth living. 

Besides, you seem fine. Sleeping deep as a babe in the cradle, none the wiser. As he sits right and dabs potion at the wounds at your neck so as to not leave a trace of his crime, he allows himself one quiet, satisfied sigh. It disconcerts him that as he studies your slumbering body and slack face, he feels pinpricks in his core once again, whispering remnants of that desire that had unhinged him so before, but he will have to unpack that later. 

He is no fool. Something has changed, and it isn’t the strength that flows through him free as a fountain that was once clogged and stunted, nor the heightened attunement of his mind to damn near everything around him to the point of absurdity. He feels right for the first time with the blood he has stolen away with, and smug at getting away with something so risky as he often does, but more than that. 

He is a vampire fully satisfied in more ways than one, and the fulfillment and delight he feels overrides the shame and wrestles it into the quiet. 

You are something to him, though he isn’t sure what. He had not questioned why he’d picked you before, but the question begs itself now. He does not allow himself the indulgence of touching you once more. He doesn’t taste you or feel your skin. He only withdraws as silently as he came, backing off and away from the light of the fire that burns low, dying embers spitting against charred, ashen logs, his shadow stretching long before disappearing into the dark of the night. 

As he moves back to his tent, he stalks the shadows, but he does so with head held high, back straight as a bow, graceful and the very picture of pride. There’s an unmistakable grin on his reddened lips and a flush to his face not wholly attributed to the blood that now courses through him. Pieces of himself unlocked after so many years of servitude. He feels himself again, and the world feels his oyster once more. What your role is in that world, he doesn’t know yet. 

But he has a feeling he’ll figure it out soon enough.

[butterfly-stitches]

DOG-EAT-DOG.

[ Explicit ] // MDNI

AO3

Pairings: Russell Adler x Bell, Russell Adler x Reader Ensemble: Russell Adler, Reader, Male!Bell, Helen A. Park, Jason Hudson, Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin, Perseus

* Rape/Non-Con * Graphic Depictions Of Violence * Major Character Death Alternate Universe, Physical and Psychological Abuse, Non-Sexual and Sexual Submission, Dom/Sub Undertones, Ownership, Dehumanization, Dog Fighting, Obedience, Size Difference, Degradation, Hurt No Comfort, Power Imbalance, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Trauma, Loss of Identity, Rough Kissing, Watersports, Blood and Gore, Dry Humping, Protectiveness, Possessive Behavior, Human Ashtray, Master/Pet, Forced Orgasm, Orgasm Denial, Leg Humping, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Animal Metaphors, Bondage and Discipline, Finger Sucking, Hand Feeding, Leashes, Sleep Deprivation, Touch Aversion, Non-Consensual Touching / Groping, Dissociation, Praise Kink < Other Additional Tags to Be Added >

A guard dog to some, a hunting hound for many. But to one, you were nothing but a yapping lapdog. Spoiled rotten, overstepping, treated equally when you were nothing but a prized possession, a pampered pet; a damn dog.

Lured away, you’re brought out back, hung up like a carcass, beaten to a pulp, and put down like the animal you are. But what is dead may never die. As you’re soon found and taken in -– rescued, adopted. Belonging now to a scarred man. A new owner, a new master with a cruel hand and even crueler intentions. Stubborn, aggressive, unruly, you were leashed, collared, muzzled. Forced to obeisance, forced to submit. His ambition, his will; now, your purpose.

But every dog has its day. And you’re just biding your time. For if a dog was man’s best friend, it wouldn’t be a dog-eat-dog world.

---------------------------------------------------- WARNING: ➡ Dead Dove: Do Not Eat ⬅ Please, mind the tags. Take a second to read them over to see if you're comfortable enough to move forward. Bell is dehumanized, degraded, and abused. Apart of a back-end system where there are literal owners and those that are literally owned -- pets. Seen as nonhuman, as nothing but a dog. A companion even, if one's owner is kind enough. Here, Adler is overly cruel, abusive, controlling, manipulative, and forceful with an all-embracing god complex. Seeing Bell as nothing but a means to an end. To do with as he pleases when he pleases. Please proceed with caution and please take this warning into account. Otherwise, enjoy!

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Chapter 1: cornered animal.

[1 / 7]

Words: 2,025 Summary: In which you awaken …

You were slipping in and out of consciousness.

