#but that would be an insult to all monsters out there

[murainhell]

Helluva Boss Spoilers!

The longer it's been since Full Moon was released, the more I think I like the fight. The writing and acting is incredible, they have done a fantastic job.

I know some people have taken my drawing as Blitzo being the one who acted wrong, while my friends think I'm blaming Stolas because I defend Blitzo when they complain about him. But no, I'm not taking sides. They are both wrong and at the same time right and their reactions are perfectly justified. They are two complex characters with complicated traumas that are clashing at the worst time. As a psychologist, I'm loving all of this. 

All of Stolas' opening dialogue is correct. You can tell he's been thinking about it for a long time, practicing, figuring out exactly what he wanted to say. That's great. The only problem is that when you practice a conversation, in your head nobody answers you. There were two possible outcomes, that Blitzo would say yes and they would see what happens after that together, or that he would reject him and there was no longer any reason to continue the conversation.

But Blitzo reacts in a way he didn't expect. Blitzo begs him not to change anything. “I can do better.”

The entire HB team has done a brilliant job of letting us feel Blitzo as a kid saying the same thing to his father. By now he is flooded by his own trauma. He doesn't accept the gift, he wants everything to stay the same. He wants the book, because:

It's something that works for them, it's something that is simple, why change it? Changing it is uncharted territory, and his past relationships have been complicated. But Stolas doesn't really know about those relationships.

Having the book is an excuse to see each other, it's a chain that binds them together as long as Blitzo needs it for his work. It means Stolas won't abandon him, they have a deal. But for Stolas that same tether is unbearable, because he knows what it's like to be tied down in a relationship, he's suffered the effects of that with Stella, and that means he's condemning Blitzo to the same situation, turning him into the monster he feels he is. But Blitzo doesn't really know that.

Believing it's a lie, a role-play, hurts Stolas, but how to blame Blitzo when he believes he's unlovable? He hates himself, how can Stolas be serious?

And I was hurt when Stolas said that for Blitzo it's always about sex... Bird boy, that's all he knows with you. And you know he thinks you're only there for the sex too, he tells you that in S1E7! Use your words to make him understand!!! 

But Stolas believes that everything he is witnessing is the answer. And he gives up. He's saying goodbye... ready to disappear from Blitzo's life, abandoning him when he can't give him what he asks for, when he's not enough. 

The reaction of both is understandable: Blitzo is ready for a fight (his way of communicating), he reacts poorly to the fact that Stolas is sending him out of his life because in the end he's confirming that rich people are like that, he's been a plaything for a while and now he's left behind; Stolas shuts down, he reacts poorly because he's been suffering yelling and hitting things and insults from Stella for years. 

And it breaks my heart. “Just look my way” Stolas, he's doing it. Blitzo is screaming and crying but he's looking at you. He's mad, but you just have to listen to him. Really listen to him. Because Blitzo has every right in the world to be upset, everything he says is true.

Stolas has dropped an emotional bomb on him, one he wasn't prepared for because in his head no one would want that with him. And then, without giving him time to process, to think, he's dismissing him.

He charges his fury at the social rift between them, but it's just that that difference has existed for as long as he can remember. Blitzo was sold to be a playmate for Stolas. Their relationship began within an abuse of power, where Blitzo sells his body for the book. Stolas is privileged enough not to have thought of any of that until now. It's not that he thinks badly of Stolas (although in his eyes, Stolas is confirming it by sending him away, he's a broken toy), it's facts. They need to put them on the table to grow. 

But Stolas is also within his rights not to listen when that's the tone he's using with him. He's using his coping mechanism to endure the fights with Stella. Blitzo is also confirming his worst fears; sending him away, removing that source of emotional damage he's suffering, is understandable, though by doing that he robs Blitzo of the opportunity to choose and make himself heard. 

Still, they needed this fight. Let's face it, they were not at all in a situation to start a serious relationship. They need it to know what they want, spend time without obligations and chains (as free equals) and to have space to have a real conversation. Because they don't talk, they don't have emotionally vulnerable conversations, where they can understand why the other is the way they are. 

I firmly believe they're going to figure it out. I believe in them. But we'll have to wait. In the meantime, don't hate any of them for reacting like complex souls.

Let's be Team Stolitz.

[fallenwhumpee]

I got a prompt I wanna see!

A whumpee who can shapeshift but it's moreso based on their emotions and mental state. I've been dying to see a caretaker walking in on poor whumpee mentally going through it in a monster like form. Does the caretaker know this about whumpee and calm them? Or get scared seeing a monster in whumpees room?

Hope this is entertaining for you to write! :D

Human

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Transformation, nonhuman whumpee, broken bones, unintentional self harm.

One would think Leader was born without emotions. Be it in a normal day or one spent fighting, that face eerily stayed still, and there was nothing, nothing on that face. Not even a twitch.

It drove Caretaker mad.

But now, Caretaker was ashamed. They had thrown up their anger on Leader when Leader was the only reason they were still alive. But Caretaker had been too focused on the people to realise that they were spitting insults at Leader. Insults that made their face red as they thought about.

And Leader looked hurt, the stone face cracking for the first time in ever.

Caretaker felt more and more guilty as they thought about it. They wanted to believe that Leader knew Caretaker wasn't at the best state of mind when they told about those. Leader would understand Caretaker didn't mean any of it.

It took Caretaker a good while to build up courage and get to Leader's door.

"Leader?" Caretaker asked, muttering curses to their meek tone. They leaned closer to the door, not hearing anything. "Leader." They called again. They didn't want to intrude, but they had to get the guilt out of their chest. It sounded too selfish like that, but Caretaker ignored the thought and turned the round doorknob. It was kind of hard to open and different from the rest of the base.

Caretaker was surprised to meet with the pitch black room, their eyes tricking them to see a monster in the room due to not adjusting yet. They reached the switch blindly, turning on the light and... freezing.

The monster wasn't a trick their eyes played.

Now that there a sent any wall blocking the sounds, Caretaker could hear bones breaking.

"Get away," a growl disturbed the sounds, coming out more like a murter than actual words. The pain in the voice shook Caretaker, but Caretaker couldn't answer. Not when they could see Leader on the floor, their hands holding their neck as claws threatened to grow from their hands and digging into their skin.

Caretaker opened their mouth to speak but a weak stutter was all they could get out.

Leader’s body shuddered, muscles expanding with sounds of rubber bands snapping and a thick, white fur growing and disappearing as their skin resisted the change. The growls filled wkth pain were primal, each one causing Caretaker to flinch. They couldn’t move, their legs rooted to the spot by pure fear. The scene was surreal, like something out of a nightmare.

Caretaker now understood why Leader always took the enemy alone.

“Get away!” Leader’s voice was a desperate cry. Their eyes, usually so cold and reserved, now flashed with a mix of fear and anger.

Caretaker forced themselves to breathe, to think. They knew they couldn’t just stand there. Finding logic among their thoughts, they forced themselves to think how they could help. But what could they do against... this?

But Caretaker couldn't back down. “I’m not leaving you,” they said, voice trembling, not even convincing themselves.

The air got thick with the scent of blood and sweat as Leader tried to resist. Their eyes, now a fierce, glowing amber, locked onto Caretaker’s.

“Leave,” Leader howled through gritted teeth, fighting to retain a sliver of humanity. “I can’t…control…”

"No. You won't hurt me," Caretaker muttered as they stepped closer.

Leader's breath hitched, tensing. "It was so close. I could've lost the team."

"But you didn't," Caretaker said as they kneeled in front of Leader. They reached to the big claws and gently removed them from Leader's neck.

"I... I was going to lose the only thing that kept me sane. That kept me... human. You... you were right. I-"

"No, I was wrong, and you did your best."

Leader shuddered, bones beginning to break again as their form began to get more humanoid. "But it was so close. They could have died there and I was useles, weak!" Leader breathed, each word a struggle as they fought against themselves. The raw

“Listen to me, Leader,” Caretaker said, their voice steadier now, despite the fear throttling them. “You’re stronger than this. You’re the reason we’re all still here. And we need you to calm down.”

