#and in these last ones he... he begins to resemble a human with his face... omg...

[murk888]

Random pieces of everything!

Just some sketches. And a cropped part of a picture that I will never ever post fully! ehehe ~

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Sea Monster x Reader

In the spirit of Mermay, I come to you with a slightly different approach: an octopus hybrid, dwelling in the dark depths of ancient waters. :) Hopefully close enough to the sea monster you imagined, @wally0117

Content: gender neutral reader, male yandere, monster romance, reader likes sharks (a lot); inspired by The Shape of Water and My Octopus Teacher; photo from Whalebone Magazine

He’s always been aware of humans, naturally. Observed them from the beginnings of time, from the very first rudimentary attempt of a boat that crossed his waters. Though he can only guess how these creatures exist, how they breathe, how they move. What arrives in his depths is always a corpse of some sort. Bloated, decaying carcasses, rarely intact, whether chipped by fish or by time. Everything else is left to his imagination.

Until today. The fish are restless, the currents are stronger. Something must be happening above, stringing him along curiously. His many legs sway in tandem, opening and closing, as he investigates the source of interest. His pale white eyes narrow to a mere squint, unused to the light of the surface levels. At last, he finds it: a human.

Yet this one is unusual. Intact - save for the bleeding wound - and unlike the washed-out, cadaveric blue tint he’s normally accustomed to. He notices a twitch of the limb and it dawns on him: this one is still alive.

You wake up with a violent cough, thrusting out the leftover liquid that had invaded your lungs earlier. You clearly remember drowning, so how did you end up on shore again? The answer reveals itself rather quickly: a monstrous creature, albeit humanoid for the most part. The upper half resembles a man, but the torso ends in thick, enormous tentacles, now flopped onto the sand, surrounding your body. You search for the creature’s face, framed by translucent tendrils that seem to replace what you’d expect as hair.

“Thank you”. He scans your features and remains silent. Does he even understand human speech? After a moment of consideration, he looks ahead, surveying the water, then returns to you, giving you a nudge. He most likely wants to know how you ended up in that situation to begin with. “That’s, well…”

Conveniently enough, the monster has brought you back to your little camp, so you reach for your backpack and pull out a book. Of course, no words can ever replace the image itself. With renewed enthusiasm, you open your encyclopedia and turn it towards the man, showing him a photo of a sand tiger shark, tapping on it excitedly. “I was looking for sharks!”

Ever since the bizarre, life-saving encounter, you’ve been returning to the same spot most days. And without exception, the monster will be waiting for you in one of the neighboring caves. Judging by the pellucid, pale skin and his reluctance to be in the light, you guessed early on that he might be a creature of the depths.

One that has been around for a long time, it seems. Once he understood your interest in sharks and other aquatic animals, he developed a liking to play guide for you, silently touring you through forests of kelp, hidden caves, labyrinths of reefs and hills. He knows where the animals linger, and they don't scurry away when you approach. You've never dreamed of being so close to them, staring into their eyes and tracing their fins as they swim past you, unbothered and relaxed. The monster will gaze at you from a distance, amused by your passion.

On ground, you’ve begun your own little experiment: can the octopus creature learn sign language? You didn’t need long to discover how intelligent he is, mimicking your gestures with flawless ease, instantly memorizing the meanings, the connections, the implications. He seems to be terribly delighted by this newfound tool of communication, often asking you questions with earnest curiosity.

Ah, yes, the questions. It makes sense that he’d want to know more about humans, though his interrogations are rather…particular. Specific. It’s less about humans as a whole, and more about you. How long have you been swimming here? How deep can you actually swim, with or without aid? Might you have a family waiting for you back home? A mate, perchance? No? Interesting.

"My vacation will end soon", you sign with pursed lips. He tilts his head. "Leaving?" his webbed hands gesture, somewhat uneasy. You nod. You can discern a glint of melancholy in his eyes. Eventually, he resumes: "Would you like to see my home?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise. His home? Down there? Was such a thing even achievable for a human like you?

The plump suckers attach themselves to your skin, one resting over your mouth. "Do you trust me?" You cast one final glance over the underwater abyss, a black hole trapping all light and matter. You shake your head in approval. Without hesitation, he plunges over the cliff, pulling you after him and into the yawning void of darkness. His form glows eerily, and his movement is swift and elegant. You can tell this is his land, his territory. You would've been dead a long time ago.

He releases you on the wet stone, inside the air pocket of a cave. You need a few moments to overcome the wave of claustrophobia pressing against your lungs. As you catch your breath, you recall your long path from the surface. It would be impossible to make it back out again without your friend. A cold shiver runs across your spine. "Have a break, and I'll show you everything else afterwards", he gestures with a smile. "How long will it take? I don't want to walk back at night", you explain.

Silence. You stare into his empty orbs, awaiting a reaction. There's not a sound, not a gust of wind, not a shred of light. "You're not going back", he finally answers.

You see, he's done a fair amount of research himself. He doesn't need an encyclopedia to figure you out: how you breathe, how you move, how you exist. In fact, he is rather confident in his ways of helping you adapt to a life spent together. He would've never brought you down here if he wasn't certain of your survival. His grin widens in anticipation, a strange warmth enveloping his innards at the mere thought of it: a future with you in it, right here. However, one question remains, a cheeky, perverted detail that has been on his mind from the moment he met you, yet he could never investigate it properly.

How do humans mate?

[starshipsofstarlord]

nosebleed | daryl dixon

summary. you’re prone to nosebleeds, which startles rick when he first witnesses it, but your ever doting boyfriend daryl knows just what to do (0.9k)

warnings. blood (from nosebleed), fluff, caringbf!daryl, petnames, mentions of death, established relationship

an. this is inspired by my own sickness atm, every couple of weeks ive been getting a few nosebleeds, and it definitely isn’t fun among my other symptoms. my nose even bled over one of the books that i was reading and you can be sure that i scrubbed it until it looked like nothing more than a water mark

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The plan for the run was simple, all you had to do was follow it through, and so you hunched over the map, Rick beside you, scouring your eyes across the once accurate layout of the small town. It would have all been correct if carnage had not tarnished everything, it was not only people that succumbed to death, but the places that they had once lived and did their grocery shopping. Walkers patrolled where they wished, and the buildings became weak from lack of maintenance, also housing some of the undead that had trapped themselves inside amidst the outbreak, thinking they would be safe when they were humans, but either starving to death or having their lives taken either by their own hand or that belonging to another.

“So…” Rick began to spew the words that supported his wishes on how the run was to go, though of course there could always be the possibility of hurdles in the road, in some cases even physically. “You got that Y/N?” He asked you, and frowned at your lack of response. A lightheaded sensation overwhelmed you, and you placed your hand on the table, supporting yourself so that the dizziness would not cause you to fall. Rick leant in beside you, steadying a hand on your back, watching as you closed your eyes as if awaiting something. “Y/N?”

He tried to gather your attention, and whilst you were conscious of that, all focus had derived from your being. It then began, the trickle from your nose, causing a few splotches of red to pool upon the map, tainting the paper with your blood, marking an incorrect destination on the sprawling of lines that resembled roads. “Daryl.” Rick called to his friend as he entered the room, the man swiftly coming over, taking Rick’s place, establishing already from your demeanour what you were experiencing. His hand soothingly stroking across your back, comforting you through the torment that your own body begrudged you with.

It didn’t last long, only for a couple minutes, but that was enough to make you feel perilously tired for that time. With a loving and gentle hand, Daryl tipped your head back, ceasing a continuation of the nosebleed to unveil. He removed a rag from his back pocket that he reserved solely for the occasional bleeds, placing it against your nostrils, the stained fabric absorbing the crimson that flared and spilled out on no will other than its own. The nosebleeds had occurred at some of the worst moments, including when you had been hiding from walkers at the beginning of the outbreak.

They held no devastating impact, you had prompted the attention of doctors prior to the outbreak, them coming up empty handed and saying ‘some people just have nosebleeds’. It had made you feel as though nobody cared, and they hadn’t until you had found Daryl. He never fussed or made a big deal about it, but he looked after you during both the thick and thin that your blood ran. You exhaled heavily, taking the rag into your own hand to simply hold it, smiling Daryl a smile although he couldn’t see it due to the material that was held against your face, covering most of the lower half of your face.

“Ya alrigh’ sunshine?” Daryl asked you tenderly, as you shut your eyes, nodding your head slightly and at a strange angle, feeling the heart thumping tension in your head dissipate with each passing second. Rick cocked his head at the natural visage the two of you portrayed, watching intently as you released a sigh of eventual relief as you removed the rag. You passed it back to Daryl, who would no doubt soak it in water later and lay it out to dry so that it could be used when your nose felt drawing red lines down your face again. You seemed abnormally calm, and Rick reached out, steadying his hand on your shoulder, appearing to be the only one that was concerned.

“Are you going to be okay to go on the run?” If you weren’t feeling up to it then that wouldn’t be an issue, he would get someone else to cover your place in the run. You could stay back with Carl, and he knew that if you did you would cater your attention to Judith despite Beth being there. It was just a run, and whilst your group was in need of supplies, the health of each member of the group did matter. You’d all been through hell and back together, some of you surviving whilst others of you did not. The last thing that Rick wanted was for you to push yourself too far if there was an underlying issue. That would not only bring suffering to you, but it could endanger everyone that went on the run, and you’d all lost enough people as it was.

“I just get nosebleeds, it’s no biggie Grimes.” Your shoulders uplifted into a nonchalant shrug, dismissing the situation as if your nose had never bled. Daryl pressed a kiss to your forehead, secretly adoring you more for the little quirks that your body liked to abruptly spin on you. Rick seemed less tense, and Daryl knew better than anyone else that the sudden nosebleeds, whilst affected you in the moment, had no lasting symptoms. You would be fine, and as always, he would watch your back. He had the rag in his hand still, and he reached to your face to wipe away the drying red residue from around your nose, pressing a kiss to it when there was no smear of blood left in sight.

[kdinjenzen]

I came up with a plot idea for a Who Framed Roger Rabbit sequel while taking a shower and decided to type it up.

I introduce you to ReFramed Roger Rabbit!:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ReFramed Roger Rabbit takes place NOW, in 202X, a full 78 years AFTER the original which was set in 1947.

One year before the events of the movie begin we see that Eddie Valiant Sr. has long since passed on, his son (with Dolores) Eddie Valiant Jr. (born 8 years after WFRR) eventually taking over his business as a private investigator and becoming a success in his own right is now ALSO finally retiring (at age 70) after sustaining an injury in the middle of a low stakes investigation.

Enter Eddie Valiant The Third (age 40) finally taking his place as the head of the detective agency after desperately trying to prove himself for these last 22 years (joining his father’s detective agency right out of High School).

One Year Later:

We see Roger (also long since retired but un-aged) living as a stay-at-home husband supporting his wife, Jessica, in her (now long lasting) writing career as a self-help author after she became famous for her book “We’re Not Bad, We’re Just Drawn That Way”.

As Roger is making breakfast their house is immediately broken into by a SWAT team and Roger is immediately arrested for “Crimes Against Cartoons” by making illegal and unregulated cartoons against the toon code. Roger claims he has done nothing and begs Jessica to find help as he is dragged away.

Cut to Eddie The Third struggling to keep the legacy of the detective agency relevant but his uncoordinated (both physical and logical) efforts have seen the business decline astronomically these past 12 months and the agency is on the edge of foreclosing. He turns on the TV to see Roger being arrested and crying out for help, he stands up with renewed vigor, and just before he is able proclaim his hand in helping Roger - Jessica bursts in and says she demands his help because “That’s What Eddie Would Have Wanted” - with Eddie 3rd sadly saying “But I’m Eddie too…”

Eddie 3rd, with Jessica, arrives at the station and Eddie lies his way in by saying he’s Roger’s lawyer who was hired by Jessica and demands to see his client. The three talk and Eddie says he truly believes Roger and that they’re getting out of there. He pulls out a toon bomb, placing it next to the wall and blows a cartoon shaped hole in it while also blowing smoke all over his face, classic cartoon style.

As they attempt to run away, Jessica is caught by the chief of police, but Eddie 3rd urges Roger to run and once they have the evidence to clear his name Jessica would be freed.

Jessica is, throughout the film, being interviewed by the chief of police for information.

Meanwhile Roger and Eddie 3rd find a shadowy figure who resembles Roger’s silhouette running around New ToonTown.

Throughout the film we see Eddie 3rd as a bumbling fool acting more toon than human, unable to accomplish anything unless it’s “because it would be funny” and getting increasingly frustrated with these mannerisms he has while Roger beams with pride as it reminds him of how Eddie became more toon-ish after WFRR.

Through several twists and turns, seeing Roger and Eddie travel through both New and Old ToonTown, learning that cartoons have changed, why Roger left showbiz, how Eddie feels he failed his family’s legacy, we eventually see Roger and Eddie corner the silhouette in what appears to be the same warehouse from the finale of Who Framed Roger Rabbit.

It’s at this point we finally hear Doppelganger Roger speak and it is reminiscent of Generative AI showcasing a lack of soul, comedy, and art and only appearing to look like Roger on the surface…

Roger and Doppel Roger begin to have a Toon Fight, with Eddie 3rd pulling out his phone and recording the entire fight for evidence.

It’s at this point Roger, at toon knife point, asks the important question of who would want to create a clone of him like this and for what reason, he hasn’t been relevant for almost 100 years!

Eddie 3rd, unable to help himself and his somewhat toon-like nature, then reveals that this was all his plan, he begins to villain monologue about how he planned this whole thing to revive both HIS and ROGER’S careers, pushing them back into the limelight and out of the shadows of Eddie 3rd’s father and grandfather and Roger out of the shadow of his now very famous wife.

Roger says he was HAPPIER than he had ever been and never asked for this and Eddie 3rds actions are an insult to the Valiant name!

We hear “THAT’S ALL WE NEEDED TO HEAR!” blast over the now obvious speakers hanging over the set of what is obviously a studio set dressed up to look like the finale location of WFRR.

