#also same with Fangs group

[sun-to-sorrow]

So like, reading Maximum Ride again after like 4-6 years and like, there are so many things I’m questioning. For starter Manga reader only because I have this issue of not being able to read other forms of something I’ve already read. Brain kinda shuts down. So like

1) The whole Max, Martina (Martinez?), and Ella thing is just so strange. For starters Max is just awful. Prioritizing a random girl being cornered and has an easy escape route (Max took it after all) over your 6 year old sister who is in the hands of actual mad scientist who you know has actively done shitty unethical things is just, why?! Angel could’ve been saved just a bit earlier if you listened to Fang! But also the whole Martinez has something to do with the school but then it’s completely forgotten.

2) Max leaving the Blind guy and the 8 Year Old alone because “Angel (who is to young to know how to escape the school) might escape and come back here”. Gazzy has little combat experience because he is either told to run/hide or uses bombs and Iggy is BLIND!

3) Iggy really goes between I have the best hearing in the flock to I have normal human hearing. Like sometimes he can hear Erasers (like only twice?) or the homeless people in the subway and most of the time either he’s surprised by them (angel’s kidnapping or the ambush when Max and Fang leave) or Angel finds then before him (the two children). Like, JP make it’s consistent! Let Iggy be the Flock’s alarm so when they don’t have him in the group they suffer more casualties! Especially during when Erasers become robots so Angel becomes useless (like de buff the girl honesty)

4) speaking of Iggy. He has been shown enough times that he’s really REALLY smart. Building bombs, being able to remember recipes to cook, learning and mapping places out (E house and Anne’s place), yet JP literally doesn’t expand or utilize it to its fullest. Iggy could probably be the Flocks brain but no~, he’s to blind to be the flocks brain, let’s have Fang (the right hand man, second command of the flock, has invisibility powers and (I just learned) immortality) and Angel (child with telepathy, mind control, shapeshifting, and probably other things) be the brains and Max (leader and golden child) have moments here and there. The most I’ve seen of Iggy utilizing his brains was lock picking or making bombs/planning out traps. I could be missing some but JP makes it so hard to know.

5) the severe infantilism of Iggy

6) Gazzy still has no new power unlike everyone else (but Iggy’s are pretty shitty because they all are powers to “help him see without him actually seeing”). Like let him have telepathy or maybe a way that only him and Angel can communicate each other.

7) Nudge. Like she isn’t as bad as Iggy and definitely not the worst like Gazzy, but god she’s still really poorly written. She has this whole thing of not wanting to be a freak and wanting to find her family and wanting to be normal and not having to run all the time but every single one of these just stops on a dead note! It like stops existing after like 2-3 chapters and never brought up. Like she’s the most interesting girl in the flock but just so butchered.

8) their looks. Ok I’m not gonna harp so badly on the Manga artist because she is Korean and Korean beauty standards and all that is just bad in general but that’s just cultural differences. But one thing I never understand was that makeup transformation. Angel who has short hair suddenly has hair that goes below her neck. Nudge’s bleached streak somehow stays even though her natural hair should’ve shown by the 9 manga vol. Fang who always was shown with straight hair now has really curly hair. That’s not how hair works and let’s not talk about Iggy and those weird dark tips.

9) Fax and Ella/Iggy (which I learned was canon. I was wondering where all those Ella/Iggy stories came from) I don’t hate straight ships. I just hate these straight ships.

10) oh poorly written trauma handled even worse my beloved. Your telling me Iggy, the one who was awake the entire operation on his eyes doesn’t have trauma. Your telling me Fang, who almost died to an Eraser doesn’t have trauma. Your telling me Max, the one who continuously has a voice in her head, a chip in her shoulder, seeing an Eraser in the mirror doesn’t have trauma?! Angel?!

But like I could continue because there is so much but, there where definitely things I liked. I like how Iggy was drawn. Out of all the characters he looked always bony and skinny and long. Like even next to Fang who is supposed to be the same height he looks so twiggy and tall. Gazzy was so interesting because he was that grey “I suffered through the school but I was also way to young to remember” and I wish it was expanded more. I liked the Ari arc if you ignore every other Ari part in the story. Total was nice if we found nice as before he talked.

Like not to be the paranoid one but if I was in the flocked I would be questioning everything. A Gazzy photo from an abandoned apartment? They could’ve stuck it there after knowing their research was stolen just to trap the flock. Anna watching a new about Iggy’s parents? She purposely put it on so Iggy will be removed. Erasers still finding the flock? Did anyone thing that the others might have chips in them, especially when Fang, Gazzy, and Iggy where attacked. Also how does Fang still have his laptop when he was captured by the institute?

[clockwayswrites]

Dead on MAYn '25 Day 2: Bonus Day: "When were you going to tell me that we were married?"

It was crowded. Which, as annoying as it was, made sense. The King of the Infinite Realms and a selection of his cabinet were arriving today. Apparently, the king was finally ready to talk about that whole fuck up with the GIW, the government, and the war that had nearly happened.

Apparently, the King also saw it as a good time for the two sides to mingle and get to know each other. The thought of a multidimensional party did pretty good at drawing a crowd. Hal couldn’t talk, he was there for the free booze.

Well, and because Barry made him come.

On the damn dot, a tear in the air appeared: a diagonal purple splash. It split and tore into a glowing green portal. King Phantom and his ranks stood just on the other side. It wasn’t everyone who stepped through.

King Phantom led the procession, of course. His crown of swirling galaxies barely cleared the edge of the portal. His cloak of stars just brushed the ground. He was flanked by another ghost, one who looked remarkably like him, though the hair was bluer and a red-headed woman who looked remarkable human, other than the green glow to her eyes. A multi-armed giantress, furry being Hal could only think to call a yeti, and a hooded figure followed.

Once the group was through the portal, it snapped closed. The tear remained. A quick out if it was needed, Hal figured.

“Greetings, King Phantom and friends,” Wounder Woman called boisterously, “to Mount Justice! The Justice League and its allies are honored to welcome you all here today.”

The king inclined his head. “And we are humbled to be welcomed. I am sure that you all have questions? Maybe we could get a few of the big ones out of the way instead of having to spend all night answering the same queries.”

“Yeah, I have a question.” The gruff, modulated voice spoke up from further back in the crowd.

People parted like the sea under Aquaman’s command. One of the Bat brood stepped forward. A black and red leather coat with the hood up, mostly shadowing the red mask and respirator.

“The Red Hood,” Barry leaned over and murmured.

“I knew that,” Hal hissed back.

The Red Hood stopped and crossed his arms, making his stupidly broad shoulders look all the wider. Something about the way that he just subtly leaned back seemed threatening.

It was a sharp contrast to the way that Phantom basically perked up like some ill mannered puppy. “Robin!”

“Yeah, not so much anymore, your highness,” the Red Hood grumbled.

Phantom deflated like a balloon with a leak. Really. Hall thought that Phantom might have actually gotten smaller somehow. “Oh, well, right. Um, what was your question?”

“My question,” The Red Hood’s voice through that respirator really was menacing. “is when the fuck were you going to tell me that we were married?”

Phantom blinked his luminescent green eyes. “Married?”

“Ghost married.”

“Holy fuck, you’re ghost married?!” Phantom’s look-alike companion asked gleefully and with a fanged grin.

“I—ghost married?” Phantom squeaked.

“Yep,” the Red Hood said. “'parently we’re soul bonded. Magically fuckery. Ghost fuckery. Both.”

Phantom rubbed at the back of his neck. “We’re, oh… shit, the Cascades?”

The Red Hood just shrugged. “Likely.”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know,” Phantom pleaded.

The rest of the Batfamily were watching the exchange like it was a tennis match: heads swinging back and forth.

The Red Hood snorted. “No excuse.”

“No excuse?!” Phantom repeated. “All the excuse! I couldn’t tell you if I didn’t know! Look, I’ll talk to CW as soon as I’m back about getting the ghost equivalent of a divorce—”

“Who said I wanted a divorce?”

Phantom froze—like actually froze perfectly still, swirling cap and all, for a moment before he shook himself out of it. “I—you don’t?”

The Red Hood shrugged again. “Haven’t seen you since you were a tiny teenager twink. Figured I should get to know you again at least. You could be a good husband.”

A grin spread over Phantom’s face. “Did you alliterate that on purpose?”

Okay, now the shrugging was just getting repetitive.

Phantom moved forward but didn’t at the same time. It wasn’t as much that he was stretching as that the world seemed to compact around Phantom for a moment, almost like a wormhole. Then the world snapped back into place and Phantom was standing right in front of the Red Hood, leaning close to his face. He was still grinning toothily.

It was vicious looking smile.

Maybe Phantom and the Red Hood were meant for each other after all.

“Oh,” Phantom purred. “You might not be Robin any more, but I don’t think you’re that different. What do I call you now?”

“I’m the Red Hood, but I guess you can call me husband.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

SIMPLE. (astarion ancunin x afab!reader)

based upon this request by @leahthesith: you've grown tired of astarion's games of jealousy, and it all comes crashing down one night when he chooses to spoil your fun with shadowheart.

warnings: mentions and allusions to astarion's past, as well as his sexual trauma. biting. lots, and lots, and lots of biting. oral sex ('f' receiving), smut. reader is not explicitly gendered/no pronouns are used. only a brief comparison of a 'schoolgirl crush'. reader has also had almost romantic interactions with several companions. 18+ - minors dni.

wc: 7.4k+

kinktober masterlist

There’s no reason for him to be looking at you like that. 

No explanation, no justification, no reason for those jewel eyes to be glowering at you from across the tavern. For his fist to wrap around the mug of whatever he’s sipping on for show, pale skin going translucent in the dancing candlelight. For his entire chest having gone still the last several minutes, and for you to be unable to decipher if he’s simply too distracted to bother with the last of what remains of his living instincts or if it’s another instinct all on its own – if he’s holding his breath as he watches your conversation with Shadowheart.

Then again, there’s no real reason for you to be watching him back. 

The matter of the fact is that you’re watching him just as closely, just as captivated by his presence from across the room, just to simply notice these things. The stillness in his shoulders and the glint that you swear must be his fangs poking past his lips should not be in your periphery. Your focus, all your attention, should be on the vibrant girl on the stool beside you. The dark beauty who’s speaking more with her hands than her lips, giggling over yet another glass of wine. 

“You know,” she sighs wistfully, and you have to tear your gaze away from where it had wandered towards the vampire currently sulking away from the group, “The wine here in the city is much better than on the road.” 

You hum as you distractedly take a sip from your own glass, tongue immediately peeking out to trace along your bottom lip subconsciously, as if you might be trying to savor the flavor. As if you can even taste the flavor. Your tongue has gone all but numb to the ruby liquid as a very different shade of red has captured your interest. 

This could be the same wine from the druid party at the beginning of your journey, the party in which you snatched a bottle from the very shadow that is watching your every move, and you wouldn’t know the difference. 

“It is,” you lie, swirling the red liquid a little bit, an attempt to bring back the taste all over your tongue. 

And even if she buys your lie, Shadowheart can tell something is off, leaning in just a bit closer, peering at you just a little more concerningly, “Is everything okay? You don’t seem yourself.” 

You don’t feel yourself. You should be feeling much more jubilant. You should be joining in on the same fun everyone else is having, toasting to yet another battle won. The end of it all was so close you could taste it. 

And yet, you don’t. Because he’s in the corner brooding, and with him he’s seemingly taken both your mind and your mood. 

“It’s been a long day,” It’s been one long day after another for months, it seems, “I suppose the wine is just making me relax a bit too much.” 

That it is. The alcohol has managed to wiggle its way into your bloodstream, heading straight up your spine and to your brain. All your thoughts feather at the edge, and perhaps that was why you were watching Astarion back so intensely. 

Months of this journey, and you still felt no closer to figuring him out than you had that very first night of discovering his vampirism. Each layer of him that you had peeled back only revealed more confusion to sit with. Some days, you swore you had him entirely figured out. You knew every in and every out of all his wits, and you knew all the steps to the dance in which he’d attempt to draw you into. You could play into whatever design he was spinning between the two of you; you could beat him at his own game. 

But other days, days like today, you simply couldn’t. 

All his flirtations, all his subtle seductions – you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was still for show. For every innuendo he’d whispered into your ear, he shared just as scandalous a comment with another party member. For every seemingly accidental graze of his cold skin against yours, he was attaching himself at the hip of another one of your companions. For all he gave, he would take just as much. Leaving you spinning in the hope of it all; leaving you with a yearning hunger that probably neared the threshold of his own vampiric hunger. 

You want him. You hate him. He infatuates you. He irritates you. He is both sides of the same coin that has damned you every step along the way of this peculiar journey you’ve embarked on together.

“I know what you mean,” Shadowheart brings you back to reality with one swoop of her hair, a careful gathering of the locks to leave a shoulder exposed, “What is it that they always say? Wine is the secret ingredient for every bad decision?”

Your eyes trace carefully over her skin, the slope of where her neck meets her collarbone, the residual bruising leftover from the latest fight blooming beautifully over her. A welcome distraction.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard them say that,” you muse, a smile tugging on your lips, eyes still traveling. Up, up, up. 

Over the line of her jaw, across the curve of her chin. Pillowy bottom lip and softly rounded nose. Softness – she’s made up of all soft and delicate features, such a contrast to someone such as Ast-

You must stop thinking about Astarion.

You’re no longer asking yourself of it, you’re demanding yourself of it. You make a point to move your body and head carefully, positioning yourself just so that the outline of the confusing vampire on your mind is entirely blocked out by Shadowheart’s silhouette. 

“Oh, trust me – they say it all the time,” something simmers beneath Shadowheart’s returning grin, a sparkle in her eyes that should spark some sort of excitement in you. But it’s a hollow ache; you’re still painfully aware that he’s in the room, “Say, would you like to maybe… I don’t know, get out of here? I’m sure we could sneak some more of this exquisite wine to the room upstairs, perhaps find somewhere to relax together even more-” 

“Oh, my dear Shadowheart, don’t you know that that would be thievery?” 

His voice, so close and sudden, sucks all of the air out of your lungs. 

“Astarion!” Shadowheart jumps a bit at his sudden appearance, but you hardly move a muscle. As though your body had been expecting him, as if you had always known the night was leading to this outcome, “I’m surprised to see you’ve given up your gloomy act to join us all. I thought you might sulk in the corner all night.”