Leader’s amber eyes blinked, the human behind the beast slowly crawling up to the resurface. “I’m… I’m a danger,” Leader rasped. “I can’t… not after... I'll lose it once I see Whumper."

“Yes, you can,” Caretaker insisted. They tightened their grip on Leader’s clawed hands, refusing to let go. “You won't give them the satisfaction.”

Leader’s growls softened, and the monstrous form slowly gave way to the human figure Caretaker knew so well. Leader’s body trembled violently with the effort, but Caretaker stayed where they were.

Minutes felt like hours, but finally, Leader slowly slumped against the wall, drenched in sweat, entirely human again. Their eyes were closed, their face contorted in pain and exhaustion. Blood was dripping slowly from their neck, but the claw mark was small, as if it was from a cat.

Caretaker let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. They gently brushed the damp hair from Leader’s forehead. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Leader’s eyes fluttered open, the usual stoic mask shattered and replaced by vulnerability. “I’m… sorry,” they whispered, voice hoarse. “I never wanted you to see this. Pain is usually enough to anchor me, but this time, I lost my control.”

"Usually?" Caretaker almost shouted.

"Just... just not now, Caretaker," Leader sighed and closed their eyes again.

Caretaker had to bite their lips to stop themselves from asking. "Okay. Okay, not now. But... but I'm having you in infirmary as motivation to the team, and you are going to give me a lecture about insulting a higher up and acting too emotional. I was scared, and I took my anger out of you. It was wrong and this... is my fault, in a sense."

Leader stood up slowly, their every joint popping. "I'm sure I can do something about that," they said and offered a small smile.

Caretaker decided that they would give world's just to see that smile again.

[sometimesraven]

re: the ableism in Dot and Bubble

I understand it almost certainly wasn't Rusty's intention for the "can't walk without the arrows" thing to be ableist, but the implications are there and it was so, so hard to watch.

As I said while liveblogging, I've noted that reliance on tech like Google Maps has caused a regression in skills like navigation and a frustrating refusal to even try. I'm frequently faced with that fact as I live somewhere you have to use your eyes to see and most fast food delivery drivers just Cannot Find Us bc the GPS goes wild and they can't follow the directions I always give them so I inevitably have to go out to find them myself. Believe me, I know what he was going for with that part of the script.

However.

When you exaggerate that point to the tune of "she literally cannot walk" without the aid, and then instead of it being deeply disturbing to the two 'kind, helpful' characters (Doc n Ruby), they actively roll their eyes at her and it's played as an "omg how stupid is she" moment, you have to see how that looks.

Let's reframe it: someone you've met was raised in a cult. A very insular, very strict cult that they literally have never seen outside of. At this point in time you know nothing about them but you do know they're in a very insular, very closed-off society. One day they tell you they have no idea how to,,,,,, idk, wash themselves without assistance. If your first instinct is to laugh at them and roll your eyes like they're overexaggerating, you're an ableist.

I struggle to believe anyone like the Doctor wouldn't perhaps initially react with confusion/incredulity but then, after realising this person is 100% serious, go "oh my god that's horrible okay uh let me try to walk you through this and teach you how".

It's a horrible, cynical response that would maybe track if at this point the characters already knew she was an entitled pissbaby. But they don't and that's why it comes across so terribly.

Especially when there's no indication that this is a side-effect of her entitlement and she's literally insulting herself "I'm so stupid!" and genuinely upset and frustrated that she can't even walk in the face of actual death. And yes, she miraculously can walk again once she meets Ricky but it wasn't because she was ignoring the Doctor's advice because racism because he had not given her any. She had literally zero clue how to walk without assistance until Ricky guided her.

This isn't a refusal to learn a skill based on entitlement, this isn't a heavy-handed metaphor, you have given this girl a disability (even if it is psychosomatic, it is still a disability). And in a time where social media + youth entitlement is being blamed for an increase of ADHD, Autism, chronic illness and DID diagnosis-seekers (among other things, but those are the ones people are most aggressive against) that just does not look good At All.

Russel could easily have made it so that they just had no idea how to navigate without the bubble and refused to learn.

Maybe at first show it as genuine frustration on Lindy's part that she can't find anything without guidance but slowly show that no, she's perfectly capable, she just doesn't care to learn.

Hell, you could have everything play out the same way but have her genuinely get offered help to begin with by the Doctor and ignore it, only for Ricky to say the same thing to her later and she gets it immediately.

Idk, anything beyond literally disabling her. The show does a great job at humanising her before showing us that she was a monster all along, but I feel like Rusty himself forgot that he was still representing a Whole Entire Person (something that people on all ends of the political spectrum do All The Time: "person is bad therefore [___ism] is okay in this instance". Ableism especially)

[sanaexus]

social's as nagi's girlfriend

-liked by reo.miikage, isaichii and 132.6k others

yourusername: he loves me (i'm lying to myself also all he does is play games but he won't let me go anywhere 😔)

tagged: nagi.seishiro

reo.miikage: he doesn't he loves me (we're both js making fools of ourselves) ↳yourusername: the difference is i can sit on his lap whenever and you can't ↳reo.miikage: girl stfu i legit carry your boyfie around ↳yourusername: boy don't be seen talking when i'm the one who he fucks every night ↳chigi.who: b y e . ↳hiyori: WHAT THE FUCK?? ↳isaichii: is that why he's always tired at soccer practice? ↳yourusername: idk don't ask me ↳mikka.kaiser: FOR THE LAST DAMN TIME IT'S FOOTBALL. YOU WANNA BE AMERICAN SO BAD GO GUN DOWN A BUILDING OR SOMETHING ↳alexis.ness: that was rude ↳mikka.kaiser: oh i don't care ↳nagi.seishiro: stop spamming the fuck?

user1: came here to see y/n content not some 6'3 prodigy man child who considers breathing a hassle ↳nagi.seishiro: it is ↳user2: girl??? ↳yourusername: mb 😔😔

julian.loki: minecraft's mid roblox better ↳user3: never in a million year would i have imagined julian loki saying that ↳yourusername: YOU LEGIT SCAM AND E-DATE KIDS IN BROOKHAVEN TFYM (come play dress to impress w me pls) ↳julian.loki: IT'S THEIR FUCKING FAULT THEY KEEP THE HOUSE UNLOCKED OFC I'LL STEAR THEIR MONEY (omw)

megubachi: SHOES IN THE HOUSE???? ↳shoei.barou: disgusting ↳yourusername: I'M SORRY ↳yourusername: barou is like the levi of bluelock except taller and he didn't lose an eye and two fingers ↳karasu_tabito: DO YOU HAVE TO REMIND ME? LIKE SOME PEOPLE ARE TRY MOVE ON OVER HERE ↳nagi.seishiro: she cried about it for like 4 months ↳yourusername: SHUT UP I DIDNR ↳eita.otoya: HAHA NO BALLS ↳yourusername: SUCK MY DICK BITCH ↳eita.otoya: YOU DON'T HAVE ONE?? ↳yourusername: SAYS WHO? ↳shiidoryu: ILL VOUCH FOR YOU IF YOU SHOW ME YOUR COCK ↳yourusername: BET ↳shiidoryu: Y/N HAS A 9 INCH DICK nagi.seishiro: you weren't complaining 5 minutes ago :x ↳yourusername: STFU SROp ↳nagi.seishiro: anw come back you're warm and human and better than a hoodie ↳yourusername: tfym human?? ↳nagi.seishiro: idk js come

-liked by reo.miikage, itoshi_sae and 121.5k others

yourusername: no bc the one time we go outside for a date it has to be an arcade

tagged: nagi.seishiro

reo.miikage: sigh i guess we'll always be second to games ↳yourusername: TFYM "WE" BRO IT'S ME NOT U ↳reo.miikage: HE'S MY BESTFRIEND?? ↳yourusername: HE'S MY BOYFRIEND??