Jessica comes out, accompanied by toons, fans, and the chief of police. Jessica slipped a bug (an actual toon bug) onto Roger earlier at the police station feeling she couldn’t trust anyone fully. Her cunning and knowledge of toons and the business allowed her to be one step ahead, with the assistance of the chief, and set up this trap for Eddie 3rd.

The finale sees Eddie 3rd locked away and all Generative AI banned.

Toons world wide celebrate while Roger returns to his happy life as a husband.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[boosandbirds]

gotham hauntings (name undecided)

The ghosts in Gotham are different from the ones in Amity.

They're drifters, flitting around the streets and wandering aimlessly. Full ghosts seem rare, but there are dozens, if not hundreds of shades, and if he's being honest, Danny isn't really surprised. The city is known for two things, crime and vigilantes, and either one of those can lead to nasty consequences. 

Messy death, unsolved cases, people's lives ended without a second thought. 

It's a wonder Gotham hasn't been entirely overrun by Shades, Danny thinks, but never says. He doesn't think about what he would do if a stronger ghost, one with an obsession formed here.

After all, Danny Nightingale is just a regular guy, with no connection to the dead.

That never stops them from creeping up on him.

It doesn’t quite start with footsteps, but that’s the best way to describe it. The knowledge that someone – or, something – is following him, not at a leisurely pace, but not urgently, either. There’s an unnatural sort of silence, too, like the kind before lightning strikes the earth, and Danny has to suppress a tremor at the thought.

The echoing sounds that begin to follow him aren’t natural, either. 

Whistling wind, when there’s not even a slight breeze. Claws tapping against the ground, without a rat in sight. A lighter, clicking on and off and on and off, over and over again. Nails dragging against metal walls, when Danny knows he is the only living soul in this alley. 

Though, he supposes that the term living makes all the difference.

His breath turns cold as the ghost finally approaches him, a shiver running down his spine. He stops walking. Takes a deep breath as the chill sinks into his bones. The feeling doesn't bother him as much as it used to, but the first moments are still uncomfortable.

“My Lady,” Danny says, his voice soft. “I was wondering when I'd meet you. It's an honor.”

The laughter that fills the air is a crisp, crackling sort of sound, almost like wood burning in a fireplace. “You remind me of my Knights,” she rasps, and her voice is rough, like she's smoked every day in her existence. 

The thought is only cemented when her form starts to take shape.

Her body looks as though it's made of smog and scrap metal, swirling smoke giving way to sharp edges and rust. Her cloak – or does it resemble a dress more? Danny isn't sure – reaches all the way to the floor, leaving a train of fabric behind her that slowly fades into the asphalt. She’s tall, too, in a way that humans never are. Danny has to crane his neck to look up at her, and even then, her face is hidden.

Sheer black fabric is draped almost her entire head, leaving only her mouth visible, and the rest of her features up to his imagination. When she smiles at him, Danny catches a glimpse of bloodied fangs. 

He can’t see her eyes at all. 

“Do you fancy yourself one of them?” Gotham asks, a clawed hand reaching forward to delicately lift his chin. “Do you mean to become a bird, little ghost? Or shall you remain a Phantom?”

Danny does not look away. “Don’t worry about me, my Lady,” he says, allowing his confidence to show through. He respects her, he does, but Danny has fought too many Ancients to hide behind flattery. “I don’t want to be a hero, not anymore. I just want to help people pass on, if I can.”

She hums, and though her expression doesn’t change, Danny gets the impression that he said something right. “Not a Knight,” she says, voice cracking around the words, “but more than a mere spector.”

And this isn’t the first time a ghost has come to a grand conclusion about him, but Ancients, Danny hopes that it’s the last. It’s a little better when it’s someone he knows, like Frostbite and the Far Frozen, and even then, it’s stifling. At least they know him beyond the quips and snarky comments and all of the things he’s done. All of the things that he’s had to do. 

 They still see him as human, despite all the grandiose and titles they’ve given him. 

But to Lady Gotham? 

Danny’s just a kid, barely into college. He wishes that was all Gotham saw him as.

“You can call me whatever you’d like to,” Danny says, despite his thoughts. “I don’t mean to intrude on your Haunt, or replace anyone who’s already here.”

“You are different from my Knights,” Gotham says, laughing lowly. “You help the ones they cannot see, and for that, you have my respect.” 

Her ghastly form softens around the edges, and for a moment, Danny thinks he sees a pair of red eyes. For once, nothing about the color seems dangerous. There are no warning alarms going off in his head, no deep seated instinct to flee or to freeze, or even to fight. With her free hand, Gotham cards her fingers through her hair, her claws barely scratching his scalp.

Those instincts are still silent, and that is a rare thing. 

“I can’t argue with ya there,” Danny says, and for now, that’s the end of it.

[solitaryearthperson]

Infatuation

Summary: What is it about you that has Homelander so infatuated?

(The reader is gender neutral. The ethnicity/race is preferably a person of color.)

Why you?

That was the million dollar question that kept going through Homelander's mind. There was nothing truly special about you. You were nothing like him and his teammates. You were - he couldn't help how hard his face cringed at the reminder - human. No Compound V or Temp V. Only regular red human blood coursing through your veins with no harmful or life-changing chemicals. Just human. Sure you were good-looking. Sure you were smart, and polite, but so were many of the other dumb, cocksucking fans he had to smile for and pretend to give a fuck about. So what made you different from them?

When did this even begin?

He couldn't really pinpoint the exact date that your beauty, poise, and civility had caught his attention. He thinks maybe a month or two ago. He could distinctly remember how pissed off he was at Ashley, not because she had did anything herself, but because she was the one delivering the bad news to him, and how that was the first day, you had spoke to him.

"What," he asked, his voice low and strict, while dripping with disbelief at what Ashley had said. He tried his hardest to keep facing the large windows of the Seven's meeting room, and keep a cool composure, his arms crossed behind his back.

"Um-um," she repeated, her mouth opening and closing, almost resembling a fish. Her green eyes widened in fear at what the Supe in front of her may do.

"Ashley," he said, his irritation at her hesitance to speak was making him even more angrier by the second. "Say that again."

"Well, I-you,...uh," she gulped and tried to speak again, her words coming out easier this time. "Your points has gone down significantly, by at least 60."

Hearing it repeated made his crystal blue eyes become engulfed in ruby red and he kept his gaze towards the windows, already sick of hearing and smelling the rank fear that was emanating from Ashley, and not wanting to make the smell worse. "How the fuck are my points down that much?"

The calmness of his voice made Ashley want to hurry and leave the room, but instead she nervously gulped down some of her fear again, and spoke, "People have not truly forgiven the Stormfront situation and the civilians that you accidentally lazered in half on the last mission made it worst. Their families and friends are all in mourning and sharing their grief online."

"Oh come on," he yelled, finally turning away from the window and seating himself in his usual seat at the large table, his face frowning in irritation. "Both of those things were fucking accidents! Stormfront is dead and those people have been dead for, what, weeks now. Almost a fucking month!"

Ignoring the harshness of his raised voice, Ashley continued, "Vought thought it could really help if you made an apology video or interview to get people back in your favor-"

"Abso-fucking-lutely not," he said, his tone stern and leaving no room for argument. "It was a fucking accident and they need to get over it already." The rage inside him was rising higher and higher and he knew that more redness was coming to his eyes the more he listened to Ashley and the bullshit that she was spouting. He was sick of having to apologize for who he is and how powerful he is.

"Mr. Edgar thinks that-"

At the very mention of his name, Homelander's fist quickly connected with the surface of the table, leaving a large crack in the glass. The sound of his fist hitting it made Ashley quickly quiet and she instantly took a deep breath in, waiting for his next words.

"Get the fuck out," he told her, closing his eyes, and laying his head back against the chair.

"Yes sir," Ashley quickly replied, rushing out.

At the time, she had quickly forgotten that you were with her, and had left you alone with the most dangerous Supe of them all.

"Mr. Homelander, sir," your voice, while small, had still interrupted the quietness that had taken over the room and was beginning to calm Homelander, and he quickly opened his eyes and looked to you, his red gaze freezing you in place.

"Who the fuck are you," he asked.

"I'm (Y/N)," you replied, nervously holding your folders and documents close to your chest. "I'm Ashley's assistant."

"And...?" Every part of his body language screamed that he was ready to murder anything right now.

"I was just gonna say that I'm sorry that you're under so much pressure," you told him, your voice still meek, but a little more confident as you see that you have kept his attention. "I'm pretty sure for a person like you, it can be hard to be like others and make mistakes."

"Exactly! Fuck! Thank you!" he suddenly exclaimed, making you slightly jump, but you quickly hid it, and returned the wide smile he threw to you, happy to see the redness from his eyes finally cool down to blue again. "No one gets how hard it is to be me. No one is ever truly grateful for what I do. Right?"

You silently nodded your head, happy to see the Supe no longer angry.

"I have to pretend to like and listen to these fucking idiots and apologize to them for helping them!" He let out an incredulous laugh at the thought of apologizing to the public again.

An idea came to you when he said that, and you quickly voiced it, "Maybe you can get their favor again without having to apologize for it."

He quickly furrowed his brows at your idea and quickly gestured for you to continue.

"Plenty of celebrities make apology videos and people always know that it's fake. Maybe you should donate money to the families of the victims instead. You won't have to make some embarrassing video or do an interview."

"A donation?"

"Yeah. Fans love when famous people donate something of theirs. Money, clothes, cars. You win the favor of fans you lost, and more."

He was silent for a second, his face full of contemplation and for a second you were scared that you had gone too far, proposing an idea like this. He might see it as an insult that an assistant was giving him advice on how to get fans. You had sworn your heart was about to beat out of your chest by his silence, but a suddenly growing smile on his face quickly calmed it.

"That is perfect! No having to grovel to those idiots."

"Would you like me to get Ashley to help set everything up?"

"Yeah! Do that! Now!"

You made your way to the door and was about to leave the room, when suddenly his voice made you stop. "Hey! What's your name, again?"

"Um, it's (Y/N)," you told him.

"(Y/N)," he repeated, liking the way it sounded on his tongue. "Thanks."

You quickly left the room after that and went to get Ashley to tell her about the idea, and you didn't know it, too naive to realize it, but Homelander had already began making a plan in his head to see you again.

That was it. That was what caught Homelander's attention. Unlike other regular people, and even other Supes, you were the one who understood the pressure he was under, who understood how great he was, how better he was. Soon after that he began making an effort to talk to you. After Ashley would report things to him, he made sure to pull you aside and make conversation, and he surprisingly found it addictive to hear your voice, whether you were talking about your day, your favorite meals, current shows you were watching, he needed to hear your voice. Every now and then, he could hear the tremble in your voice as you spoke to him, fear still running through you at the fact that you were speaking to him of all people. That tremble did things to him. He disliked hearing it as he wanted you to be comfortable around him and trust him, but at the same time, he loved hearing it, reminding himself of the immense power he had over others even when he doesn't do anything.

It wasn't long before he used this power to find your address. He found himself relieved that you lived in a pretty safe neighborhood, not wanting anything to happen to his favorite person. HIS? Yes, HIS. Just the thought of you accepting his affections, a life of being with him, of coming home to finding you ready to hear about his day and please him was already making him loose his already deranged mind, but he knew that you needed time. You needed to still be fearful of him, but at the same time, realize that he would be the best partner for you. And now as he looked at your sleeping form, he listened to the soothing beat of your heart, wishing he could lay his head upon your chest and take a deep slumber with you. Wishing he could wake up next to you, and make love to you first thing in the morning. Make love to you at Vought. Make love to you when he comes home from work. Make love to you before going to sleep. But he knew he needed to wait just a little bit longer. Not too long or else, some dumb imbecile will think they have a chance with you and he'll have to take care of them. But soon you would realize you belonged with him and no one else.

[reingkings]

Why do you ship inhun? Does the ship make sense? I don't kinda see it but I guess there is something between them, I'd really like to know your thoughts about it

Hmm. Interesting question. I do think they “make sense” in a shippable way.

Note that if you’re not into not-entirely-sane ships then it might not appeal to you. However, I can try to answer what appeals to me. I’ll try to put screen caps or links but ngl I’m not gonna try hunting down all of it. Here’s the manifesto:

1. The narrative casting them as character foils

So each character in the show often not only represent themselves, but to some extent the show’s themes. Since before Gi-hun becomes a victor, he is shown to be discongruent with the nature of the games. The first “true” meeting between In-ho and Gi-hun happens to be at this point in S1:

Mind you when this occurs, it’s after the gamemakers deliberately starve the players to incite violence between them. Deoksu/101 just killed a man. This outcome is exactly desired.

In a way this is a microcosm of the rest of their ideological struggle — that being whether or not humans are inherently selfish and cruel.

We later see the theme again during the last fight scene, when Gi-hun reaches his hand out to Sang-woo. Not only is this a moment of ultimate compassion, but for In-ho who we see is an avid lover of the arts. What else does this resemble?

The painting, The Creation of Adam. Aka the creation of man. (Stick with me on this, I promise I’ll explain).

Notice that this shot not only resembles the painting on a superficial level but in spirit. Adam is in repose and God is the one who reaches out, the one making the most effort to make a connection. In-ho’s face isn’t visible but imagine how he, looking down on it, feels at the very moment:

It’s giving new religion. Later on, In-ho will say something along these lines:

Race horses. And yet, besides his brother, at this point Gi-hun is the very first person In-ho takes his mask off for, something he does not do for even the VIPs. This scene also comes after he kills a guard because “when they find out who you are, you die.”

This treatment marks In-ho’s transition into seeing Gi-hun as his only equal (and yes, In-ho is arrogant that’s kind of his appeal, I don’t believe he thinks that highly of the VIPs either).

Another aspect is that in their final scene at Il-nam’s death bed, they are kind of marked at the inheritors of Il-nam’s system.

Gi-hun leaves Il-nam to witness his one failure. In-ho closes Il-Nam’s eyes.

So it’s the end of S1. We don’t know a lot about In-ho. However we can assume a few things. Both he and Gi-hun are both victors and victims of the oppressive system. Both of them went through anguish after their victory (In-ho’s is mostly inferred, but there’s a deleted scene paralleling Gi-hun’s). Both of them failed to save what mattered the most. Both of them can’t move on from the games and returned. They both abandoned everything in their life for this pursuit.

