#he then twisted in ways no human should twist

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐃♡𝐠𝐬 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Plagued Aegon x Plagued Reader part 1

Summary: you were no longer a human. You were a rat. Something for them to experiment on for their own sick pleasure. You hate everything. God why it's always happening to you? What did you do to deserve this? But just beside you is a man. A man who don't even know his name and yet he's so hopeful. As if he believes you gonna be save...

Warning: torture, unknown virus, abuse, amnesia.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. And yes I'm inspired by The Plague Dogs. Original gif by @kieraknightley. Hope you enjoy!

The door to her cell clanged open, and she was yanked from the remnants of sleep. Her eyes shot open, the same as every other day, staring at the blank, cold walls around her, the air thick with the smell of rot. The guards entered with heavy, careless footsteps, their faces hidden beneath gas masks, those black eyes like hollow pits staring back. Always covered, always distant.

She hated them. Every last one of them.

The guard threw a metal tray onto the ground by the door, the slop on it sloshing onto the filthy floor. He didn’t even bother looking at her. None of them did. She glared up at him, her hands clenched into fists by her side. It took everything in her not to spit on the tray, not to lash out. The heavy door of Egg’s cell creaked next to hers, and she could hear him scrambling up, his voice weak, hopeful.

“Thank you!” Egg’s voice was filled with too much sincerity for this hellhole. She could hear him thanking them every day, like a child grateful for scraps.

The guards only laughed. One of them stepped forward and kicked Egg’s tray, sending it flying into the dirt and filth. She heard Egg's soft gasp, the shuffle as he hurried to clean up the food. "Pathetic," one of the guards spat, his voice muffled by the mask. "Still pretending to be grateful. Like we give a shit."

She glared at them, her heart pounding in her chest. Bastards. All of them. Their mocking words, the way they looked down at her and Egg like they weren’t even human anymore, burned inside her. She pulled her knees to her chest, locking her jaw, refusing to touch the slop they'd left her. The smell alone made her stomach churn.

“You should be grateful,” another guard sneered, crouching just far enough from her reach, “for the food, for us keeping you alive. Without us, you'd be rotting by now.” His gaze flickered to Egg’s cell. “Or worse, like that freak over there.”

He stepped closer to the bars, his breath coming in harsh, shallow bursts behind the mask. She could feel his gaze on her, even if she couldn’t see his eyes. “What’s wrong? You don’t want it? Worthless slut.” His voice was thick with contempt, the words dripping with that familiar venom.

Her jaw tightened. She could feel her pulse pounding in her head, the fury rising up through her like a storm. She wanted to lunge at him, rip the mask from his face, spit every hateful thing she’d ever thought right into his eyes. She wanted him to feel the same helpless rage she felt every single day.

But then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Egg.

He was watching her, his food forgotten for a moment, his wide, innocent eyes filled with worry. He shook his head, just the slightest movement, like a silent plea for her to stay calm. To let it go.

Her breath hitched. The anger in her chest twisted, turned into something else. Something that left her feeling hollow.

She bit her tongue hard, tasted the iron of her own blood, and looked away.

The guard laughed, his voice harsh and brittle. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said, and then he was gone, his boots pounding away down the corridor.

They left eventually, their laughter echoing down the hallway. The door slammed shut behind them with a final, metallic thud. Her gaze lingered on the untouched tray in front of her. For a moment, she didn’t move. Just sat there, legs pulled tight against her chest, staring at the cold stone floor. Her heart was still beating too fast, the remnants of that anger still coursing through her veins like a poison.

Egg’s voice broke the silence. “It’s good today. Really good.” He was already eating again, his fingers picking at the slop, oblivious to the fact that it was barely fit for a stray dog. She could see him through the bars, see the way his face lit up at the smallest bite, the way he savored it like it was something real, something substantial.

Slowly, she dragged her own tray closer, wrinkling her nose at the smell. She poked at it with one finger, barely able to stomach the thought of even tasting it. The mush was cold, congealed. Bits of unidentifiable meat and vegetables floating in a grayish slop. It looked rancid. The smell alone was enough to make her sick. “You like this?” she muttered, glancing over at Egg, who paused with a piece of it halfway to his mouth.

He nodded eagerly, his pale eyes wide with that same, childlike innocence she never understood. “Yes,” he said, his voice soft, “it’s not so bad. Better than nothing.”

She stared at him, at the way he seemed almost happy, even with the bruises on his arms, even with his bald head and the rot creeping up his foot. He was breaking down, piece by piece, and still, he was grateful.

She sighed, pushing the tray toward the bars between them. “You want mine?”

His head snapped up, surprise lighting his face. “Really?” he asked, his voice full of that strange, childlike gratitude. “You’re sure?”

She pushed the tray toward him, not bothering to answer. What was the point? He’d take it anyway, with or without her permission. He always did. And part of her—despite herself—was glad for it. Glad that at least one of them could still find joy in something, no matter how small or disgusting.

She watching as he pulled it into his cell with a quiet, “Thank you.” He dug in, as if it were a feast, as if it were something worth eating.

She pulled her knees back to her chest, glaring at the wall across from her, feeling nothing but anger clawing at her insides.

She leaned her head back against the cold, rough wall of her cell, eyes half-lidded as she watched Egg devour the food like it was a feast. His thin fingers scraped at the last bits, collecting every crumb from the tray. She wondered, not for the first time, how he could still find joy in this place. This pit of cruelty, where people were thrown away like garbage, left to rot from the inside out. The scientists didn’t care. The guards didn’t care. No one cared. Yet here he was, thanking them for scraps like it meant something.

It didn’t make sense to her, but then again, nothing about him made sense.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in. The air in the cell was thick and sour with the scent of decay—her own body betraying her, just like his. Every day, the virus crept a little further into her, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she would end up like the others. Bald. Rotted. Forgotten.

“Sir, I’ve been hearing things,” she had said, standing stiffly in front of her commanding officer’s desk, the cold metal of her dog tags brushing against her chest as she shifted her weight. Her voice had been careful, measured, though she could feel the unease creeping under her skin.

“Things?” he’d drawled, not even looking up from the reports in front of him. He was a big man, intimidating, with cold, flat eyes that never softened for anyone. The room had smelled of cigar smoke and sweat, suffocating in its familiarity.

“About the virus. The researchers—they’re talking about using humans now. They said they needed criminals for the tests. But these people—” she hesitated, trying to find the words, “they aren’t volunteers. They’re just taking them.”

He hadn’t flinched. Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face. Instead, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk as he finally looked up at her. “And? They’re criminals. Who gives a damn what happens to them?”

She had stared at him, a knot of anger forming in her chest. “They’re still people, sir. They deserve—”

“They deserve nothing.” He had cut her off sharply, his eyes narrowing, his voice growing harder, more dangerous. “They’re trash. Nothing more. And if they die, then they die.” He laughed then, a hollow, humorless sound that made her stomach turn. “Good riddance.”

Her hands had curled into fists at her sides. “We should tell people, warn them. They could protect themselves, take precautions. It’s not right to keep this from them.” The words had left her mouth before she could stop them.