Stranded in a sort of limbo. On the fine line of sleep and death. Between the distorted planes of both reality and dreams that blurred into one. Rendering you sightless and senseless; numb.As if you were floating, set adrift. Carried away in a dreary astral sea that was boundless and as it was endless, for which there was no end nor beginning. Infinite, indefinite. A perpetual stagnation like a serpent eating its own tail; a self-inflicted, self-induced ouroboros. Where you knew no ending.

But on occasion there were slips in this nightmarish, dreamlike in-betweenness. Anomalies, abnormalities. Like small bumps on a clear stretch of roadway. Where you somehow became aware, and your surroundings bleed through. They were fleeting as they were rare and inconsistent. Just fractures of memory that you could barely process or even recall. Muddled, mangled, nonsensical in your brain’s fried synapses. 

Sights : shadows at the edge of your vision, distorted blurs of figures in front of you, the glint of scalpels in scialytic lamps. Smells: rusted iron, peroxide, bleach, oxidation. Sounds: disembodied voices, hushed whispering, harsh conversations, high-pitched beeping, and worst of all, a ghostly chime of a bell in the distance. Ringing over and over and over again in your head. Sensations: the sting of needles into your arms, piercing into your veins. A suture needle sewing thread through your skin as easily as any fabric. Blood filling your mouth from a bitten tongue. The burn of ropes around your wrists and ankles. 

But as quick as these sights, smells, sounds and sensations came, it all went, disappearing. From remembrance, from your recollection. And again you were pulled down under, soft as a falling feather. Back into inertia, lost in comatose, stuck in stasis. 

That is.. until you woke up. 

It was a painstakingly slow wake. One that left you groggy, disoriented, and insensate. Even more so as there was only darkness to greet you. A nightless night underneath a starless sky. It was hard to fully register, such a new feeling of consciousness and corporeality. Far too accustomed to the weightless ebb and flow of oblivion that cradled your fragile state of nonexistence. There came a precipitous flood of feelings; physical, psychological. Newly felt sensations, newly realized sensibilities. Confusion, uncertainty, panic.

Pain. 

Dulled, diluted. Yet still perceivable, still tangible even in the disposition you woke up with. The feel of the first manual breath as you gasped aloud for air. The pattern of a pulse that throbbed underneath the skin, the steady rapid-fire pulse of a heartbeat. Eyelids that were hard to keep open fully. A tongue that was like lead, dry and heavy, and stuck to the roof of your mouth. A jawbone that ached from grinding your molars together.

A body that felt boneless, slow moving. Too heavy to keep yourself upright from the cold ground. It was too much, it was all too much. Overstimulated, overwhelmed. Taken from the womb like a newborn. You felt yourself spiraling, afflicted by shock, beset with qualmishness. Free-falling into an abyss, carried away by an event horizon,. Instinctively, you curled into yourself. Limbs pulled close to your body, knees drawn up towards your chest.

Then there came a sound. 

Loud, echoing. Grounding you, forcing your focus. Sobering you up as you stilled in anticipation by the marching of footsteps that steadily approached you. Two sets, on either side of you. There came a voice. Rough and sonorous, calling out from the dark. You couldn’t comprehend what it said. Suppressed by your mind. It held no meaning to you. But it should, it seemed, by the voice repeating it again. Insistence with each verbal reiteration, only honing the voice sharper and harsher as patience wore thin. While you just stared out blankly into the dark. Only when the voice said it a final time, hoarse and full-throated, did you realize that it was an order being spoken to you . A command waiting to be obeyed and fulfilled by you . 

But you stayed put. Unmoving, unyielding. Unaffected by the voice’s importuning. Whether by choice or from circumstance, you couldn’t make sense of your willingness to stay and need to disobey. And by the sudden silence, it seemed that the voice pondered something similar or  second-guessing perhaps. The silence lasted for a long while until you heard the shuffling of feet, the movement of bodies. There was a quiet exchange of words between two voices now.

The conversation didn’t last long as you heard the retreat of a pair of footsteps. Only for the other to slowly come closer a few seconds after the first one left. These steps were heavy-footed, with a wide and easy stride. No doubt a man, tall and sizeable. Not less or more than you, you think. More importantly, one that was overconfident and heedless. You weren’t being perceived as a threat, but rather a nuisance. Hearing the footsteps approaching closer and closer made you bristle up. Gooseflesh breaking out across your skin like burning hives.