In a way, there is no other person in the world than can understand them more than the other.

And here is where the character foil aspect comes in. Despite their similarities, their character arcs are the opposite. Gi-hun at the beginning was kind but flawed, an impulsive gambler who could steal money from his mother and disappointed his daughter at many turns. In-ho seemingly was a well-loved, upright citizen who made sacrifices for his family.

And yet, of the two the one who became cruel and heartless was In-ho. The one who became more self-less and compassionate was Gi-hun.

How does In-ho react to meeting his polar opposite? It could easily be hatred or disdain. Instead it’s well, my next point.

2. In-ho’s subtextual obsession with Gi-hun

Season 2 within the games is when most of us really saw the ship’s potential but there are many hints beforehand.

I and others have made some posts about In-ho’s wildly inappropriate actions towards Gi-hun even in S1. Why does he have to stuff the bank card in Gi-hun’s mouth, why does he send the invitation through a bouquet of flowers (actually he sends this invitation twice), why does he decide to physically be there when meeting Gi-hun in a limo on his birthday? A day, mind you, that he needs to be prepping for the games. In-ho doesn’t have to be there, he literally talks to Gi-hun through a speaker he could be in a nice hotel room. Somehow, it’s important for him to be there.

Can this be read as anything but a fixation?

Even when he joins the game his sole focus is on Gi-hun. He makes a concerted effort for Gi-hun to like him (playing hero, baring his true wounds, defending him from the ire of other players, even coming up with an flimsy excuse because he slipped up and called Gi-hun by his name). If he wanted to torture Gi-hun, he could easily turn the players against him. According to the director, his goal is:

But in front of our eyes he does shit like this:

He even bullies his guards:

Does that look like a hit to you 😭 I dare anyone to say that a different player would have passed. Especially when In-ho interceded in the first place.

Another victim:

And the looks. so many looks. You’re not behind a camera anymore, In-ho. Gi-hun can see you.

The one that makes me laugh the most is in the last episode of S2. Gi-hun is stressed about the vote, trying to come up with a plan, and In-ho is staring so hard he’s not even blinking, to the point where Gi-hun has to look at him.

And then again. Gi-hun is explaining about the control room upstairs. Meanwhile, In-ho:

He doesn’t even glance up. He just stares at Gi-hun until Gi-hun finally looks at him. Honestly this isn’t even all of them but I don’t have everything saved.

And the ending. Honestly this part is a bit heartwrenching and I think a few of us fans ignore it (I do too), but I’m trying to contextualize canon here. It’s interesting that despite how dangerous Gi-hun is – causing the disruption of the game, killing guards, and aiming to end the games on the whole – In-ho does not kill him. He has plenty of opportunities to. He even shoots his own guards to keep Gi-hun alive (despite Gi-hun in that moment running the rebellion). But he shoots Jung-bae instead and gives Gi-hun this last lingering glance.

Arguably, you can say In-ho does all this because he is sadistic. However, if that were the sole reason, then he has 400+ people he could similarly torture every year. Hell, he could have joined the games any year he wanted, too.

If it’s just an ideological struggle, then Gi-hun lost when he decided to sacrifice the X players for the greater good. Then, we are left to wonder what else he can want with Gi-hun that he has kept him alive.

The fact that the motivations are never stated and are subtext adds a layer to how fans are free to interpret it. Lots of kindling for our fire.

(I’m not necessarily planning to prove if it’s canon in this part, it’s just a treatise on why we see their potential due to this subtext).

3. Gi-hun’s reciprocity

I think if it were just a one-sided fascinating then there would still be shippers but simply not as much. The part that hits with Inhun is that In-ho’s efforts are not necessarily “unrequited.”

In the beginning of Season 2, Gi-hun has no one. He had been isolated for three years. He has no friends. He has no home. Consider this heartwrenching shot:

Gi-hun’s on the phone, calling the only person in the world he has a connection to, and he can’t even say a word to her.

Even before this, he was largely unappreciated. His mother was disappointed in him. His ex-wife resents him. Jung-bae his friend did not help him in his time of need. Sae-byeok was only in his life for a few days, but she was rude to him for a good part of that. Sang-woo – well Sang-woo is complicated. I don’t think he meant everything he said in the fight before the end, but I do think Gi-hun is the last person on earth he wants to meet after his failures. No one really talks to him kindly besides Ali which is more of polite friendliness than looking after him.

So as a #1 Gi-hun fan, it’s really nice to see someone just genuinely seem to want Gi-hun there? Not as a last resort or as an alternative, but the first pick (in a twisted way).

And Gi-hun is so receptive to it? I made a post about this before, but Gihun is starved for affection and I don’t think all that used to being treated gently. Despite knowing In-ho for a short time, he seems so. He just kind of… opens like a flower?

The first time he laughs in this season is over In-ho’s corny last name joke.

The look in that scene in general:

How he reacts to In-ho calling by hist first name:

Or when In-ho confides in him about what happened with his wife:

Or this one, when he’s dealing with the guilt of misleading all the players, and In-ho says this:

But also the moment in mingle where Gi-hun is so worried about In-ho, Jung-bae has to drag him into a room before the timer runs out. He wanted to risk it all I tell you.

And then, when everyone is calling out to him, In-ho only calls out for Gi-hun’s attention. Literally he couldn’t care about the others. He bee-lines to Gi-hun.

Or how he looks when In-ho shoots the guard for him:

Look at his face, and In-ho’s face when he gives In-ho the gun. They’re going to kill me.

4. The versatility

Finally, this is more of a meta point but it’s kind of fun that this ship doesn’t always have to be that serious? We can go from writing about deep at times darker themes of obsession and manipulation and whatnot and then turn around and clown on them for being total losers with a crush (affectionate). Usually, it’s the same person doing it. Like me in this essay. We can also just make AUs with no squid games and still have the freedom with keep the parts we like (be it obsession or devotion or a mutual understanding) and toss out the rest, and they still make sense. They just always make sense (to me).

Honestly there are stuff I had leave out because it would just maybe at tad too long-winded (as if I didn’t talk your ear off lmao).

Again, this is not an argument on whether it’s canon or not, it’s just an explanation of fanon perspective.

[alastor-simp]

Why? - Alastor X Powerful Fem Overlord Reader Part 1

❥Summary:The war with the Heaven was about to begin. The residents of the hotel plus the cannibal colony were ready. Alastor was at the ready, microphone stand in hand, as his eyes targeted his next prey, Adam.

❥Tags: Powerful overlord, Alastor vs Adam, Hazbin Hotel episode 8, spoilers, The Show Must Go On, Grim Reaper Demon, Death Demon, Adam is an a✪✪hole, Hell vs Heaven, Alastor fights adam. Reader is dark and mysterious, Hazbin Hotel Extermination.

❥Notes: This series is probably going to be 2 or 3 parts. I will decide later on. This is also going to my take on how episode 8 was, so don't be confused if some parts are different. Enjoy:)

*Character Background*

Y/N or Overlord name "Raven" is a grim reaper demon, and the only one that existed in Hell. She was human when she lived and worked in a morgue, until she was murdered heading back from work. Her body is shrouded in darkness, resembling a cloak. Her face resembles a skull, yet she still maintains her feminine appearance from when she was alive. She appears very dark and mysterious, but she is a kind soul and only acts when provoked. Her powers extend to necromancy, darkness manipulation, telekinesis, soul manipulation, and immortality. Similar to a grim reaper, her weapon is a large scythe. Her reasons for coming to the hotel were still unknown, but it appears she believes in redemption, as through her time in hell, she is aware some demons have arrived in hell for reasons that don't qualify as sins, so she remains at the hotel and provides support. Everyone at the hotel was unsure about her, but they soon consider her part of the hotel as time went by, including a certain deer demon.

(Found on Pinterest, credit to original artists)

**The Night before the extermination day- Alastors POV**

Alastor is walking, hands folded behind his back as he moves across the hotel's mezzanine. His crimson eyes gaze down on the other inhabitants of the hotel. Charlie and the others are all chatting amongst themselves, laughing and cheering for whats to come tomorrow. "Ah, the celebratory night before a courageous last stand. It's been a surprising thrill to witness these wayward souls find connection. Almost makes one sentimental, eh, Niffty?" Alastor smiles widely, before his eyes turn to Niffty, who is sitting next to him, smiling sweetly. "I really like them, Alastor. They let me put on roach puppet shows without booing!" Alastor chuckles at that answer, before leaning against the bar of the mezzanine. "Ah, an enjoyable collective to be around. I admit one could get accustomed." Alastor hated to admit it, but he enjoyed everyone's company in the hotel. True, he did clash with some of them, specifically Vaggie, but he slowly grew attached to them, though he prefers that to be kept a secret. A small object was then placed on his head, causing him to look up a bit. Niffty had placed a roach flower crown on his head, smiling while dubbing him "King Roach." Alastor leaned back, laughing at Niffty's antics. "Oh, to understand your twisted little mind! Both him and Niffty then started to maniacally laugh together, and then slowly calming down. Niffty then jumped off and zipped closer to the others, to join in the celebration, leaving Alastor alone.

**Your POV**

"Not going to join them, Alastor?" a soft voice spoke behind Alastor, causing him to turn around. You were standing behind him, clock shrouding your body, but leaving your face to be seen. Your skull like face was drew into a soft smile. "Sadly not, my dear! I fear my presence would dampen the mood!" He saw you give a small chuckle, before walking next to him, copying his position of him leaning against the bar. "You sure about that? You are part of this group, Alastor. Besides, you always try to be the life of the party for things like this." Alastor laughed outloud, before leaning against the bar as well. "Aww, trying to flatter me, my dear?" Alastor leaned a hand on his cheek, smirking at you. You just smiled back at him, stating you were just speaking the truth, before turning your head down to gaze at the others. Alastor copied you, the both of you standing next to each other in silence. Alastor then turned to look at you, eyes widen a bit to see you wearing a melancholic expression. "Something troubling you, my dear?" One of his hands, placed itself on your shoulder, giving you a sense of comfort. "Sigh...I'm just worried for tomorrow. Yes, the angels can be hurt and killed, but I'm still worried. Not only that, Adam possesses strong angelic power, and I know he is bound to be highly troublesome during the fight." Alastor threw his head back in laughter, "There is no need to fret, my dear. I will personally fight that poor excuse for an angel myself." Alastors powers surged for a bit, thinking of how exciting it would be to sink his claws and teeth into Adam. Turning your head, you gave a worried look. "Will you be okay?"

Alastor turned his head back towards you, raising an eyebrow. He noticed the gentle expression you wore, and he gave you a soft smile back. He had gotten close with you after a few weeks of you being in the hotel. He knew the power you possessed, but you never flaunted it or used it for personal gain. The more he spent with you, is when he got to see that behind that cloak and darkness was a soft kind soul. "I will be fine, my dear! I am the radio demon, as you know. No pathetic little angel is going to get the better of me, I assure you." He gave a kind smile, without his teeth showing. You still wore a worried expression before giving a smile back. You extended your hand out to Alastor, causing him to tilt his head at you in confusion. "Gimme your hand." Alastor hesitated a bit, and extended his hand out, appearing as if he was trying to give a handshake. You chuckled and grab his hand, interweaving your fingers together. This caused Alastor to tense a bit, seemingly not use to stuff like this. "I know how strong you are Alastor. But, if worse comes to worst, I will be there to help you. I promise." Alastor felt a tightness in his chest after you said that, he couldn't quite figure out why. He was going to say something again, but you had blended with your shadow and disappeared, leaving him alone.

**Day of the Extermination- Alastor POV**

The fight between Heaven and Hell was about to commence. Everyone was gathered around the entrance of the hotel, wearing battle gear and holding weapons. A portal soon opened up in the sky, with Exorcists flying out of them, including Adam and Lute. Charlie and the other released a war-cry and began to battle the Angels. Alastor was standing on the roof of the hotel, smiling wickedly. "Let the slaughter begin. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Using his microphone, a large force field began to form around the hotel, providing protection for everyone, and preventing the angels from getting through. It was very effective in halting the angels advances as well as providing damage as the shield was able to sprout tentacles and kill some Exorcists. This, did not last long, as Adam as able to destroy the force field, allowing the hotel to be exposed once again.

Alastor glared at the Adam, as he saw him make his descent to the roof of the hotel and landing on it. "Adam! First man, next to die." Alastor continued to look on at Adam in front of him, looking unimpressed. Adam then asked who the fu✪✪ Alastor was. "Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure. I'm about to end your fucking life." His microphone cane hit the ground, causing black tendrils to arise. Adam just snarked at Alastor: "Nice voice. Don't you know jazz is for PUSSIES!" Adam summons his guitar, and slashes away at the tentacles before approaching Alastor. Alastor stepped back, wagging his finger. "Ah ah ah!" Alastor was able to dodge Adams attacks, sending some of his tentacles at him. "You really think you can take me on? A mortal soul is no match for me, edge-lord." Adam yells back at Alastor. "You should know better than anyone what a soul can accomplish when they take charge of their own fate." Extending out his shadow, it formed a crack in the hotel roof, allowing one of Alastor's shadow monsters to punch him. Adam was now getting pissed off as he killed the shadow monster, with Alastor mocking his strength.

Adam kept swinging his guitar, with Alastor dodging them effectively. "You lack discipline, control, and worst-

His demon form had manifested, sending his shadow monsters to attack Adam and crawl all over him. Adam was sent flying upwards, as he stuttered on trying to insult Alastor back, making Alastor to laugh and swing him into the hotel sign with his tentacle "Ha ha ha! Poetry!" Adam was furious that he was getting bested by Alastor, swinging his guitar, causing a shockwave and yelling out, "I'm going to wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, CAUSE RADIO IS F✪✪✪ING DEAD!" Alastor looked around, surprised he was out of his demon form: "What just happened?" He then saw his microphone snapped in two, "Fuck!" Alastor then looked back up, then was sent flying back. Adam had managed to get closer, and swing his weapon at him, causing a large wound to form on Alastor's chest. Alastor was on his hands and knees, trying to get up, but failing to do so. Adam was much stronger then he realized. He needed to get out of there now, before Adam had the chance to hit him again. A heavy kick landed on his stomach, causing him to go flying back, and cough up some blood. Alastor leaned back, grasping on his chest to stop the wound, while staring at Adam with pure hatred in his eyes. "HAHAHA! Not so tough now, huh bit✪✪? Time to die!" Adam raised his guitar again ready to strike at Alastor again. Alastor was trying to manifest his powers to teleport, but he was far too weak! He shut his eyes, bracing for the impact. A loud CLANG was heard, causing Alastor to open his eyes, shocked to see you standing in front of him. Your large scythe was drawn, having swung against Adam's guitar, stopping the attack. "Get away from him!"

*TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2**

TAG LIST:

Tag List:

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[mrsshabana]

Okay I’ve got an idea for you

Soulmate Tattoo AU but Gyutaro never had one as a human and it only develops some time after he became a demon.

𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐮 ♡ 𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

꒰୨୧ ・Content Gyutaro x female!reader, canon-ish, soulmate au, fluff, angst ꒰୨୧ ・Note I've been meaning to answer this ask for so long! Honestly I wish I could write an entire fic about this but I had to stop myself. I've always wanted to write for a soulmate au so if you want to see more don't hesitate to ask! ♡ (Also I've never written for a soulmate au before so I'm sorry if I did it wrong)

It all happened so fast.

Just a moment ago you were walking home from the night market. And now you find yourself pinned to the ground in a dark alleyway fighting for your life. Some monster grabbing at you, trying to make you his next meal.

He's unlike anything you've ever seen before, but it doesn't take long for you to deduce that he's a demon. You've only heard people tell stories of them, but you never would have imagined they were real.

His large hand wraps around your mouth so you can't scream.

"Pathetic," he snarls, "Just going to let me kill you without putting up a fight?"

You try to kick and scream but you're powerless against him. His lips curl into a sadistic smile. A deep, hyena-like laugh comes from his throat.

"You're so disgraceful, I almost feel bad for you!"

For a split second, he's too busy antagonizing you to notice that you're wiggling out of his grasp. "Fuck you!" you hiss, kicking his groin and desperately crawling away.

Immediately the demon hunches over and groans in pain, "You... bitch..."

Unfortunately, the blow doesn't do as much damage as it would a human, and he's recovered quicker than you expected. You were only able to get a few feet away before he grabbed your ankle.

"You'll pay for th-" he stops mid-sentence and stares at the spot above your ankle.

An intricate pattern lies there, one that you were born with. It looks like a random splotch of ink at first glance, but when you look closer it resembles the shape of a heart.

The demon gulps audibly, suddenly the entire aura around him shifting. Without an explanation, he gets on one knee and pulls up the hem of his pants to reveal a mark that looks identical to yours.

"You... You're my soulmate," you whisper in disbelief.

The demon's hand begins to tremble as he keeps a firm grip on your ankle. "It-it can't be..."

"P-Please, maybe we-"

"Shut it!" he snaps, his teeth getting dangerously close to your face, "I don't care who you are! You're gonna be my next meal!"

He pulls out a weapon you didn't notice he had. It looks strange, like something you've never seen before.

With a look of amusement on his face, he swipes the blade of the weapon across your throat.

But nothing happens.

"...what?" he frowns and presses the blade harder against your neck. But it won't cut your skin.

It really must be true then. This demon is your soulmate, and lucky for you soulmates can't bring harm to each other.

You always heard about soulmate tattoos and how you were destined to find that special person one day. But a demon? Really? Sure, he's pretty cute but he's still a demon!

However, you're honestly just happy to be alive. At least now you don't have to worry about the demon that lurks around the entertainment district making you his dinner.

Meanwhile, your soulmate stares at you with wide eyes, hurriedly stepping away from you as if he's disgusted by you.

"Wait! Please don't go," you reach out to him, "Maybe we can work something out..."

"Tsk, I want nothing to do with you. I don't need a soulmate," he snarls, looking you up and down one last time before disappearing into the night.

You stay in that spot longer than you should, hoping he would return.

Of course, you know that demons are dangerous, but a part of you can't help but feel some kind of unconditional love for him. He is your soulmate after all.

But after some time passes you give up on love. The demon never comes back so you figure there's no point in even trying to find love in the future. If your destined soulmate doesn't even want you, then why would anyone else?

As weeks pass you go on with your life and try to forget about the demon. You're pretty sure he's long forgotten about you, but you couldn't be further from the truth. He's just been really good at hiding it.

Gyutaro hasn't been able to stop thinking about you ever since that night.

He went his entire life convinced that he was unloveable. But then suddenly this gorgeous human shows up on a silver platter just for him. It was a lot to process in the moment, but as time passed he couldn't help but sprout feelings for you. Especially after he stalked you and got to see how cute you are.

It started with him following your scent around the district, finding out where you lived, stealing your mail to get all of your personal information, and then breaking into your home while you slept.

Sure, maybe it's a bit creepy and weird but he's a demon! He has no morals at this point.

When he was a human, soulmates were the least of his worries. He was too busy scrounging for food and trying to survive to care. There were plenty of marks on his body, but none of them were the mark of a soulmate. The one on his ankle only appeared years after he became a demon. But honestly, the thought that this mark was actually the mark of a soulmate never crossed his mind. He always believed that a soulmate was never in the cards for him.

Normally he would never catch feelings for anyone, let alone a human. But when he met you it was like a switch flipped inside of him and he couldn't help but feel drawn to you.

And now, as he spends more and more time around you he begins to get careless. His feelings start to get stronger and overpower his rational thoughts. This whole time he's told himself that he'll never let you see him and he'll always just admire you when you're asleep. But the urge to touch you starts to get too strong. Oh, what he wouldn't give to feel your skin under his fingertips. To just hold you in his arms if only for a few seconds.

As he stands above your bed, looking down at you as you sleep blissfully unaware, he can't stop himself from crawling into your bed with you. It's like his body moves on its own, all of his anxious and self-hating thoughts get momentarily pushed aside. And all he can think about is you, and how right this feels.

You feel large, firm arms wrap around you - slowly waking you from your slumber. Typically someone would feel terrified to wake up suddenly in the embrace of a stranger. But you already know who this is. Your body knew it was your soulmate before you even opened your eyes.

After all of these weeks, you tried to forget about him but you never could. Ever since that first night you met him you felt like a part of you was missing. And he felt it too.

But now you feel complete with him by your side. And for the first time in his life, he doesn't hate himself. He doesn't feel like a disgusting, ugly, disgraceful waste of space.

He feels loved.

[thiscoldheart]

some details that i loved in la chimera (spoiler heavy) :

i posted this on twitter as well but i wanted to include it here too. i love this little moment here where italia rests her head on arthur's shoulder and for a brief moment, he's anchored to the present by that touch, but him being the orpheus that he is, just HAD to turn back and find himself gravitating towards the tombs, the past and his eurydice.

the fact that italia's name is literally italy in italian and by the end of the movie she creates a community of her own where she's looking out for those that are outcasted by society, in an abandoned train station named riparbella which literally means "to start again".

arthur's eye always being blocked by shadow throughout the movie until he sees the light at the very end

according to wiki, the goddess the statue is based on is cybele, goddess of nature, animals, wild places and represents the "creative and destructive force of nature." her phrygian name matar (mother) alludes to the fact that she was a "mediator between the boundaries of the known and unknown, the civilized and the wild, the worlds of the living and the dead." i love that this goddess' presence in the movie symbolizes arthur traversing between the living and the dead worlds and getting closer to beniamina. i love that by the end of the movie, the statue itself becomes unknown to human eyes and returns to the wild, far away from civilization, which is arguably the same fate that arthur meets as he dies.

the red string that's following arthur around is very reminiscent of the red string ariadne gives theseus to find his way through the maze. it's beautiful how this red string seems to appear only in his dreams at first but slowly starts crossing the boundaries of dreams and reality as the movie goes on until he is able to tug at it by the end and cross over into beniamina's world.

arthur, at the beginning of the movie, says "so it's you. my last woman's face." how cool is it that beniamina's face resembles cybele's?

arthur goes back to flora's house after being injured and her daughter finds him in the bathroom. spooked, she says "i thought it was a ghost" which arthur might as well be considering how he's essentially been a walking corpse this entire movie.

also a special shout out from the bottom of my heart to the sped up sequences, didn't even realize how badly i needed them until i saw them. the chaos in these sequences is everything to me. this is REAL cinema!

in general, one of the themes that i've come to love about this movie is how objects can have different meanings to everyone. an object like the bell arthur found was just "a thing that rings" whereas italia interprets it as a gift until she comes to realize it's been excavated from a grave. the statue was part of a shrine back when it was made, but to the tombaroli and the sellers, this is only a means to make more money. the train station started off as a place that symbolizes movement of people from the city to the countryside but has now become a home for the outcasts of society. the apotropaic phallus would've have warded off evil and bad luck back in the day, but is now used as a means of escape from the law. a simple red string is the literal lifeline for arthur as he tries to find his way back to his lover.

also want to give another shout out to the inclusion of the italian troubadours (our greek chorus) who beautifully spell out the tragedy of our protagonist and his gang.

speaking of music, i really liked this particular song italia was singing as she was practicing. the lyrics go "i'd like to explain to you, o god/ where my suffering lies/ but fate condemns me to weep/ to weep" and that's exactly when arthur finds her crying son. at least italia finds a way for her suffering to end by the end of the movie. maybe we can say the same about arthur too?

i'll probably add more as i keep rewatching the movie lol and make a thread of this on twitter too (x) thanks for sticking around and let me know what other cool details y'all noticed!

[cooliestghouliest]

PUTTY, chapter one

(chapter one), (chapter two), (chapter three)

PAIRING: virgin!Eddie/former cheerleader!Reader

SUMMARY: Eddie has a little brother. Eddie’s little brother has a babysitter.

SERIES TAGS and C/W’s: mutual pining, experienced!Reader, inexperienced!Eddie but he’s eager to learn, mostly sub!Eddie, insecurities and self doubt, narcissistic and/or absent parents, jealousy, mean basketball players, hurt/comfort, they smoke weed, eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), uniform kink, dirty talk, foot jobs, hand jobs, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), public sex, sex toys, unprotected PiV. more to be added as this progresses!!!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k+

A/N: hi, my friends!!! this is a rewrite/repost and has been edited for a (hopefully) smoother, more enjoyable read. fun fact that this was one of the first Stranger Things fanfics i ever wrote. it was originally titled She Was Straight From Hell, But You Could Never Tell, and featured Eddie alongside an OC. i’ve changed it to be reader-insert, because that seems to be more in my writing wheelhouse nowadays. this fic will be multiple parts — it begins with backstory, but will eventually branch off into a universe of little smutty ficlets where Reader will corrupt virgin!Eddie as much as humanely possible.

—

Eddie hadn't known about the existence of his little brother until two months ago, when Al Munson showed up in the middle of the night with a small child in tow. Eddie didn't even know his dad was out of prison again, and yet here he was, in the flesh, a little boy with a mop of black curls resembling Eddie's own cradled in his leather jacket-clad arms.

Al was lucky Wayne was working or else this family reunion would have gone south fast.

While Wayne wasn't Al's biggest fan, Al was Eddie's dad, and Eddie would always hold onto as many moments with his father as he could get, no matter how sparse, and no matter how much of a self-serving piece of shit asshole Al Munson truly was.

But Eddie didn’t see it like that. Eddie saw it like this: His dad lived a hard life. His dad struggled with addictions. His dad lost a wife, just as Eddie had lost a mother. His dad tried his best with what he had.

Deep down, Eddie knew these were all just sorry excuses, but he kept that truth tucked away, not wanting to deal with the reality that Al truly only cared about himself.

He already had one dead parent. If he cut his dad out of his life, he’d basically have two.

"When'd you get out?" Eddie asked, stepping aside so Al could enter. His eyes followed the child, brows furrowed. The trailer was always Al's first stop on his freedom tour and the older man had always brought some sort of baggage along with him -- never a little kid, though. What the hell kind of trouble had his dad gotten into this time?

"Few days ago," Al replied, heading for the living room. He placed the sleeping child down on the worn sofa, then straightened and faced Eddie. "Listen, son, you gotta do me a favor. I'm not out long this time. I might've robbed an ATM or two last night. I'm kinda on the lam."

Al didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish at his wrongdoing.

Eddie was used to this. Even when Al was a free man, he was never a free man for long. He didn't think his dad knew how to coexist among non-inmate citizens. Eddie didn't think his dad even wanted to. Prison was a creature comfort for the elder Munson. Eddie wasn't necessarily mad at that fact. He was happy when Al was locked up, because then at least he knew where his dad was. Otherwise, Eddie worried his father would eventually get himself into a situation he wouldn't be able to get out of, and Eddie would really never see him again.

Eddie was also used to Al showing up after months and months, sometimes even years and years, such as now, always asking for favors.

"Who is that?" Eddie asked, pointing towards the couch, not being able to ignore the other human in the room any longer.

"Yeah, that's kinda what I need your help with.” Al rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well, no way to do this other than to just say it. That there's your little brother, Eddie. His name's Oliver. And I need you and Wayne to look after him while I'm gone."

"My... what..." Eddie stammered, face scrunching up. He expected Al to burst out laughing and admit he was just fucking around, and that this tiny sleeping stranger was actually just the kid of a fellow convict buddy. Maybe it was said convict buddy’s turn to rob ATMs tonight, leaving Al the babysitter. Irresponsible. Unlikely. And, turns out, untrue.

With Al's silence, Eddie knew his dad’s admission wasn't a joke.

Eddie was beyond confused now.

"Dad, how... you've been in prison for six years!"

"Conjugal visits," Al answered with a bit of a smug shrug.

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "What the fuck? Wayne can't afford another kid that's not even his... and I'm in school still, I can't watch him... this isn't... I don't know how..."

But Al was already making his way to the door.

"I know you'll figure it out. I can always count on you, my boy," Al prided, tone cheery as if the favor he'd just asked of Eddie was to give him a quick ride somewhere or find an old family recipe.