nagi.seishiro: yeah but i got you all the prizes you wanted ↳yourusername: yeah and i'm gonna go hug mr.masha instead of you bc he actually pays attention to me ↳nagi.seishiro: sigh i'm coming over

karasu_tabito: wtf was bro doing ↳yourusername: idk he prolly js felt silly and bachira's monster came over him ↳megubachi: my monster didn't like that ↳yourusername: tell him i'll give him kisses ↳nagi.seishiro: no you won't ↳yourusername: rudeee

kuniisuke: bigger question is how did y/n manage to drag him out ↳yourusername: don't ask me how i did i js did it was hard ↳eita.otoya: isn't that some tiktok audio ↳yourusername: yes and? ↳megubachi: SAY THAT SHIT W YOUR CHEST AND ↳megubachi: oh wait we aren't doing that this time?

shiidoryu: biggest question is did y/n win anything by herself? ↳nagi.seishiro: no ↳reo.miikage: nope ↳isaichii: no way ↳rin.itoshi: no ↳itoshi_sae: no ↳shoei.barou: no ↳nikkoki: nah ↳karasu_tabito: not happening ↳eita.otoya: nuh uh ↳mikka.kaiser: not in this lifetime ↳yourusername: Y'ALL ARE SO RUDE WOW BYE I'M GONNA GO CRY TO ANRI AB THIS 🤬🤬🤬

user4: my roman empire is that rin, sae and barou the people who barely use social media still frequently interact with y/n posts (mostly to insult her) ↳yourusernames: haters gon hate 💔💔

nagi.seishiro: her being very pretty makes up for the fact she didn't win anything (i wasn't held at gunpoint) ↳reo.miikage: blink twice if you need head ↳yourusername: ?? ↳hiyori: ????? BEO ↳reo.miikage: oops i meant help

-liked by nikkoki, kuniisuke and 198.6k others

yourusername: woahh my boyfriend can kick a ball (he's so cool) anw i forced them to make that heart

tagged: nagi.seishiro

isaichii: i don't know what the fuck you did to motivate that man but pls do it again ↳yourusername: I DIDNT DO ANYTHING?? ↳nagi.seishiro: promised me kisses ↳yourusername: that wasn't me that was either reo or your side chick ↳chigi.who: nah he's too lazy to have a side chick it'll prolly be a "hassle" to keep her a secret ↳user4: LMFAO ↳reo.miikage: I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING I THINK I'D REMEMBER PROMISING MY BESTFRIEND KISSES?? ↳nikkoki: you're saying bestfriend as if you don't drool over him

shoei.barou: never let y/n come to a match again making that heart was harder than the fucking match ↳rin.itoshi: the next time i see her she better run. ↳eita.otoya: that shit fucking hurt. ↳nagi.seishiro: it was such a hassle ↳isaichii: loved the winning hated the "celebration" ↳megubachi: IT WASN'T THAT BADD ↳chigi.who: GIRL THAT SHIT NEARLY BROKE MY KNEE ↳yourusername: can you even break a knee though? ↳yourusername: EXACTLY BACHIRA GETS ME IT WASN'T THAT BAD IT WAS MAKING A HEART YALL CAN PLAY A 90 MINUTE MATCH BUT NOT MAKE A HEARt????

nagi.seishiro: you look pretty cheering me on ↳yourusername: bye ily ↳nagi.seishiro: i love you more

i forgot oliver existed so im gonna add him from now

[daemon-in-my-head]

I'll never be over Sally calling her own son a dreadful child or saying she should've ended him before he was even born. I don't give a single flying fuck about the crimes he's committed (at least in this context). Nobody should talk about their child like that. And you know this absolutely vile woman probably told him this and much worse shit straight to his face. She said all that shit to a small kid that was presumably still innocent at that point. Aka, she most likely told her child it would be better if he were dead. Aka, she told her kid to kill himself. A FUCKING CHILD. And thx to the Belladonna lying around in their kitchen, I'm still convinced she tried to kill Gortash once he came back.

'Sold him cuz they needed money' my ass. You made your own kid, the person you were supposed to protect, pay for your own fuck ups and debts and mistakes and send him straight to hell. LITERALLY. FOR SOMETHING HE HAD NO FAULT IN. AND THEN THIS THING HAD THE AUDACITY TO TRY ND KILL HIM.

The absolute hatred and disgust I have for this fictional woman. I despise Bhaals A+ parenting, but this woman is worse than the fucking lord of murder. Imagine being more loathsome than an evil deity whose whole bit is goddamm murder and death. I swear to fucking god-

[mokeonn]

I think that the 2010's media landscape of Buzzfeed articles about plotholes in disney movies, Cinemasins critiques, and Watchmojo Top Ten scenes in movies that make no sense has truely ruined a lot of media. People are afraid that their work will be torn down if they dare leave a single thing up in the air, if they dare ask their audience to suspend their disbelief.

All too often nowadays I see stories (especially fantasy), take the time to explain how every small aspect of the world works and how it all logically makes sense. The constant time stopped to explain why an event happened, how this object works, or why this is important to the characters. It's just really not needed and it honestly makes a lot of stories worse.

I am of the opinion that the best stories truly just drop you into their world and explain nothing. They just take you through the story of this world and you just have to accept it and continue on. "When he became king, the land became barren." I don't want the story to stop and explain why this is, or how it happened, I want us to move on so we can just assume that the king has such rancid vibes that everything died.

[journey-to-the-attic]

I get the feeling that Satan would simultaneously be both intimidated and fascinated by it. It would probably be easy for him to use IK's odd abilities to help prank his brothers, purely because she just does it because it's normal to her and she doesn't see anything odd about it.

Not sure if Noctifer would approve of it though.

Also, I believe that IK should have Wirebugs with her when she gets to the Devildom. You know, as a treat, that may or may not freak out/startle/confuse the others even more.

There's a number of uses for Wirebugs but they're basiacally bugs that can be used as mini grappling hooks without needing to touch an actual surface, although the range isn't very long. Plus they can also be used to hang in the air and with special attacks for the different weapon types.

satan gets ik to put on some kind of horrific monster costume, tells lucifer to look out his window, then gets ik to sprint up the wall full speed at him. it works and lucifer has an absolute heart attack (he doesn't scream but he does go "WH-" and fully fall backwards). then satan gets grounded but it's so worth it

lucifer did intend on telling ik off as well but noctifer WILL spend an hour arguing that she was just going along with what satan told her to do without realising his motive, so actually she did NOTHING wrong and you should shut up. lucifer's too tired to retaliate (noctifer has the advantage of not spending most of his energy on paperwork) so he just agrees

as for the wirebugs.... ik uses them in conjunction with her ability to just defy gravity and end up in the most inexplicable places. diavolo has found her dangling from various points on the castle roof on multiple occasions. she's like a super fast moth to the students of rad, with the way she just zips around the ceilings

[aspiringnexu]

Just finished Rings of Power and there’s a lot I can say. Liked some of it. Disliked some of it. It got me back into Middle-Earth (like I ever really left, some part of me is always there, but like the Star Wars sequel trilogy (which I despise with no remorse) it kind of revived general interest and gave me something new to see in a world I love so much) so I am inclined to give it a chance but overall a mixed bag. I love the books, I love the movies, there was some stuff that should definitely have been changed (or left out) in the series but other than that I liked it. (And if you disagree, good for you)

But what got me in the finale was the misunderstanding. Those cult... lady... things- whatever they are. Them mistaking the Istar for Sauron. That is fucking gold. If he ever finds out what they did he is going to be so offended. The very idea that he, Sauron, would look like a bedraggled, bearded hermit. The gall. The insult. He is Sauron! The bitch who gave himself so many pretty names because everyone else called him Mr Stinky. The right-hand Maia to Morgoth himself. He may not have shown himself in the guise of Annatar in the show (something I mourn because I would dearly like to see a live-action slutty twink Sauron helping poor flustered Celebrimbor make the rings before using him as a banner) but Halbrand is an attractive human form. If there’s one thing Sauron values, it is his own vanity.