He had stood up so quickly the chair behind him scraped against the floor, his towering presence looming over her. The air had shifted, heavy with tension, with that familiar threat. And then—before she had even registered what was happening—his hand cracked across her face, the sting of it snapping her head to the side. Her skin burned where he hit her, but it was the coldness in his eyes that hurt more.

“You’re getting too comfortable, soldier,” he growled, stepping closer, so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat of his body pressing into hers. She had swallowed hard, trying to push down the panic rising in her throat. “You speak when spoken to. Nothing more. Do you understand?”

Her jaw clenched, but she had nodded, the sting of his slap pulsing on her cheek. He gripped her chin then, forcing her to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing the reddened skin he’d just struck. She had wanted to jerk away, to spit in his face, but she knew better. She’d learned better.

“There’s a good girl,” he cooed, his tone sickeningly soft as his hand moved down to caress her cheek, his thumb pressing too hard against her skin. Her stomach turned in disgust, but she stood rigid, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise. His face had been so close to hers, the distance between them shrinking until she could feel his breath on her lips. “You should know your place by now. I don’t need you thinking for yourself.”

Her skin had crawled at his touch, her heart hammering in her chest as she forced herself to stay still, to not flinch. His fingers were rough, calloused, every brush against her face a reminder of how powerless she was in that moment.

She had hated him. Hated every second of it, hated the way he looked at her, like she was nothing but a tool to be used, a piece of meat. And she had hated herself more for not pulling away, for not fighting harder.

God, I should have killed him there.

A scrape of metal on concrete pulled her back. Egg had pushed the empty trays toward the bars, wiping his hands on his tattered pants. He sat back against the wall of his cell, his legs folded beneath him, a small smile tugging at his lips. His feet, one of them wrapped in old bandages, were still raw and rotting, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Thank you for the food,” he said again softly, more to himself than to her. His voice always held that strange, gentle tone. It was like he lived in a different world from her—a world where hope still existed.

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The bile rose in her throat just thinking about it. There was no hope here. Only survival. And even that was slipping away.

The silence hung between them, broken only by the faint dripping of water somewhere deep within the prison. She could feel Egg’s eyes on her, could sense his need to say something, but she wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Not today.

She opened her eyes again, staring through the bars at Egg. His pale face was turned toward her, his wide eyes still full of that same, infuriating innocence.

“Do you think…” he began, his voice soft and hesitant, “do you think today could be the day?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What day?”

“The day they let us out,” he said, almost hopefully. “Maybe… maybe they’ll find my family. Maybe they’ll come for me.”

She stared at him, her lips pressed into a hard line. He’d said it before—many times. It was always the same fantasy. That somehow, someone would find him. That his wife and children would come through those doors and save him from this nightmare. It made her sick to hear it.

“They’re not coming,” she said flatly, her voice sharp enough to cut through his delusion.

Egg blinked, his smile faltering for a moment, but only for a moment. He recovered quickly, nodding as if he hadn’t heard her. “I know,” he whispered, but there was a distant look in his eyes, like he didn’t believe it. “But maybe…”

Maybe.

She hated that word.

It was late, well past midnight, the lights in the barracks casting long shadows over the cold concrete floors. She had stayed back to finish some paperwork, her shoulders stiff from hours of tension, her eyes burning from the fluorescent lights overhead. The others had left hours ago, their laughter and chatter fading as the door clicked shut behind them. She had been alone for what felt like hours.

Then came the sound of footsteps behind her, slow and deliberate. She knew those footsteps—sharp, heavy boots that echoed down the hall.

Her fingers froze on the papers as she stiffened, already dreading the encounter. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was. His presence was always a weight, always something that pressed down on her.

“You’re still here?” His voice slithered out, the tone too casual, too familiar.

She forced herself to keep writing, focusing on the feel of the pen in her hand. “Finishing the report, sir.”

He moved closer, and she could feel his eyes on her back, like a predator watching its prey. “You work too hard,” he said, a mock concern dripping from his words.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled, but she didn’t turn. “Just doing my job.”

“You’re a good soldier, Y/N.” His voice was closer now, just behind her, and then she felt it—his hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “But you should know when to relax.”

She went stiff, her breath catching in her throat as his fingers dug into her skin, the pressure uncomfortably tight. She wanted to shrug him off, to pull away, but she stayed still, forcing herself to breathe evenly.

“Sir, I’d appreciate it if you—”

The slap came without warning, sharp and brutal, the sting of it blooming across her cheek as her head snapped to the side. The chair wobbled beneath her, and she barely caught herself before falling.

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N,” he snarled, the warmth draining from his voice in an instant, replaced with cold anger.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse loud in her ears as she brought a hand to her face, feeling the heat of the slap still radiating from her cheek. She tried to push away from the desk, but he was on her in seconds, his fingers gripping her jaw with bruising force.

“Look at me,” he hissed, pulling her face up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. The cruelty there made her stomach turn. “You think you’re special? You think you’re above this?”

“Sir, don’t—”

His grip tightened, and her words died in her throat as he leaned in closer, so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat of it against her skin. “You’re just a tool, Lieutenant. Just another fucking soldier. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Her stomach twisted as he dragged his fingers down from her face, trailing them along her neck, his breath hot and sour as he pressed closer. She pushed at him, but his body was a wall, unyielding.

“No one’s going to save you,” he whispered, his voice sickeningly soft. “Not out here.”

His hand moved lower, fingers slipping beneath the edge of her uniform, and panic surged through her chest. She shoved harder, desperate, but his hand wrapped around her wrist, pinning it to the desk with a force that made her cry out.

“You’re my bitch,” he whispered.

The pressure, the smell, the hands that wouldn’t stop moving—it was suffocating. Her world shrunk to the feel of him against her, the cruel grip on her wrist, and the terror that choked her.

And then—

She woke up with a sharp intake of breath, her body drenched in sweat, heart pounding like she’d just run miles. Her chest heaved as she blinked rapidly, trying to push the nightmare away, but the phantom touch of his hands lingered, the sound of his voice still echoing in her ears.

For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the filthy ceiling of her cell, trying to pull herself back to reality. It was just a dream. Just a dream. But it had never felt like a dream—it was a memory, twisted, haunting her over and over again.

She turned her head, and through the dim light, she saw Egg sitting up, his legs crossed as he watched her with that same innocent concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his wide eyes blinking at her in the dark.

She clenched her jaw, pushing herself up to sit, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her fingers still trembled as she raked them through her hair, her breath shaky.

“Shut the fuck up, Egg,” she snapped, not bothering to look at him. The last thing she needed was him asking questions.

But Egg, as always, just laughed softly, the sound too light, too out of place. “You’re so mean,” he said, his tone teasing but without any malice. He seemed oblivious to her anger, to the frustration simmering beneath her skin.

She didn’t respond, just kept rubbing her face, trying to shake off the nightmare.