His eyes lock on you, and the facade of his usual self seemingly melts. There’s something darker beneath the surface, an animal caged away, and you can see it as it bares its teeth, “Not sulking. Merely observing.” 

You can’t speak. Your entire chest is still tight, lungs still deflated, by his proximity. 

“Well, hard to tell the difference when you hide away in the darkness,” Shadowheart manages to get out before her lips press tightly together, clearly irritated at your companion. 

She’d nearly had you. She had been giving you clear signals, doing away with any games of cats and mice, and she had nearly had you. 

“It’s in my nature, I suppose,” his tone falls flatter than normal, the words void of all the airiness and usual cadence he accentuates. 

He still has you far more enraptured than she’d ever stood a chance of accomplishing. 

“We were just heading upstairs,” you blurt out, and Astarion’s eyebrows raise at your proclamation.

“Is that so?” 

You don’t quite understand why, but you feel the need to over explain yourself, painfully aware of Shadowheart’s inquisitive gaze as she watches you fumble with your words, “Yes! I- I was just telling Shadowheart how tired I’ve grown. We were just calling it a night-” 

“By stealing a bottle of wine?” his tone is growing sharper, and you squirm beneath what has almost become a glare. In an instant, he’s noticing all that discomfort, and you watch the facade be built back up in real time. Brick by brick, he once again resumes his usual role, voice raising a few octaves and a dangerous smirk returning, “And stealing our dearest cleric away from such a wonderful night of celebration? Nonsense! Allow me to accompany you instead, my sweet.”

The nickname rolls off his tongue as naturally as it always does. Sugary syllables, predatory purring. It almost reels you in until you remember the give and the take. The push and the pull. 

Two sides, same coin. And you’ve yet to figure out the value of that coin. 

“There’s no need for that-” Shadowheart begins to protest, but Astarion quickly cuts her off with a flourish of his hand. 

“Please, I insist,” even with his words lightened, sweetened up the slightest bit, that animal still lingers below the tone. Shadowheart will not be accompanying you up to the room. That much you know. “You were clearly having such a good time. It’s truly no problem, I don’t mind watching after our fearless leader.” 

“I don’t need to be babysat,” you snap, reactive like a dog threatened. 

Like a dog cornered.

Yes, that was what you were. A rapid animal, backed up into a space, given no choice. Your heart was racing at the idea of being alone with Astarion. It was no longer a game of mental chess played across a busy tavern – it would be just you, just him, and all those terrible layers you had yet to decipher. It was a recipe for disaster. It was the perfect storm brewing, set for the destruction of you.

“I won’t be babysitting you, dear,” he smiles, and it looks more like a hungered sneer than a sign of genuinity, “Simply there, at your service, for whatever you may need.

I need you to leave me alone. I need our journey to be over so I can stop being your puppet to string along.

You wonder if the thought may have traveled over the tadpole bond and that was why his face falls, rather than your stubborn silence. 

For a moment, you think Shadowheart is going to speak up. That possibly, she might just fight back against him, save you from the impending doom. But when her mouth opens, you hear the last possible thing you could have ached to have fallen from her lips. 

“I… suppose I’ll be on my way then. Have a good night.”

Defeat. 

It wraps around your name as she whispers it before she stands from her stool, unassuming to all your silent signals begging her to stay. Footsteps echoing over the commotion around you as she turns her back, and you feel the walls of this corner drawing in on you. 

“I-” you start when you finally look back to Astarion, but he’s already reaching out to grab you. 

“She’ll get over it,” he says harshly, pulling you along as if you were nothing. As though you weren’t digging your heels into the creaking floorboards below, as if you weren’t resisting him with every fiber of your being. 

“Astarion- stop, I’m- I’m not worried about her,” you stutter out, cursing the way your voice falters, tugging against his grip on you, “Gods, why do you do that?” 

The question has him halting at the foot of the stairs. The shadows encase the two of you as his eyes glow in the subtle darkness. 

“Do what?” 

“This.”

You wave your free hand in the space between the two of you wildly, as though that might suffice for explanation. But when Astarion only levels you with a blank stare, you know it won’t. You know it doesn’t. 

“You pull me along, you push me away,” you continue, heart still racing wildly, breaths coming out short and fast, “You treat me like something special and then discard me, and the moment I seek out that genuine treatment from someone else, you’re back to collect me as your own personal play toy. I want to know why.”

For all the exasperation you feel, there’s a pride beneath it all. The pride of being able to articulate, the smugness of assuming you’ve left him speechless. You haven’t.

Today is not one of the days in which you can beat him at his own game. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he claims, chin lifting just an inch, eyes flitting towards the ceiling before making their way to the bar scene behind you. Anywhere but you. “I’ve done no such thing-”

“Bullshit,” you spit out, “Bull-fucking-shit. You’ve done it numerous times, Astarion. Do you not recall the night in which Gale had approached me, offering to teach me about the Weave, and how you’d interrupted-”

“Our dearest wizard would have bored you to death. It was a mercy to interject.”

“-or the night of the tiefling party, when Karlach had been on the verge of confessing something that seemed an awful lot like an admittance of liking me-”

“Karlach likes everyone. Have you seen the eyes she makes at Wyll?”

“-And how about the time when Lae’zel openly invited me to share a bed with her, and you’d overheard, and obnoxiously guffawed? Hm? What’s your excuse there?” 

Finally, his grip has slackened on your wrist, allowing you to pull both arms tightly across your chest as you glare at him. Chest still heaving, mind still reeling. 

He clearly doesn’t have a very good answer as his lips twitch briefly into a pathetic smile, fading quickly as he shrugs, “Well, I simply found the entire image conjured amusing.”

Your heart nearly stops, leaving your chest as empty a cavern as Astarion’s, “You find the image of someone wanting me, wanting to lay with me, amusing?”

And for all he plays dumb, Astarion is not a fool. 

He catches the fall in your demeanor, the way your arms slowly drop and your entire face contorts with your frown. Damage has been done. 

“No, wait, I-” he tries to begin damage control, but the damage has been done.

“Save it,” you cut him off, “I’m going upstairs now. You can continue on your moping down here in the shadows – I don’t need a babysitter.” 

He almost looks as defeated as Shadowheart had when he’d intervened for a second, a second just long enough that you begin taking the long strides up the stairs. You think you’ve gotten the last word, for that eternity of a second. Making it all the way to the first platform, turning to take on the second set of stairs. 

When suddenly, your back is flat against the wall behind you, a cold body pressed against the entirety of yours. 

“I do not find it amusing,” Astarion huffs, those beady eyes suddenly staring right into yours, lips dangerously close to your own. The defeat has been long forgotten, “The image of you with the others – entranced by Gale’s magic, giggling by the fire with Karlach, on your knees for Lae’zel – is not amusing,” his hands are tight on your hips, bruising grip keeping you pinned with no escape. His body rolls, every inch of his clothed skin beginning to press against your own, “You, laying with anyone else, is the farthest thing from amusing, darling.”

His head tilts in warning, forehead nearly pressed to yours, the end of his nose bumping against yours. You can feel every unnecessary breath he takes. Every huff of his sudden irritation invades your space, and all you can do is attempt to turn your head. 

One of his hands is quick to reach up, pinching your chin between his thumb and pointer. You want to look away, but he won’t allow it. 

“Would you like to know the truth?” 

A loaded question. A ticking time bomb when it comes to this game between the two of you. 

You decide to set the fuse aflame when you nod your stiff head against his pinching grip. 

“The truth is,” he takes a deep breath, one you know he doesn’t need. He’s sucking all the air out of the room, air he has no need for, before his heavy eyes pour into yours. You’re blinded, all visions of red and smoky warning signs, the chatter of the tavern faded to nothing, “the image of you laying with anyone else absolutely infuriates me.”

Anyone else. 

Anyone else. 

Anyone else.

You open your mouth to respond, not even sure what you could possibly say to that, but it’s Astarion’s lips on yours that kills all words on your tongue. 

There are no witnesses. Not a single soul below can see as he all but devours you, hungry lips melding to yours in desperation. The shadows he had been taunted for haunting for the night now serve as a veil, allowing you to cling to what’s left of your dignity. If anything, it feels as though he might be controlling the shadows, beckoning them to come and wrap the two of you up as his arm sneaks behind your back, pulling your body tightly to his as he chooses to steal the breath directly from your lungs now. 

The push, the pull – the coin. The value, it seems, is finally coming to light. 

Through the kiss, you can feel the damnation of all the emotions Astarion must have been holding back for the journey. All the want, all the yearning, all the anger, all the confusion – every single emotion you’ve been battling, breaking the surface as his fangs nip at your bottom lip. 

It takes more willpower than you’d expected to shove him away. 

“Astarion-” you gasp out, taking gulps of air into your burning lungs. 

“Tell me to walk away,” he begs, body still aligned with yours, hands still clinging to you, “Tell me to leave you alone, and this time, I’ll obey.” 

Your tongue can’t move. The depths of his whispers, his pleads, are ringing in your bones, and you can’t say the words he asks of you. 

“Say it,” he presses on, his fingers only digging deeper into your hips. You can’t tell if they’ve gone numb from the chill of his fingers, or from the lack of circulation due to his strength, “Just say it, and I’ll do it. Say anything. I’m yours to command.”

You should tell him to walk away. You should call off the game of cat and mouse. You should save what’s left of your soul for someone else, anyone else, who won’t send your head spinning with a plethora of mixed signals. 

“Room. Now.” 

Of course, you don’t. 

The game was never one-sided. It was never you, a merciful victim of Astarion, always trapped in his shadows. It’s a game for two – and you’ve earned your blame in it all, the same as Astarion. 

And you continue to earn it as your hands tangle up in the snowy curls at the nape of his neck, silvery strands slipping between aching knuckles, lips attaching themselves to his porcelain skin as he guides you up that final flight of stairs. You’re not thinking of Shadowheart, not thinking of anything delicate or soft. Harsh clashes of teeth, harsh bites to rebuttal his fangs against you, harsh fingers digging into soft meat, harsh red lines left behind across his skin that fade away too quickly for your liking. 

Harsh, harsh, harsh. 

All your tensions and frustrations are put into the meshing, and you hardly notice once Astarion’s gotten the two of you through the threshold of the shared room. Everyone else is still downstairs, still celebrating, still cheersing and chatting away. Completely unaware of your demise. Oblivious to what’s about to happen.

Anyone else.

It’s been a long time coming. 

You can see flashes of it in your mind as he carries you with him, door locked behind his back before he’s finding one of the vacated beds to lay you down onto. The night you’d discovered his vampiric nature, the night you had been his mirror with his scars, all the times in which he’d blatantly saved your ass during fights. The blurry figure that is your savior, conveniently getting between you and goblins or shadows alike as he buries his daggers to the hilt. Always there, always watching.

Always yearning. 

Your heads sing in tune as that tadpole connection comes to life, like an exposed nerve as you feel it all reciprocated from him tenfold. Flashes of yourself, with soft eyes and gentle words. Patient palms and charming smiles. A pulling gravity so grandiose that it sparks sheer fear. 

The room is quiet save for your gasps every time Astarion’s lips leave yours long enough to allow for breathing, the ruffling of clothing and bed sheets filling the air soon enough. Just quiet enough you can hone in on that fear, dig your claws into it instead of his back, focused entirely on following it all the way down. 

More memories of his overriding yours. His exposure of Cazador, his admittance of his past. All the trust he put into you – all the faith he’d blindly handed over to you on a silver platter, only reminiscing and regretting once he was left to his own devices at the end of the day.

And then came the jealousy. 

You’d already felt enough of it through his kisses and movements – the way he pins your body beneath his, the way his fangs graze your exposed neck – but it nearly drowns you once the connection has opened the floodgates. 

The image of you and Gale, and a twist in your gut like no other. Incomparable to even vampiric hunger. 

The image of you and Lae’zel, and a burn in the back of your throat that drives you beyond reason. 

The glimpse of you and Karlach, and the urgency rising in your chest to simply stop it. To pull the brakes, not once considering the consequences. 

Every small moment between you and someone else – companions, strangers, those who have helped along the way – is given to you from Astarion’s point of view. You feel all that he has felt; you burn as he has burned. 

You feel a glimmer of understanding, a pitiful ounce of sympathy, but then you remember all that you have felt. All that confusion, all that unsureness. Every time you’ve had to question the glances the vampire offers in your direction or double back on his words. 

He’d done it to himself. You had to remember that – he’d done it to himself every single step of the way.

“You could have said something,” you whisper out as his lips travel down the path of your neck, sharp tips of his fangs pressing to your pulse but not quite breaking skin, “You could have just told me.”

He’s lithe as a cat above you, each scrap of clothing being removed between the two of you exposing more of your bare flesh to the chill of his. You can feel all those muscles beneath his surface, and you can feel the hesitation as you say this. The freeze – the pause. 

“You make it sound so simple.”

The fangs scrape at your jugular as he whispers it, mouth shaking as he uses all his self-constraint to not simply bite down. Taste your sweet blood, let it sing on his tongue rather than this conversation you can tell is setting fire to all his anxieties. He doesn’t want to talk.

You’re not even sure if you want to talk. 

But you do, with the weight of him between your hips and his hands dancing along your torso. Your head is thrown back as you sigh, “It could be.”

It could be simple, it could have been simple this entire time, if only he’d allow it. 

He’s had you dancing beneath his spell since the moment you’d met him. You had offered yourself over to him, time and time again, knowing all the costs. Despite the warnings from others, and despite all the sirens sounding off in your head every time your eyes had met his, you’d still pined. Still fantasized what this current moment might taste like as you’d lay in your tent at night, still chased after his attention across Faerun. If he had just directly said the word rather than stringing you along, burning in private – you would have been his far sooner than now. He could have had you in the palm of his hands long before he’d ever spotted the Gate of the city. 

He has you now, though. Entirely encapsulated, bending to every whim of his fingertips.  

A flick of his wrist, and you’re exposing more of your neck. A nudge of his knee, and you’re arching your back to press more of yourself against him. Offering your skin, offering your soul, offering your blood. A silent temptation for him to simply devour you whole; a silent begging to not complicate things more than what was necessary. 

You had both been in the wrong. He had sent mixed signals, and you had been complicit in your own silence. 

And right now, you weren’t particularly in the mood to rehash and reassign blame. 