Al wasn't acting like he was ditching another Munson offspring off on his older brother. He was treating this like an issue of minor importance, just a little speed bump on an otherwise flat road.

Al Munson was not an upstanding person. Never had been, never would be. Because of this, Eddie shouldn't have been surprised or appalled, but here he was, standing with his mouth agape. Surprised. Appalled.

His dad was out the door with a lighthearted, "See ya 'round, son," and Eddie was left speechless in the middle of the living room.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne got over the new addition to the Munson household fairly quickly.

While he'd been livid at first, calling up all of Al's old friends he'd still had the numbers of to try and find out where his dumb shit of a younger brother was, Wayne eventually became resigned to the idea that he now had another little boy to rear and mold.

What else could he do?

Wayne took care of his kin, especially if they were innocent bystanders and had no say in being born in the first place. He'd raised Eddie, and although he knew the boy had his struggles, he didn't think he'd done too bad of a job.

Eddie never went hungry, always had clothes to wear, a bed to sleep in, and Wayne was the one who haggled Eddie's van down to a reasonable price so the boy could pay for it with his lunch box salary.

Wayne knew about the weed and the pills, but so long as Eddie stayed smart about where he was selling and who he was selling to, he didn't much mind Eddie's unconventional line of work. It helped his nephew stay somewhat social, and Wayne knew how important that would be for Eddie's future. If the boy was nothing but a lone recluse his whole life, he'd probably end up just like Al. Nobody wanted that.

Eddie was just about grown now. Sure, he was rearing twenty and still in his senior year of high school, but Wayne had an inkling that '86 would be Eddie's year.

Wayne had always thought about selling the trailer and buying an RV with retirement money once Eddie was out on his own. He wanted to travel the country for the remainder of his life.

The idea that he'd have to raise up another wild Munson for the next fifteen or so years caused a knot to form in his stomach.

Would Wayne even be around for that much longer? He may have been relatively healthy, and he was only in his mid 60's, but Wayne wasn't an idiot. He knew anything could happen at any time.

Wayne knew he needed help this time around. He figured he could count on Eddie here and there, but Eddie needed to focus on school this year if he planned on finally walking the stage. Because of this, Wayne decided to enlist the help of someone on the outside. Someone with experience.

So, he posted an ad in the Hawkins Post, looking for a full-time nanny for a five-year-old boy to start as soon as possible, and waited for a response.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne didn't have to wait long.

Two mornings following the job post, shortly after he'd returned home from work, he heard a knock on the trailer door.

When he answered, he saw a pretty young thing standing on the front stoop.

"Hi!" you greeted, then immediately began to ramble. "Are you Mr. Munson? I hope it's okay I just showed up... there wasn't a number listed, only an address, and I didn't know if you wanted me to write a response and mail it, but the ad seemed maybe a little urgent, so I thought, hey, what's the harm in just... showing... up..."

You trailed off, feeling silly for word vomiting during your first impression. He was watching you with a small smile, eyes flickering with what looked like amusement, especially as your cheeks began to color to the soft red of embarrassment.

Listing no number on the ad was intentional. He hadn't owned a rotary phone in about ten years, after having tried to cut back on bills, and he knew not just anyone would make the trek to Forest Hills for a potential job offer. He’d figured only committed applicants that wouldn't waste his time would follow through.

"I have a lot of experience," you continued on at his silence, almost as if you couldn't help it, compelled to divulge all the information you could in the first three minutes of meeting. Wayne found it endearing. "I used to babysit for three different families when I was in high school. And I have two little sisters. My mom and dad worked a lot growing up, so I spent a lot of time with them. Didn't get paid, but... I made sure they didn't die or anything..."

From their brief interaction thus far, Wayne knew he succeeded in his method of weeding out flakes. You were obviously serious about the position. He felt he was a decent judge of character, and he'd learned in life that sometimes over-explaining was synonymous with caring.

"Sorry," you said, forcing out a little laugh. "I guess I could have just introduced myself. You didn't really need to know all that." You shot your hand out, giving your name. "I'm here about the nannying gig. Um, obviously. That is, if I didn't already scare you off."

Wayne took your hand in both of his own, shaking it. He placated you with a grin. "It's a lot harder than that to scare off a Munson, sweetheart. Let's go inside and meet Olly."

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Although Oliver Munson was only five, he had a spectacular vocabulary and a limitless imagination. Wayne knew the boy was a little charmer, quite like how Eddie was when he allowed himself to be, when the teenager wasn't drowning himself in existential teenage angst and nonsense.

You fell under Olly's spell almost instantly.

And it seemed the little boy had fallen under yours as well.

Oliver didn't stop talking to you while you were there, and didn't stop talking about you after you’d left, asking when you’d be back and if next time you could take him to the trailer park's playground and maybe you two could watch G.I. Joe or He-Man together afterward.

Wayne had taken your number down before you’d left and had told you he'd be in touch soon.

Later that evening, after Eddie had gotten back from his club meeting at school, Wayne took the trip into downtown Hawkins to use the payphone and ask you if you wouldn't mind starting as early as tomorrow.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

You were far from struggling for money.

Your father was a sought-after criminal prosecutor for the entirety of Indiana. Your mother was a real estate agent for high profile clientele who came from old family money; her father was CEO of a day trading business, and his father before him had been the same.

Although you likely would have never had to work a day in your life and could live a comfortable existence off of inheritance alone, handouts and the humdrum of an All-Play-and-No-Work lifestyle was never a dream of yours. That sounded so cookie cutter, so monotonous, so boring.

You liked to feel a sense of accomplishment. You liked setting goals and reaching them. You didn't want to freeload off of money that was gained from the capitalistic professions your parents were a part of. You wanted to be in control of your own finances and be the author of your own future, not have it already be etched into stone simply by being just another rich kid from Hawkins, à la the likes of the Carver's or the Cunningham's or the Harrington's.

You were ecstatic when you got the call from Wayne, asking you if you’d be willing to start the following day. He left for work at 2PM, so you’d have to be there before then, and would need to plan on staying until Wayne's nephew got home around six.

If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you felt a bit nervous, but the job itself wasn't the reason why that writhing feeling accompanied your excitement.

You had more than ten years of babysitting experience under your belt, and you were eager to get back into a job you actually enjoyed as opposed to trying out different careers to see what stuck and what didn't. Having graduated the spring before, you’d been taking an off year to save up money by working odd jobs around Hawkins to be able to buy your own apartment.

You’d worked as a florist for a few weeks, but it turned out your thumb was pitch black instead of green.

You worked as the personal assistant for a group of lawyers from a local law firm, but it turned out they just needed office eye candy and not someone to actually get any sort of work done.

You worked as a veterinary assistant, but it turned out the job was much more than just petting cats and dogs. You couldn't handle it when a sick animal would come in and there would be nothing anyone could do. Your heart broke more at that clinic than it had your entire life.

You were in between jobs when you’d decided to peruse the classified section of the Hawkins post. There, in the shortest blurb on the page, was a listing for a needed nanny, a full-time position offering negotiable pay.

The next bit was where the excitement wavered.

The listing was published by a Wayne Munson of the Forest Hills trailer park.

That had to be Eddie Munson's uncle. There was no way there were two separate Munson families living in the only trailer park in Kerley County.

You couldn't believe that you’d stumbled across this ad, that the geeky metalhead you’d crushed on since your freshman year of high school had a little brother you could be the potential nanny of.

You were two years younger than Eddie, but that hadn't stopped you from losing periods of time to daydreams about the way the wind ruffled his wild mess of curls on breezy days or the way his band tee sleeves always clung perfectly to the soft muscles of his biceps or the way his cheeks dimpled when he teased the other boys he sat with at lunch.

You’d always wanted to introduce yourself, but you didn't run in the same crowds -- you being on the cheer team and Eddie blasting Black Sabbath in the parking lot after his Hellfire meetings. You could never muster the courage. He seemed so carefree, so full of life, so effortlessly funny. Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend, had spoken to him once or twice and had told you how different he was than what other people said about him. He wasn't scary or mean or threatening, and instead was warm and silly and genuine.

But you knew how the people you spent your time around treated people like him. You knew your group of "friends" referred to him as a freak, a Satan worshipper, and did everything in their power to try to bully him into becoming a shell of himself. Thankfully, he never did -- it was almost as if Eddie absorbed the hatefulness and spent it tenfold by mocking the hilarity of the jock hierarchy that ruled the school, as well as using it to strengthen his own ability to embrace every misfit that walked the halls of Hawkins High.

You never introduced yourself because you were afraid he’d think you had an ulterior motive, that you’d be trying to talk to him as a joke or a prank. You knew the company you kept. You were sure Jason Carver had once or twice suggested you do just that, lead Eddie on and make a fool of him in front of the whole school.

You figured it'd be best to just stay away.

But now, you thought finding this ad was possibly a sign from the universe.

Maybe you were getting a second chance.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Eddie was running late.

He was supposed to be back home half an hour ago to relieve whoever Olly's new babysitter was of her duties, but the campaign had taken a shocking turn and Hellfire couldn't disband until it had commenced.

The night finally ended with Will's character decapitating Dustin's, and Eddie had to thwart an actual attack when Dustin leapt across the game table at Will in a bout of rage. Dustin was small but mighty, and Eddie had to physically wrestle the boy off of Will's neck, threatening to banish Dustin from the next few campaigns if he didn’t chill out. Henderson had huffed and puffed but had admitted defeat and apologized to Will for the attempted murder.

By the time Eddie arrived back to the trailer park, the sun had almost set. He pulled his van into his parking spot to the right of the trailer and shut it off. Stepping out, he swung his backpack over his shoulder, but came to a halt when he heard Olly's scream sound from behind the trailer.

Dropping his bag and beginning to run toward the noise, Eddie's heart fell to his stomach. Horrible images of what could possibly be pulling that sound from his little brother pervaded Eddie's mind. He had an overactive imagination to begin with, and something like this verbal cue only egged it on. "Olly!" he shouted, panic raising his voice. "Olly, are you okay?! What’s going on, where are --"

Eddie came to a halt when he found the boy in the backyard with a huge smile spread across his small, sweaty face. Olly had a fake crown on, one made of twigs and leaves, and he was carrying one of the biggest sticks Eddie had ever seen. He had a blanket tucked into the back of his shirt, the cloth a makeshift cape. A thin piece of metal, probably from one of the cars Wayne and Eddie sometimes worked on, was wrapped around his center, acting as armor.

Olly had just been playing.

Letting out a heavy breath of relief, Eddie noticed your frame just off to the side. His eyes started from the ground up, noting the shiny red Docs donning your feet, moving up bare legs that were covered mid-thigh by a short black skater dress, one that hugged your curves in a way that had Eddie’s mouth going dry.

By the time he reached your face, your eyes were wide with amusement.

You’d been watching as he slowly drank you in. He didn't mean to ogle. He had to shake his head a few times to clear it, and when he did so, the face before him started looking more and more familiar.

"Wait," he started, head tilting. He spoke your name, tone riddled with confusion. "From high school?"

You were about to answer when Oliver cleared his throat, obviously not wanting to be ignored or to have his playtime interrupted any longer. You looked down at the boy, who pointed up to his head at his crown. You got the gist -- Olly wanted the game to continue. You could indulge him. You’d been doing it all day, and honestly you’d been having the most fun you’d had in a while.

You turned your attention back to Eddie, fixing your posture and jutting your chin out slightly. "I don't know who that is," you began, voice lilting. "I am Princess Guinevere of Kerley County and this here,” you brought your gaze back down to Oliver, “is my most loyal servant, Sir Olly of Castle Munson."

Eddie couldn't help the grin that broke out over his face at your announcement. He then took a moment to fully take in the rest of your appearance. You, too, had on a makeshift crown, this one made up of cherry blossoms and daisies. You had a flowing blanket tucked into the back of your dress, cascading down your back like a veil.

No fucking way were you, last year's cheerleading captain and prom queen, standing in his backyard playing fucking knights and princesses with his little brother. No fucking way.

Olly broke the silence by shouting out, "Hey, Eddie! Who are you gonna be?"

Eddie tore his eyes from you to focus on his brother. He pursed his lips to one side in thought, trying to come up with a character. He was usually quick on his feet when it came to creative play, but he had just spent the last three hours DM'ing a month-long DnD campaign. His brain felt shot. He was pulled from his introspective reverie by your soft, suggestive voice — no, sorry — the soft, suggestive voice of Princess Guinevere.

"Wanna be my dragon, Eddie?" you asked.

Eddie wasn't exactly sure why that made his breath catch in his throat.

He nodded dumbly, silent, then forced himself to speak because he didn't want to look totally lame in front of a Princess. "Okay. Yeah, I'll be your dragon."

You graced him with a smile before Oliver's tiny but booming voice cut through the air of the darkening night. "HEY! Dragons don't talk!" the boy stomped his foot and hit his stick against the muddy ground in annoyance.

A laugh bubbled from your throat and Eddie grinned, jumping into a wide-legged stance before outstretching his arms, tilting his head back, and roaring.

[dark-raven-666]

If you accept requests for homicipher side characters, then can I ask one for Mr. Masque? I barely see things for him anywhere! 😭

Maybe it's after Mr. Machete attack, it's him who found us instead of Mr. Hood. MC is normal size but is injured thanks to Machete, so Mr. Masque takes care of her and cheers her up!

Mr. Masque x reader comfort

A/N : sorry for late reply I have been feeling like Franz Kafka.

Anyway it's 1am and I finished this so it might not be that good 😭.

I love Mr. Masque for some reason

As you lay on the cold harsh ground you feel like you're going to die.

Then you're surrounded by warmth.. Could it have been Mr. Crawling? Did he find you?

Your sight was blurry, but not to the point of not recognizing the man before you.

It was him, the magician. A face of peraly white. Deep black holes for eyes, almost resembling obsidian, two scarlet lines coming down each eye, some kind of makeup you assume. Had his embrace always been this warm?

As he carries you through the rooms your eyes close and you rest. It feels like you're sleeping on a cloud, you really needed that.

When you wake up, you're in a bed, blanket over you keeping you warm and on a seat beside you reading what seems to be a book is the man.