The footsteps came to a stop right in front of you. A darker outline just perceivable in the dark. Your head didn’t move but your eyes flicked up slightly from the ground where you lay, still curled into yourself. You felt a pair of eyes, staring down at you. Looking you over, wondering if your unresponsiveness was because you were nothing but cadaver rotting away in the dark. Then your body was jolted forward so abruptly that you didn’t have time to process what happened. Taking you a whole second to finally realize that you had been prodded by a heavy boot. 

Then again as if the man was a child poking at something interesting in the underfoot with a stick until it reacted or boringly didn’t for that matter. With another nudge of his boot, more weight added to it this time, all you could do was curl into yourself tighter, tucking your face away and against your chest. Folding into yourself further, wishing to collapse into yourself and just vanish into thin air. Free from your skin, from what came with consciousness.

The man hummed, seemingly chuffed. He spoke a string of words, more of a murmur than anything. Something spoken underneath his breath. Talking to himself more than anything as he thought to himself. Though you were more lucid, your brain was still a bit lagged. It took you a long moment before you could absorb his words. Understand what was said:

 “Not dead then, just half-dead.” The man had uttered. “Got one foot in the grave, but the other’s still kicking.”

Movement in your peripheral as he crouched down in front of you. You untucked your head from your chest. Eyes slightly widened in response to the action. 

 “M’not here to hurt you.” His voice dipped low, a faux gentleness. To pretend benignity that he lacked. “M’here to take you to your examination.”

You didn’t move, couldn’t. Just blinked blearily up at him, lost in thought, teetering at the cusp of dissociation. He clicked his tongue, catching your attention as you snapped out of it, making your ears perk up at the sound. 

“C’mon then.”

The man nudged his chin over his shoulder, hoping you would get his implication to get up and follow. But you didn’t move. Trying instead to discern his facial features. Like a Polaroid camera lens trying to find focus at night. But found nothing but a shadow, a faceless face to you. 

“Hey, you listenin’ to me?” He snapped in your face, “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

When you still didn't get the memo, you heard him let out a heavy huff before abruptly standing. 

“Alright. M’done playing nice. Looks like I gotta make you get up.”

The man reached out towards you. Intending to grab you forcefully by the scruff of your neck. There was no hesitation as you acted out of gut reaction. You lunged forward, biting the outstretched hand before you. 

“Agh — ya fuckin’ mutt! ” The man hissed through clenched teeth. 

He tried to pull his hand away but the effort only encouraged you. You only bit down harder. Until you heard him yelp and scream. Felt the popping of flesh. The burst of breaking skin as your teeth sunk in deeper. The taste of blood on your tongue was exciting. Even as his fist came down onto you, hitting and smacking down on your head to get you to let go of him, but you didn't let up. Even as you ached.

The hitting quickly turned to battering and kicking, desperate to free himself from your grasp. With a strong yank, he forced his hand away, ripping it out from your mouth. Taking one of your canines along with it, still embedded in his hand like a piece of broken ceramic. But you didn’t feel the pain of its loss, benumbed by adrenaline. The sudden lack of leverage drove you backwards, falling to the ground, as the man stumbled back. Holding his afflicted hand in his other, the rapid sound of dripping liquid hitting the floor. Like the pealing of a bell. 

But you didn't allow him to react. At that tell-tale sign of weakness, of opportunity. You pounced. Toppling the man to the ground, on his back. Your nails reached his face, scratching, clawing. Even as his initial surprise passed and he defended himself. Even as you felt some of your nails peeling back to the root from the viciousness of your swipes. Even as he tore hair from your scalp, trying to pull you away. But it didn’t stop you nor dissuade you. And it wasn’t long before your teeth found his throat, and you bit down. Harder and harder like you did to his hand.  Until cartilage cracked, until your mouth filled with blazing blood, until you felt his struggle began to wane. 

Until you felt him choking. Slow and steady suffocation by the crushing of his windpipe.