“Show me how simple it could be,” his voice is muffled against your skin, lips velvet against your pulse. It nearly frustrates you – was that not what you were currently doing? Were you not proving to him just how easily he could unravel you with those cold, cold palms? “Go ahead, darling. Prove me wrong.”

You’re not the one meant to take an action, though. Your hands fly up, fisting at his white curls, and you apply pressure to let him sink deeper into your skin, but you’re not the one who can break the barrier.

It’s him that must – his fangs must do it. The first bite, the smallest of sips. 

Your blood trickles past his lips and you let out a sigh. As if this was what you were waiting for, as if this was all that it took. Your vitality draining slowly to invigorate him, your breath becoming his, your heart now beating for both of you. 

He must feel it. He must taste it. 

The simple entanglement of the living and unliving. How simple it was to become his.

You swear you only allow your heart to race as it does to encourage your blood to pump faster onto his eager tongue. He laps at it, hums at the taste, his grip on you becoming stronger with each pass of the ichor. Each passing second with his mouth glued to the side of your neck isn’t marked with the tick of a clock, but the roll of his hips, and your own desperate legs shaking in those precious moments between, cursed to choose between tightening shut around his hips or spreading wider to encourage more of him to occupy you. 

Just as you start to feel light-headed, he pulls back. Wide and vibrant scarlet eyes boring into yours, fangs tinged pink with you poking against his bottom lip. 

The tadpole connection has gone silent. Not due to either of you cutting it off entirely, but due to the lack of thoughts transpiring. Both your minds have gone quiet, and all that’s left is the warm buzz of knowing you’re connected. Static that you can feel at the back of your head, running down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. 

Simple. Mind-numbingly simple. 

You can feel the spark of something snapping after only a few moments of eye-contact, and you know it’s the ember that blazes within him as his next few actions transpire. Messy kisses leaving behind a trail of pink spit along your skin, hands no longer grappling at you mindlessly but with intention. He slips them between your thighs, a finger trailing down your cunt in time with his tongue down your sternum. What might be a memorized dance to him has become an entirely unknown experience to you, body buzzing with the novelty when his fingertip’s cool caress circles your clit before he slips down to your hole. It’s seamless – the stretch, the crook of his knuckle against you as he sinks deeper, the relief in the curl of your toes. 

“You’re not another mindless dance,” he murmurs as he sinks deeper and lower, an unnecessary breath escaping him across your lower abdomen. 

He’d heard it. He’d heard all of your thoughts at the moment. 

You peer down at the ethereal sight of him between your thighs, his hair and mouth seemingly shimmering with all the stars and moon itself, “No?” 

“No,” his voice is strong as he lets the tip of his nose press against you, mouth creeping closer to where two fingers now pump within you, “You’re not like the others.” 

He doesn’t elaborate, even as the haunting question of who the others might be echoes within you. He completely distracts you as his fingers slip from your cunt and his tongue begins its work, worshiping you with every flick of it. Nose, tongue, breath – they all work in conglomeration as the unraveling truly begins. Every ounce of you is tensing, combating all the relief of having his mouth on you, as he pushes you closer and closer to a precipice you’ve only dreamed of him guiding you to. 

The suckle of his lips. The cut of his fangs when he gets a bit too excited. The lap of a tongue like a dog worshiping at your altar. It’s all almost a bit much. 

When your hands travel to entangle in his hair, you can feel the hesitation. For a moment, you believe he might reach up to take your touch away. Force you to grasp at the bed sheets, at the edge of the mattress, at the frame above your head. Anywhere but him. 

But he doesn’t.

The pause only lasts a few seconds before he’s returning to his mitigations, even more intent than before. Words that could never be spoken between the two of you take the shape of his lips around your clit, sucking almost as hard as he had at your neck. An animal seemingly overtakes him, his mouth not leaving you for the mortal necessity of breathing, but rather for something harsher; he breaks away only for his fingers to slide back within you, and immediately takes to biting at your thighs. 

It isn’t like he had done to your neck. This time, he’s not chasing after your blood. Nips and fuller bites, not just his sharpened canines sinking into fletch but his front teeth as well. 

These aren’t bites to drink from you. These are bites to claim you.  

He lines your legs with them, scattered sporadically as he shifts himself up and down. From the apex of your thigh down to your ankle, there’s hardly an inch of your skin that doesn’t paint with Astarion’s touch. The bite marks, lingering outlines of his hands clinging to your flesh, patient hickies left throughout. 

You’re mine. 

The message is clear enough whether you had seen it in his actions, or if he had sent it through the bond. You understand well what point he is making. 

The point stands stronger and stronger when he works his way back up your body. He offers your hips the same worshiping treatment, leaves his imprints across your chest as well. A few marks brand your shoulders and neck, matching the two pricks that started this entire devourment. 

“Do you have any idea of the hold you have upon me?” he sighs out as he holds himself above your body, hovering just close enough that your skin jumps as the skin of his abdomen brushes your own, “Our entire journey, I have been so focused on… on freedom, on abandoning the concept of ever being controlled…” he trails off, and when he looks into your eyes this time, you can see something clicking into place. A fearsome realization. “Only to end up in the thralls of your beck and call.” 

You hold your breath and await the inevitable. This is the part where he runs. Where he removes his flesh from yours, where he jumps across the room and surely spits out some sarcastic remark. It’s the time in which he is meant to break all the hope that had been built over the minutes spent alone. He’ll make some nonchalant remark, or a crude joke, and he’ll go make eyes at some other poor fool below. He’ll cast his spell over someone else, anyone else. He’ll leave you, wanting and yearning and hopeless, once more. 

His body stays above yours, the thin fabric of space shaking between you two. 

With a trembling hand, warm against his skin, you take a chance, “I’m not your master, Astarion.” 

You aren’t. 

You have no desire to control him the way he describes. You would curse the day should you ever become something even comparable to being a placeholder for Cazador. He isn’t telling you anything new; you’ve known his end goal of this entire journey. Astarion has always wanted one thing and one thing only – freedom. 

And you thought you’d been helping him. Following him blindly through the woes, helping him achieve his ultimate goal wholeheartedly. Never for a single second had you assumed the role he’s seemingly given you. 

A short laugh escapes him, the smallest of smiles flitting his face, “No. No, you aren’t. And that only enthralls me further.” 

His lips descend upon yours in a fervent fashion, even more desperate than before. It feels as if he’s actually trying to devour you whole this time – it feels as though he might actually accomplish melding you into his existence, sinking you right into the marrow of his hollow bones. 

When his cock sinks into your heat, it’s ecstasy. Euphoria. Everything you’ve been wishing for. Everything you’d been hoping for. You stretch around him, just as you had his fingers, body eager to take in every last inch of him. The buzz becomes a roar and your entire body feels as though it might be on fire. You want more, you need more, and he’s more than willing to give it. 

More, more, more. 

His hips roll agonizingly slow against yours, making sure every movement is felt across every nerve ending within your body. Deep within your gut, down along your thighs, all the way up your chest. You feel him everywhere – he makes sure of it. 

Centuries, his voice curls through your mind like dark smoke.  For centuries, this body has felt tainted. Never quite mine, never quite clean. 

His hands are shaking as he lets them caress down your sides, over your hips, clinging for support. 

You take that feeling away. 

The words are heavy, the press of his chest over you heavier. Your own hands wander, and you make a point to avoid the scars on his back. The ones hardly deciphered, the ones that have tied him to a fate you refuse to let him succumb to. No amount of jealousy, no amount of spite, can reverse that ardent decision within your mind. 

You’re not an old coat, Astarion. You whisper it back, along the bond, your physical mouth gaping wide open as you tilt your head back into the pillow, feeling yourself tighten around him. You’re not a worn pair of boots. You’re a person. 

A terrible mon-

You cut off his rebuttal, a complicated person. Snarky, indecisive, too flirtatious for your own good. But still a person, and still worthy. 

Two simple words, and they send shudders through his entire body. Still worthy. You don’t look at him as something to be discarded or owned; you don’t envision him as a prize or a trophy. And you certainly don’t see only his flaws when you look at him. When his ruby eyes meet yours, both his and your own eyelashes flutter ridiculously as all the pressure mounts, the blush of your blood across his cheeks and running down his throat, you both know. You don’t need to put it into words.

Even when he infuriated you. Even when he made you second-guess his companionship in the beginning. Even when he made you swoon like a schoolgirl only to divert his attention. Never once have you fully faulted him for the mistakes. 

He’s done bad things. You’ve all done terrible things. And yet, you still want him. 

He’s worth more than the sum of his worst moments, even if he hadn’t bedded you tonight. You would still help slay Cazador. You would still fight tooth and claw for his freedom. 

You love him. You hate him. You hate to love him, you love to hate him. It’s all smoke and mirrors at the end of the day when you’re feeling the weight of him collapse on top of you. And it’s mutual. The complicated, infuriating emotions are all reciprocated. 

Every inch of your skin stings with the lingerance of his fangs and lips, gasps and mews slipping between your lips as he picks up his pace. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and hips in a failing attempt to pull your body back to his, the reciprocation languid in every stroke. Every slap of his skin against yours, every moan of his own – they mingle in the air and spell out the inevitability of this moment. You swear you feel his sharp nails nick you, a bead of blood no doubt bubbling and staining the sheets below.

You don’t care. He doesn’t, either. 

Your whine echoes through the empty room right along with a harsh grunt from him. He’s ravaging you. Bruising you inside and out. 

“Fuck, Astarion,” you gasp out, giving up using the bond. Your mind has melted far too much for coherent thoughts as both your breaths quicken, both abdomens tightening as you feel him reach even deeper inside your cunt, “Fuck.”

You can feel him letting go just as it feels as though your body might give out. Blissful soreness hidden behind a curtain of pleasure that turns your vision white. You almost wonder if your body had been simply a vessel for his own pleasure this entire time. 

You wouldn’t mind if it had been, but he’s made damn sure it isn’t. 

You’ve never felt quite as cared for as when his hips stutter, feeling warmth fill your fluttering cunt as his open mouth places random kisses anywhere they can reach. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel his tired lips pressing repetitively over your marked neck, your shoulder. They even graze the original bite mark, and the simple action sends shockwaves through you to join the rest of the residual quakes that keep your legs shaking around his waist. 

The bedlinen sticks to your skin from a mixture of blood and sweat as he collapses next to you for a moment, still curling up to you like a cat. Nose running along your bare shoulder, lips still reaching out for you. 

It takes you a second, but when you finally catch your breath, you can’t help but ask the dreaded question, “Does this mean you’re officially mine?” 

His chuckle is unexpected, vibrating against your chest as he rolls most of his weight off you and lifts his head, “Have I not made that much obvious?” 

“I just needed to make sur-”

He cuts off all your hesitation, lifting the entirety of his upper body now, “Allow me to make this very clear to you, darling. I have been yours since the moment you reacted to me holding a dagger to your throat with a damned headbutt.”

You smile sheepishly, “So you’re telling me when I did that… I knocked some sense into you?” 

“Never,” he scoffs, waving a hand, the only sign of his own fatigue to match yours being the way he drops back down at your side. You don’t miss the faint smile gracing his lips, “But it was an impressive move. Quite enchanting for this old heart of mine.” 

“So now you admit that you’re old?” you joke, prodding at an inside joke that had been ongoing since he’d admitted the entirety of his vampiric nature to you. He’d always pouted like a child at any mention of his age, but he’d always allowed only you to get away with any jabs at it. Your entire group still doesn’t speak of his reaction to Gale trying his hand at one of the jokes, “Goodness, what has gotten into you, my Star?” 

He flushes at the nickname, eyes diverting as he slowly creeps his body up the bed, face to face with you now. Your heart tightens a bit when he takes his time replying, swallowing hard, tongue peeking out instinctively as he runs it over his lips and fangs slowly. 

You almost believe he won’t look you in the eyes again, but he does. As he says the heaviest words yet, he looks to you as if you’re the only thing in the room for this moment. 

“I care for you,” his voice comes out tight, nearly strained. “Deeply. You make me want to be… a better… man, monster, whatever I might be. And if that’s a crime?” he pauses, and takes another one of those pesky deep breaths that you’re well aware aren’t vital to him. A glimmer of the human, the person, beneath the self-proclaimed monster. “Well, I haven’t been much of a rule follower thus far in our journey anyways, have I?” 

You pay no mind to his joking tone, seeing the words for what they are. Your hand reaches up, fingers carding through silver waves, and you can’t help your grin when he doesn’t swat you away as he had done Shadowheart for the exact same show of affection the week before. 

I adore you, Astarion. 

Quiet words. Silent words. Only for the two of you, within the confines of a shared mine. 

He clears his throat uncomfortably, “Mind you, I may need some time, given all the memories this wretched city brings-”

“Take all the time you need,” you interrupt. From the second he’d opened up to you, offering that vulnerability in the heat of the moment regarding his body, you’d seen this coming. “I can wait for you, my love. Let’s just focus on surviving all this, yeah?” 

He can’t hide his affection. It’s written plainly on his face, it travels clearly across the bond. 

“Yes,” he whispers back, reaching for your wrist finally, but only to hold it placid as he turns his lips towards it. You think for a moment he might bite you one final time, and you’d let him, but he surprises you. No fangs appear – only the softest of kisses against the most vulnerable of skin. “Survival. Of course.” 

It’s not so much words as it is an image, a promise, that comes to mind from him. The fluttering of a future he sees being possible, the threat of a city burned down should any harm come to you. 

“And no more jealousy,” you croak out, trying to not be overwhelmed by his own emotions mixing with yours. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Another kiss to your wrist, this one far quicker, far more habitual than the first. He’s kissing you simply because he can. 

You know there’s more behind his smile when he whispers, “Oh, of course, lover.” 

And you find out later on the reason for such a mischievous smile, once he’s cleaned you both up and migrated for you two to rest in his claimed bed. When Shadowheart is the first of the group to enter the room, confronted with the image of you curled up on Astarion’s chest as his fingers dance over your aching skin, you don’t even have to wake up properly to see the vision of a smug Astarion through your dreary eyes. 

Words are exchanged, but they’re lost to you in your sleepy state. You only catch the ones that matter. 

“Astarion! Are those bite marks-”

“Mine?” if you were any more conscious, you would have scolded him. He knows it, too, as he squeezes you closer to him, “Why, yes. Yes, they are, our dearest Shadowheart.” 