He smiles a little at your waking up and closes the book.

"Made me worried. " he says in their language.

Has his voice always been this soothing? You had only met him once or twice before.

You only nod, too tired to talk. Your body aches everywhere, Mr. Machete really did a dumber on you.

The man reaches a slender hand and moves your hair from your face. He was so warm and kind. You didn't want him to ever leave.

As you smile at him you whisper a "thank you. " you don't know for what. Is it for fixing your hair or for saving you? Perhaps both.

The man only smiles bigger and nods. Not much of a talker.

You lay there and admire him. His clothes looked fancy, too fancy for a rugged place like this. Perhaps he got Ms. Bride to make them for him.

You had seen Mr. Crawlings, Mr. Silvairs, Mr. Machetes clothes. All seemed to be suitable for ghosts, worn out, but not this man.. He was the embodiment of class.

He gently pets your hair, as he had seen you do with Mr. Crawling. Seemingly hoping to soothe you.

What was this feeling in your chest? It felt like a warm blanket on a cold winter night, or a beautiful sunset in summer after a long day on the beach...

His touch lulled you to sleep better than any lullaby or story ever had. You can't... You just can't be falling for the masked man.

You eyes droop and you begin to sleep again.

Speaking of... How did he make his mask smile? Is he the mask? Is he an object wearing a human?

Well... Who cares? He was far too warm and you were far too tired to care.

"Goodnight." Is the last thing you hear from the soft voiced man before you fully fall asleep.

[irritatedirishfrog]

"𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄... 𝐈'𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘."

𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘫𝘪 𝘴𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘮, 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘻𝘢 In which, Akaza finds you—a woman who stirs the haunting memory of his beloved Koyuki. The resemblance is uncanny, and with it comes a flood of emotions he thought long buried. You become his fixation, a delicate echo of a life he lost. His obsession festers into something dark and consuming. He can’t bear the thought of losing you—not again.

So, he does whatever it takes to keep you. If it means killing, he'll do it. If it means watching you through the night, never sleeping, never blinking, he’ll do that too.

You’re his now—just like she was.

━━━━°⌜ 鬼滅の刃 ⌟°━━━━

How does one know when they've won?

Well, the first question is—what did they win? What was the goal they believe they've achieved in the first place? Then, they have to cover all the bases, make sure everything is done right. Every move, every decision must align, even the smallest of actions leading to one grand accomplishment. Each piece has to fall perfectly into place.

Akaza knows this. His one and only goal has always been the same: to get stronger. That was the path. That was the purpose.

Or so he thought.

Until he saw you.

He can’t recall exactly what he was doing when it happened. Maybe he had just finished killing a group of demon slayers. Maybe he was running an errand for Lord Muzan. It doesn’t matter.

All he remembers is you—the way his eyes landed on your terrified face that night.

But he hadn’t done anything yet. He wasn’t looming over a corpse, wasn’t drenched in blood. He doesn’t even remember moving in a way that should have frightened you. Perhaps it was his appearance. After all, he didn’t resemble anything close to human anymore.

Yet, you didn’t run. Not like everyone else. You just stood there, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes. You looked as if you’d already given up—as if you expected him to kill you.

He would have let you go, had you tried. If you ran now, he wouldn’t stop you. He wouldn’t hurt you.

And then… he saw something else in your eyes.

Not just fear.

Curiosity.

Dare he say it—admiration? A flicker of fascination for something you couldn’t understand. Something monstrous.

Koyuki...

... Koyuki?

Who was that?

Akaza’s brow furrowed. A name, a whisper in the dark. A woman's face danced at the edge of his memory—beautiful, delicate, distant. Like a dream. Or a dream within a dream.

He looked at you a moment longer, allowing himself to sink into the foggy memory. You reminded him of her. Of someone from a life long gone. He couldn’t remember her clearly, but the feeling remained. A phantom ache of love and loss twisting in his chest.

He couldn't look away. He didn’t know what drew him to you, what made him want to move closer. To touch your face. To hold it in his hands as if trying to piece together a forgotten past.

He hated these feelings. Hated this weakness. He hated studying anything. But he studied you.

Then, at last, he spoke—his voice low, almost reluctant.

"Run."

You flinched.

Your expression flickered—uncertainty, confusion—but you didn’t hesitate. You did what everyone else did.

You ran.

Everyone runs from danger. It’s in their nature. Especially from demons—humanity’s predators for over a thousand years.

But why hadn’t you run until he told you to?

He didn’t understand. And that mystery clawed at him. Gnawed at his mind.

He had to know you.

He had to see you again.

Because when he looked at you… he saw her.

And so, the days went by. Days turned to weeks. Weeks into months.

All of it spent watching you.

Akaza followed you with quiet persistence, learning everything there was to know—your habits, your favorite foods, the people you spoke to, the things that made you smile. It hadn’t started out this way. In the beginning, it was just curiosity.

He only wanted to understand what kind of person you were. The kind of person who had the audacity—no, the gall—to stare at him that night. Unmoving. Almost unafraid.

The kind of person who reminded him so clearly of her.

His Koyuki.

So, he followed you. Mindlessly. Stalking was the right word, he supposed… though he didn’t like calling it that. He wasn’t like Douma, who reveled in such depravity. No, Akaza at least felt some sliver of shame. It made his stomach twist.

Still, he did it.

He preferred to think of it as a romantic walk—albeit with an unknowing partner. A stupidly long name for something so wrong.

Of course, he could only follow you at night. The sun was unforgiving. It frustrated him—made him yearn more urgently for the blue spider lily. He had nearly died too many times just trying to see you before sunrise, forced to retreat into the shadows like a frightened animal.

Fortunately, you often worked late. You moved through the night with quiet purpose. There were moments he almost pitied you for how hard you worked. But then he’d catch a glimpse of your tired, triumphant smile, and that feeling would vanish. How could he pity someone who looked so satisfied with the life they lived?

And on the nights you stayed home, he’d find somewhere to perch—on a neighbor’s rooftop or right outside your windowsill. Watching. Always watching.

You lived your fleeting, fragile life without knowing what loomed just beyond the glass. It was precious, and it was temporary. That contradiction fascinated him.

More than once, Akaza nearly stepped into your room while you slept. He imagined how it would feel to be near you. To hold you.

To be close to something… Someone, so soft.

Almost.

Each time, the thought shamed him. He’d scold himself like a child—how dare he even think of violating your peace. He wouldn’t take that from you. Not your sanctuary. Not your illusion of safety.

Even if, in truth, it was an illusion. He could walk in whenever he wanted. And that knowledge unsettled him.

With time, he learned more—your preferences, your quirks. He discovered how different you were when you were alone. Free. Vibrant.

You were strict with yourself in public, carefully composed. But in solitude? You were passionate. Fiercely alive.

You didn’t know he was watching. That’s why you let your guard down. He didn’t mind. If anything, it felt like a privilege.

You painted. You cooked. And when boredom struck, you’d try your hand at things most women didn’t—like practicing basic fighting forms. The sight nearly made him laugh once.

He remembered the first week vividly. You painted someone—again and again—on a small canvas, no bigger than a book. Something simple. Yet you poured yourself into it with a reverence that left him conflicted.

Who was it?

Whoever they were, they consumed your time, your thoughts. It made him… jealous.

He watched your hands move with care, graceful and precise with every stroke of the brush. Your focus, your artistry—it was mesmerizing. And yet, you never showed your work to anyone. You hid it away.

That baffled him.

Gyokko would’ve adored your craft. Akaza almost smirked at the thought—of course, that was sarcasm. He’d never let that grotesque creature know you even existed.

If he did, he’d have to kill him.

You hid everything you were proud of, it seemed. Maybe out of embarrassment. Maybe to stay humble. He didn’t know.

But he wanted to.

He needed to.

What baffled Akaza the most during that week of watching you paint was the realization—near the end—that the figure on your canvas was him.

Him?

You had tried to paint him from memory.

He couldn’t comprehend it. Why? Why would a woman who only saw him once—by pure chance—choose to remember him rather than erase the encounter from her mind?

Why preserve the image of a demon—a monster like him?

When he realized it was indeed his likeness, he waited until you left the room, then slipped silently through the window to examine the painting more closely.

It was him. Unmistakably.

Not just in broad features, but in the shadows—how you’d captured the dim moonlight that carved across his face, the soft menace in his posture, the vague etherealness of a figure who belonged more to nightmare than memory. You had painted him exactly as you must have seen him: fleeting, monstrous, and veiled in the night.

It unnerved him how accurate it was. And yet… it warmed something deep inside his chest, a sensation long foreign to him. A flicker of being seen.

After that, Akaza made a decision: he would work up the courage to approach you. To let you see him again. Maybe—just maybe—you’d paint him again.

He began watching you every spare moment he could. He observed your tranquility, the way your eyes lit up with fascination, the tender smile you wore when something small delighted you. And he didn’t understand the emotion swelling inside of him. Obsession was too simplistic a term. This bordered on compulsion.

He watched you so intently that he didn’t even realize he was hungry.

He forgot to eat. It wasn’t until one of Muzan’s meetings that the demon lord noticed his weakened condition. Muzan questioned him, sharp-eyed and suspicious.

Akaza had no proper excuse—so he told the truth, in part. He’d simply lost track of time that evening. Technically, it wasn’t a lie

Muzan let it go. But that moment unsettled Akaza.

He had become so consumed by you that he neglected his most basic instincts. You frightened him—because of what you made him feel.

How does one know when they've won?

Well... first, one has to know what they've won. Until then, one can’t possibly know whether they’re victorious or just chasing shadows.

Akaza once believed that to win meant becoming stronger. That defeating the other Upper Moons—Kokushibo and Douma—was his ultimate goal. The final step before reaching the top.

But lately... he wasn’t so sure.

This obsession with you—was it another goal? Another peak to conquer? Or something else entirely?

Now, you had become his fixation. Not strength. Not dominance. You. Because when he saw you, he remembered her.

And he needed to remember her.

So the nights continued with him watching, lurking in silence, waiting for the right moment to let you know he was there.

Until he saw him.

A man—average, forgettable—who bumped into you one evening and hung around far too long under the pretense of mentorship after an 'interesting' conversation. Akaza knew better. He saw the way the man looked at you. The hunger. The possessiveness masked by charm.

And while you remained polite—reserved, innocent—that only made Akaza more concerned.

It wasn’t just the flirtation that ignited his hatred—not even when the man’s hand slid far too low on your back, fingers resting just above the curve of your behind. Not even the way he whispered things meant to lure you, to make you pliable.

No.

What infuriated Akaza to the point of violent disgust was what he discovered.

After a brief detour to investigate, he found the truth: The son of a bitch was married. With children. A drunk. A liar. A neglectful, abusive father who let his wife shoulder everything while he chased after single, naive women like you.

Even if the bastard left his wife for you, there was no guarantee he’d stay faithful.

So Akaza watched him for a week, giving him time—perhaps more than he deserved—to make the right choice.

He didn’t.

So Akaza removed him.

Swiftly. Without hesitation. He ended the man’s life as abruptly as the man had entered yours.

He didn’t even eat him. Couldn’t bring himself to. The stench of the man’s moral rot was enough to sour Akaza’s appetite entirely. He left the corpse in a place where the authorities would find it and they did, attributing the death to a drunken bar brawl.

It was better this way.

Only the man’s wife mourned him—and even her grief was short-lived. The children barely reacted. In truth, Akaza had killed worse men, in worse ways. This one barely registered.

He wasn't jealous. Truly. He knew he had no right to be. If you fell in love with a human, got married, lived a full and happy life—he would understand. That’s what was supposed to happen.

You deserved a life with another human being. You deserved a life unaware of monsters.

But Akaza knew men. He understood the difference between admiration and lust. Between genuine affection and twisted longing. And the looks you received? Far too often, they were the latter.

Still… even with that understanding…

He couldn’t help but want you alone.

He wanted you to remain untouched. Unclaimed.

His.

Not because he deserved you. But because he couldn't bear to lose you.

Not again.

But after a few more weeks of watching you—killing the men who meant you harm and barely restraining himself from killing those who treated you with respect—Akaza finally worked up the courage to see you again.

Well… he worked up the courage to be near you.

You didn’t know he was there, though, so he wasn’t sure that counted.

He had entered your house quietly, prying open one of the windows without breaking the glass or making a sound. You had just gotten home, and he didn’t want to disturb you.

Lowering himself onto the wooden floor, he crept through what he realized was your kitchen, carefully avoiding anything that might creak. Then he made his way into the living room, taking special care not to wake the dog.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing.

What was he supposed to say?

It had been three months since he’d first laid eyes on you—since the night he uttered only a single word. And now… now he was sneaking around your house like a thief, like a lunatic.

He didn’t even know what kind of men you liked. All he knew—from eavesdropping—was that you thought most men were... Pretty? Great. Useless information. All that stalking, and this was all he got?

His ears perked at the sound of humming.

His chest tightened. You. You were humming, and it made him feel warm and sick at the same time.

What if you screamed when you saw him? What if you ran?

Would you call the police? Would you think he was some freak, some monster?Of course, he could handle anyone who tried to hurt him. He could kill this entire village and just take you if he wanted.

But... he didn’t want that. Not really.

Would you even give him a chance?

He felt so nervous he thought he might throw up.

He followed the humming silently, crouching low as he entered the hallway. He stopped in front of your door.

It was closed.

He didn’t want to open it—maybe he should have come in through your bedroom window like he usually tried to do.

Still, he couldn’t give up now.

This was the closest he’d ever gotten to you.

He listened to your humming through the door, letting the sound calm him. It was soft. Sweet. Familiar. He didn’t know why you reminded him so much of Koyuki. All he knew was that when he looked at you, he felt closer to her.

Very slowly, he cracked the door open.

Then he ducked back instantly when the humming stopped.

You glanced at the door, puzzled, then seemed to shrug it off. You assumed it was the wind—your doors weren’t exactly sturdy.

You went back to humming, hanging up your kimono before blowing out one of the lamps.

The room dimmed.

It was quiet again. Still.

Then came another breeze—and in an instant, the other lamp went out. You froze.