And they thought he was the hermit in rags.

He’s going to be fucking furious.

[halfricanloveyou]

i'm sure you've had other people telling you this but dream didn't make c!techno. technoblade made c!techno, and by dunking on c!techno's creator you are, in fact, dunking on a wonderful man who died from cancer at age 23 - not exactly a good look, imo.

a. do you really think dream magically became racist overnight and his friends were somehow COMPLETELY unaware of that fact until a twitter call out?

b. just straight up not gonna discuss either how all his fellow streamers didn’t leave until his racism blew up on twitter? probably due to revenue loss if they didn’t?

c. it’s sad to hear that he passed away very young but i did not say anything to indicate that i was making fun of his death. obviously that was not the point of the post and if that’s your take away then that’s a you problem.

d. i didn’t ask your for your opinion and i don’t care about it. tho i did explicitly say ‘correct me if i’m wrong.’ here’s the thing tho: everywhere, ESPECIALLY on tumblr, dreamSMP fans have continually lashed out at anyone who brings up racism in relation to it. i did say ‘correct me if i’m wrong,’ but after thinking about it more in-depth…i still stand by what i said due to points a and b. i did get the white youtubers mixed up but it’s still a pattern with these content creators. it has been in the gaming community for a long time.

[daydreamerdrew]

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #253

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons

I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere

You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”

Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he’s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”

He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.

The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."

Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.

"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."

As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.

"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"

He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.

The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.

He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.

"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."

He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.

He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.

Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.

The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.

He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.

After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.

His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.

[gremlingottoosilly]

The recruits bully octo baby 😭

I feel like since the baby looks like könig, it’s there way of making fun of könig without being throttled

Like on the off days that reader is out and about with octo baby in her sling and here are all these buff men suddenly circling her and making fun of the baby.

“Damn that’s an ugly baby.”

“Imagine having to go through the pain of pregnancies only to have THAT thing come out of you.”

“You think that’s how the colonel looked like as a baby? No wonder he had to kidnap his wife”

They’re all cackling to themselves as reader just scowls at them, hugging her baby close to her and power walking out of there. I can imagine octo baby looking over her shoulder, staring at them with his feelings hurt: 🥺

Yes! The monster society is literally built on valuing only strength and power, so the weird octobaby won't get any privileges even if it's the colonel's child. If anything, poor thing gets ridiculed even more - with how powerful his father is and how pathetic the octobaby are, it's impossible to escape crude jokes. You hate being around his recruits because of this - they are treating your child like its some crusty dusty ugly dog and not a precious baby that might have a bit of grotesquely mixed features of octopus and a human...you still love it!! You actually stopped going out because of it - whenever you're walking around the base without Konig, it would only lead to soldiers discussing you and your life as a pet and how weird it must be to give birth to such ugly creature. Konig is surprised that you're more homebound now, since you were the one to whine and cry whenever he didn't want to let you go out...and now you ask him to just be in your nest?? With you?? Something is wrong, you look unhappy and angry all the time - and it would be normal if he was the reason for this, but no, he was actually on his best behavior lately. You don't want to share what recruits are talking about because you think he would just take their side - he doesn't like the weird octobaby and you know this, so it's better to not even suggest he'd talk to them...but then you break down anyway because you're scared the octobaby is going to get hurt(( and Konig doesn't understand the issues at first, but then he hears all the stuff that the recruits have been telling you - and it's almost a direct attack at him, for insulting his mate and his baby. His soldiers are making you cry!! He couldn't care less about the baby, but he doesn't want his precious mate so sad. Needless to say that some of the most loud recruits are not returning from patrols...and when you're strolling through the hallways now, no one dares to even look at you or the baby.

[weebsinstash]

Sitting here watching that clip of Valentino with that demon girl going "you're gorgeous! Do you need a job? 🥰" and started thinking of Val either intentionally or unintentionally making Reader feel massively insecure and ugly and Val using that to manipulate them

I've mentioned "oh what if your job is serving him drinks at his club" but what if he also starts dragging you along when he goes out like some kind of weird PA. Like he's just throwing random bills at you that he clearly isn't counting like it's pocket change in a very "yeah sure whatever just do it bitch" kind of way so you put up with it, it's good income, but it's still... WEIRD. He's going to get his antenna done at the salon, and you're like. Having to STAND THERE beside his chair, you're not even in the lobby waiting room, you've gotta be WITH HIM, and you just get all these windows into his cunty personality where he's spoiled and mean to service workers and is a total fucking diva and it's extremely off-putting I'm sure

He's in a night club hitting on people whose bodies are absolutely insane like I'm talking GYATT city, ass and titties, you've got twunks and you've got hunks, and you're like, in sneakers, off to the side, head down playing games on your phone since you can't even put earbuds in because you unfortunately have to keep an ear open since he'll order YOU to bring drinks, not just for him, but for these complete strangers who don't even work for him too, AND he'll let them be fucking mean to you. You bring some bubble butt twink who's on Val's arm the daiquiri he asked for and he gives you a very clear look up and down before laughing, cuddling up to Val, "yeah I can SEE you need new employees 😋" and they all laugh Including Fucking Valentino

I dunno, I'm on the fence. It really changes with the story. You get the yandere who are obsessive but more abusive-adjacent and then you have the more true-blooded kind that won't accept any slander of you at all. Like can you imagine Valentino's smile just dropping off his face because some chick like, tells you you have cellulite or even something MILD like your mascara is bad or idk what are, male insults.... you have a flat ass??? And Valentino just instantly shoves them away "okay you're done bye, let the door hit you on the way out 🤭"

But today we're talking about angst and feeling fucking miserable so. Over time it just, makes you feel so horrible about yourself to go to these nightclubs. It isn't even about fucking Valentino, it's about how you're sitting here watching everyone EXCEPT YOU receive all this fawning and compliments and attention, even if Val is faking some of it just to lure in more workers. You see a girl who has the perfect skin and you run fingers over an ice pick scar on your cheek, male reader sees a guy who's tall but muscular with nice facial hair and you feel your own baby face and smaller build, there are people thinner than you, curvier than you, stronger than you, smarter than you, and you watch all of them get called gorgeous and beautiful and handsome and sexy and you're just the fucking dweeb who gets teased, mocked, BULLIED

One night Valentino is sitting there talking to another girl, "oh my gosh, honey, I would TOTALLY do body shots off of you. Hey, can we get some shots over here? .... helllooooo, I SAID can we get some shots? ...bitch if you make me repeat myself again--" and he looks over and you're not even there. It's like ice. Suddenly without warning you're not there and he doesn't know what to do because you're ALWAYS there and whenever you're not it's because he LETS YOU leave??? Like??? He's immediately standing up even if it knocks away the people hanging off of him and he's looking around, "you BETTER be in the fucking bathroom--"

And over the crowd of people he sees you on the opposite end of the club, as if you were actively trying to put as much distance between you two as possible, and you're with a guy, some big furry monster boy, and you laugh with a big smile and Valentino GRINDS his teeth as he realizes it's been ages since you laughed around him, let alone at anything HE'S said, and you're actually drinking with this guy where you would always be way too stiff and cautious around Val (although he also really wouldn't let you drink anyways, being more of a waiter when you're 'on the clock')

Obsessed with the idea of Val making Reader carry around combs and brushes to comb his antenna/fur and Val sees you using them on another guy. like I think he'd go absolutely violently fucking crazy honestly because 1. Those are HIS and he is a bougie Gucci material man like those are high quality things being used on some RANDO 2. Those are for HIM, you're using them on someone ELSE 3. The person using them on someone else is YOU, YOU'RE brushing another man, YOU'RE cuddling another man like some kind of UNGRATEFUL WHORE--

When I say you suddenly look up and you're being GRABBED, HAULED UP to your feet by your arm, grip on you so tight it's ready to fucking bruise, and Val just shoots this guy in the head, like cartoonishly powerful gun just splatters the dudes head from what should have been just a single bullet hole I'm sure. You're like vaguely traumatized and trying to tell yourself the man will regenerate and be fine but now Valentino's got a gun in his hand and he's furious and you just start CRYING. He doesn't even CARE about the people he was flirting with anymore, if he has any employees in the club with him he doesn't even call out that it's time to go, he just starts DRAGGING YOU to the limo and will just LEAVE EVERYONE there because he's in such a rage, also, have you guys seen the posts where people point out there are moth squeaking effects when he speaks sometimes. So he's just fucking mad, voice cracking, shouting, squeaking, and i think it'd be funny if he spends like 15 minutes screaming about THE GUY while he has you like all but glued to his lap on the ride home and doesn't say a single thing about what you did. Just manic ranting on his phone as he HAS to call Vox, "oh my god you wouldn't FUCKING BELIEVE what this piece of shit did in front of me, the ugliest fucking guy I've ever seen was--" and you're like trembling wondering when he's going to pivot and realize like, you were also. Intentionally willingly sitting with that guy.