Shadowheart’s huff of breath tells you all you need to know about Astarion’s smirk. You’ll talk more of jealousy in the morning. 

[meltedbluecaterpillar]

I Don’t Care!: Savanaclaw

Heartslabyul - Octavinelle - Scarabia - Pomfiore - Ignihyde - Diasomnia

Romantic Jealousy: Based on real or imagined threats to a romantic relationship. There could be a history of infidelity or flirtations; however, this could also be solely based on insecurities. Sexual/Suspicious Jealousy: Based on fears that a partner may have cheated or be engaged in inappropriate communication.

Does he get jealous?

Leona Kingscholar

Leona Kingscholar is a very jealous man, he doesn't mind telling you either. But that's hard to do when they person making him jealous is Idia...

Leona had no issues with you having friends. That never bothered him. What bothered him was you hanging around the local Radish Sprout for too long.

He had finally finished up with his mandatory MagiShift practice. Being the captain, he had to oversee everyone getting out of the locker room before dismissal. A responsibility he loathed, but dismissal was necessary after every practice. The moment he finished, he shot you a short text. He wanted to see you.

Leona didn't like to come off as needy. He didn't ever want to seem clingy. But he didn't mind telling you if he was bothered by something. And for some reason he was bothered by your response. You cheerfully responded, sending a photo of yourself at a high up angle. Across from you was Idia wrapping some strange looking hard candy with a small, fanged smile.

Leona wasn't irritable and marching into the school because you were playing a board game with another Housewarden. He was angry because of Idia. The wasn't looking at the camera. He was staring at you with longing in his honey colored eyes. The tips of his hair a faded pink as he was immortalized in the photo unwrapping his candy. And that is what made Leona so mad. The longer it took him to reach the club room the angrier he started to feel.

Or was it insecurity? His steps slowed as he watched you exit the club room, waving goodbye to the remaining members with a smile. Leona's body began to untense and he exhaled through his nose. His tail flicked in irritation, but he did his best to swallow down those feelings and instead replace them with his usual confidence. "There you are." He huffed in relief seeing that you were alone, starting to circle behind you. His cheek rubbed against your head as he slipped an arm around your torso.

There was no reason to be jealous. He had nothing to worry about. He was leagues better than Idia. That's why you leaned against him and accepted his loving touches. And Radish Sprout was stuck with staring.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie Bucchi is more insecure than he is jealous. But when Jade starts getting close to you he wonders if insecurity is the same as jealousy...

Ruggie tapped his foot from underneath the table. He had picked you as his partner for a group project, of course, Grim was the plus one. But today he had been replaced due to a tuna sandwich related tummy ache. Jade Leech was in his place.

Ruggie was never the biggest fan of either of the Tweels, but something about Jade really got underneath his skin. Something he chalked up to being possessiveness over you. Meaning, Ruggie was just being insecure over nothing. His eyes lingered from the homework project, and up to you, then to Jade. The merman was talking with you about something Ruggie deemed pointless.

His gloved hands would inch close to yours as he offered a section of his mountain guide. Your project did happen to be on a type of fungus that could make your hair grow 12 inches with just a single bite. But Jade just wanted to talk. Only to you. You had leaned in to look at his guide book with a smile. Jade's expression was soft with a smile curled on his face. A faint flush to his cheeks as his fingers nearly brushed yours.

Now Ruggie was getting irritated. "Jade, who gives a fuck?" Ruggie growled with his eyebrows knit tightly. Why was this asshole even here?! The two looked up in shock, eyes meeting Ruggie's as the beastman began to sink into his chair. Jade's eyebrows raised in amusement, and you looked at the hyena in horror. "Ruggie! I'm sorry Jade he doesn't mean that." Yes he does. He did mean it. Ruggie didn't want confrontation, but he was sick of how close Jade was getting.

"Oh my, I apologize." Jade pulled away with his smile widening. His teeth now exposed as the two locked eyes. "Have I hurt the little kitty's feelings?" He chuckled, and Ruggie stopped tapping his foot. He started to replace his jealousy with anger. And his mind began to linger. "I heard eel tastes great over rice."

Jack Howl

Jack was always a stone faced individual. Jealousy is below him. Until Vil started hanging around…

Jack adored his upperclassman. Especially since they were childhood friends. Vil was someone worth his respect. There was no reason to stoop to a bottom feeder emotion like jealousy. The week and overly emotional are jealous.

So Jack couldn't process why he had this overwhelming emotion inside of him. Vil stood only a few feet from you with a script in one hand. You were doing the same. The older student had approached the both of you, specifically you. Asking if you could spare him some time. A club member had gotten extremely sick, but they were supposed to be rehearsing lines with Vil that afternoon. So, here the both of you were.

Jack had seated himself at an empty table, mostly scrolling through MagiCam while Vil borrowed you for practice. Occasionally his eyes would dart up to see Vil circling around you with a smile as he rehearsed. The scene was... Somewhat intimate. Vil was playing the role of a widow, hungry for a new, much richer lover to fill a hole in his heart. You were supposed to be playing the rich victim, oblivious to the horrors that awaited you. Of course, Vil had told you there may be a small arm touch while rehearsing, but nothing more. Jack didn't mind if you didn't.

He told himself he didn't mind if you didn't. But he was struggling to bury the urge to drag you away with a scowl. Vil's movements were so elegant. Like he was leading you in a romantic dance. Jack couldn't do that. His way with words seemed to make your eyes sparkle as you recited the lines along with him. Jack couldn't get that reaction out of you. He started to feel less angry and more anxious. MagiCam was no longer interesting, and he continued to watch the scene between you unfold.

When the club ended, Vil chirped about how happy he was to have you both around as his little helpers. "Thank you my little sweet potato! You saved me today. I'll have to give you a proper reward of some kind." He sang with his hands clasped together. This was the kindest response Vil had ever given someone. "And thank you for supervising Jack. I'm sorry if it was boring for you." Vil gently pinched the younger boys cheek, getting a grunt in response. Vil waved goodbye, and the two of you began to walk to the Hall of Mirrors.

Jack was quiet, listening to you excitedly talk about how much fun you had preforming the scene with Vil. Jack was a big fan of personal space. But he couldn't help but lace his fingers with yours for the rest of the walk.

[disaster-writer]

Ethereous

Pairing: King!Trueform!Sukuna x Reader

Summary: While handing out sentences to criminals, you’re brought in to receive your punishment though King Sukuna has different plans to deal with your crime

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Smut, non-con, slight gore, Sukuna has two pp’s, double penetration, anal, squirting, hella size kink, suicidal thoughts, reader has long hair and is described as small in comparison to Trueform Sukuna

A/N: This is a royalty AU but don’t look too closely for any historical accuracies, this was mainly about the smut

“Next,” Sukuna demanded disinterestedly, cheek resting atop his fist as he reclined leisurely on his throne.

The guards were quick to drag in the next criminal.

”Kudo Yoshimi,” Uraume announced, just as disinterestedly as their King, “Found drunk and exposing himself to a group of young women.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh, getting a look at the old man that was chained and trembling in front of him, in a deep bow. “Thought you’d show them what you’re working with, eh?” Another chuckle bubbled from his throat, “Castrate him. Next.”

The old man lifted his head in a panic, ”But my King—“ Sukuna waved his hand and the man stopped speaking as his head was cleanly sliced from his neck. 

“Next.” The King of Curses demanded more firmly, watching his body crumble beneath him.

The guards quickly cleaned up the carnage as the next criminal was brought in.

Uraume spoke your name but little made it past the King’s ears as his eyes landed on the delicate creature that was brought in.

A sight for sore eyes, that was for sure.

Sukuna always did wonder why the criminals were rarely women, especially attractive women. It would have made these hearings so much more enjoyable.

He watched the guards force you into a kneel, bending you over and keeping your forehead firmly pressed into the ground.

The corner of Sukuna’s mouth quirked up. 

Curious.

”Step away from her.”

The guards did as commanded and Sukuna watched in rapt attention as you lifted your head and stared your King straight in his eye.

He hummed knowingly.

You wanted to die.

It came as no surprise to Uraume and the more seasoned guards when Sukuna made no move to kill you. His licentious nature was common knowledge, and here was a young, pretty thing being served up on a platter for the King.

Sukuna eyed you, drinking in every last inch and detail of you. 

You stood in a tattered, white nightgown caked and stained in aged blood. Hair unbound and cascading freely, much like the prostitutes he regularly found in the brothels. So delicate and fragile looking but with eyes as fierce and sharp as a blade.

You looked like a kitten with her fangs bared.

”And what has this little one done?”

”She murdered both her mother and father.”

”Hm.”

A silence thickened in the room as Sukuna mulled over his thoughts— so many ways to punish you with a crime like that.

Then there was also your lack of respect which deserved a different sentencing in and of itself.

”What do you think I should do to you, little one?”

He watched amusedly as your jaw ticked. 

“What you would do to any other peasant who committed the same crime.” You spat with such vitriol that the King was forced to admit:

He was impressed.

Grown men have trembled and cried in his presence before. He’s had nobles piss themselves from the fear he struck within their hearts.

”Do you crave death?”

”I have earned it.”

”And what if I were to tell you,” Sukuna shifted in his seat, giving you his complete undivided attention as he leaned forward in interest, “I had a different punishment in mind.”

Ah, there it was.

A slight furrow to your brow, eyes flashing with unease. 

Only for it to disappear.

”Strip her,” he commanded the guards, “I would like to see this beauty unclothed.” 

Your gaze had hardened further, mouth pursing into a little pout as two guards flanked you, hauling you back up to your feet.

Sukuna grinned mockingly at you, reveling in the fact you refused to break his gaze as you stood firmly on your feet all the while the guards stripped you of your nightgown and undergarments. 

The King had been the first one to break, tearing his eyes away from yours in favor of gazing upon your nude figure.

You really were a sight for sore eyes. He eyed your curves, dipped and rounded in all the right places. Particularly liking the plush of your thighs. Nipples stood stiff, pebbled in the cool air, breasts rising and falling with each of your breaths. A patch of hair hid your womanhood from his prying eyes— but no matter, once he had you in his bedchambers every part of you was sure to be bared.

In another life you could have been royalty with looks like those, he was sure. Or perhaps you could have been something else all together. 

You could have been one of those seductresses the fairytales so often warned about, luring both boys and men to their deaths.

But instead you had been born to a lowly peasant family.

Lucky him.

The King of Curses stood up from his throne and closed the distance that separated him from his new object of interest.

He towered over you in both height and width. You had to jut your chin upwards just to look him in the eyes.

He had crossed one pair of arms across his chest while a third hand took a lock of hair between his fingers. 

“Where was she found?” Sukuna asked.

”In her home on the outskirts of the city.”

”The outskirts, hm?” He hummed, gripping your chin and angling your head every which way to get a good look at you. “The poorest of the poor. You must have been a real gem all the way out there. Tell me, little one, how many suitors do you have?”

You didn’t answer.

“More than two?”

“… Yes.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest at your reply.

”Are you a prostitute?”

You sneered at the King, “I would have killed myself before I was that desperate.”

It seemed he had touched a nerve.

”And why is that? You could have turned a pretty coin by working in a brothel. Would have given you buckets of gold if I ever stumbled upon a delicate thing such as yourself.”

“I would rather become a penniless old maid before letting monsters like you touch me,” you spat.

He laughed loudly at your words. “Must have been nice to have a choice, murderess.” He took a step back, “Take her to my chambers,” he commanded, turning back around and making his way to his throne once again. “Let’s finish these hearings quickly. Next.”

—

The pattering of rain existed in the far distance as the King of Curses gazed upon you within the quiet, dimmed room.

You kneeled on his bed, head cast down since he had stepped inside and dismissed the guards. 

Perhaps you regretted not showing him the proper respect earlier.

He did wish you’d look at him now, standing completely bare before you, both of his thick cocks hanging heavy and hard all on display just for you after having shed his robe the moment he saw your naked form once more.

Gooseflesh pimpled along your skin— you must have been freezing in his cold chambers for the few hours you had waited. He bet those lovely perky buds of yours were still stiff and hard as they were earlier, shame he couldn’t tell as you hid your nakedness the best you could behind your hair. 

“You refuse to look upon me now little one?”

You shrunk further in on yourself at the low, gravelly timbre of his voice.

”Why not kill me?” 

“Now why would I do that?” He hummed, reaching a hand out and capturing a lock of hair once more.

”Everyone said you would,” you breathed out, hands fisting against your thighs.

”You should be grateful,” he tugged lightly on your hair, “A beauty like you shouldn’t die so young.”

You sniffled— it made his cocks twitch, listening to your suffering.

”You’re letting me live… because I’m pretty?” 

“Is that not the answer you desired?”

”You would have sentenced anyone else to death. I should be no different— I’ve earned it.”

He sighed, dropping the lock of hair. Your mind seemed to be a whirlwind at the moment, concerning yourself with things he quite frankly didn’t give two shits about.

”Beauty is a currency, little one. And you have overpaid your toll.” He kneeled against the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His finger slipped beneath your chin, jutting it upwards.

Your eyes locked with his. Watery and vulnerable, lashes clumping together with your tears. It was such a stark difference from earlier that it stole his breath. “Overpaid indeed.”

He sealed his lips against yours, claiming your mouth in a bruising clash of teeth and tongue, pushing you backwards into the plush bedding beneath you.

You whimpered, the sweet little sound being swallowed by the King.

You didn’t fight or struggle against him to which he found both shocking and pleasing, but you didn’t participate either. You simply allowed him to lick into your mouth and nip at your lips.

He pulled away slightly, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his grin as one hand stroked your cheek and another pair maneuvered your legs around his waist.

”Are you a virgin, little one?”

You tore your gaze away from him, features blank, hiding any emotion you had dared to show him just minutes before.

”No.”

”And who did you give it to? One of your many suitors?”

”It was stolen from me. I apologize, my King, but you are hardly the first man to rape me.” You spat bitterly.

He hummed, a soft chuckle of sorts as his long, pointed thumbnail traced beneath your eye. “But I’m sure to be the last.”

You shrieked, losing your composure at the sensation suddenly felt between your legs. You grasped at the bed sheets, looking to Sukuna for an answer.

”Don’t tell me you are unaware of the rumors?” He taunted.