You tried to tell yourself it was just wind again. Just wind.

But your heart raced, and your palms were clammy.

You peeked around the corner of the room and into the hallway, then scanned your bedroom.

Nothing.

But… hadn’t you just seen something? A silhouette? A flicker of movement in the shadows?

You didn’t sleep that night.

Now, did Akaza run away?

Yes. Yes, he did.

But technically, it was progress.

Sure, Kokushibo would probably scowl and call him pathetic for cowering in fear of a mere woman. But Akaza couldn’t help it.

And make no mistake—he didn’t run because he was afraid. He ran because it was you.

And he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. No matter how embarrassing that was.

He continued watching you from a distance, peeking from your neighbor’s rooftop while silently hyperventilating. He could see the way you were sweating, clutching a pillow like it could protect you—as if smacking an intruder with something that soft would make any difference.

He had almost done it. Almost touched your hand. But he couldn’t bring himself to follow through. What would he even say after that? People don’t just touch each other like that during a first meeting. Right?

Another week passed.

He kept testing himself, sneaking into your house whether you were at work or not. Slowly, inch by inch, he got closer to you. Half the time he was standing in the same room as you, and still—you never saw him.

He didn’t mind.

But one night, he couldn’t take it anymore.

It had been four months since the first time he saw you. And now he needed to hold you. To protect you. To belong to you—or maybe make you belong to him. His thoughts were tangled and dark, and he knew it. Some of the things he imagined… he only thought of them because he was a demon. That had to be the case, he's sure.

You were his. You'd be his until the day you died. Whether you knew it or not... No, that wasn’t enough. He didn’t want you to die. He wanted to make you a demon, bring you into his world, keep you by his side for eternity.

But… he wanted you to want it too.

It wouldn’t be worth it if you only stayed out of fear.

He would hate that.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His chest ached. He might pass out. This was almost as bad as facing Muzan. Which made no sense—you weren’t powerful, you weren’t dangerous. You were just a beautiful human.

So why was he so terrified?

He shook the thoughts away, forcing himself forward. You were already asleep—thankfully. He couldn’t handle the idea of talking to you while awake just yet.

You'd stayed late at work again. By the time he arrived after sundown, you were already curled up under your blanket, snoring softly.

He slid the window open like he always did, careful not to make the wood creak as he stepped inside. Once closed again, the room felt smaller. Warmer.

You were sleeping soundly, your features soft and vulnerable. You were even drooling a little, and it made him want to smile.

But he didn’t.

He stood there for a long while, unsure of what to do. Like always.

Why did he always ask himself that same question?

Maybe he could talk to you like he usually did. Whisper to you while you were sleeping. Maybe tonight… maybe tonight he could kiss your forehead.

You did sleep hard, after all.

Maybe he could take you, make you his—

He caught the thought mid-breath and punched himself in the nose.

Hard.

His neck snapped back slightly with the force, the sound echoing in his skull. His body healed the broken nose instantly, of course, but that wasn’t the point.

He finally decided to sit on the floor beside your bed, sighing quietly.

“I know you never hear me…” he began, voice low. “I suppose the doesn’t matter anyway.”

He paused. The silence settled in again, but somehow it didn’t feel so awful this time. It made the moment feel more real. More like you were actually here with him.

“It’s Akaza…” he continued softly. “Y’know, you’re interesting…”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the edge of the mattress.

"You kind of make me embarrassed. But one day… I want to talk to you normally. I like your painting of me too. I tell you that all the time, don’t I?”

He gave a small laugh, watching you lie there, still as ever.

Until you moved.

Shit.

Akaza flinched, practically airborne as he got ready to leap out the window.

But you were just stretching.

He froze, watching you yawn and roll over, murmuring something into your pillow.

Aw.

You looked like one of those little orange cats he sometimes saw in people’s windowsills, stretching like they'd worked hard for a living.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he muttered, even though you couldn’t hear him. Still, he imagined you might giggle at him if you could.

If he were human, you might treat him normally. He wouldn’t have to sneak around like this just to see you.

Life was strange.

He’d lived a long time. Longer than you could imagine. You’d only been alive for a handful of years. Did that make his obsession wrong?

It didn’t feel wrong.

It felt… right.

You were his Koyuki.

Not literally—but close. So close it ached.

He could barely remember her face anymore. He only remembered that he had loved her. And lost her.

He couldn’t lose you too.

He wouldn’t.

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at your peaceful face. You weren’t her. You were you. But still… so damn perfect.

Even if you never loved him. Even if you hated him.

You were his.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the word barely audible. Not to you—not really. To her.

The apology slipped out from some aching place he couldn’t name.

He moved closer.

Without thinking, he wrapped his arms gently around you, pulling you into a quiet embrace.

You didn’t wake.

By some miracle, you stayed asleep.

He didn’t know why he was so drawn to you. He didn’t know why the past clung to him in this way.

All he knew was that he was holding you now.

And for a moment, it felt like everything he had lost might just return.

It hurt so damn bad. And yet… he couldn’t stop holding on.

He held you as gently as he could, arms wrapped around your sleeping form like he might fall apart if he let go. Was it relief? Was it grief? Maybe it was both. Maybe it was something else entirely. He wasn’t sure.

You reminded him of Koyuki, but it wasn’t just that.

It was you.

He hadn’t felt grief like this in a long time—if ever. Sympathy, maybe. But true grief? Guilt? That had been buried beneath centuries of blood and darkness.

But now… with you, something had cracked.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me… I’m so sorry.”

The words trembled from his mouth, and tears—real, stinging, human tears—fell. One. Then another. He wiped them away quickly before they could touch you, before they soaked into your mattress.

He didn’t want you to feel that part of him. Not even in sleep.

Gently, reluctantly, he let go. And then he slipped away.

He vanished through the window just as quietly as he had come, fleeing into the night air. He couldn’t cry in front of you. He wouldn’t.

He stood outside, breathing heavily, the cool air doing nothing to steady the war inside his chest.

You were the most beautiful woman he’d ever had the honor of being near.

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t have to. He had seen you—truly seen you. He knew how kind you were, how selfless, how stubborn, how strangely soft when you didn’t have to be.

You were his Koyuki.

But also… you were you.

You had to be his. He needed you to be.

So he would protect you. Even if it meant never speaking to you. Even if you never saw him again.

He would be your silent guardian. Your hidden shadow. Your invisible protector.

Maybe—just maybe—that would be enough. Maybe that would make up for the life he had wasted.

Would that atone for the blood on his hands?

He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he deserved redemption anyway.

All he knew was that if you ever looked at him and saw something worth loving, he'd be grateful. If not, he’d still guard you from afar. If he could never summon the courage to stand before you, then he’d hum along to your song from outside the window, keeping time with your voice in the dark.

So… has he won?

That wasn’t really the question, was it?

There was no winning here. No end goal. No perfect outcome.

He hadn’t prepared for this. Hadn’t planned, hadn’t strategized like he would in a fight. He didn’t know the rules. He didn’t even want to win.

They say every small step matters on the way to something greater. That everything needs to fit together perfectly to achieve greatness.

And maybe that used to be true. Maybe strength was his only goal once. But all of that changed the night he saw you. The night you unknowingly stepped into his story.

So no—he hasn’t won. But maybe that was okay. Maybe he didn’t need to win. Maybe he didn’t have to be the strongest anymore.

Who knows?

He sure doesn’t.

All he knows is that this odd, twisted, probably unhealthy love he had for you was the most human thing he’d felt in years.

And that was enough.

[venigni]

Wise venigni I have questions about the dlc ending if you would like to answer them. In the last scene gepetto releases a puppet to kill the two. Is that the NP? Is the NP made up of Carlos real body? Or was it P?

The nameless puppet failed in some way which is why P was created right?

Also there's a letter in the ship in which gepetto talks about having solved the devil's method, the last line is something along the lines of him being shocked by a step he must take. Does that imply he used Carlos body?

Also I saw people refer to Romeo as part puppet. I was under the impression he's fully a puppet with romeos ergo in him like P.

Would love some insight on these questions! I've forgotten a lot of things I think.

Okay, so Nameless Puppet is a LOT, and in light of the DLC a bunch of new discussions surrounding him (and him being one of my favorite characters), I've been meaning to make an entire post on him. Basically, I want to delve into all your questions much deeper, so please stay tuned for that. But here are all the short answers:

In the last scene gepetto releases a puppet to kill the two. Is that the NP? Is the NP made up of Carlos real body? Or was it P?

I'll talk more about this in the post all about NP, but yes, it's highly likely that it's NP, and I outlined why here. As far as we know, P has never been carried in a suitcase in the same way, either.

The nameless puppet failed in some way which is why P was created right?

Correct, the Nameless Puppet was too hateful to be controlled, so P was made in his place. (I'll talk more about this, too!)

Also there's a letter in the ship in which gepetto talks about having solved the devil's method, the last line is something along the lines of him being shocked by a step he must take. Does that imply he used Carlos body?

Geppetto lists the Devil's Method as:

The subject's body must be fresh. (recently deceased)

The container must have a close resemblance to the subject. (looks the same)

The essence acquired must have been produced before death. (had Petrification Disease to crystallize the Ergo)

He then says:

"If this is true, only one element is missing. And it requires a desecration I can't begin to imagine…but must."

For this part, I interpret it as two possible things, and I'm not sure which one he means?

The Arm of God, which was being kept by Valentinus. We see that it's been removed from its case and we know from letters in the base game it was Geppetto who stole it. A desecration is something sacrilegious, ruining something that's seen as holy. The arm was the Alchemists' most sacred object, so stealing it definitely would be a desecration he couldn't begin to imagine, invoking the wrath of the Alchemists.

Enough Ergo to power a strong P-organ, which means killing a ton of people, which means invoking the Puppet Frenzy. Obviously, massacring Krat would also be a desecration difficult to imagine.

He gets both of these 'ingredients' from P in that final scene, so it's hard for me to discern which he means in this diary entry, but I'm leaning towards the Arm of God.

Also I saw people refer to Romeo as part puppet. I was under the impression he's fully a puppet with romeos ergo in him like P.

Human!Romeo's arms were removed by Arlecchino and replaced with puppet ones, but when we meet him as the King of Puppets, he's 100% puppet. We can see all of his puppet joints/limbs, and the paint chipping off his face, etc. There's no human flesh left to him, but we still don't know the circumstances under which he was made into a puppet, how his ego awoke, etc.

[merbear25]

Tinkering

Those who were subjected to their twisted fascination didn’t last long. Thrown away like the broken goods they were. Human flesh was too fragile which was the disappointment that led them to test out the recent bot that caught their eye.

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!reader, inspired by the movie Companion, sex bot, sexual experiments, abrasion, perversion, vaginal and anal penetration, rough sex

Mayuri, Szayelaporro - from Bleach, Caesar - from One Piece

Mayuri: A hunk of metal…there were many things he could test out, but where to start? Perhaps testing your durability with a machine powered sex toy would do. Yes, that seemed to be a good place to begin this one-sided love story. His mind raced back through the countless disappointments prior, but with some new technology to play with there was a bit of optimism in his cruel intentions.

There wasn’t much thought put into the setting behind who you were. Why would there be when your sole purpose was to be a test subject? That being said, he gave extra care to your intelligence. After tossing around the idea, the thought of you having soup for a brain would be uninspiring. He needed you to have your wits about you and be fully aware of what was happening and how it all felt.

Your standard greeting didn’t mean anything to him. He waved it off like an annoying mosquito. “Come with me.” Not offering an extended hand, you didn’t think anything of it—how could you?

“Is there something I can assist you with?” Your curiosity must come with peaked intellect.

“You may be a big help with some…personal projects I have.” He led you down the hall, not once glancing over his shoulder.

“Really? That’s great!” The rise in your tone was peculiar. You supposedly knew everything about him already, so what he had in store wasn’t being kept in the dark from you.

He cocked an eyebrow and smiled to himself. “It should be, otherwise you’ll be used for scrap parts.” There was a chuckle that chilled your metal bones. How intriguing that he could sense a bit of your fear. It was palpable, yet not quite as satisfying as the real thing.

The silence trailing behind him made him sigh. “If you manage to please me, then I may be persuaded to upgrade you. Let that be your motivation when you fear you can no longer handle what I give you.”

His warning came with a half-empty promise. Keeping his interest would be a daunting task that you worried you might not be able to face. It was a blessing and a curse for him to give you the maximum intelligence in your programming: a deeper understanding of love and empathy, but with it came the blade of pain as real to you as anyone else. That was what he was hoping for anyway. He knew it wouldn’t have been as entertaining to practically torture something that couldn’t fully experience such horrors.

Following him into the room, the bleak greys to it resembled more of a dungeon. Although organized, there was an array of different contraptions. Your cheeks turned a shade of pink when you glanced at a toy that looked particularly painful. Averting your eyes, you kept your focus on the ground.

“Strip down.” His cool tone guided your hands to undress yourself. With your clothing falling to the cold stones, your body gave the appearance of a shiver with an eerie absence of any physical proof: no rising hair on the back of your neck or goosebumps to be found.

Your nipples were erect, as if your body was always ready for whenever he called for you. His eyes glanced over your physique, taking a mental note of the realistic approach the designers took towards arousal.

He pulled out a medieval looking object for you to lean over and gave it a few firm pats. “Get on.”

There was no resistance in your movements or facial expression. An order was given and you aimed to satisfy. When you leaned your front over, he promptly strapped your ankles and wrists to the bottom. Adjusting them so that it was suited for restraint more than comfort, he couldn’t help but notice the bit of fun that was taken from the lack of pleading for one’s life.

“Surely you can ‘feel’ this.” He tightened one of the straps to the point it would bruise a normal person.

There was a wince before you choked out your response. “Of, course I can… but I just want to make you happy.” You moved your wrist from the discomfort. He was tightening the strap even more, waiting for you to tell him to stop—but you didn’t.

“Hmph, very well.” When he got up, he didn’t bother loosening the strap for you.

Wheels carrying something heavy came up from behind. You couldn’t see anything, just the floor. He aligned the assumed machine with your hips, the tip of it just barely touching your pussy.