“I miss my wife,” Egg said suddenly, his voice wistful, like he was sharing a precious secret. “She’s so beautiful, you know? And my three kids—they’re waiting for me. We live in a small house, but it’s cozy. We’ve got a dog too. You’d like him. He's real sweet.”

She blinked, slowly lowering her hands to her lap as she stared at him. He was smiling again, that same soft, distant look in his eyes as he raised three fingers toward her. “Three kids,” he repeated, like he was proud of it.

She frowned, unsure how to react. Part of her believed him—he spoke with such conviction, like he really did have a family waiting for him on the outside. A wife. Kids. A dog. A cozy little house.

But how could someone like him have all that? How could someone in this rotting hellhole dream of such things?

“What about you?” he asked, looking at her expectantly. “Do you have anyone waiting for you?”

She clenched her jaw, her body tensing again. Her life outside? What fucking life? She didn’t owe him that. She didn’t owe anyone anything.

When she didn’t respond, Egg’s brows furrowed slightly, his confusion evident. “You don’t have anyone?” he asked, as if that idea was impossible to him.

“Keep your head up your own ass, Egg,” she spat, turning away from him and lying back down, staring at the wall. She didn’t need this shit. Not from him.

Egg just chuckled, unbothered. “You’re so mean,” he whispered again, the fondness in his voice unsettling in its innocence.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out his words, trying to pull herself back into sleep. But the memory of the dream clung to her, as did his quiet, persistent voice.

When she woke, it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Her eyes fluttered open, but the world around her was hazy, distorted, as if she were underwater, drowning in a nightmare that refused to end. The light above her flickered一too bright, then too dim-casting eerie shadows across the room, dancing over figures she couldn't quite make out.

She tried to move, but nothing happened. Her arms were pinned, her legs too. A sudden wave of terror washed over her as the realization sank in-she was tied down. Strapped to a bed. Panic surged in her chest, her heart thudding painfully in her ribs. Her muscles strained, burning with effort, but it was useless. She couldn't move.

Her throat felt tight, like something was pressing down on it, and when she tried to scream, her mouth wouldn't cooperate. No sound came out. Not even a whimper. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't scream.

Her vision was blurry, but she could see the outlines of figures moving around her. They wore masks, their faces obscured, just shadows of men and women- scientists. She could hear their voices, muffled and distant, like she was underwater, the words coming and going in waves.

"Increase the dosage."

"Prep the subject."

"It vitals are spiking–"

A hand brushed over her arm, cold and clinical, and she shuddered inwardly, her skin crawling beneath the touch. She could feel the sharp pinch of something digging into her, like metal, slicing into her skin. Pain flared through her body, white-hot and unbearable. Her nerves Screamed, but her voice refused to come. She was trapped in her own body, her own skin, a prisoner in this nightmare.

What are they doing to me?

The thought was frantic, wild, desperate, but there was no escape. Every inch of her burned-her arms, her legs, her chest, her head. It was like her flesh was on fire, melting, tearing apart from the inside out. The sensation was unbearable. She wanted to thrash, to rip herself free, to claw at her skin until she could feel something else, anything else-but she couldn't.

They were talking, their words drifting in and out, but they might as well have been speaking another language. She couldn't focus on anything except the pain, the overwhelming, unrelenting pain.

A needle slid into her skin, and for a moment, everything went white. Her mind screamed, her body convulsing, and the world blurred around her, warping into something unreal, like a fever dream. She wanted to rip herself apart, wanted t scream, to beg them to stop, but her mouth wouldn't move.

She was suffocating. Her body was betraying her. The straps holding her down dug into her flesh, the pain mixing with the agony coursing through her veins. It felt like her skin was being torn off, layer by layer, exposed and raw, the air itself an assault on her senses. She could feel the sharp edges of instruments scraping against her bones, prying her open.

God, please stop! she screamed in her mind, her thoughts a frantic, wild plea. Please stop, someone, make it stop!

Her eyes darted frantically, trying to find anything to focus on, something that wasn't the excruciating agony tearing her apart. But all she saw were the masked faces, the glint of metal tools, the flashing lights above her. The lights flickered, fading in and out, casting long shadows that twisted into grotesque shapes on the walls.

Time lost all meaning. Minutes bled into hours, hours into an eternity of pain. She couldn't remember a time before the burning, before the tearing, before the relentless torture. The world outside of her agony didn't exist anymore.

They were cutting her apart, but nothing was bleeding. She could feel it-feel them pulling at her skin, at her bones, but she was still whole. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. Her mind was unraveling, and she wanted to scream, wanted to claw at her own head to make it stop, make it all stop.

She could see their eyes through the masks一cold, dispassionate, like she was nothing more than a lab rat, just another experiment. They didn't care. They didn't care that she was in agony, that every part of her was screaming, begging for mercy.

And then-

The needle.

It swept over her, like a wave crashing down, pulling her under. Everything went silent. The pain was still there, but it was distant now, far away, like it belonged to Someone else. Her eyelids fluttered shut, the world around her fading into darkness.

And then there was nothing.

No sound. No light. No pain.

Just oblivion.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Vampire hunter D and Hellsing Alucard fighting over the same darling

I'm going to have to take some creative liberties and ignore some canon material for this to somewhat work, due to the difference in vampire rules and whatnot in each respective lore and world-building, but this idea was too fun to pass on. I think a dynamic between the two would be so entertaining- seeing as they are both Eldrich horrors in their own respect, yet so different. both are complex characters with many layers to them, so I hope I gave them justice with this.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading! . ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ Their rivalry is inevitable. D has sworn to spend the rest of his days slaughtering the undead- and Alucard is possibly the strongest of his prey as of yet. They are alike, but not- two of a kind, who share the same shadow and bloodlust.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ Alucard is both immensely curious and irked by the vampire hunters existence. A being that is not dead, nor alive. A creature born from both the undead and living. A dhampir.

D is something of a worldly curiosity to him- how can such a thing exist? Throughout all of Alucard's un-life has he witnessed such a being. It both fills him with awe, and unrest.

The complexity has even himself spiraling into an unrestful haze- because finally. A rival. A true rival. A being that has the redeeming quality of a semblance of humanity. He can see right through the dhampir- that sorrow and loneliness and regret is so human. So raw, and unabashedly hidden with shame. What a solemn moping creature D is... Interesting.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ D is troubled by the vampire king. A monster whom resembles the likeness of Dracula- a twisted shadow of his own father, a being from another timeline, who mocks him with his mere existence. Just being in the same vicinity as him makes his blood boil and stomach churn in disgust. Knowing that this violent blood hungering beast is yearning for you makes him sick. The implications that if he fails, and you fall into the monster's claws, that another dhampir may possibly be brought into its wretched existence is simply something he cannot allow.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ The two clash in every possible way- yet align in every possible way. Like a dark twisted duet. Like a shadow clashing with a shadow. It shouldn't be. Two beings having met behind the veil- a veil that should have never been pieced. They glare at one another in the shadows of your footsteps, constantly watching with bated breath.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧The dynamic of being caught between the crossfire of the two horrors beyond the veil is a restless nightmare- yet an enveloping dream. It doesn't feel...real. To be yearned over by these two men monsters is an enigma of itself, and you've inevitably become the taut rope between an endless tug of war. Back and fourth, back and fourth, neither breaking sweat nor losing their footing. Clashing blades, explosive bullets, the silver of guns and swords glinting in the moonlight. Spilt blood, open wounds, unrestrained ferocity. There is no hunter or prey in this dynamic- their very strength teeters on the edge of a blade-steady yet, wavering. All that is established is that they have both set their claim. And neither are willing to give up.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ Their motives are simple, yet complex like entangled string. Red and black thread ensnaring you till you are but a meager little morsel struggling in the spiders web. D wants to eradicate Alucard- rid the earth of his bloodied existence. The very personification of self-preservation and fear of death taken in the form of something bloody and full of hunger has no right to belong in this world. It should be laid to rest.