Your eyes widened at the implication as the feeling of a large moistened tongue lapped between your folds, another strangled cry releasing from your lips.

If that one was true, then—

You attempted to look down, but his manhood had been hidden by the ruffled bed sheets. ”Does that mean?”

“All in due time, little one.”

Your head fell back into the soft pillows, softer than any pillow you had laid your head upon, but unable to appreciate it in it’s fullness as the wet muscle nestled between your legs laved over your clit.

You chewed at your bottom lip, attempting to hold back your wanton moans. 

“Tell me,” he hummed, sucking bruises along your unblemished neck, “Why did you do it?”

You didn’t answer—couldn’t- not while his second mouth worked against you as all four of his hands grasped and kneaded any and all exposed flesh they could reach.

It was— dizzying.

”I’ve asked you a question,” he stated firmly, nipping at your neck.

You opened your mouth to provide an answer but an unrestrained moan tumbled free instead as he began to suck on your clit. The sensation stealing the breath from your lungs.

You blinked quickly in an attempt to stifle your tears.

It shouldn’t feel good.

“You don’t want to anger me little one.” He murmured warningly.

”They— mmh, they sold me too— ah- a brothel!” You choked out, before biting into your lip once more, tasting blood on your tongue.

”And you found death preferable to that fate,” he hummed in understanding.

The irony was not lost on either of you.

You were such a delicate little thing beneath him, being dwarfed deliciously by him. Sukuna found it quite the mystery as to how you weren’t eaten up sooner.

He liked how desperately you tried to hold back your cries, and he’d entertain you in that venture for now.

But he would break you by the time he was through with you tonight. He was sure to have you in tears, moaning freely as you took his cocks.

But this little game was entertaining as well.

You began to pant like a bitch in heat as he continued to suck and flick at your clit, a sheen of sweat now layering your skin. Hips twitching against his abdomen, if it wasn’t for the firm hold he had on you he was sure you’d be halfway up the headboard by now.

His gaze travelled down the length of your neck before landing on your breasts. Little buds just as stiff as he remembered.

He dipped a head down, latching onto the pert nipple and sucking on it with a groan against your chest.

He continued his ministrations, not necessarily working you towards an end, pulling back every time you were close to cumming. You didn’t understand why he was drawing this out longer than it had to be.

Your breath hitched at what followed. The wet muscle between your legs licked lower and lower—

“What are you— AH!” Your eyes flew open, entire body going stiff as a board, trying in vain to pull away from his tongue as he licked over your puckered rim. “Why there—!?” You exclaimed, hands releasing the bed sheets as you tried to push him away.

He chuckled lowly, as you yelped once more while he began to press the tip of the muscle inside, past the fluttering hole. He released your nipple with a wet smack, grinning “Gotta get her ready too~” he lilted, taunted, admiring how your face screwed up in panic at the unfamiliar sensation.

He watched as the realization dawned on you and real, tangible fear flooded your features. 

“No, I don’t— I can’t do that-“

”Of course you can, little one.” He stroked your hair, voice dripping in patronization. “You have two precious little holes down there and I have all the time in the world to stretch them open for me.”

You couldn’t hold the tears back this time, letting them paint your face in shiny trails only for Sukuna to lick them up before shoving his tongue back into your mouth.

You trembled beneath him as he spent a cruel amount of time playing with you, stretching you open. Bringing you to the brink of an orgasm and taking it away just as quickly.

This was what madness felt like.

You were sure of it.

You were caught in a daze, time had become nonexistent, trying and failing to hang onto any of your senses. 

But they were all flooded and overwhelmed by him.

You hardly recognized the feeling of a cock stroking through your folds after what felt like hours of only his mouth until the thick tip breached your entrance.

Your glassy eyes found his. 

He groaned softly with a breath as he slowly pushed in an inch of his throbbing cock, captivated by you once more— caught under some sort of spell that any weaker man would have crumbled under. “You have,” he breathed, cupping your jaw and once again stroking his thumbnail beneath your eye, “The most bewitching eyes— how many men have fallen to their demise under your power?” He lowered his face to yours, trailing a nose along your cheek.

”Power?” You sniffled, staring off behind him, “This isn’t power.”

”Hm,” he hummed, pressing another inch into you, listening to the prettiest whimper get caught in your throat. “It’s a power you haven’t learned to use properly. Like a child who has been handed a sword but never taught how to wield. Born in a better situation, you would have figured out how to make men kill for you— a cleverer woman would have never had to kill her parents by her own hand.”

Your face screwed up in discomfort, breath catching as a hand began guiding his second cock into your other hole.

You gnawed on your lip, digging your nails into his arms as you tried to mull over his words. “B-beauty— ngh— is a curse.” You gasped out at the incredibly large and painful stretch both his cocks had inflicted.

His grin widened, teeth poking out, “Exactly.”

In one slow yet fluid motion he pushed into your cunt and ass.

Your back arched, body going stiff once more as you clung to him for stability. Your breath caught in your throat struggling to breathe through this inconceivable sensation. 

You had never been so full, stretched so wide you were convinced he’d tear you in two if he began fucking you— he was too big, too much.

You trembled like a leaf beneath his much larger and opposing frame, a fresh wave of tears pricking, stinging at your eyes.

It hurt.

You tilted your head, nose bumping against his own. Your eyes, the eyes he seemed to be going mad over, searched his desperately. ”My King— please, I can’t. Please show me mercy.”

A chuckle bubbled up in his throat as he grinned amusedly as you. His lower pair of arms grasped you by the back of your thighs and pushed them upwards, pressing them into your tits.

You were nothing more than a rag doll to him and the idea that he thought you possessed any sort of power tasted bitter on the back of your tongue.

”And why…” He began, sitting back up, now staring at where is two cocks disappeared into your tight holes with a rumble of delight deep within his chest, “…would I do that, murderess?”

He provided little warning before reeling his hips back and pushing back in with a forceful thrust that had any sort of control you had over your own vocal cords disappear as you cried on his cocks.

It was only fitting, you supposed, that the punishment for your crime was to have the King of Curses himself fuck you into unconsciousness.

You’ve heard stories of his concubines while growing up. He has had countless of them but none lasting more than a year before he was ultimately finished with them, slicing them up after cumming in them for the last time.

You would not allow yourself to succumb to the same fate.

The wet slaps of skin smacking against skin mixed with his grunts and your uncontrollable yelps made you want to curl up, the repetitive filthy sounds making you sick.

Why couldn’t he have just killed you.

”I think you might just be the tightest and prettiest little thing I’ve ever stuck my cocks into,” he growled, driving his hips harder against yours, forcing a broken sob free from your lips, body jolting upwards with each of his thrusts, “A goddess for my own pleasure.”

”G-goddesses are— hngh— worshipped!” You choked out.

”Is this not worshipping?” He grunted, pressing your thighs further into your chest, leaning his weight into you and speeding up his thrusts. “I believe if you saw how I treated my concubines, you’d think this was the highest form of worship.” 

You didn’t know what to say, not that you even could as he forced out higher and higher pitched whimpers and cries from your lips.

”How did you kill them, little one? C’mon, hah— tell me,” he growled, suddenly lifting your legs and putting you into a mating press— mounting you like a beast.

”I— hm!” You choked as one of his hands winded between your legs and played with your clit, rolling it beneath the pad of his thumb. His face was close to yours once more, sharp gaze searching your tearful one. “We— ah— w-we had an ax!” 

The King quirked an eyebrow in interest, the idea of you lifting and swinging an ax hard enough to kill your own parents amused him. You would have had to hit them more than once, no doubt.

He found the image of you standing above your parents, holding an ax, covered in their blood startlingly arousing.

Perhaps he’d hunt down the men that had raped you in the past and watch you kill them yourself before he fucked you… or perhaps he’d make them watch him fuck you first before having you kill them. 

His mind reeled with the possibilities.

“A goddess indeed.”

He continued his brutal thrusts into you, the stretch still feeling wildly unnatural even as some of the pain subsided. 

You were close.

And you hated it.

You screwed your eyes shut as both holes fluttered and clenched around his cocks, only forcing Sukuna to grow rougher with you, which in turn drove you closer to your end.

And this time he didn’t pull your orgasm away from you as he did when he used his tongue, instead he found you teetering along the edge of oblivion and pushed you off without hesitation.

The air was knocked out of you, causing your back to arch almost inhumanly so as your vision went stark white. Your cunt clenched around him like a vice, barely registering the wet splashes that escaped you and hit your skin.

He fucked you like an animal during your seemingly endless fall. He groaned out curses and praises about your cunt, repeating over and over again how the gods he hadn’t believed in sent him a goddess to play with— to worship in his own sick way.

His own orgasm hit him harder than any jujutsu technique ever had.

You were better than any of his concubines— milking him like he had never cum before, strings of white painting your womb and he had even entertained the thought of his very own brat growing within you, knocking up a goddess.

Your power was unmatched.

He had crushed you beneath his weight after his orgasm subsided, never having felt so weak in his life. 

The idea was unthinkable— The King of Curses weak.

”What are you, little one?” He whispered breathlessly against your neck.

His tone had taken you aback even within the hazy daze your mind was caught up in, he sounded so reverent. 

“‘M nothing b-but a peasant… with a pretty face,” you panted.

”Hm,” he hummed, breathing against your neck. “If I find you were sent to distract me… I will cut you down without hesitation.”

Your breath had caught in your throat. “You’ll only be giving me what I want.”

”A goddess who is a murderess… and craves death herself,” he dragged his nose along your neck, moving upwards until his lips caressed your ear, “Perhaps you are even fit to be my Queen.”

You stared at the canopy above you, absorbing his words. What you had said next had only earned you a patronizing chuckle and a kiss to your neck.

”Perhaps I’ll just kill myself then.”

[orellazalonia]

Oops, I Joined a Cult Again

Summary: You joined a cult. That’s it. (Bucky Barnes x chaotic!reader)

Word Count: 900+

A/N: Same as the unhinged/chaotic reader series, supposed to be shorter but then I added more group chat shenanigans. I wanted something quick while I work on other stuff. Sorry if it’s messy. Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

Bucky Barnes had one job: watch your back on the infiltration mission.

He didn’t know that meant literally watching you disappear into a torchlit temple deep in the mountains and emerge forty-eight hours later in robes, glowing, smiling cheerfully, and being worshiped as the reincarnation of a snake god.

“They call me The Hissening,” You whispered, eyes far too wide, far too smug.

“I told you not to touch the statue,” Bucky muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as the robed people behind you chanted in perfect sync: “HISSSSSSS.”

-

48 HOURS EARLIER

The briefing was simple. Infiltrate and investigate a rising cult rumored to be a Hydra front. No weapons. No overt powers. In and out.

Naturally, Tony turned to you and said, “You’re on distraction duty. Just… go be yourself.”

You took it as a compliment. It was not.

You and Bucky parachuted into the outskirts of the mountains under cover of night, both in tactical gear. Silent and focused… until you turned to him mid-descent and yelled, “DO YOU THINK CULTS HAVE SNACKS?”

“…What?”

“LIKE HOLY GRAHAM CRACKERS OR- wait, no, Blessed Chex Mix!”

He didn’t respond. He just stared straight ahead, wondering for the millionth time what cosmic punishment he was paying for to be partnered with you on this particular mission.

The problem was never that you were bad at missions. In fact, in combat, you were terrifying. Strategic. Surgical.

But in deep cover? You were yourself, which is how exactly five minutes after entering the temple courtyard, you said:

“Nice snake statue. Can I boop it?”

And when the head priest responded, “Only the Chosen One may lay a finger upon the sacred Fang of Enlightenment,” You touched it immediately, whispered “boop,” and passed out.

When you woke up, glowing faintly with what may have been divine energy (or some type of poisoning), the cult declared you their prophesied leader.

You didn’t correct them.

-

BACK TO PRESENT

Bucky had finally gotten inside. Posing as a new recruit, hood up, mouth shut, inner turmoil vibrating at a ten. He spotted you instantly. You were standing on a golden platform, arms open, and being fanned with palm leaves.

“Hey,” He hissed when he reached you. “Mission. Hydra. Ringing any bells?”

You waved vaguely. “They have really good soup here.”

“This is not the time for soup.”

You nodded solemnly. “There is always time for soup.”

Someone handed you a ceremonial staff. You took it. It was sparkly.

You then whispered to Bucky, “So here’s the thing… I might’ve said we should cleanse our enemies in a fire of spiritual rebirth. Which they interpreted as actual fire. So, like… maybe be cool about that.”

He blinked at you.

“You started a holy war, didn’t you.”

You smiled brightly. “Only a small one.”

That night, under cover of darkness, the two of you escaped; you still in full ceremonial garb, Bucky dragging you by the elbow while you shouted goodbye to your “disciples.”

One of them threw a snake at you in farewell. You caught it. You named it Gary.

Steve, upon your return, asked what happened.

You saluted and said, “I was a god for three days and it changed me. Also I have this soup recipe now.” You handed him a scroll. When he opened it, it was blank.

Bucky looked at you, exhausted, covered in ash, a little bruised, holding a snake in one hand and your glitter-covered robes in the other.

“…You are the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me,” He said.

You winked. “But I’m your weirdo.”

“Yeah, you are.”

-

Bonus Debriefing.

Group Chat:

Tony: Okay, so. Roll call. Who let them start a religion??

Clint: AGAIN?!?

Sam: Are we seriously ignoring the snake?? Why does she still have the snake?

You: his name is Gary, he chose me

Bucky: The snake did not choose you. You caught him and said “I am your mother now.”

You: and he accepted me

Wanda: Did you eat something weird again? The last time you said a goat “chose you” we had to evacuate a whole town.

Steve: Back up. How did we go from “infiltrate Hydra cult” to “being crowned a divine prophet of the hiss age”?

Bucky: Because she touched the sacred artifact. While they were giving a warning not to.

You: i wanted to boop it 🐍✨

Bruce: [Image attached: Security cam still of you dramatically booping a snake statue and passing out like a Victorian child seeing ankles.]

Tony: Okay but why are you glowing in this?

You: i think I absorbed a minor god

Sam: Define “minor.”

You: likeee a demi-snake. A snack god

Bucky: You said, quote: “Let the hiss of salvation whisper in your soul or something.”

Tony: You started preaching???

You: they gave me a podium! what else was I supposed to do? NOT use it!?