“Just bare with me,” he chimed while the delay hung your fate in the air. With a sudden jolt, you were practically slit open from the sheer force.

Stretching you without any preparation or lube, you were given no choice but to submit to his wishes. Gritting your teeth, you struggled to breath let alone take what felt like cruel and unjust punishment. His eyes scanned over your body, taking in every little shake that was undoubtedly from the machine. Reaching his hand out, he rubbed his thumb against the back of your thighs while inching closer to the trauma in the making. There didn’t appear to be any rips or tears, only giving him more of a reason to push you further.

Shoving the machine closer and upping the speed got more of a reaction out of you than he expected. Your voice sounded like you couldn’t make up your mind: pain, pleasure, a twisted mix of both. However, this was when some of the others became “obsolete”. 

Examining you closely, there were minor appearances of rips in your pussy lips. Gripping the furniture you were bent over to stabilize himself, he tried forcing the contraption deeper. Wanting to see when you would break, needing to hear your strange robotic cries, smiling at the fact you could handle the job: he was undoubtedly impressed. There was so much he could expand upon with you, and your techno shrieks only made him more eager to test you.

Szayelaporro: Upon opening the box, his face scrunched at what was looking back at him. How low he sank to using his talents on this junk wrapped up in plastic—it disgusted him. However, the opportunity to create something even better was just barely outweighing that repulsion. Gripping the wrist, he tugged it out of the box and pushed it onto the chair. 

Your personality—his fingers hesitated slightly, not sure which route to go down. Straightening his posture and exhaling slowly, he gave himself the subject someone as perfect as him deserved. A slight smirk tugged on his lips when your eyes finally met his.

As he leaned down to get a better look at you, your unsuspecting smile made him hum. His thumb gently stroked your cheek, taking note on how lifelike the feel of your skin was.

“Not bad, but I could make a better one,” he whispered to himself. You were almost too human. Imperfect and flawed in appearance, just like those who were ripped and torn under his care.

He inched closer, his nose brushing against your neck. The inhale he took made you giggle. “That tickles.”

“Does it? Interesting…” Not yet pulling back, his lips ghosted the supposed sensitive spot. There were no goosebumps being left in their wake, but perhaps that was something he could use to his advantage.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you let out a long sigh, while he took his time to face you. “Open your eyes.” At his command the eyes that held a generated soul met his. Him taking your hand in his was the only act of affection you would know.

The metal table was cold and unforgiving. Strapped down to it nude, he pried your legs apart all without you being conscious.

“Wake up.”

His voice came from a corner of the room. You couldn't see him, just the lights above glaring at you. “Szayelaporro?” Turning your head from side to side was impossible much like any other freedom being striped away.

The fear in your voice made his eyes roll back. Your manufacturers nailed the distress he was craving, although he’d never admit it.

“I’m here.” He watched your chest rise and fall like all the others before you. “We’re going to have fun. You like having fun with your lover, don’t you?” The change in your demeanor was instantly submissive.

There was a moment of silence until your agreement broke it. “Yes.”

“Remind me how much it means to you to please me.” His toying came with a bit of a thrill. Such a willing victim, and yet one that was blissfully unaware of how poorly you were about to be treated.

“I-I love it so much. I love you so much…”

Fabricated affection but he couldn’t help smiling at it. Opening the drawer as your words of devotion gave a soundtrack, he pulled out his weapon of choice—a thick long crystaled dildo. As he came closer, he trailed the tip of it up your leg. With it reaching your inner thigh, his eyes held onto your expression.

With the tip now teasing between your folds, he leaned in closer. His hot breath bathed your ear. “Don’t be afraid to show me how much it hurts…You know I love that.” He already knew the answer. You were his to do with what he wanted regardless of what you said.

Plunging the dildo deep inside you, he gritted his teeth at the shocked inhale you gave. Rough, relentless, sadistic: he saw you as he well-earned prey. Your body resisted but took everything he had. After having to put up with so many feeble bodies, you were withstanding his force better than they ever did.

The lewd squelching filled the space between you two. Each jiggle from your breasts was tantalizing and so damn alluring. He couldn’t resist the urge to bite you. Your cry matched one of pure ecstasy, one which was warped with the tinge of pain he was delivering. Harder, faster, he needed more.

Your convulsions mimicked everything he was after. His tongue lapped at your nipple, teasing it just a bit more. Whimpers as sweet as candy, your sounds threatened to rot his teeth.

“You can take more.” His lips stretched into a grin against the sensitive flesh. Promptly shoving the dildo deeper, the lodged item remained in your slick slit while he moved onto the next phase.

Forcing you a little closer to him, he positioned himself right below the abused hole. His fingers and palm glistened with lube. Stroking himself, he didn’t want to waste any of it to prepare that tight ass of yours.

A grunt came from him while the rattling of the table sang a somber tune. Your cries of euphoria and agony were manufactured - he never forgot that - but that didn’t put a damper on his enjoyment.

With each unrestrained thrust, the dildo above threatened to pop out. He gazed down at your body and took in how much it resembled a living being—the flaws echoing to mankind as a whole.

“Don’t stop.” Your choked begs pushed him to his breaking point. Leave it to a glorified sex toy to scratch that hard to reach itch. With one final pump, his cum pooled deep inside you.

Huffs and gasps passed his lips. He flipped his bangs back and combed his hand through them as he took a deep, steady breath. There was some fun he could have with you after all, though that wasn’t going to stop him from making a model that was far more superior.

Caesar: He glared at it: the box, the assumed joke someone must have been playing on him. Even after the countless demands thrown at those delivery men to get it out of his sight, their “just following orders” nearly gave him an aneurysm. Crossing his arms in speculation, he tried to guess who this jokester was. They were probably laughing about the look on his face right now, and it made his blood boil.

Carelessly, he grabbed it by the arm and brought it to his face. His eyes scanned down the plain dress the bot came in with an unimpressed scowl. “As if the cost of this thing was worth the prank.”

With doubt of its likeness to a real woman, he tugged off its clothes. The breasts moved realistically with each shake he gave it, making him want to check the other parts too. Even though he was entirely alone, he looked around quickly. Holding the bot upside down, he opened its legs and couldn’t stop the giggle he had. His cheeks flushed a bit at the realization, making him drop it on the floor like a sack of potatoes.

There was a tinge of shame he had while peeking at the instructions. He suppressed it for the time being, letting the repression collect and stir to be released at the right moment. A snorted laugh escaped him at the ridiculous thought of giving you a personality. However, reading more on the different features made the idea of having you fit his personal wants and needs become more and more appealing.

“A love synchronization?” He read aloud with a slight grimace on his face. 

You being linked to him on the fabricated love story option nearly made him give up, but with a bit more thought he justified it to having you be helpless to his commands. After all, love conquers all, even his lack of morality. He chuckled at the absence of freewill that you were programmed with. Whoever designed you had people like him in mind.

Turning back towards the nude robot on the floor, he adjusted the settings appropriately. He plucked it up and sat it on the couch. Hearing it request a face scan for the love sync made him nibble his bottom lip in humiliation. He side-eyed from the judgement coming from no one else besides himself but ultimately caved. In a huff of irritation, he gave into the request.

Snapping back up when it was complete, he tapped his foot as if it would help speed up the downloading process. Finally, the fluttering of your eyes opening to meet him with a sweet greeting took him a moment to digest the situation at hand. You sounded real, you looked real, but did you feel like you were real? 

When you looked down to see you weren’t wearing anything, the natural follow-up question passed your lips. “Why am I naked?” There was a hint of trust in your voice, something that was foreign to him but he couldn’t deny the craving for more.

A mischievous grin stretched across his face. “We were in the middle of some fun, remember?”

Your eyes flickered as if filling in the blanks to a story that never was. “Of course, I remember.” The flirtatious delivery was having more of an effect on him than he cared to admit.

His mind was racing with what he wanted to do first. He had all the time in the world to eventually test out everything, but the options of where he should start seemed endless. That was until he recalled a special feature: an adjustment on your tightness.

As he loomed over you, he half-expected you to refuse him in some way, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. You were his willing little plaything, and he was tempted to play with you until you would break.

Forcing you down on the couch, he couldn’t help but notice the attention to detail on your skin. It was soft and warm, so inviting. After placing the tablet down on the coffee table for impromptu changes, he swiftly tugged himself free from his wretched confinements and spread you open. Slapping his cock against your brand new pussy, he leaned over to set the tightness low enough to sink all the way in.

A shaky groan came from him as you enveloped all of his length so eagerly. Rocking his hips back and forth, he couldn’t deny how lifelike you were. Glancing over at the settings, he couldn’t resist taking it to the other extreme. As soon as his finger swiped the other direction, he clamped his hands down on the couch and let out a high pitched moan. His cheeks flushed red from the embarrassing reaction, but he couldn’t care enough to stop. Weak thrusts in and out of you were paired with his euphoric panting. Clawing at the cushions, he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Clumsily, he went to change your tightness again but accidentally swiped another setting as well, causing you to go completely limp, corpselike even. Entirely under his control—you were exactly what he needed.

Guttural groans were accompanied with the couch legs scraping against the floor. The settings you came with weren’t the only part making this fun. You having no choice but to submit to him entirely was what won him over. He could make you however tight or loose he wanted, lively or dead, and everything in between.

He was so close already, but you whispering sweet praises to him was his undoing. Using you as a dumping ground for his cum, he pumped everything into you as deep as he could. Catching his breath and taking in the mess he made, he chuckled a little.

“What’s so funny?” You asked innocently.

His smile bore into the metal under him. “Just thanking the prankster from earlier.” 

You cocked your head at the reference you couldn’t have possibly understood. That little smile you had had a strange effect on him. Such a simple and kind expression put him on edge a little.

“Go to sleep.” You obeyed instantly, leaving him buried in a motionless sexrobot. Yanking you out from under him, his eyes scanned you in an almost admiring manner. You were a fine piece of equipment, perhaps one he could tweak a little, but impressive nonetheless.

[shannara810]

Just something I've been obsessing over lately 🥲 First time with a Weyler story and I've written it in a hour, so bear it with me please!

And now with the extended edition:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65190646

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Wednesday stormed in her room, Thing on her tail.

She couldn't believe it. Her strategy had been sound, but nothing went as planned.

Rowan. Rowan had almost killed her and she would have been helpless, her death the most foolish and unsatisfactory end in all her family's history had it not been for...

And this made her soul boil even more!

"You know, for a fancy school full of Outcasts these uniforms are quite uncomfortable."

She could already see his smirk in her mind and she hated it. She hated his "I told you so" smiles, the one he reserved just for her every time he succeeded in besting her in their games.

He had saved her tonight - again! - but she would never - NEVER! - give him the satisfaction of being right. She didn't need him here.

Wednesday slowly turned around to look at the owner of the voice.

He was buttoning a shirt cuffs, his chest naked and still wet. The pants he was wearing were a little short on his tall frame and his curls... his curls stood out in all directions resembling a wild, untamed and burning forest. He looked like one of those dark heroes plasted on Enid's YA books and Wednesday hated how she could now compare him to them.

She schooled her expression to give away nothing, but her reaction made his smirk grow even wider.

"I guess you stole them."

"I prefer to say finders keepers." With the last button fastened he approached her, brushing her face with one hand. "Hello, cockroach."

"I didn't need your help." Her reply was hard and fast, like a blade to the heart. It made him chuckle.

In his eyes, she looked like an angry kitten and he fucking loved it. Her frown made her even prettier.

He was not hurt by her tone. He had known how she would react: Wednesday, after all, didn't like to show her human side but she had never learned to hide her emotions from him. His girl was spooked by what had happened in the forest tonight and sooner or later someone was going to pay for that. No one could touch his girl and live.

"Didn't seem like it to me. So, how does it feel like?"

"Feel like?"

"To lose?"

Wednesday recoiled from his warm touch, feeling scorched. His presence was a confusing influence in the dull tedium of her life and she loathed the way it made her... feel. A touch from him and her treacherous body had already forgotten everything around her.

She pushed him away, peeved by his words. He could be more poisonous than a snake when he wanted to be and his sultry tone struck her already bruised ego anew.

"Why are you here?"

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

"A little bird may have told Tante Tish about something strange happening here, so I thought I'd drop by." He tilted his head to the side, pointing at Thing on her dresser.

"Snitch!" The girl hissed.

Wednesday tried to put some distance between them, but he did not allow it.

"I told you to look after Pugsley."

"I don't think Pug will have any problems without us there, mon ange de la nuit." He took her hand. His breath was warm against it, while his full lips left a kiss. "I had a little... chat... with his bullies." He gave her one of his stares, the feral ones which made her blood sing for violence and death. "I missed you."

"Clingy overgrown dog."

His replay was silenced by the arrival of a colored cyclone with blond hair and a shrill voice. "Bestie! What happened? You were gone and..."

Enid stopped in her tracks at the sight before her. Her eyes were so wide open that they were almost comical.

Her grim roomie, her gloomy bestie was in the arms of a dark and unknown boy! An almost naked boy! Did Wednesday have a secret boyfriend she never talked about?! But Enid had thought they were beginning to get close. "Who are you?"

"Hers." He replied with no shame.

"Ohhhh!"

"Stop any absurd thought currently running through your mind, Enid!" Wednesday's angry kitty expression reached new levels of cuteness and the mystery stranger looked totally entranced, almost as her roomie was his sun and stars. Were they having a forbidden affair?

"But..."

"He is just Tyler, my mother's ward. He believed I needed help in solving the mystery of the missing bodies, but he was obviously wrong."

"I thought you didn't like labels, mon cher."

"Shut. Up. Crétin!"

"Love you too, mon ange de la nuit". The boy now known as Tyler replied, unruffled. He waved his hand in Enid's direction, winking at her.

A shiver ran down Wednesday's back, as her life in that hell of school became even more complicated and her plan to run away was officially blown up.

Someone had tried to kill her tonight and she was sure Thing was going to tell her mother everything. She would have to punish him for his betrayal but first thing first, she had to stop her noisy roommate from using her blasted blog and let the truth about her... Tyler being at Nevermore.

Wednesday had never hated her life more.