But he doesn't even like. Acknowledge it that way. He just keeps ranting about the guy touching something that doesn't belong to him, he's gotta replace all his fucking combs now, oh my GOD Vox like SERIOUSLY-- and then it's probably Vox that's like, with a disinterested voice, "sooooo.... WHICH whore did this happen to again???" And Valentino without hesitating just straight up says your name, "the nerdy one, you KNOW which one I'm talking about"

And that's when you just start to blubber cause you're tired and you're tipsy and you're mentally worn down, "oh OF COURSE I'm 'the nerdy one'!! You drag me all over the fucking place and I never get any time to myself and I have to WATCH everyone ELSE have fun, and when I finally find someone who calls ME cute, calls ME pretty, you fucking SHOOT HIM!" and you're just, face in your hands crying and you can't see it as Valentino GRINS like some fucking MONSTER because, "Aw, pobrecita, is that what this is about? You're lonely? ❤️w❤️"

And you're just mad and crying and pouting and you're telling him to go fuck himself and actually starting to get a little mouthy and have an attitude with him and he doesn't even care because how upset you're getting is going right to his head. even if you don't want to, you're jealous of him giving other people attention instead of you, and now he's watching you get all upset and sniffly over it and he's so full of himself, this makes him feel so powerful that he's reduced you to this insecure bawling state, and he's rubbing your shoulders, "awwww, don't cry mami, you should've told me you were wanting some 'attention'"

At this point you could be literally slapping his hands away but he's gonna keep pulling you close to him on purpose and NOW, now he's laying on all the fucking compliments, stroking the tops of your thighs. He knows exactly what scent you're using in your hair. Oh, you're wearing the nail polish you bought during one of your first months here; he's always liked this color on you. He's commenting and bringing up things you didn't expect him to notice let alone remember about you and... you're just so weak to it.... you're lonely... and he's here... and maybe it's the smoke or his cologne or what but he smells so good, he's so close, your head feels a little funny--

The rest of your night blurs together after that, but when you wake up, you're not at your place, or the studio, or anywhere you mildly recognize. You're in a bed way too big for someone your size, and you're especially not used to SOMEONE ELSE BEING IN IT WITH YOU. Val just has you caged in all of his arms and is passed out drooling in a post alcohol, post drug, post fuckathon coma, and you can FEEL in your muscles and in your body that you two were up to some wiiiiiild shit together.

IF you may manage to sneak out of V Tower without being stopped or caught, it won't make hin suddenly forget all the things you told him, or him now knowing how it feels to have your hands on his body, or how it looks to have your big sad wet eyes looking up at him and then sparkling with one of his compliments. Usually he WANTS bitches to be gone when he wakes up but, this time? When those eyes open and you're not there? Instantly feeling rejected, mad, irritated, he can't exactly identify why, he's just MAD you ran off without telling him and he's instantly blowing up your line to figure out where you are, and now you have become a recipient of The Voice-mails

"Heeeeeeey, baby, so, it's so funny but I just woke up and I can't find you in the tower? Did you run off to get breakfast somewhere? You KNOW you shouldn't run off without telling me first; I need you to come on back here ❤️"

"-- so answer your phone you fucking SLUT!! You better not be with another fucking guy, or I swear to fucking GOD--"

"--It just stresses me out that there are so many different kinds of people down here, I worry someone might hurt you, amorcito. I can't help protect you if I'm not there, soooooo, why don't you just, tell me where you are--"

"Is this fucking funny for you, you cunt?! You get all worked up about how PATHETIC AND SAD you are and then leave me? Leave ME? ME?! You're LUCKY i even TOUCHED YOU AT ALL--"

"Heeeeeeey, oh my gosh so this is so funny ummmm, Vox just let me know that Velvette borrowed you for something, soooooooooo, please don't listen to any of those other voicemails, ok? You know how CRAZY you make me, right? Don't forget you have a shift tonight, and if you even think about not showing up, I have some hellhounds that know your scent already and they'll drag you back here by your hair, sooooo, see you later love you byeeeeee ❤️"

[spidernuggets]

Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhjtjfiadhus my brain just said how Jason would react to his S/O kissing down his chest, but specifically kissing down his y incision. He might hate it. It might turn him on. My brain is going feral and I need it—

Somewhere in the middle of your relationship, where Jason was getting comfortable being more open with you, he allowed you to see and touch his scars. Obviously, it took him a long while for himself to accept that these scars are permanently on him, in contrast to you immediately accepting every inch of him the moment he revealed his bare skin to you.

It took a longer while for him to let you lightly graze your fingers along his scars. And when the two of you began to become sexually intimate with each other, he'd guide your hands as to where he's okay with you touching.

You really didn't mean to trigger him when you were straddling his lap with your hands resting along his jaw, initiating a long and slow make-out session with him, who was shirtless, on your couch. Then your hands went down to hold his neck, your lips following suit.

You were just too in the moment when your kisses quickly moved to where his large autopsy scar started.

That's when Jason jolted with a big flinch, his reflexes making his hands move from your waist to your shoulders, pushing you back, harder than he'd meant to.

He stutters a quiet string of apologies, lifting you off his lap and walking to your shared bedroom in a hurry. A pang of guilt slapped you in the face, immediately regretting to contain your neediness.

You wanted to follow him to apologise, but you knew he needed some time alone. So you stayed on the couch, continuously picturing the horrified look on his face. You wanted to cry, but it wasn't about you. It was about Jason. You knew his boundaries, and you crossed them.

A few hours in, you were still on a couch, now with a cup of lukewarm coffee in your hands, patiently waiting for Jason to come out so you can apologise.

So when you heard the creak of the door opening, your posture straightened and put the coffee onto the table in front of you.

You waited for Jason to say something as he sat beside you, now with a long sleeved shirt on.

"I'm sor-" You quickly cut off his apology.

"Don't you dare say that, Jay. It was my fault. I knew where you drew the line and- and I crossed that line. I didn't mean to- I really didn't, I just-"

It was Jason's turn to interrupt you as he gently took hold of your chin, locking your lips with yours.

"I forgive you," he mumbles through the tender kiss.

A month or two later, when you entered the front door after a long day of a morning shift at work, you heard a bang coming from the bedroom in which you quickly ran towards it, only thinking of the worst that could happen with Jason.

When you opened the door, a trashed room was revealed. Clothes dishevelled on the floor, the knick knacks from your windowsill were knocked over, and the full-length mirror was slightly cracked.

Standing in front of the mirror, Jason stood, only in his boxers, his face was red, his nose was runny, and his eyes were bloodshot. But what stood out the most were the red lines over his body, particularly over his scars, to what you assumed were harsh scratch lines, coming from his own fingertips.

You dropped all your things and took one step forward, testing to see if he's let you come into close contact with him, which he usually doesn't. This case, it might've been serious because he whimpers your name, failing an attempt of trying to reach out to you as his hands just fall limp to his sides.

You quickly rush over to him, holding his face in your hands, wiping away his thick, salty tears.