There was a rush of movement from the dark. Silhouettes rushed forward.Yelling and screaming. From others, other voices, other shadow people. You were pulled off of the man quickly, suddenly. Your teeth were still embedded into the throat. Still holding on, teething and chewing. Dragging the man with you. Until the shift of your body, your quick misbalance made you let go. But your focus was solely still on the man laid out on the floor, not yet dead, yet not lively. Half-dead. Blood ebbed and flowed, frothing at the exposure of torn open flesh. Effervesced through the puncture wounds in his neck as the man struggled to breath. Gasping, choking, gurgling. 

Still alive. Alive still, not dead yet. Still not dead.

But you were forced away. Dragged back until the dying man was hidden from view by a swarm of silhouettes. You were detained on the ground. Forced into compliance by being outnumbered. But that didn’t stop you from trying, clawing and squirming. Teeth gnashing violently as you tried to bite down on anything careless enough to get within reach. Your neck was yanked to the side, forcing you flat on the floor. 

You noticed something stood just at the edge of your sight among all the chaos. Someone . More discernible to you than the current vicinity, than those here and now detaining you. More sensational than your failed predation attempt. Shades crept in the dark, glinting like a cat’s eye. There, where the tenebrosity seemed the most concentrated and the most condensed. A deep, dark impression that cut an imposing and impressive figure in the background. Watching, waiting — onlooking.

As a needle gleamed above your head and a sharp pain burned when it sunk into your held-down forearm. It was fast-acting, almost instantaneous.Your vision began to dim, your surroundings fading away. It was getting harder to stay attentive, to fight back. To remain awake. Administered now with whatever was coursing through your veins, diluting your adrenaline rush. Pacifying you, until you were no longer a threat. 

Submerged back in stasis, lost at sea. Surrounded solely by a boundless nothingness once more. 

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A/N:

Critique welcomed and encouraged as long as it is constructive and polite (don't be rude/mean pretty please ◡̈ ). Also if I made any mistakes, grammar or otherwise, please to let me know.

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| Next ⮞

[aychama]

G: YOU MOTHER FUCKER

The goat punched the other again. They were already bloody and bruised from fighting. Lambert backed, coughing up the blood.

G: What the FUCK were you thinking!? They gave you a purpose, a new start at life, you ungrateful piece of SHIT!

L: I know! And I also know that it would all end when they no longer needed us or found someone stupider to their work!

G: Bullshit. They promised-

L: PROMISED? Pfft ha-! Hahahaha!

Lambert laughed. They were laughing at the stupidity of the situation. Other one gritted their teeth, clenching their blood stained fists.

L: And you believed that? What did they promise you huh?

G: None of your business! Shamura proposed stuff they never did to other people! Once I get your head to him for what you did to them, to me, I'll have everything I want!

Goat tried to punch him again. This time, his wrist was caught by Lambert painfully, twisted and forced to get on the ground.

G: Gah-!

L: What did they promise you? Your safety? No longer having to worry about being hunted down? Or is the promise of giving you the crown once their times up? Come on... We're better than this!

The lamb said harshly. They knew every one of those lies. They weren't dumb.

L: You think someone as knowledgeable as Shamura doesn't know how to manipulate people like you? People like us? They are good at taking from the vulnerable, giving empty hopes with eye catching promises.

G: Fuck you.

Lambert let go of his wrist and took a few steps back. Goat looked at them curious and judgmentally

G: I don't believe you. You yourself are a manipulator. How the hell did you convince the red crown to lend you power?

L: I didn't... He gave it to me himself. But I'm not trying to convince you anyway. You don't have to believe me, follow me, help me... But to think I'd let you come in here and kill me is just ridiculous.

G: So what now? Do you expect me to just stop coming after you after what you did? People know me as someone that never let their prey ran off, can't risk that reputation.

L: No, I'm expecting anything from you. (It's a waste of time anyway) All I need is for you to think about this, make a choice and understand. Shamura is not someone you can trust.

G: I don't need to understand. Nor do I care if you can or not trust Shamura. In this world, people like you and me either do as told or become dinner. And, you're the main dinner they crave. Don't be stupid, Lambert.

L: (That's quite poetic actually) If Shamura wants to kill me, they can come and try for themselves, no need to get YOU involved. Tho, you said it yourself that you're doing this to be not on their bad side. If you're tired of being a vessel for their needs, this isn't the way to freedom... You will, NEVER get that by simply doing what they want.