Natasha: …Yes?

Clint: wait, so did we ever find out if the cult was a Hydra front or…

Steve: Nope. She gave a sermon and declared Bucky her “divine enforcer.”

Bucky: Yeah. Still mad about that.

You: srry Prophet Punchy

Tony: We are never letting you go on recon again.

Bruce: I still want to know how you pulled off a glowing aura with no tech or magic.

You: I ate three glowsticks on accident.

Wanda: …

Steve: …

Bucky: This is not a joke. I watched it happen.

You: I thought they were minty tubes.

Sam: Was anyone else weirdly inspired by her speech though?

Steve: Sam.

Sam: I’m just saying I felt something 🐍

Bucky: I felt betrayal and secondhand shame.

You: don’t worry guys, the cult disbanded peacefully. i left them a doctrine :)

Tony: A what.

You: [Image attached: Crayon drawing of a snake with sunglasses saying “BE NICE. EAT SOUP. HISS IF THREATENED.”]

Bruce: This is shockingly coherent.

Clint: I hate how effective it is.

Thor: I would like to join this religion. It seems wise. HISS.

[Thor has been muted again.]

[oh-no-its-bird]

Raise your hand if you want elaborate Hatake warring states drama set maybe 40-50 years before Konoha was founded to help explain/elaborate on the start of the Hatake's downfall + provide cultural context for why they value their children so much !!!

Just kidding !! You're getting it anyways !!

Ok, so.

The Hatake's used to be made up of several small packs, ranging in sizes from 20-40 people, with a couple especially large or small packs here and there, as well as a few individual wanderers. But there were a good number of packs all together, so their overall numbers were like, a good few hundred.

Each pack was nicknamed after a part of a wolf + a direction. "The western fang", "the southern tail" (not to be confused with the eastern tail) "the northern paw", etc. The joke there was that together, they all make one wolf

Packs also had individual heads— there was no one overall singular clan head of all the Hatake, and they mostly operated independently of each other, but (most) would try and keep in contact to sure they at least remained on the same general page (they did have a few outliers, and honestly a lot of packs were just kind of... bad at keeping in contact. Some packs were much closer than others, while others were much more distant)

Whenever they needed to do any sort of political maneuvering, they'd converge, and the individual pack heads would choose a spokesman to represent them for the specific matter.

But about 40 years ago, just around when Hatake Haruka was born, there was a very sharp decline in numbers. The problem? Well, there were a few of them, but one very big specific one: They were being targeted by bloodline hunters. Hard.

So basically, fun story, there was this group of bloodline hunters specifically invested in wild clans. They'd try to kill as many as they can (to drive up scarcity) and capture any they deemed as 'tamable' that they'd then lock up and try and beat into submission in a facility nicknamed by those trapped there as the dog pound.

( This also relates to my previous talk about like. The fetishization of shinobi, particularly wild clans, and how they're often viewed as a status symbol. The wilder/more dangerous of a reputation they/their clan has, the more impressive it is for someone to have control over them )

So anyways like. The Hatake were very much on the list of targeted shinobi clans.

Also on the list were the Orochi, actually, which is also part of why, by the time konoha came around, there were only 3 left willing to step out into the sun. (There may have been more somewhere out there, but they'd refused to leave their hiding places)

Other targeted clans included the Hoshigaki, Inuzuka, and a couple other unnamed more "animalistic" clans that would be virtually extinct by the time of modern Naruto (in large part because of this entire mess, actually)

The Hatake's were the hunters primary target though and made up the majority of those they'd captured / killed.

The Hatake's nature to wander was used against them, as packs were systematically picked off— the bloodline hunters already had several stolen shinobi among them, as well as very powerful backing from some political powers which helped to feed and arm them well.

The packs would only communicate with each other so often, with some packs being more isolated than others, so it actually took a little while for some of them to actually realize what was happening— which meant even that more of them were taken by surprise

By the time Haruka was around 10, her pack (the western fang) had been very thoroughly picked through, and were down most of their shinobi.

They ended up making the very dangerous treck across Iron, continuing to be picked at every step of the way, in an effort to unite with the southern fang, which had already picked up several other stragglers, and merge into one pack

(At the time, most of the remaining packs were doing something similar— scrambling to try and merge, to try and gain some sort of power in numbers. Very few managed to make it)

At some point in all this mess, young Haruka herself actually ended up falling victim to the bloodline hunters, getting tossed into the pound. She'd be stuck there for some years, and ultimately her position inside of it would help the Hatake's destroy the dog pound once and for all.

The battle that did it in for the pound was a big one. Lots of blood, lots of fire, lots of death and destruction, all that good stuff. Everyone involved in the attack (and the Hatake were not alone in the battle, there were multiple other clans invested in seeing these bastards put down for good) was out to turn the entire place into a crater of dust.

In the end, there were no survivors on the bloodline hunters side. The pound was absolutely demolished, and it's safe to say that any remaining bloodline hunters in the area got the message loud and clear: "Don't fucking steal blood from the Hatake."

—but it also killed... a lot of Hatake. A lot, a lot. The entire events of the past couple decades did.

Afterwords, a lot of effort was put into keeping quiet on exactly what had gone down within the pound and how bad things had become for multiple clans involved in the whole debacle. In general, unless the clan was directly involved in the matter, few people— shinobi or otherwise —knew all he details of their little war.

After all, no clan wanted to be perceived as weak or vulnerable

So then Haruka becomes head of her pack somewhere in her 20s. But by that point there's like. 2 actual "packs" left, and maybe a sparce handful of individual Hatake's. And their numbers are just really low and they're having a hard time with birthing in general, so their numbers continue to be whittled down with each passing year.

It's also very important to note that this whole mess is also part why the Hatake's are so violently private.

While it was a known fact that the clan had taken a hit, no one actually knows how great of a blow they'd taken, or how many Hatake are left.

And no Hatake is willing to give that game up, because the number? Well, it's lower than any of the estimates other clans have made. They are actively dying and terrified that anyone will find out and try to once again use their isolation and numbers against them

They're trying very, very hard to hide it, and the big show of strength they flexed in that big final battle totally helped to cover their asses

By the time Konoha is founded, there are only 2 Hatake packs left— Haruka's pack, which was left with only 21 Hatake; And another unnamed one, somewhere way out west, who they lost contact with years ago.

So then skipping forward some decades, to only some years before Konoha's founding.

In Here Before and After Me there's a moment where Hashirama says,

The rare few times a child had been taken, the Hatake's had kicked up such a fuss that they'd heard of the blood baths even in Fire Country. The stories reached as far as Wind country, if you asked in the right places.

^ This is actually directly referencing an event where, sometime recently (within the last 10 years of the fic, so within ~13ish years of Konoha being founded) some idiots tried to take a Hatake child.

And the Hatake, being VERY thoroughly traumatized as a collective by the events of. Everything I said above. Went absolutely scorched earth "tear their fucking hearts out and put their heads on a pike" batshit insane on them.

Just, pulling out all the stops, total slaughter. They honestly went more than a bit overboard (but also not really, all things considering)

They were NOT about to risk another dog pound situation. They did not want to risk anyone even THINKING it was safe to so much as LOOK at them wrong. They wanted to send a message to any bloodline thief who thought they were "weak" enough to pick off (again)

And, you know, I mean, it did work. So.

Anyways this entire event lasted like, a couple decades actually. Anywhere from 20 to 30 years, with a couple lulls here and there. (the hunting technically began a decade before Haruka was born, it just hit its height around her birth)

It was a very traumatic couple of decades, and left a strong lasting impact on the Hatke's as a whole, culturally.

It's a very big part of why the Hatake are so insanely protective of their young. A good few decades of being actively hunted and preyed upon, having their kids stolen, watching other clans also lose their own children— it instilled a very healthy dose of ✨ child shaped generational trauma ✨

(It also came with a few other lasting impacts and hang ups, especially within the few still living Hatake who escaped the dog pound. Of which there are (as of writing this) three)

Fun fact! The best way to get adopted by a Hatake (particularly the older ones) is to actually specifically have them rescue you from bloodline hunters, bc it activates a primal protective rage in them instilled by years of war against those bastards

The Hatake's biggest secret being their totally shitty position also makes for some fun scenes when they finally join Konoha and sort of have to expose themselves along the way. They are making the long journey across Iron and into Fire country, and because they're taking the whole clan + all of their things in proper caravan, they have to stop at every other territory to explain themselves and where they're going and why

They are getting SO many stares from just about everyone they run into

(This is the most Hatake's anyone has ever seen, but also... Doesn't it feel like there's barely any of them...? Didn't they say that they're moving the whole clan to the new ninja village? Where's the rest of them? Is there a second caravan coming soon, or...?)

Then they finally get to Konoha and its like, !!! Welcome !!! We're so excited you're here! Where... are the rest of you?

It also makes them choose to come to Konoha so much more of a Thing™ for them, because this is genuinely a hail mary "fuck it we ball" show of trust for them. They are being forced to show their full hand and reveal the secret that they've kept so carefully guarded for the past few decades— that they're dying.

(Meanwhile, Tobirama, who is one of like THE only people ever to visit the Hatake's while still being aligned to another clan is conspicuously avoiding eye contact w Hashirama, who is sending him a very alarmed ??????)

Anyways, few individual character notes:

Haruka would actually meet and become close to Hatake Maru and the Hoshigaki girl who'd one day be Tetsuo's mother in the pound. The three became friends and in the end, managed to escape only because of each other

Maru was from one of the smaller, individual 3/2 person packs, and had been training to become a samurai before captured. Being in the pound actually only strengthened his resolve to be a swordsman, and he'd often chant the core tenants of the samurai's way to try and calm/center himself

Haruka was also captured with her brother, but he would not survive the pound and died fairly early on into their residency there. Their sister, Tobirama and Hashirama's mother, was never captured and managed to escape relatively unscathed.

While all Hatake's have the chance to earn their clan stripes via leading their first hunt when around 14/15, Haruka was trapped in the dog pound at 14/15. As such, that 'first hunt' she led as an adult ended up invertedly being the attack on the pound which she helped to lead. The stripes it earned her are known as 'mountain stripes,' and are meant to symbolize an unshakable, unstoppable iron will. Deeming her an immovable force of nature, all on her own

By the time of Konoha, Haruka is actually all that remains of what was once the western fang pack. The last other member from that pack (the twins' father, actually) died to sickness the winter before Konoha was founded. She's actually decently fucked up about it but hides it incredibly well.

Uhh final thoughts:

Hatake Haruka, age 18— she got a hundred problems and bloodline hunters are 90 of em

[alucards-boots]

Hi, could I request Alucard with another Dhampir reader? And could you make it fluffy please? Love your work and have a nice day/night!!

-anom

Hello sweetling! Thank you darling!

And there he thought he would be one lone half sulky bastard..

He watched you hunt with him,

Fight alongside him,

Even heal alongside him.

It felt natural being so connected closer to you.

When you two first met, you both did not clash but meld together, he was a bit taken aback, noticing how you so casually stepped out of the sun and did not burn one bit.

He questions you, about your past and so on but also worried at the same time in hopes to not cross your boundaries and you let him in so naturally.

You both understood your urges, and sometimes humor, he was not alone in his struggles of being a half vampire, he didn’t have to be alone.

He assisted you in hunting, especially when you turn into your wolf form, he would as well, and usually you two would curl up together under the veil of the moonlight in the forest, it was like your two’s safe haven, away from people.

you two have inside jokes, and you two go after trevor alot in banter and bickering, Alucard always gives Belmont the face of ‘i win’ whenever you enter in, it was like a 2v1 for the struggling belmont, but at the end of the day, it was all jokes.

you both spar together, train together and most of the timenit ends in playful bites on each other’s skins that you both take little to no effort to heal it up.

Usually one can be cold, the other can be warm, and like what sypha said, ‘Alucard is a cold spot in the room.’

he is no longer that.

He has you.

For him to curl up on your chest, as you do to him, but he initiates most of it because once he is close to somebody, one that he can connect nearly from a physical level to spiritual and emotional, he absolutely will not leave their side.

And you both know you would not leave as well.

He always playfully flick your fangs— unlike his, yours is not as sensitive as his, so your flick takes more of an affect on him, which you chuckle alot to, he loved seeing the way your fangs peak shyly behind your lips.

You both know accidentally biting your tongues hurt like hell, especially with the fangs, he is glad he had someone to complain to, that understands him well.

By far, he spends more time with you around the group.

[jasper-unofficial]

phumpeem from tan's pov is absolutely hilarious.

he is late to a football game one day and arrives to see phum and peem fighting. he then brings phum to peem and is like "well... this isn't gonna end well, but i have no choice - i need phum's help to hang out with fang". then peem tells him that phum and he actually cleared everything up and the whole situation is water under the bridge. and that's the end of that.

after this, as far as tan is concerned, peem and phum never really even talk to one another much. to be fair, that requires a certain level of obliviousness from him, but he has it (+ he is quite busy with fang most of the time). there is a string of (supposedly) accidental moments where phum and peem end up meeting, but they all seem completely inconsequential to tan. he is, in fact, so oblivious to what's going on, he immediately assumes that peem is eating at the engineering faculty (which is a car drive away from his own) because he likes their canteen and sat down with phum out of courtesy. tan does not notice them gravitating to each other when they hang out as a group either.

so, to recap: one weird altercation that was resolved the next day and then occasionally being in the same space without ever getting close.

and then, suddenly and without warning, my guy is at a party and phum CONFESSES HIS FEELINGS TO PEEM. so of course this is how he reacts:

cause WHAT THE FUCK??? I THOUGHT THEY'VE SPOKEN A TOTAL OF FOUR TIMES??????

this is all extra funny in contrast to toey, who - conversely - immediately assumes phum and peem are dating based on vibes™ and the fact that phum drives peem around alone, and straight gay up refuses to believe nothing is going on between the two. every time they are so much as standing in the same space, he goes "hah❗suspicious 🫵🤨🏳️‍🌈⁉️", and generally looks at them like he is three steps away from going full sue sylvester and locking them in an elevator together.

but then when phum actually confesses his feelings to peem, toey's reaction is also a shock:

cause WAIT A SECOND, I WAS RIGHT??? I MANIFESTED THIS??????

[ordering-milk-at-a-bar]

More Apothecary!Reader thoughts.