You can hear the barely audible whispers of self insults from him. "I'm hideous." "I'm a monster." "How could you love me?"

You shsuh him by gently pushing your lips to his dry ones. You then ask a "Can I?" In a hush whisper, referring if you can touch his scars.

In hesitancy, he nods a slow yes. You start off easy. With his hands. A long scar that went over his hand, just stopping at the wrist. You gave it a kiss. Followed by the scar next to it. You do the same with his other hand.

Slowly, you finish kissing the scars that cover his arms. You do the same to the ones scattered all over his body. His knees, his thighs, his calves, his spine, his lower back, his shoulders.

You saved the big and most obvious one for last. His autopsy scar. Before your lips came into contact, you started with your fingers. You traced the Y shaped burden, drawing a few imaginary hearts and stars here and there.

The only thing stopping Jason from proposing to yoh right now was the lack of a garnet ring. He absolutely adored you, thinking how an angel like you can even love, let alone touch someone like him.

He then broke down, more tears cascading his face when the first kiss landed on the right side of his chest. But this time, he didn't push you away. When you looked up to see if you could continue, he gave you a slight nod. You gave him a small smile and continued your journey down his torso.

For the first time in an incredibly long while, probably since he first got adopted and became Robin, he felt loved. He felt wanted. And that was all you.

You lifted yourself back up. Jason's tears had dried. You lean your forhead to his. You whisper to him how much you love him. How much he means to you. How much he deserves to be loved.

And from that moment, Jason let you love all of him. He let you look at him, and he let you touch him. And from that moment, little by little, Jason started to love himself too.

It was another while before yoh and Jason initiated more sexual advances. But when you did, it was back on the couch, back to you straddling his lap, back to him shirtless and back to a slow make-out session.

It was back to your lips trailing down his jaw and onto his chest. When your lips touched his autopsy scar, you could've sworn on your mother's grave that you heard a whine out of him.

You looked up and saw his head thrown back, as well as his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Your suspicions were confirmed when he whimpered a "Please, baby. Please, give me more," in which you happily complied.

Your kissing travelled every inch of the large scar, including smaller ones scattered along his waist, meeting up to the messy, black happy trail that led to his waistband.

[unhauntng]

the first iteration of the dream team is so funny.

imagine youre a regular new yorker and you’re being attacked by santas or bugs or devils at an art show and things are weird but you also can’t quite tell what’s actually happening (got to love umbral arcana) ? but you’re scared out of your mind until a drunk lady punches the scary monster in the face and the guy who’s clearly a drug dealer starts blasting fire out of his hands?? maybe he’s got a lighter and some hairspray, though he’s also holding a gun? and then a very nice and serious older guy is keeping everything calm and encouraging his friends and you think everything is going to be okay, especially because this nice sweet firefighter is making sure everyone’s safe. and you think he looks like mr march from the calendar!

then a massive rat man summons some crocodiles or a pack of rats or a cockroach that is unusually juicy and then broadway legend misty moore literally insults a monster to death whilst indiscriminately flirting with her friends.

and when it’s all over they’re acting like this is business as usual. and maybe you’re confused for like three minutes until you remember this is new york — who else would save you but a broadway star, a rat, a firefighter, a drug dealer, an alcoholic and kingston brown from uptown who helped you jumpstart your car three months ago

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 1.5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: There is a little, annoying human trapped in this bay with him. And he's going to eat them. (Vil's POV)

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3]

There was a little, raggedy human staring up at him from the sand, and Vil had never felt so miserably persecuted in all his years.

The thing had been bound to him in a mess of ropes and frantic, bipedal flailing, and he’d honestly thought that it had drowned. Hoped that it had drowned. But no, apparently he couldn’t be quite so lucky. None of his pod’s raids had ever gone so terribly, and normally he was better able to keep his head about him. But it had been Epel’s first attempt at sneaking on board one of the grand, creaking, human vessels, and maybe he’d been a touch concerned about it. Like a fretting parent sending their guppy off to the deep for their first solo-swim. And perhaps he’d struck a bit too quick and sharp when he saw things headed South. Not taking the normal care he would to assess for traps, or weapons, or stupid humans and their equally stupid, fraying ropes.  

But none of that mattered. It was hardly a crime to want to protect your family. It had happened, that was the end of it. There was no changing things. And now he was here. In this cove. With that thing.

You pedaled backward in the sand like those two legs of yours hardly worked at all, and even though it looked like you were retreating (rightfully so, at least you were smart enough to realize this was a lost battle), Vil still bared his teeth in a challenge. Because he was angry, and sore, and at the moment you were the cause of every, single one of his problems in the world. He tossed his tail in the surf, splattering stinging bits of ice water into your face.

“Stop! Stop!” you squawked, wheeling away like he was dousing you in acid rain rather than a bit of pissy water warfare. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

“Of course you weren’t,” he spat. “From the looks of you, you don’t plan much of anything at all.”

You didn’t respond to his scathing insult, only kept scooting yourself back against the sand on legs that still apparently refused to work. Or maybe you’d simply forgotten about them. You seemed like you could be the type.

He ground his talons into the damp sand at his hips and felt the ridges of the fins along his spine prickling tight and painful, trying to puff out in a predatory display that they simply couldn’t because he was still bound in the godforsaken rope.

“I don’t know what your little plan was,” he hissed, “but you’ve done both of us a disservice. And while I’m sure you’re used to disappointment, I am not going to tolerate this.”

More silence. You looked—not confused, per se. But definitely not particularly keen on following his very justified rant against your person. Your gaze kept darting from his vicious glare, to his claws digging up the shoreline, and then to his lips. He could see your own mouth moving a bit alongside his, like you were trying to echo the shape of the insults flying off his tongue.

“Listen here, you fleshy rat,” he snapped, jabbing a black talon in your direction. “You’re going to tell me the course that your ridiculous ship had set so that I can return to my pod at once. Do you understand? And if you’re lucky, I won’t crawl my way up there to bite off your fingers one by one. How’s that sound?”

You blinked back at him with no comprehension, like his marvelous depiction of having your bones gnawed on for snacks just wasn’t a vivid enough picture.

The rage in his chest bubbled bright and hot, and the age-old magics in his veins zipped through his blood like a stroke of lightening.

Insolent brat.

Fine. He’d make you listen then.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you said, and oh, you were a nuisance. He was going to rip your nerves out from the depths of your useless, human limbs. Feast on your bones until the marrow had been picked clean and leave the scraps for the gulls—

He parted his lips and sang loud and sharp—letting that familiar lull roll off his tongue like the sweetest poison. His Call had always been the strongest in his pod, after all. That’s why it was his job to keep them safe, to ensure that no one was lost in a hunt that was meant to be so simple just because they couldn’t keep their purple-headed curiosity under wraps long enough to not to be caught—

Vil turned his sneer back your way, fully prepared to see you kowtowed before him with your nose buried in the sand. And—

You were just sitting there. Butt in the muck and just as wide-eyed and brainless as before. Staring back at him with a startled sort of expression on your face and nothing else. Normally there was a sort of tether between him and his victims. A call, an answer. Simple principles. And while he could never see the tangible net of his influence tightening around their brains, he could always sense it. Or at least something like it. But this time, there was just… nothing.

Vil snarled, swallowing around the spiky pinch of something in his gut that he refused to call panic, and canted his head back to sing louder.

The shallow dregs of the cove rippled at his hips with the force of it, and he could feel the swell of his influence curling out further and further. Digging its claws into anything and everything it could reach. He could feel one tether spooling out and grabbing after the other, feel the familiar pull of subservience from the very sea itself. And—

“I can’t hear you!”

Oh, you mocking piece of—

He widened his mouth until his jaw was creaking and his tongue was going numb from the sharp bursts of arcana snapping from throat.

“It’s not a challenge!” you wailed, hands cupped over your mouth to try and shout over his howling song. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

His mouth fell closed all at once, the Call cutting off so abruptly that the returning wave of snapping magics almost made his head spin. The power of it hung along his nerves like the zipping prickle of electric eels, and the water at his hips churned and bubbled.