You, poor little human, are an unexpected obstacle of both himself- and his prey. You're the flesh caged in the bear trap- the butterfly in the web, the pretty patisserie cake on a porcelain platter. He's the jarring metal teeth, the descending spider, the glinting cutlery.

He's a parasite who attached itself to an unsuspecting human- who has no say in the matter. Either you love him, endure him, or despise him, it doesn't matter. He's sunk his teeth into you and won't let go- always in your shadow.

D is a hunter. That's all he has left for himself. He can at least do this favour for both himself, and you. If you call for Alucard's name, it is not enough to deter him. You don't know any better, you can't. You don't know the extent of this horror. You never shall. Never should.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ Alucard is frustratingly simple- yet simply complicated. You are a human who's ensnared his interest- his curiosity and fascination. He wants you, all of you. Your voice...your breath...the smell of your skin...your thoughts and dreams and fears. He wants all of it. He's selfish and hungry, and you are the soothing balm to his wounds. He admits he's a monster- a monster that can only hunger and obsess, he has no shame in that. He accepted he's irredeemable long ago- an attack dog, a weapon, something to command and leash for the sake of numbing the boredom and insanity of everlasting existence. He needs motive. Reasoning. Distraction. And you are the best distraction he could ask for.

He's caught in the swing of finding this hunter's endeavours amusing and annoying.

Leave him be, let him enjoy this last thing. Then he may have his spill of blood.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ Regardless of the madness- it can come in useful for your own sake of survival. You'll never have to worry about being harmed whilst under the watchful eyes of not only Alucard, the no life king, but the Dhampir hunter, D. It is the one thing that they can seem to agree and find truce over. They are content to slaughter the vile beasts that dare to think they can harm a hair on your head, casting aside their rivalry to kill together. Their protection is priceless in a world filled with danger- not even the wealthiest of people could pay a price to ensure such safety.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ those dynamic is full of banter and jeering- Alucard most often the initiator. How can he help himself? This enigma of a being is so ripe and ready for the teasing and prodding. Something that is half monster, half human... It shouldn't be. An abomination as much as himself. Although he shares his hatred through his own twisted morals, the hatred towards lowly vampires who do not abide by nature and kill monstrously with no goal or end- that disgusts him. His respect for the hunter draws a fine line between mutual respect- and despair for his existence.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ "You're disgusted with yourself? As you should be. All creatures of the night deserve nothing. Useless beasts"

"You realise you speak of yourself, Nosferatu"

"How witty of you to clue on. You should know better, do you feel the weight of existence? Isn't it crushing? Yes...it is, isn't it..."

"..."

"For someone who is half human, you are certainly as silent as the dead-"

"Enough."

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ D is... Often wavering with his control around you. Beyond the soft nonchalant veil that he drapes himself with, internally he often finds himself holding back his insatiable bloodlust. You'd probably never guess- by how tamed and calm he is, through both his slow methodic actions and lulling voice- but every part of him is yearning to taste you.

He's not proud of it- ashamed, is the best way to describe it. It's something he's intent on you never discovering- lest you fear him, God forbid. Pain and fear are things he never wants to stir in you from his own doing. He's not the monster who hides under your bed- not the frightening creature who lurks in shadow, hunting for blood. He's more than that, he likes to believe. There's a part of him that regains precious humanity.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ Alucard however isn't a creature who can be swayed easily with the scent of blood- his experience and self control has far surpassed his mindless animalistic bloodlust. Despite the way that he is, He's not one to become lost in a mindless haze- eager to snatch you up and shake you around with your throat in his jaws like he was some depraved starving animal. Although the scent or sight of your blood does utter some excitement out of him, he's never one to act upon it. He'll simply stare at you knowingly, smiling softly and offering to bandage wherever you are hurting. he'll be more than happy to lick the wound.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ You can imagine the taunting this no-life king has in store for the vampire hunter, watching with smug amusement as this halfling struggles to keep his drool in his mouth just from the mere scent of you. It’s adorable. Pathetic.

He loves taunting the hunter- playing with you like a cat pawing gently at a mouse, to see what kind of reaction he can summon out of this nonchalant creature. His lack of response always irks the vampire, so watching him grow annoyed and angry just for merely being too close to you? Oh it’s bliss.

Alucard loves to stray closer- closer and closer, pushing his luck, all under the watchful eye of the hunter. He’s more keen to touch and caress you like this- like a lion with a lamb, towering over you frightfully as you stand there sweetly and innocently in his claws. As if he were playing with his food. Rest assured you'll never be his food, but that shouldn't damper his fun regarding toying with the naive hunter.

You’ll become surely equated with the Eldritch horror of a man swallowing you up in his shadow- standing closer than necessary. Your back practically flushed against his torso, as large gloved hands gently pet and caress you like you were some pretty little thing to fawn over. It doesn’t matter how you react. Either you tremble and swallow anxiously as your throat is swallowed up his palm- his fingertip dragging softly over the skin to trace the hollow in your throat, unsure and confused- or you may simply stand still and allow your loyal hound of a vampire preen and coo over you with patient endurance. It’s not your response Alucard is after, although it doesn’t hurt to enjoy it, but D’s.

He wants his anger.

His jealousy.

His envy.

For D, the sight of your delicate neck in the hands of Alucard is something that never fails to make his stomach lurch in fury. He’ll glare wordlessly at the vampire mutt- his own blood red eyes simmering like boiling viscera as he clutches his own aching throat.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ I know very well how tempting they he’ll say with his eyes, the deep pleased hum rumbling in his chest like a content beast as he tenderly strokes the delicate skin above your artery. Feeling it pump quickly beneath his fingertips, as his eyes glint with amusement at the dhampir’s simmering anger.

See how I can be so near, so close to touch them whilst you salivate and struggle like a starving dog. A dog. That’s what you are.

D could rip him a new one if you weren’t so in the line of fire.

God, this guy's one smug asshole huh D.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ That is not to say that Alucard is the only petty one, because D is just as bad. he can be worse.