They realise Twilight's 'situation' a lot quicker than anyone would have thought (probably before he even told the others). Our dear apothecary is constantly having to play detective back at the palace, there's no way they don't figure it out.

Twilight: How did you find out I was Wolfie? I haven't told anyone that. [Name]: Well, let's see. You have the same markings, I've never seen you two in the same place at the same time, and neither has anyone else, I've noticed your sharper fangs and senses, as well as your sometimes feral behaviour, and Wolfie is way more intelligent than a wolf should ever be. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together.

They're legit the one with the brain cell 97% of the time. The only time they aren't is when they're geeking out over herbs they found/when making medicine.

It's like there's this invisible 'common sense' switch among the group. Before [Name] joined, it would constantly flip between them all depending on the situation. However, after your little accident, the switch is almost always pointing in your direction.

Random villager: I understand the importance of having a healer around, but... Are they really the best you've got? Time: They have extensive knowledge of medicine that is unmatched by anyone else we've ever met. Also, they are our group's common sense. [Name]: *giggling evilly while picking plants from the ground and bushes* Time: They are our most valuable asset.

I've been thinking about this, but the Chain probably doesn't know about CPR. Medicine in Hyrule is all about potions and fairy magic, things like that, even in the games when you faint it cuts to black and the npcs just kinda wait for you to wake up. Imagine how the others freak out when one of them is downed and you preform mouth-to-mouth for the first time.

Human medicine, because it doesn't use any magic, is not instant, but is a lot more thorough. I hc that because potions/fairies are so fast with the healing, the recipient also gets hit with all of the pain at once (thank you, Dungeon Meshi for this). On the other hand, potions and fairies can't really do much in case of things like infections/illnesses/aches/cramps/concussions (pretty much anything that isn't an open wound/broken bone). I mean, they do help, but they're simply not as effective in certain situations. Meanwhile, humans have invented medicines for all those other things and more.

[king-candybug-backup]

Kill Switch: Part Sixteen

She took a deep breath in a poor attempt to steel her nerves, and walked inside the dungeon. Every step was a struggle, a fight to keep herself from trembling, to not show a single shred of weakness in his presence. She moved as quietly as she could, keeping her eyes locked on the motionless Cy-bug lying in the shadows. Whether or not he’d heard her come in, she couldn’t tell. His back had been turned, and she could see his body rise and fall with each breath he took. Perhaps he’d been too focused on recovering from his electrocuting escape attempts to truly notice her. Vanellope took another deep breath. Then spoke in as composed of a voice as she could muster. “So. Back to square one, huh?” It had been a long time since her voice had stirred such a malevolent beast inside of him. The vicious, feral snarl she’d gotten in response was rich with familiar elements of that carnivorous and mechanical discord she knew all too well. She had to fight to hide it, the way that noise brought her back to being helplessly cornered by a swarm of Cy-bugs at Sugar Rush’s exit. The way they shrilled and gnashed their fangs as they approached, bringing the threat of permanent death along with them. The way Sinistar kept forcing her back into that very same traumatizing position over and over again. She had hoped she’d never have to feel like that again. Especially not with Turbo. But, in all honesty, what right did she have to be surprised that he would be the one to rip away that hope? “Glitch.” Turbo spat the word out like a vile curse. The growling creature arose from where he laid, shadows twisting across his form as he paced back and forth alongside the bars of his prison, with glowing yellow eyes locked onto Vanellope all the while. “Come along to gloat now, have you?”

Read the full chapter on AO3!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen

BEEN SO EXCITED TO GET HERE, WHEEEEE (I'll reply to asks later, right now I gotta nap *SOBS* I SEE Y'ALL AND I LOVE YOU THOUGH!!)

Now, fan-art shoutout time!!!!! First, we have @artacetinker who drew this hilarious comic that basically sums up the whole fic, and also this drawing of everybody attempting group therapy! Calhoun is such a mood lol

Then we have these drawings by @mochacabbagefetus of Candybug + Vanellope with their respective supply bags, and Candybug having a not-so-fun time at the Turbotime track ghffdchgvj

And lastly we have these awesome pixel art blinkies by @turbotastlc of Candybug and Sinistar! "I survived part 15 of Kill Switch" MADE ME DIE LAUGHING LMAO, LOVE IT

THANK YOU GUYS, YOU'RE ALL SO AWESOME!!!! <3333

[jaxi-the-dragonborn]

IceWing Variants!!!

SnowWings, WolfWings, FrostWings, SpearWings, and CliffWings :D

details about them under the cut :)

WolfWings:

used as ground forces in the IW army

weak flyers, fast runners

on average the largest of all variants

very spiky

from 0-2 years of age they are all a black-brown color, then they start developing their adult coat

some wolfwings never lose their baby coat

most commonly live in forests of IW kingdom

groups of wolfwings are called a "fang" both in and outside of the army

browns and tans are very common

mask type markings very common

hold heads closer to the ground than other variants

excellent sense of smell

SpearWings:

longest reaching frostbreath

utilized by IW army for high-altitude recon and command and control during battles against NightWings, SandWings, SeaWings (less common), and MudWings. (SkyWings can fly at same altitude and higher so they are not utilized against them)

those that are not doing recon and C2 during battles will provide ground support by divebombing flyers and forcing them to the ground.

They also do ground support using their long reaching frostbreath in strafing runs

outside of divebombs they are weak air v air and ground v ground fighters

but if this guy decides to divebomb you you will die

typically dwell in ice caves

colors range from white-dark blue

faint markings common

fastest dive and overall flight speed of all IW variants

groups in army are called a talon

FrostWings:

OG IceWings

SUPER shiny scales, gleam like ice in the sun

super strong air v air fighters (good turn rate, average speed, average frostbreath)

most common markings are colorpoint stripes and freckles

not too much else to say abt them

live in heart of Ice Kingdom

SnowWings:

versatile fighters, can be strong on ground or in air (depends on individual dragon and training)

quiet flyers

live in snow dens :D

most common pattern is spots, which can range from white to black

extra spikes on throat give them an edge in close range combat (harder to grab/slice/bite)

super thorny horns- presents possible (closer) relationship to WolfWings

CliffWings

typically dark tops (head, back, topside of wings) can range from silvery grey to iridescent navy blue (like this guy) to black with super light undersides

smallest of all IW variants

live on cliifs at edges of kindgom

sometimes born with very small webs

stripes, bands, and speckles are very common markings (think banded penguins)

yellow-orange-pink scales sometimes pop up (but are more common on hybrids between CliffWings and other variants)

diet mostly fish

weak flyers

super fast in water

excellent swimmers and divers

weakest frostbreath

mostly used for maritime patrol and recon against SeaWings

sometimes used for infiltration (see Darkstalker: Legends when Clearsight was on the beach)

can hold breath for an impressive amount of time (time increases with age and practice)

Wolf + Frost hybrid

hybrids btw variants pretty common

strange scale colors often pop up

with Spear hybrids they often have more purples/greens/pinks for example

thanks for reading!

every dragon here is up for adoption :) just message me if u want to grab them :D

if anyone wants to know how exactly the different types work with each other in battle let me know :D

[simp-ly-writes]

Gentle-Fellow's

─────── · · A Smosh Fanfic

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x gn!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You, Spencer and your fellow cast mates Angela and Shayne all star in yet another Don't Win Mario Party, Gentlemen addition!

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, part social media au, use of dated terms as comedy, swearing, smoking, fluff, attempt at humour, cute.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,463

─ · · A/N: thank you so much for the ask, anon! sorry it took so long, had to brainstorm some jokes and scenarios but it was a load of fun! 😄

─────── · ·

"Oi! 'ello Chaps, I'm here with my fellow gentle-lads and t'day we'll be playing some good old fashion mario party, just how I like my liquor-" you began to intro to the camera before Spencer was slapping you gently on the shoulder, his body acting out more impact than you actually received but you still fell off the couch for comedic benefit as he put his shoes up on your supposed 'corpse' in good taste.

"Well enough with what that fellow was going on about, I must say we shall play. This game is better suited for a trio rather than a quartet- the same philosophy can also be said for working in the navy. Was much better to night-watch with a trio-"

"Ah yes, I do believe three-and-some is an adequate amount. I have yet to try four but it sounds you would not recommend?" Shayne leans forwards on the couch to fully face Spencer who adjusts his tophat while looking down at you, silently asking if you were okay while laying down off camera. You shot him a smile upwards, rolling over and returning back to the couch.

"Yes, I would not recommend such activities. Too many men with not enough places to go and scope out. Much better to have three, did you not serve to learn this?" Spencer asks with a tilt to his head, his top hat already falling off again as you hold back a chuckle to his playful glare in your direction.

"I in fact did serve! I was a leader, and I good one at that too. Took my whole group to one of the colonies, we had to strip ourselves of layers from how humid the climate was," Shayne clarified, pretending to light his cigar as Spencer lit his own, passing his lighter towards you.

"Thank you, gentleman," you responded, lighting your two cigarettes, wearing them like vampire fangs that had Angela near tears at the end of the couch. "I do remember being down to my undergarments at multiple points with my men, I'll have you know we were all in position within the ama-zone. Quite the discoveries we made there, so uncivilized."

"AYE!" Angela corrected, pointing a finger, her moustache slipping down her face, "I'll have you know my third mistress is from those parts, and she is the best. You mustn't make such hastily claims gentlemen, it is unbecoming of you!"

You nod your head, "yes, yes, very unbecoming. What are we? Boys like our sons? I can't remember the last time I had ashes in my lungs with that child's work," you continue as Angela agrees with a huff, the game seemingly long forgotten as you all carry through conversation, trying your darnedest not to break character.

"Ah yes, I think I have a son or two, I can't quite remember. I think to name them all William, a strong English name," Shanye comments once you all get... gently reminded to play the game you intro-ed over half an hour ago, you hoped that the editors would be able to find something distinguishable in these files.

─────── · ·

"I do believe it is your turn, gentleman," Spencer comments, casting you a wink. "My, I have seen to misplaced that powered-device. Does anyone see it?" Everyone starts to feel around the dips in the couch, Spencer was the first to stand, walking closer to the cameras from where you rolled to during the introduction bit and comes back with your controller, dipping it towards you with a bow.

"Thank you, my, you must be quite the bachelor, charming a fellow like me, oh my," you add with heated cheeks as Spencer returns to your side, his leg nocking against your own as you shout out in disbelief to obtaining a star you DID NOT want. "This is outrageous, I demand a re-play of my turn! I did not intend-"

"We must play by the rules," Shayne cuts you off, tilting his hat down as you stick out your tongue. Angela is focused on not winning the next mini game as you and Shayne continue your staring contest in the following two rounds before you claim victory. "Haha! I have trained with only the best, you can read a lot about another man through his eyes. Have you been hunting before? I love that wild look." Spencer jumps to respond.

"Yes, I must say, you really can tell a lot..." and in that moment you both look at one another. Shayne and Angela are both screaming over something on the screen but you both sound it out, lost in this little moment before realizing your both won... or well lost.

"It appear we have lost," Spencer says, emitting a sigh. "No, I would say we have won," you tease loving the way his cheeks heat up to his ears before you both return to the game more driven then ever to not win.

─────── · ·

Jokes have you all toppling the couch at some point from your rambunctious laughter, Angela is struggling to breathe through her sentence much similar to you over just how funny Spencer manages to be wearing sweatpants and a cheap half tux.

Spencer immediately went to protect your head with his arm as you all fell backwards with a large crash, the crew all gasped out in shock before your laughter only grew more boisterous. "I think I hear a little man again," Shayne comments, forcing himself upright to look over the couch as stars begun to be distributed.

Like snipers at position you all kneeled, your eyes only visible from the turned over couch. Top hats giving away your cover and you had placed second, falling back to the ground in fake shock and relief. Spencer teased mouth to mouth that had you pressing a hand to his mouth and narrowed your eyes at his large ones filled with glee and adoration.

─────── · ·

Angela had lost in the end in first place. you second place. Shayne in third and Spencer being the ultimate winner in fourth.

"FUCK!" and the video ended abruptly to quickly cute to her wearing a dog cone while trying to light a cigarette, only for them to keep collecting down by her neck.

"Thank you all for viewing our game time today, I have had the most splendid time today with you chaps, as I hope you all have ventured the same?" Shayne asks the now upright couch and cast.

"Yes, I was quite filled with delight," you replied, nodding your head and tipping your hat to everyone on the sofa.

"I do agree with my fellow gentleman, here" Spencer replies, clapping you on the wrist this time, very much close to holding your hand, your fingers interlacing while watching Angelas 'winning' speech.

"I hate you all-"

"Why that id not very gentlemanly of you, do you wish to handle these matters outside in more space for our thoughts?" Shayne rebuttles.

"Yes, I rather have a few thoughts to show you," Angela challenged, brow raised as she begins to roll up her sleeves, Shayne doing the same. Alex closes the video by panning upwards and the screen fades to black.

─────── · ·

🔔 Smosh Games just posted! watch now?

─────── · ·

Gentleman's Rules: Don't Win Mario Party (Again!)

Smosh Games ✓ [Subscribed] 👍 67k | 👎 7.78M subscribers 300k views 1 week ago only the politest of games... click to read more

1,110 Comments

username01 (name) and Spencer out here being the cutest even while cosplaying as colonizers, iconic behaviour you two!

username88 09:45 "Ah yes, I do believe three-and-some is an adequate amount" - Shayne Topp 2024

↳ username70 OMG why did I not catch this earlier LMAO 🤣 ↳ username91 or what about 20:01 " What are we? Boys like our sons? I can't remember the last time I had ashes in my lungs with that child's work..." - (name) was UNREAL for sayin' this XD ↳ username70 OMG YES! 🙌😂

username22 I don't know about you but I'm feeling like I'm ready for a whole series of just this cast and just this game. I have had this video and repeat since it's come out! Please. Make. More. 🙏

username14 Literally so in love with how gentle Spencer was being with (name), dropping the persona to held them find their controller and even making sure they didn't fall hard?? 😭

↳ username91 and did anyone notice those little winks? UGH 😩

username40 this is not good material to be eating to, almost choked from laughing so hard, would not recommend.

userame66 That little exchange about seeing into one another's eyes was so poetic, like that bit did not need to go that hard 💗

─────── · ·

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2 @delaneyburghardt @thevintagefangirl @uniquely-haunting @maricarorp

[whereserpentswalk]

Everyone talks about your relationship differently now that your girlfriend is a vampire. She was turned a couple of months ago during a lab accident, it wasn't as violent as most non consenting vampire transformations, but it was still traumatic.