G: Freedom? Ha! It's rich coming from you. Like you did any better! You betrayed Shamura for what? To be that damned cat's lap dog, to sit when says and stand when he wants. (Or maybe things I don't want to mentally imagine) You, put all your self respect, dignity and name aside to get toyed around by someone like him. Is this what you call "freedom"?

Goat walked towards them, making Lambert take a few steps back.

G: That's not freedom. Or maybe you want that. Maybe you make him think that he's in control to betray him later on. He was being nice after all. You love hurting the ones that help you the most, right?

L: Now you're just saying random words What? Is this some kind of way to make me feel bad? If there's a lap dog here, it's you. You don't get to act like you didn't do what ANYONE asked of you just to feel like you accomplished something worth mentioning! You can continue to obey Shamura and beg them to keep you afterwards but be aware that they'll put you back where they found you! I'm gonna do what I need to do to live my way, either with you or without you! So don't- ACK!

The goat launched at them, their hands around the other's throat. Goat didn't like those words, at all. The lamb choked, scratching the hands on their throat. Goat was angry, shaking as they watched the other struggle.

G: You think you can just backstab everyone who trusts you and don't face the consequences of it!? Like how you thought I'd forgive you, after you left me in that prison!? They caught you and I did everything to help you! And I waited, waited and waited for MONTHS! IS THAT YOUR FREEDOM!? You... Selfish... Ignorant... BASTARD!

Their heartbeat filled their ears, anger consuming the goat. The blood dripping from their nose hit Lambert's wool, joining the other's own stains.

G: You left me to die. And you dare to criticize what I do to survive!? If it wasn't for me, you'd be devoured whole in a feast! We did everything together! We helped each other out! But you!? It's only you! I trusted you!

Lambert stopped his struggle, instead looking up to their... friend. Maybe one of the worst things they've done. The only thing they regretted so far.

G: What did I ever do to you!?

The goat punched them again and again. But when they got no response, they let go

G: Answer me. Don't you have a snarky come back to that? Can't even deny that you are the worst fucking friend?

L: ...

They sat up, their lip busted and nose broken. The tension and the eye contact was too uncomfortable.

L: You're right. I did that. I am, a bad friend.

G: ...

L: You're not just here because of Shamura are you? You don't care about what they want or what they told you at all.

G: Yeah. I'm here because you're a piece of shit, a backstabbing manipulator and you owe me. Did you even tried to-

L: I did... I tried to help you out.

Upcoming tears already burned his eyes. Lambert took a deep breath.

L: Maybe I didn't try hard enough. I-I know it's no excuse but, but I tried... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I know, I know it means so little to you and I know you don't want to hear me say it. With all this shit going on... When Shamura started to go out their way and what happened between me and the king... The things I felt and couldn't even understand at the Festival... What I had to do to prove myself, my worth and all the thoughts about not being good enough... for anyone. These aren't excuses. They shouldn't be... I was supposed to be there for you. But please believe me when I say this, I never wanted to hurt you. And if I loose you now, or already did, I would never forgive myself for making you feel like I didn't care...

Lambert was crying when he finished talking. They couldn't face the goat anymore. Years of friendship and they ruined it. The goat took a step forward. And another. Lambert assumed they'd left but...

G: (You crybaby)

The goat hugged them. So they hugged back. It was quiet for a moment... The the goat backed away.

G: If I knew you were this much of a loser... But hey. Neither of us are made in heaven. We're both shitty. And I rather be shitty with you.

L: You...

G: I'm still angry and fuck you, you know.

They smiled at Lambert, then sighed.

G: But who else do we have other than each other? So stop crying! (It makes you look uglier than you already are.) I'll forgive you for a while, aight? Cuz I know you'd miss me

L: Fuck you... Heh...

G: Same to you. So-!

The goat pulled the lamb to their feet

G: When are we killing this giant spider?

Awwww this is adorable!

Thank you for writing this it actually shows me how much I have or haven't shared about my story so far and gosh its a lot djkfllf

And gosh Lambert just taking the punches from Goat, ouch

I love the back and forth the two have here and Goat being promised stuff from Shamura is a nice touch!

Goat calling Lambert a crybaby is so cute xD and I adore the hug ❤️