It is not unusual for the Dhampir to snatch you away and keep you tucked safely beneath the shelter of his cape- keeping you swallowed up in billowing fabric, nestling you close to his side or ribcage. Silently-softly- he’ll extend his arm out welcomingly, draping his cape open for you to hide if you so please. Please. It is the safest place for you in his eyes, swaddled safely from sight nor scent- with you so swallowed up in his clothes and stature, your pretty scent is masked with his. Practically bathing you in it. All you can do is keep up with his strides as his hand settles securely upon your shoulder, keeping you tucked into his side whenever you walk together.

Look D, as much as I like seeing this assholes face prune up, I'd like our body to stay intact. Hey, are you even listening?

So you can image the irk and seething jealousy that burns like hellfire in Alucards vermillion glare as D unveils you to the vampire king- your form nestled close to him, wrapped up in the safe recluse of the dhampir’s cape. That halfling abomination has rubbed off all your scent and his.

The nerve.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ It's safe to say that they both become clingy in their efforts to claim possession of you no matter how much D refuses the concept of possessing you, they both know deep inside that's what he yearns for with his lonely dead heart.

So be prepared to be clung to by these two towering children of the night. Alucard pressing himself to you like a touch starved dog, possessive and enveloping. His gloved hands resting upon your shoulders or idly stroking your head/jaw/neck. If not in your shadow, he's by your heel- the tip of his own polished shoes brushing against your heel.

He does it so unnaturally fitting. His large hand curling around your jaw, tilting your head up to wipe something off your face. He could so easily crush you, but that thought never comes to fruition in his mind. or he may drape his arm over your shoulder, his gun bracing against your chest like a makeshift shield. (Or perhaps a little empty threat to make your heart skip a little in your chest). He loves how much it winds the Dhampir up.

"Get that thing off her, if you know what's good for you."

"I don't, you see"

"Off."

"What's wrong? You surely don't think I'd hurt her to you? She's my dear little human, Dhampir. Mine"

"She's not yours, or anyone's."

"Is that so."

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ Both are eager to claim the spot to reside in your shadow- both literally and metaphorically. They share the same inevitable fate of losing you to time- so they are insatiably eager to take their fill of life from you. To have the pleasure of watching you grow old and silver, front row seats of your existence- if you will. It is unspoken, the sorrow. It’s a lengthy pause that’ll always settle between them; both fully aware, but not strong enough to say it out loud. It all but makes it too real. Alucard is full of pretty poetry when it comes to the concept of losing you- always grinning and wistfully lamenting how full and easy he’d make life for you, but internally there’s a pit of anger and sorrow inside him that’s festers like rotting fruit. Sweet and syrupy, but spoiled and repulsive. These emotions only come to surface through silent lingering glances of softened expressions, which always throw you off. They’re quiet and contemplate, and for once you don’t feel like a yummy morsel under his watch. You’re something to be mourned and cherished. This deep sadness that dwells hidden in his garnet hued irises.

.‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ D is just as in much sorrow, and that is something that the two creatures of night can fall into agreement with. Immortality is a curse, not something one should wish to possess.

D does not keen to dwell too deeply into the concept of your demise- no matter how peaceful it’ll be. Every smile-line and pretty wrinkle upon your face serves as a reminder to him. He will forever remain porcelain- his hair will remain deep mahogany, whilst you turn silver and frail. Reminding him of how fragile you are- how privileged you are. Still- he is silent with his emotions. Like carved marble set into a beautiful and gaunt expression, never will he show anger or jealousy. He cannot bring himself to bear it.

As long as you are safe and cherished, that is all he can wish for.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ their fight for claim can go on and on, scrabbling for a secure footing in the game they've been began- with no means to an end to finish. They are both strong, no matter how endurable D is- nor how many levels of his own power that Alucard unleashes, there's always a standstill. D could be near shredded ribbons of flesh and fabric, but he'll still stand. Alucard could be standing tall in his armour from his days of impaling and bloody reign, and he'd still be toe to toe with the Dhampir. It's infuriating for the both of them. There must be only one victor, one to take their stead in the shadow of your existence. But it's never ending.

This isn't about simple rivalry anymore. It's a neverending duel between themselves, eager to win or die. Death would be a privilege if not for your own place in the matter. They can't die yet, not whilst you are still breathing.

. ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ you'll be caught in the crossfire of possession and duty, desire and a twisted version of love. It is for you to bear witness to, So don't look away.

[yuri-is-online]

Hey I'm the original person that sent that baby terrarium ask! I thought that it became a forgotten relic lol

I love the expanding you did! I wanna add that when I first wrote that I meant it to be for human/mer couples that don't want to transform. With the new info we got I think that Yuu and Jade would wanna raise their kids on land for the first years where they're still squishy and then slowly move into the water. Going deeper as their kids age.

The aquarium is necessary to stimulate the environment of the deep waters without the danger. Once the babies are old enough, they'll be taken out of the aquarium for short periods of time (sort of like when people take their babies out to the park in strollers) the way I think these particular mer/human hybrid babies work is that they have gills but otherwise appear completely human, if they're place in water for a long amount of time they slowly start growing out their mer features (like when humans get pruney our skin changes to have better grip) and any patterns they inherit from both parents start becoming more prominent (they'll get the mer patterns from one parent and moles,freckles,etc from the human parent)

As times goes on I think Yuu and Jade alternate between land and sea. Their kids are hybrids so they should be allowed to enjoy both sides of their family, sort of like how mixed kids are raised in our world (im speaking from experience, but usually a mixed person would want to explore both heritages in their lifetime. If they don't in childhood they'll try to in adulthood) I don't think Yuu or Jade are the type of people to deprive their kids from those experiences so they settle on having a good amount of sea/land potions on hand.

When jade was a first year he'd have no idea what's in store for him at NRC, it's almost funny, like the seven are humbling him for laughing at human/mer couples he saw online lol

Oh hello dearest friend, none of my asks are ever forgotten. Tucked away in a very dusty corner screaming at me to get back to them, but not forgotten!

I agree about mer hybrids looking human but having gills. I considered bringing up the idea of them being amphibious so I am glad to see we're on the same page ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

As for the bit about these kids being mixed... that just adds a layer of tragedy to their existence. You are not from Twisted Wonderland. Your culture, your people, your history, all of the things your children might be curious about and wish to understand do not exist for them to see. Stories that you might tell them, people you might want them to meet, you can only recreate what you remember so if your memory is poor there's going to be so many questions you won't be able to answer. In a sense no matter who Yuu ends up with that will be a problem... but being part mer has got to make that worse. The babies will be alien no matter where they go. I agree they'd want to explore both land and sea as much as they could though.

Ah first year Jade... he was so naive back then. Humans are entertaining sure but to want to be one forever? Please only a fool would think such a thing could work. Good thing he likes being proven wrong. Sometimes anyway.

[kiame-sama]

Fun fact for my TWST Monster AU;

Until the Lions have their own historian, history will always glorify the hunter.