Nobody is openly bigoted about. Your freind group is pretty diverse, you know witches and a few werewolves and other assorted cryptids, but very few vampires other than her. And it feels like they're weird about her now, in this way where most humans are supportive but don't understand, or how most cyrptids see vampires as the monsters they have to prove they aren't like to be accepted.

People are suddenly more likely to take your side in an argument. More likely to be worried for your safety if she's mad at you. More likely to be afraid that she might hurt you. And they won't say why, but you know. And when you hug her suddenly it's more sexual, and when she has sex with you suddenly they're worried you're being manipulated.

You have to give her blood. Because you don't want to think of the terrible things she might have happen to her if she didn't have a steady source. And people think that she's going to use that to manipulate you somehow. But she doesn't. She wouldn't. And you could more easily use it to manipulate her, to threaten to withhold blood, if you wanted. But nobody ever accuses you. And people question how you feel safe when she could so easily physically overpower you now, how easily she could kill you, but you know she wouldn't, because you love eachother, because she's a kind person. And meanwhile if you chose to kill her you could so easily claim self defense, but you never would, and nobody would ever think you were a danger to her because of it.

And of course there's also the weird mourning. The way people say they miss her when they could still contact her. The way people talk about it as if it's a fate worse than death, as if it's something that will prevent her from ever feeling happiness again. How when you say that your girlfriend turned into a vampire they'll talk about how sorry they are for your loss, how they'll be so surprised that you're still with her. Or how when they learn that you're still with her they act like this is some sort of noble sacrifice you're making out of love, as if you wouldn't want to be with her. And of course the darker things, the threat of people who really think vampires are dead. The fact that her parents stood at her empty grave, the fact that her pastor preached that her soul is in heaven. The way that you know she'll never be safe outside of the city again.

Of course. There are things you've lost. Her body has changed, her muscles and fat faded so now that her ribs can be seen through her skin, her skin is blue and vainly, her eyes turned solid red, and her teeth now sharp and pointed like a shark's. Her back has sprouted wings, and her penis has been replaced with a fanged worm. And it hurts her. She doesn't pass for human at all, and it hurts her. And you tell her she's pretty, as much as people act like you're the victim for losing your human girlfriend she's much more hurt by losing her human body. So you pet her, and make her feel small and cute when the world considers her something dangerous and scary. And when she's upset about how her body looks you tell her she's still beautiful, or when that feels like denial you'll tell her that it's ok to be upset. And when she's sad that her body is cold now you'll cuddle her to make her warm. And when she misses sex, or hates herself for craving your blood, you'll let her drink from your breast or from between your legs, and people won't understand why but that's love, at least for you. And things will never be the same, but they can be ok, even if just for a small momment they can be ok. And you'll call her pretty, and she'll feel loved, she'll feel loved.

[awwkie-dot-jar]

I think we don't talk enough about the implications of Val Velocity's main color being white. So I'm writing a short essay about it.

About Val Velocity's character design

I need to start this off with a brief rundown of the narrative of Danger Days. Danger Days is centered around themes of self expression, anti-conformism and anti-corporation. The killjoys are rebels who are fighting BL/ind, an evil company that seeks to control every aspect of an individuals' life. The Killjoys fight with their appearance just as much as they do with guns. They use their flamboyant, eccentric and colorful clothing as a way to challenge the sanitized, conformist society that BL/ind is promoting. The mask, which in other media is typically used to indicate hiding one's true self, in the context of Danger Days takes the opposite meaning: the Killjoys' customized masks are the ultimate tool of self-expression. Each member of the Fabulous Four, the original gang of Killjoys, has a color distinctive to them, which matches the color of their gun.

In the context of Danger Days, whites and greys are used to symbolize lack of identity and conformism. This is evident if we compare the original Killjoys to BL/ind agents.

Now we get to Val Velocity as a character. His story takes place several years after the Fabulous Four, have been killed. Val is the leader of a group called the Ultra Vs, and he's trying to continue the legacy of the Fabulous Four. We learn that he particularly looks up to their leader, Party Poison. This is reinforced by the fact that his own gun is yellow just like theirs. However, Val is fundamentally different than the former Killjoys. He's arrogant, and he fights because he craves violence and glory, rather than to actually stand up for what is right.

His design and attitude conveys this quite well in my opinion:

His palette is almost completely monochromatic. Hell, if he was placed amongst the BL/ind henchmen instead of the Killjoys in the pic below I wouldn't even bat an eye.

Val does not understand what the Fabulous Four standed for. He's not fighting BL/ind to protect people, or for the sake of freedom of self expression, or to fight conformism. In fact, Val's own sense of identity is shaky, as he's trying to follow the footsteps of someone else. Most of his identity revolves around trying to emulate Poison: even his own gun, which is almost as important as the mask to a Killjoy, is the same color as theirs. And the gun, something he has assimilated from someone else's identity, is one of the few things differentiating him from the BL/ind agents as far as color schemes go.

Val is not fighting for ideals, he's fighting because he craves violence. We see him hurting others with no remorse, often deliberately harming those who are weaker than him for the sake of it. In which way is his violence any better than BL/ind's?

The necklace with vampire fangs, arguably his most iconic design element, also plays into this. The Killjoys are fighting the Dracs, BL/ind agents who wear a mask with vampire fangs. In the context of Danger Days, his necklace is an open threat to the Dracs. His most prominent design element is a symbol of violence.

His palette being mostly white, in an universe where color is a synonym of resistence and self expression, is very telling. One would naturally assume that if he were to add color to his appearance during the story, it would be a sign of character growth. But the ttlotfk comics subvert that expectation, because when that moment comes it has exactly the opposite meaning:

Val, after spiraling into paranoia and mania, dyes his hair "Poison red" in an attempt to appropriate Poison's legacy. This is the ultimate act of lack of self identity. The first time Val has tried to add color to his appearance, what should have been an act of self-expression, is him attempting to "take" someone else's color. But he cannot be Poison, or overshadow his legacy. Val is only a caricature of who Poison was: aside from the gun, and the bright red hair, he has nothing in common with them. He doesn't have the morals, nor he fights for the same ideals.

I think Val, as a character, is meant to be a testament to how in every rebellion there will be people looking for an outlet for violence rather than fighting for a right cause.

[star-suh]

Make You Mine

Lee Donghyuck x Male Reader

cw: sub top haechan, power bottom reader, mentions of blood, sacrifice, marking, bareback, multiple rounds, nipple play, breeding, spit swallowing, slapping, rough sex, feminization, hair pulling, spanking,

an: inspired by madison beer's make you mine mv and the movie jennifer's body.

yn has always been the outcast at the university, the mean boys of his class always bullied him, throwing away his things in the trash or even to the point of physical violence. in that group of bullies is haechan, yn’s crush, but he doesn’t do anything to stop his friends for harming him. he’s that typical angel like face boy who claims he’s a good one but it’s just a farce, a mask he puts on when others are around. “i love you but i hate you” yn regrets every night recalling the memories of his crush. one night while walking towards his house from the convenience store yn is abducted by some guys that put a clothe with some liquid on his mouth. he tried to scream for help but not a single sound came from his mouth, they then put him inside a black van.

he then wakes up tied to a tree surrounded by candles and a big pentagram, “what the hell” he says while feeling dizzy, “what’s happening?”. “oh hey he is awake” one of the guys tell to the others and that’s when yn realizes that the guys that kidnapped him were his bullies and in between them is haechan, “are you scared, little lamb?” one of them asks. “w-what?..” yn starts to get desperate, the tight ropes burning on his skin, “let me go.. this .. this isn’t f-funny” he starts to panic and yell for help. “shush” one of them put his index finger on yn’s mouth, “we need you come on, don’t let us down”, “need me for what?”goosebumps take over his body, the fear intensified when one of them pulls out a dagger, “you see we want money, cars, the chicks but none of that would come to us if we keep being like this, studying doesn’t take you nowhere” he points the dagger towards yn “unless you have someone that can move his influences for you to get something so.. we choose the easy way” he licks the dagger and immediately afterwards he stabs yn “a deal with the devil, we just needed a virgin so you were the perfect choice” he pulls out the object and as if it was a fountain blood splashed everywhere, some of it even falling on haechan’s shoes. each one took turns to stab yn, he was trying to tell them something but he couldn’t, the pain was unbearable. they basically showered in his blood but not forgetting to place 5 cups full of his blood on each point of the pentagram. once again, as always yn felt disappointed in haechan as he died slowly, he was just there watching how his friends were having the time of his life killing an innocent…

next day in class the gang of bullies were acting as if nothing happened but haechan was the only one feeling preoccupied, the guilt was eating him. the door opens and what they saw made their skin crawl in fear, it was yn but not the same shy outcast yn, he was.. hot?. his hair was styled differently leaving his forehead uncovered, his clothes weren’t baggy anymore they were tight, leaving nothing to the imagination, it also showed them he was hiding a big ass down there, “that’s a big cake” one of the bullies murmured despite feeling fear. yn saw them and smiled at them, leaving them with their mouths open.

wanting to know what happened to him, who was supposed to be bug’s food by now, the gang of bullies decided to have a one night stand with him and get as many answers as possible out of him. something yn has already thought about so it made it easier for him to plot a revenge against them.

the next few weeks each one of the bullies disappeared ’’’’mysteriously’’’’, their bodies were found near the forest or in old abandoned houses. the first and only theory by now is that they were attacked by some wild animal due to their ripped bodies by what it seems are claws and razor sharp fangs, so all the town decided to hunt these so called monster, not knowing the real one was among them. haechan suspected from yn because the only ones dying were the ones who took part in that ritual, and he was the next and last one of the gang. he avoided yn all he could, he even sleeps with a gun next to his bed now, how did he got it? no one cares. one day he decided to follow yn after classes to try to confirm his suspicions. yn was moving further and further away from the city and into the abandoned houses where one of his friends was found. haechan enters the same house yn entered and carefully to not make any sound he pulls the gun out and points it at anything that made a sound. his hands were shaking, fear taking over his body, “hey haechan” yn abruptly greeted him, making him shoot at him, “be careful with that, stupid” yn said with some anger in his tone.

“i know you’re the one behind that killing spree” he blurted out, “you’re supposed to be dead” he yells at yn “what are you?”.

“i’m yn silly. well… a better version of him actually” the calmness of his voice sending shivers down haechan’s spine “thanks to those bastards you used to call friends” he laughs “they did something good in their life at least” he walks towards haechan, “stop or i’ll shoot” he says desperately. yn storms towards haechan putting the cold metal of the gun right at his chest “i dare you to do it, but would you be able to?” his iris turning white and his pupil into a slit like when a feline is chasing a prey “thought so” haechan can feel the disappointment in his voice “you’re just a pussy haechannie” he takes a deep breath and yells “you’ve never been able to do something on your own” slapping haechan’s hand making him throw the gun away. haechan falls to the floor and crawls away from yn “what the fuck are you?” he asks once again, yn crouches down and starts to walk sensually in all fours, chasing haechan “you’re stupid ass friends offered me in sacrifice thinking i was a virgin but i wasn’t” haechan’s back hits against a wall and yn corners him, his face now on the side of haechan’s “you shouldn’t assume other’s sexual life, channie” he whispers.

haechan felt mesmerized, was he wrong for liking this side of yn?, maybe this is his punishment for not doing anything to stop his friends bullying yn. he was ready to be ripped into pieces to death but instead he felt kisses?, yn’s lips latched against his neck already leaving hickeys on it. “w-what” he moaned, “all this foreplay made me so horny haechannie” yn admits putting his hand on haechan’s growing bulge, “it wasn’t a foreplay dumb bitch i was trying to kill you” yn talks back. “seeing you trying to act all manly fuckkkk… my ass is itching for you and your friend here looks like he wants it too” he grabs the bulge hard drawing a loud moan out of the other’s mouth…

“you’re being such a good boy channie” yn spoke while riding haechan’s rock hard cock, “hmm?” haechan asks, his face buried in between yn’s chest sucking his nipples, “yeah” yn reassures. haechan also grabs yn’s dick and put it against his toned abs so he can rub it there while he rides, “those abs are making my dick feel so good channie, i wanna paint them in white”, “please” he begs already falling into submission.

“be a fucking man and pound me hard” yn demands slapping haechan’s cheek, haechan’s pace grow faster and faster, his dick reaching parts no one has ever reached before “yes yes right there! fuhh..” he lets out all the air, feeling haechan brushing his prostate. “fuck i’m gonna cum” haechan cries, emptying his load inside yn, after he rode his high he tries to pull out but yn clenches his hole hard with a superhuman strength, not letting the other’s dick to go away “we’re not done here” he licks his lips “demon pussy isn’t satisfied by just one load”.

yn rides once again haechan while spitting inside his mouth and haechan swallows it with no complaints, he was so ass drunk that the only thing that crosses his mind is to satisfy yn’s needs. “uff, yeahh… i’m gonna milk you dry channie” yn plays with his nipples and then with haechan’s, “give me your next load” he sits hard and faster and on top of that he grips again with that superhuman strength he apparently possess now overwhelming haechan in the process who couldn’t take it anymore and just lets out his sperm inside him once again. the next hours yn kept milking him until not even pre-cum came out of him, some times haechan tries to take control by pulling yn’s hair or spanking him until his ass is bright red but somehow yn always manages to take back the control and made him writhe and cry in pleasure. their hair sticking on their foreheads due to the sweat, the beads of it rolling down their bodies, especially on haechan’s abs they’re so perfect that yn could pass a whole day licking them non-stop. for the last load haechan fucked yn in a roast chicken position so he can have an easy access to his cum-filled hole. his thrusts churned the sperm inside and also caused some delicious gushy wet sounds, “yeahh keep filling this pussy up, use your own cum as lube” he pouts. after some final nasty words the last load from haechan’s balls were deposited on yn’s cumdump hole and after a kiss haechan falls tired on top of yn’s body.

haechan’s life has been spared by yn but in return he has to find new victims or at least a way to suppress yn’s hunger for human flesh and also let him use him as his human dildo, something that he didn’t mind because the sex was good and his dick feels amazing inside yn’s warm demon pussy.