“There,” you huffed, like someone who’d just been horribly inconvenienced by a gust of wind ruining their hair, rather than a human bearing the full weight of a siren’s fury. Brushing off some of the most powerful magics in the ocean like it was nothing worse than a bit of sand in your trousers. It was… unnerving. And it had something uneasy curdling in Vil’s stomach.

He dug his claws into the sand, fins flaring along his sides in a defensive display before he could help himself. Your eyes tracked the way the muck gave way beneath his talons and he watched your throat bob. Good. You should be afraid of him. Because he refused to be afraid of a human like you. No matter how the hair at his nape prickled or the fins at his ears pinned against the sides of his head.

“Well…” you said after a long moment, awkward and stiff. “I should get going, I suppose.”

And then you were stumbling your way to your feet to venture deeper into the crags of the small island. Vil smacked his tail against the surf, loud and sharp. A plaintive ‘good, begone,’ if ever there was one. But you didn’t even flinch, let alone turn around to witness his grand ‘fuck you.’ He wasn’t sure why he was expecting you to.

He watched you crawl your way up a mess of boulders and old shells, eyes narrowed and that same, unpleasant prickle running through his nerves. Once you were well and truly out of sight, he returned to his fins and started doing all he could to assess the damage. The sooner he could deal with this setback and set out into the depths of the ocean, the sooner he could return to his pod. And the sooner he’d be away from you, and all your strange, human ways.

.

.

You returned maybe an hour later, only a few minutes after he’d given up on trying to pick the horrid mess of twine from the wounds along his tail. His claws weren’t made for such delicate work, and the poisoned tips of them weren’t doing his shredded fins any favors.

He turned on you with a snarl that would have sent any other sentient creature scurrying for cover, fins pinned and canines on full display. But apparently you had less self-preservation than even the brainless, teeny, rock crabs burrowing hurriedly into the sand.    

“Hello,” you said. Like that was any way appropriate.

“Get lost,” he snarled.

You nodded back, simple and sage, and then pointed to the mess of your ropes twined along his fins.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

Vil sneered and surged forward to scrape his claws through the muck again, hoping his demonstration of what he would do to your face if you stepped near him was clear enough to get through your head.

“Touch me and you’ll be lucky if all I do is eat you.”

You blinked back, and he watched the way your eyes jumped across his expression. Trailed to his mouth, his brow, his teeth. Reading whatever you could see there. And then you shrugged again, unbothered by his spitting threats as before.

“Alright. Your loss, I suppose.”

There was a keenness to your gaze though, a sharp, pointed consideration that had his hackles rising all over again.

“If you think that you can be rid of me that easily, you’re solely mistaken,” he spat, smacking his fins into the shallows until the water was churning wild and angry. “This is all your fault, and whatever ridiculous plot you’re considering, I’ll gladly return it tenfold.”

Your face pinched like you had any right to be annoyed by this at all, and then promptly turned away from him like you’d lost all interest in his theatrics. You meandered around the shore, scooping up the battered remains of some of the fish that had stranded themselves during his failed Call. Then you sat yourself well away from the water’s edge and pulled a knife from your boot, running it along the fish’s scales and clearing out the muck.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly, making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so. Like that little blade of yours was supposed to be any sort of a threat. Perhaps he could use it to pick the leftover bits of you out of his teeth.

Vil turned up his nose and returned to carefully grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

“You’re an obnoxious brat,” he growled, wincing as his claws caught over a frayed patch of scales and began to bleed all over again. “And I’m going to drown you.”

Naturally, you did not respond.

.

.

The rope burned, and he knew he wasn’t helping himself. The twine of it was frayed, poor quality. And combined with the tacky, salt-sticky damp of the waves, it made the worst sort of web. Vil threw himself around in the shallows like a pup stuck in their first net. And he knew—knew—this wasn’t going to make things better. But the more he worked to free himself and the less progress he made, the angrier he got (Not afraid, angry. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t).

A tight bit of fibers snagged along the delicate mesh of the fins at his hips and gave a shrieking riiip that had him collapsing into the sand bed with a bitten off noise that he refused to call a gasp. But Sevens, it did hurt. He pressed his face into the shallow pool of warm water beneath his chin and forced his breath to calm, to dig his claws into the grit beneath him rather than his own scales. Because this wasn’t working. And he—he needed to fix it. On his own. Because he was on his own. And he was going to manage, just like he always had.

There was a noise off on the shore—the tumbling of pebbles against stone as you shifted around in your little, makeshift hideaway. And he refused to look up to meet your gaze. Because surely you were staring. Humans were always so happy to watch his kind suffer, flailing about in their traps and bound in nets like a garish display. And he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of knowing he’d been seen like… like this.

So he forced himself to go still and silent, ignoring the pain biting into his sides like the teeth of a shark and the panicked, clawing thing in his gut that kept screaming that he was going to die here.

.

.

The next morning, you were wandering the shoreline, scrounging after the remains of various crabs from the day prior. Vil refused to look at you, and spent the time pointedly running his claws through the tangles in his hair and primping himself like he didn’t have a care in the world. Because if a stupid, lowly human fit for nothing but an after-dinner-snack could thrive in these circumstances, than surely he could do even better.

There was the soft, wet sounds of your footsteps behind him, and Vil turned on you with a roaring snarl—fins pinned and spines perked, defensive.

“What?” he snapped, beating his tail.

You awkwardly held up one your pickings—a round, red crab with fat claws.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…”

Vil fought the urge to gawk. Were you offering him one of—but why would you—

He bit through his surprise with another sneer. “Firstly, crabs are crustaceans, not fish. You’d think any self-respecting creature that spent their days on the ocean would know something as obvious as that. Secondly, why would you even think that I would share a meal with you? Even I didn’t think humans could be that stupid, but you’re certainly setting a new bar.”

Your mouth twitched at his very sharply enunciated ‘stupid’ and he fought a smirk.

“Oh. Know that one, do you?” he cooed, all mocking.

“Look, do you want it or not?” you snapped, irritated, and his fins flared up again—wide and defensive.

Vil crossed his arms on an exaggerated, pointed huff and turned in the other direction. A clear dismissal. “I’d rather starve.”

“Whatever,” you griped, voice canted sharp with your foul temper, and then there was a crack and a yelp.

Vil turned back to see you reeling away, hand over your mouth to catch a mix of blubbering, wincing curses and a shattered crab shell clenched between your fingers in the most obvious show of stupidity he’d perhaps ever seen. He burst out into laughter before he could help himself, and you stormed away with warm cheeks and pieces of jagged, red shell still clinging to the corners of your lips.

.

.

That night he fought the ropes even harder, ignoring the way they pulled, and tore, and dug into places that he knew they should not. And maybe it was self-destructive, stupid, but if he didn’t get himself free of this horrible mess his fins would never heal. He’d never be able to swim properly again. And he’d never be able to leave this cove, never return to his pod, his family. Never—

A shell walloped him in the back of the head and Vil turned with a shriek so vicious it nearly startled even him. Because there you were—the bane of his existence. Standing at the edge of the water with that ridiculous, deadpan look on your ridiculous face and already scrounging about in the sands like you were looking for something else to throw at him. He didn’t even know what he was screaming at that point, absolutely brought over the edge in rage, and pain, and fear, and it was all. your. faul—

Then something in your expression snapped and you were storming forward towards the surf—absolutely incensed.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you shrieked, stomping in the sand and nearly pinning the longer, trailing ends of his fins beneath your heels. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!��

“You trapped me!” he howled, outraged. “You were going to kill a member of my pod! Who’s barely out of his pup days! And he was my responsibility, and you were going to attack him!”

Magic zipped along his tongue, demanding that you kneel. Show your throat and be done with it. But when you just kept glaring back—absolutely stone-faced and seething with indignation—Vil forced himself to take a breath, and then another.