Gnolls (Hyena people), Werewolves, Nemean Lions, Driders, Kelpies, and Harpies were the worst species about eating humans over history. Technically, Trey, Vil, and Rook should be treated with as little trust as the others treat Ruggie, Jack, and Leona regarding Humans, but it was assumed that Sunset Savana was the main location of the Human-meat black market given Sunset Savana didn't explicitly have laws against the general consumption of Humans as they were traditionally a food source long before the Kingdom itself was established. Since Leona is prince of Sunset Savana and Ruggie is a Gnoll (who were assumed to be the worst about attacking and devouring Humans in broad daylight) they are not trusted to be alone around the Human. Alternately, Jack- who is from the Shaftland- is also not trusted alone around the Human despite being considered a 'tame' species due to his affiliation with Leona and his more beastly appearance.

Falena works tirelessly to change the views others have of his Kingdom as it has been half a millennia since a Human was present in Twisted Wonderland let alone one being eaten. Leona knows he is a member of one of the last holdout species that ate Humans (as Humans were traditionally only a meal Nemean Lion royalty were technically allowed to have even in Sunset Savana), but he believes keeping this new Human safe and getting them to Sunset Savana would absolutely help change the way other Kingdoms view the Sunset Savana. Falena would be thrilled to hear a Human still lives and will be very keen to establish a positive relationship with this Human in order to aid his Kingdom. Sunset Savana is likely one of the most land and resource rich Kingdoms in Twisted Wonderland, so they can survive independently, but Falena knows there is a cruel stereotype against his people due to the poor decisions of Kings before him.

There was another group that was notorious for eating humans and that was actually a Merfolk Kingdom known as the Abyssal Sea Kingdom. That Kingdom has since been dissolved following the extinction of Humans by the other Merfolk Kingdom and Queendoms in retaliation for their crimes against Humans. Sunset Savana is what is considered an old Kingdom as they predate many of the current Kingdom and Queendoms still present in Twisted Wonderland.

Leona has zero interest in actually hurting the Human, more he wants to scare them away because he knows the way others look at him especially when the Human is involved and he doesn't want to be blamed should anything happen. He also understands that if he does actually cause harm to the Human, it will deeply impact his Kingdom. He may not be next in line for king anymore, but he sure as hell does not want his Kingdom to suffer from his actions.

It is quite possible that this little Human can help rid Twisted Wonderland of the stereotypes against Sunset Savana and other traditionally 'beastly' species like Gnolls (which are now found in every Kingdom, not just Sunset Savana) and Werewolves which are most commonly found in the Shaftland part of the world.

[thewritergremlin-rae]

Hi! If you wanted to could you write a Soulmate AU or Drunken confessions (Loki x reader) pls thanks <333

Thanks for the request anon! I have way too many soulmate AU ideas already so I went with drunken confessions ehehehe

A Casual Exchange

Pairing: Loki x Reader Rating: M Words: 763 Content: 2nd person, fluff, drunken/tipsy reader Summary: Your night winds to a close - your parting words leaving Loki stunned. AO3: HERE

Banner by cafekitsune

You hadn’t meant to get drunk. 

No. Really. 

You’d been nursing one glass, only it had never ended. You had a feeling your favourite Asgardian had something to do with it. Plopping down on the couch, your drink sloshed but you didn’t feel a splash and, looking over at Loki, none of it had spilt on him either. 

Your eyes got a little stuck on Loki, like they always did. Such a beautiful being. Skin - flawless, cheekbones - sharp enough to cut yourself on, legs - never ending. 

The sound of him clearing his throat brought your gaze back to his face but you didn’t feel any of that familiar, heavy embarrassment in your stomach. You laughed as he arched a delicate eyebrow. 

“Yes, dear?” His eyes sparkled with mischief, his gaze washing over your swaying, the slight dazed look in your eyes, and the curve of your lips as you giggled. 

The giggling was his favourite. 

“Are you having fun, Loki?” You laid your arm out over the back of the couch and flopped your head down on it as you waited for his answer. Fingers caught the end of his curls, twisting and twirling them, brain fizzing and focusing on the silky feel. 

Loki snorted softly, you having no idea you’d missed his answer. “You seem to be having far more fun.” 

You giggled again and tugged a little on the curl, watching it bounce back into place. “Yeah…  Do you use magic on these?” You flicked a curl again and his long fingers curled around your traitorous ones. 

“No, that would be pointless when I can simply use products. And I certainly would never be so strange as Midgardians as to put dangerous chemicals in my hair to change the colour.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you processed the information. “Guess you’re right. See, that’s why humans should be feared. What other race kept eating mushrooms until they found the ones that made them trip balls?”

“You also season your food with peppers that developed semi-poisonous defense mechanisms to avoid being eaten, your race deciding that that makes them taste good.” 

You laughed and grinned. “Jalapeno poppers are the best and you’re just jealous you don’t have processed sugar on your planet.”

Loki gave an elegant shrug. “I concede that chocolate is certainly one of your species’ better inventions.” He smiled, pulling a bar seemingly from nowhere as he traded it for your drink. 

Probably a good idea, you were just on the edge of sober enough to know that as you dug in and nibbled. “Thanks, Loki, you’re the best.” 

A subtle twitch in his expression caught your eye but you weren’t sharp enough to figure it out right now. Actually, Loki should have some of this chocolate too but his hands were pretty full. 

You snapped off a piece and held it to his lips, grinning when he accepted it with nothing more than a cocked eyebrow. But he soon got his own back, dragging a gasp from your soft lips when he nipped the tip of your thumb. 

You stared at your thumb as you brought it back to you. It tingled a little, still warm. 

A distant laugh had the sounds of the party around you filtering back in and you realised it’s a little loud. “Me and the chocolate are going to go to bed.” Loki seemed a little sad to lose your company but perhaps he shouldn’t have refilled your cup so much. No-one was ever thankful for a hangover. 

“A good idea. Good night.” 

“Night night, Loki. Love you.” You leaned forward with a bounce to kiss his cheek and got to your feet, leaving him stunned.

Did you just say…

You waved to him as if you didn’t just profess your love for him and disappeared inside the elevator. How could you not realise….? 

You hummed to yourself, nibbling at the chocolate. Head empty, no thoughts as you crossed to your bedroom door. 

Wait.

Did you say ‘love you’ to Loki? Your brain slowly swings back to the memory and your eyes widen when you hear the words in your own voice. 

Oh shit. You hurried back to the elevator, cut short by the appearance of a firm chest in your narrowed field of vision.

“Did we perhaps realise what we said, love?” Loki whispered, hoping he looked not the least bit flustered by your casual admission. His arms caught you and held you close before he caught your lips. 

“Loki…” you breathed and he chuckled. 

“I might be persuaded to remind you come morning.” 

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Tags: @kindadolly @ilovetaquitosmmmm @satan-ate-my-sandwitch @ravenswritingroom

[capr1pengu1n]

So let's all pretend that we are undead

Summary: After an encounter with something you're sure wasn't human, you come to find that he can't seem to keep himself away from you

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem reader (no use of y/n), vampire au, so typical vampire things (vampire lore is whatever i say it is), choking, fingering, dom!Edward, power play, marking, stalker behaviour

Words: 4.6k

Notes: So after the lovely @adhdnursegoat posted her amazing vampire edward fic (which you all should read cause it's so delicious), i remembered i'd posted a vampire au fic on ao3 ages ago and never posted it on here, so here it is. I edited it so it flows better with how i write currently.

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The hairs bristle on the back of your neck as you walk your standard commute home, the physiological response a frighteningly normal part of your life for the past couple of weeks. You keep walking, one foot in front of the other as the wind lightly blows your skirt around your thighs. Out of the corners of your eyes, shadows move and twist into alleyways and darkened shop windows under the moonlight.

The feeling of being watched is something quite new to you. Of course, you were once a child cowering under the blankets at night, fear emanating from that corner of your room that was just a bit too dark, a bit too empty. However, the feeling had naturally dissipated once you reached adulthood. You grew up, realised no monsters were lurking in the shadows, or creatures hiding beneath your bed ready to feast on your ankles. At least, that's what you thought. But now, since you'd met him, you felt you were always the subject of someones intense gaze.

Thinking about the first time you met him, was it even a him? It made your head grow fuzzy and unfocused. You distinctly remembered the panic you felt after missing the last bus, the biting chill of the night air as you walked back, the tight feeling of your shoes and the planning to return them as they weren’t fitting right. The pre-occupied thoughts must have led you to take a wrong turn, but after that the memory feels wrong; like a tv full of static occasionally getting a flash of cable network. You remember a sort of warmth, a hand? Maybe, you think something must have pushed you. But what you mainly remember is the terrible ache in your neck the morning after, how groggy and light headed you'd felt. You shake your head and continue to press on, the faded memory won't help you get home after all. Although for a reason you can't quite place, the colour green won't leave your mind’s eye.

A clatter causes you to turn around, your heart jumping to your throat at the loud noise. False alarm, you watch as the empty pepsi can rolls sadly along the pavement. You get your phone out to entertain yourself until the screen flickers and the battery dies. You start to slightly panic now; you knew you’d charged it so there’s no way it should be out of power this quickly. As the streetlamps flicker too, you increase your pace. You’ve watched enough horror films to know you don't want to hang around when weird things start happening, so you maintain a quick stride, ducking through shortcuts and ignoring what you thought are footsteps behind you on multiple occasions.

“I think you dropped something.”

Before you register the question, you feel something grab your arm hard enough to have you stumbling. Your head spins around to face your attacker, ready to fight. He's tall, easily able to overpower you as you're pushed back against the wall and your face tilted up towards him. He looks…human? What an odd thing for you to think, it’s not like he can be anything else. Glasses frame his admittedly handsome face, and your eyes dart to the tailored suit that clings to him in a dark shade of green; the more you look at it, the more your mind seemingly feels fuzzy, so you opt to stare into the pools of his eyes instead.

You feel the blood pumping throughout your entire body, the nervous twitch of your fingers as your mind races. You want to run, to scream, to stay and find out what exactly the man before you wants. He smiles, although it doesn't quite reach his eyes, gazing down at you in what could only be described as fascination. “Shhh, don’t fret” he whispers, the cadence somehow putting you more at ease and making your body feel weightless.

“What- what do you want?”

He seemingly laughs at that, like the mere thought of you attempting a conversation with him was somehow amusing, but he divulges you.

“I have come to apologise; I can’t help but think I-“ he pauses, “over-exerted you last time we met.”

You go to explain that you’ve never met him before, but like a tidal wave it comes crashing back to you. It was him. He had done something, left that mark on your neck and had you deliriously waking up inside your apartment with no clue how you came to arrive there. Now, all you can visualise in your mind’s eye when you think about that night is the dark green that adorns his figure.

“Clever girl, I knew you’d remember. Although I admit I was not the most gentlemanly presence that night.”

While his words imply that he's trying to apologise, his tone carries no such weight.

“Someone as delicate as you all alone, you’re lucky it was me who found you.”

Scrambling in your mind, you manage to crawl out of the haze he seemingly has you under to demand an answer to a question that has plagued you you. What happened that night? But all he says in reply was “I was hungry.”

Before you can hope to say another word, he softly brings his hand up to your jaw, tracing down your neck until he reaches the marks he left.

“They’ve healed well” he breathes; his voice so soft you could barely hear it. “I suppose it’s too soon to drink from you again, I do want you to remain intact.”

You should be scared, should be screaming for help and fighting him off, but you aren't. You don't want to, why do you want to be his captive? While you don't understand who, or what, he is, you somehow know that he doesn't want to hurt you. Instead, all you have to contend with is the embarrassing realisation that you have been pressing your thighs together the whole time he spoke, his voice vibrating through you as his touch sends little jolts all around your body. His eyes flit down to your thighs, and your whole body seems to shift under his gaze.

“Such an eager little thing” he muses, “I wasn’t expecting such a response, but it is indeed welcome”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and when he places his hand on your thigh you can't stop yourself from rocking forward. That motion causes a real laugh from him, a noise deep and inhuman, something that in any other situation probably would have sent shocks of anxiety through you but instead sends you deeper into your own depravity. But he withdraws his hand, and takes a deliberate step back away from you. Confusion sweeps across your face, although his remains impassive.

“No, if I am to take you it will not be in an alleyway like a common whore.”

Your face flushes as the reality of what you had just been so eager for him to do sets in, you don't even know this man’s name yet you were so willing to have him touch you so intimately.

“Go home pretty girl, I’ll announce myself when the time is right”

His tone leaves no room for negotiation as he moves to walk away, not before stopping to utter “My name is Edward, since you were wondering.”

You get the sense he already knows yours, despite never giving it. You blink and he's gone, he hadn’t walked away, he was simply gone. Dissipated into thin air like a blow of smoke. So, you start to walk home yet again, body still aching and your mind reeling at the encounter you’d just had.

It's a few days until you have an encounter with him again. The hour is late, although this time thankfully you're safe in your apartment, having finished your depressing routine of re-watching your favourite show alone with a quick dinner you’d prepared. You're just starting to doze off on the sofa when the knock comes at your door. Freezing, you turn towards the door and listen again. Another knock comes, loud and imposing. You weren’t expecting visitors, so shyly you get up to look through the peephole but nobody sees to be there. Opening the door, you jump when you see him, Edward, staring at you from the hallway.

“Mind if I come in?” he inquires, and something about the way he speaks makes you want to say yes to anything.

You manage to shake that disturbing feeling but stammer out a yes and step aside for him to enter. He looks the same as when you’d saw him last, his pristine suit spotless save for a small dot of red staining the crisp white of his shirt. He walks straight into your living room, looking around in feigned curiosity while you awkwardly pick at your sleeve. What were you even meant to say to him?

“Have you been thinking of me?” he asks, and stares deeply at your shocked expression. You hadn’t expected him to say something so blunt, so you change the subject to save yourself the embarrassment of admitting you had.

“Who are you? Why are you- “

“Why am I here? My dear I thought you’d be happy, after all it was you who was so desperate for my personal attention when we last spoke was it not?” He replies, the smugness present in his tone.