“Epel,” he spat, low and exaggerated. He saw your eyes flicker to his lips, trace the outline of the word. “Epel,” he said again, sharp and angry. And when your own mouth began to subconsciously follow the shape of it, he was off and running again. “He’s my responsibility. Epel. He—” Vil pointed at the pale, lavender creases at the base of his fins. “His hair is like this. You saw him. You spoke to him. And you were going to tie him up just like you did to me.”

Your eyes narrowed, sharp.

“That kid,” you said after a moment, lips twisting in a frown. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

“Epel,” Vil spat again, smacking his fins into the surf to douse you in a mess of seawater. “Not some kid. A pup. Barely of age. And you were going to—”

“You—” you hissed, scrubbing the salt from your eyes with the back of your hand. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. It splattered along Vil’s hips, barely a sprinkling in comparison to his own tidal waves. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

Vil snarled, and the twist of it left a bitter, rotten taste on his tongue. It wasn’t the same. It didn’t matter what you wanted, because you were just some human. Humans were vile, and cruel, and good for nothing but filling their bellies. And this was his family. So what if you claimed you were just standing up for your own brood? It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t.

So he turned back to dive into the shallows with as much force as his aching, crippled fins could manage. Sinking to the bottom of the cove in a huff of bubbles and clawing his way through the muck until he was well and truly hidden in the murky, sandy depths. He smacked his tail against the mess of pebbles and rocks until every creature beneath was scurrying for safety—fleeing outwith the flailing, destructive force of a Siren’s tantrum.

Was that why he was here, then? Bound and gagged on some hellhole of an island because of his own mistakes? Because you’d just been aligning yourself with the moral high ground he’d been riding this whole time? Saving your kin at the cost of your own, fragile skin. Dragged overboard to fight the monsters trying to devour your family whole. Ridiculous. He wasn’t going to let himself feel bad for the slighted prey in a hunt gone wrong. Sharks certainly didn’t regret the fish they chased, nor did the great black-and-white whales that pursued those sharks in turn. This was just the way of things, the circle of life. And he wasn’t going to feel guilty about the tight, protectivelook on your face as you shouted him down about defending your own pod at all.

.

.

You were curled up by the same rock the next morning, sleeping soundly against the rough hewn edge. It looked hideously uncomfortable, with your chin tucked up against your chest and your head pressed against half-a-dozen layered, jagged ridges. Vil had always heard that humans were used to luxury—soft, plush blankets made of foreign fabrics and great, stuffed squares of bedding that could put even the finest woven siren nests to shame. And there you were. Scrunched up with a shell clearly embedded in your cheek.

He frowned, fins rippling awkwardly at his sides where the majority were still knotted up in twine.

He needed to leave this cove. As soon as possible. And get away from… all of this.

It generally wasn’t considered the best of ideas to Call openly across the sea. Lone sirens were prime targets for all sorts of nasty scavengers. Human hunters, rival pods, even other rogues looking for a fight. It was dangerous to mark one’s position so openly, let alone in a manner that made it obvious of the less than stellar situation they had no doubt found themselves in. It was also a nasty toll to try and Call so far for so long, on himself and the environment around him. A screeching, horrible thing that he’d only heard a few times in all his years. It was a terrible idea for everyone involved, himself and his fellow castaway most of all. But, well, desperate times, and all that.

Besides, it wasn’t like you’d be able to hear it anyways.

So began his endless song.

He’d sing, and sing, and sing—feeling the ripples of it carrying across the surface of the water and shivering through the air. And then, after he’d worn his throat ragged, he’d pause. Just long enough to swallow around the sting and tilt his head to listen. His fins would flare out against the side of his head, and he’d wait. And then, when there was no answer to his Calling, he’d circle back and do it again. A part of him hoped there would be none. He’d taught his pod better than to do something so foolish—to put themselves at the mercy of all the monsters of the sea. And… if they didn’t answer, perhaps that just meant they were searching for him. Using his own, ridiculous harping to trace him down. And if not that, then at least that they were off somewhere safe. Somewhere far, and hidden.

He swam and sang until he was too exhausted for either. Bound fins a heavy, leaden weight at his hips and head barely cresting above the water.

When the sun set over the horizon, Vil let himself roll in alongside the surf to rest in the sand, boneless and sore. His eyes slipped shut with the encroaching darkness, too heavy to hold open at all. He hadn’t seen much of you today. Occasionally you’d wander down to the shoreline, head popping up over a cluster of rocks to shoot him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but for the most part you’d stayed hidden away. Out of his hair, at least. Perhaps you’d finally learned what was good for you, and that keeping as far away from the beast lurking in the shallows was the only way you’d be getting out of this alive.

And then his eyes were snapping open to a field of stars overhead and the moon hanging fat and low in the sky like a fruit ripe for the plucking.

And there you were, hovering over him with that laughably small knife of yours.

Carefully and gently working the rope away from his tattered fins.

Your fingers were delicate, precise. Every time those woven fibers tugged in a way that could even begin to hurt, you were softening your touch and muttering reassurances under your breath. He wondered if you realized you were doing that at all—chattering quiet, rambling nonsense like a nervous tick. ‘Ack, don’t twitch so much, it’s just going to cut deeper,’ and ‘sorry! Sorry! I didn’t think that would move like that! Just—just stay still and it will all be done way faster and then you can swim off, and—’ You were exceptionally careful over the areas of rough, beaten scales along the dip of his tail, wincing in sympathy at the raw, raw skin there. The blade never strayed anywhere it wasn’t needed, and you never touched any part of him that wasn’t in an effort to work another tangle of knots free.

Vil kept himself perfectly still and his breaths even and deep. He watched you through the low, golden dip of his lashes, eyes tracking your fluttering hands and quiet mumblings.

The last of the rope fell away with a wet, heavy plap in the sand and when you sighed there was a smile in your voice.

“There,” you muttered, soft. “Now he can swim home again.”

He froze, startled, and something dropped low and tight in his gut.  

Because humans were cruel. Humans were food. Humans were nothing more than vermin crawling over the surface of his ocean in their hunkering, wooden vessels and finless feet. They didn’t deserve sympathy, or anything of that ilk. And—

Your gaze met his and the spark of horrified realization didn’t even manage to settle properly in your wide, wide eyes before he had you pinned in the sand.

It was easy—far too easy. Compared to him you were so small, so fragile. No heavy, bulk of muscle and scales to help keep you alive and fighting. Just fragile limbs and lungs that were good for nothing. He dug his claws into your shoulders and felt the warm prick of blood curl up beneath his talons—could see you wince with the first pinch of acrid poison sharpening the wound. He was going to rip you apart, just like he’d said he would. Even if you hadn’t been able to hear him, he’d show you. Because humans were vile, and no matter what you’d claimed, you didn’t deserve anything better than an end beneath the points of his fangs. Fuel for the journey back to his pod and nothing more.

‘There. Now he can swim home again.’

He reeled back, nose scrunching and teeth grinding in his jaw.

You were still beneath him, blinking up in shock but not fighting. Like being flipped onto your back had been startling out of principle, but not unexpected. Like the idea of dying at his claws was just something you’d been expecting from the get-go.

And yet—

‘Sorry! Sorry!’ you’d been rattling. ‘Ah, if you squirm it’s just going to hurt, you stupid, overgrown fish—'

Vil reared back with a snarl that had goosebumps racing all along your arms, and then he was diving back into the shallows—swiping the tip of his fins against your nose as he went in a sharp crack that he hoped would have you yelping and stumbling away from the ocean’s edge.

He paced along the edges of the bay, newly freed fins slowly uncurling in the lull of the tide. And he felt free. Sore, certainly, and aching in ways he never had before, but free.

When he popped his head back out of the water, you were sprawled out in the sand like a dying starfish, absolutely out of your mind and babbling nonsense about ‘captains’ and ‘collars’ under your breath.

‘Good,’ he harumphed, diving back into the shallows to twirl along his unbound tail. ‘Maybe that would teach you to stay out of the water.’

.

.

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