You know you have no way of avoiding the inevitable, shameful memories pouring through as you recall just how horny he’d made you with just a few simple touches. Although the rationality thankfully starts to come back to you, as you still hadn’t had a clear answer as to what happened to you during that previous encounter.

“I suppose I’ll lay your suspicions to rest; I can see they’ve been plaguing you.” He starts, ignoring your shocked expression as he seemingly reached into your mind and pulled out the interrogative you’d been thinking of. “When I first laid eyes on you, the hunger I had been experienced increased tenfold, I needed to have you in my arms while I drained the blood from your neck”

Now you really are speechless, the cold tone in which he admits to such an act causes a chill to run up your spine. It was so…inhuman. You should laugh in his face at such a story, but your thoughts go hazy and you find yourself accepting his speech as fact. As he speaks, he walks closer to you, and when you crane your head to look at him, his neutral expression can't quite hide the darkness in his eyes. 

“And so, I did. I bit into you and you satiated me. It’s been a while since my prey was so happy, even through the daze of your vision.” Amusement bleeds through his cadence as he recalls the memory of you pliant in his hands, reaching up to once again trace the mark left on your neck, now nearly healed.

“What the hell are you?”

The sound of his uncanny laugh reaches your ears once more, deep and unsettling. Instead of answering, he leans closer to your neck, his hot breath brushing against the mark he left. Tense, you close your eyes and brace for pain that never comes. Instead he simply kisses the spot, causing you to shiver and making him hum in appreciation.

“Tell me you want me.” He demands, “Do that and I will have you experiencing pleasures your fragile mind cannot hope to quantify.”

You can't stop the noise that rips from your throat even if you'd have tried, and despite any self-preservation you may have, you nod sheepishly.

“I said tell me, sweet thing.”

“I want you.”

“Good choice.”

He pushes you against the wall and you await his next rough movement, but instead he kisses at your neck, leaving little marks in his wake, and making you gasp at the coldness of his lips. He holds a tight grip on your hips, keeping you still and where he wants you, so all you can do is stand there and take his teasing. You feel something sharp as he drags what you guess are his fangs along your neck down towards your collarbones, your loose shirt allowing him access as he continues to leave his mark on your fragile skin.

“Do you have any idea,” He drawls against your shoulder, “how hard it is to hold myself back from ravaging you? Ever since that night, my desires have been plagued by you.”

You try to rock against him at his words but his grip remains firm.

“To think some mortal girl could overtake my thoughts like this.” The mixture of resentment and lust was clear in his voice, pulling away to look at you before grabbing your neck with his hand. You stand there, at the complete mercy of this man, this creature who could destroy you so easily, and it scares and exhilarates you in equal measure. But those thoughts come to an end when he finally kisses you roughly. Like a symphony, everything in your body seems to sing in delight, your eyes almost rolling back as the ecstasy of his lips on yours overtakes you. Maintaining the grip on your neck, his other hand makes its way down to your hips and up under your shirt. With every trace of his ice-cold fingertips up your torso, he leaves goosebumps in his wake and your body trembles. 

“Such a gorgeous thing.” he rasps, inches away from your lips. “So eager for my touch.”

You can only nod in response and grip on to the lapels of his jacket. You have never felt such burning desire in your life; the more you look in his eyes, the more the ache between your thighs intensifies. 

“Come now, let’s continue in more comfortable surroundings.”

He pulls away and leads you to your bedroom, you're so overcome with desire you fail to notice how he knows the layout of your apartment without you telling him. Before you can ponder that, you're sprawled on your back upon your bed, with him towering over you like the apparition of a god. He traces his hand over your body before lifting your shirt slightly to fully expose you to his gaze.

“I feed your anger, and I sicken your desire to satisfy me with every look, what am I?”

It takes you a moment to process what he says, but you're in no sense to try and decipher a riddle. Luckily, he doesn't seem to mind, more so wanting to tell you the answer himself, proving his intellect.

“Envy, my dear. When I look at your body it makes me long for the warmth a mortal can provide.”

“You really aren’t human, are you?” you manage to stammer out, which awards you a low laugh from him.

“No. No I am not, although it doesn’t seem to be affecting you negatively now does it? I think you like it.”

He smiles then, a wicked grin that can only be described as a predator smiling at its prey. “Is that true? What a foolish little girl you are, getting aroused at the power of another being. Someone who could tear you apart.”

As he says the words, static jolts through your body making you let out a whimper and push against nothing. You look at him and he revels in your reaction, before the same sensation wracks through you. It's like you've had the air sucked from your lungs, you gasp and writhe as he commands your body without even touching you. But it isn't enough.

“Please- “

“Hm? Is there something you want my dear?”

After the third time he sends electric through seemingly your soul, you relent; you beg for him to touch you, to hurt you, to give you anything other than the blissful torture he was subjecting you to.

“If you insist.” is all he remarks callously before getting on the bed with you, ripping your underwear off with a hidden strength and pushing your skirt up, before lowering himself until he's eye level with your dripping cunt. The lewd position makes you embarrassed, but when he licks a stripe up you, your thoughts turn to mush and your head falls back. He repeats the motion before focusing on your clit, sucking while he grips onto your thighs. You can feel the bruises forming under his fingertips as he continues to please you with his mouth. Such divine pleasure coming from a creature shrouded in malevolent power makes the sensations so visceral, so intense. Bringing a hand to his hair, you attempt to shift your hips upward to feel more of his tongue but he keeps you firmly pressed into the mattress.

“You taste delightful.” He states against you, the vibration pleasantly shooting up your body. He continues to lick circles around your clit, and you gasp when you feel one of his fingers teasing your entrance. “Ask for more and I’ll give it to you, in abundance.”

So, you do. You beg for more in a way you didn’t think possible from you, sounding so desperate to your own ears. Looking down at him, you see the sadistic glint in his eyes at the way you sound, it's clear he was reveling in the power he has over you.

Luckily, he divulges your request, pushing a finger inside you; the coldness of it makes you whine and once again you attempt to shift under his grip. He ignores you, moving in and out until he feels you're ready enough for him to add a second one. All the while he continues to lavish your clit with his tongue, giving you an ecstasy that leaves your body ignited with lust. You need more, you can't take anymore. It's too much and not enough all at once.

Your pitiful cries seem to spur him on, thrusting his fingers a bit faster and crooking them just right to have your eyes rolling back into your skull. Over and over again, he has you at his mercy and you adore every second. To think you’d found out this man, this thing wasn’t human and in the same encounter offered yourself and your body willingly to him scared and excited you in one single warped wave of pleasure. He starts to gently suck on your clit once again, his fingers thrusting faster and rougher into your soaked cunt. You know it won't be long before you come undone beneath him, the prediction coming true as you feel it build inside you. Just like before he seems to once again enter your mind and know what you're thinking.

“Are you close already? My my how desperate you truly are, do you want to cum?”

You nod eagerly; your vision hazy as something seems to overtake your brain like a blanket atop a candle. You hear him speak again, but not just through your ears but through your mind.

“Submit to me, become mine and I will grant you the pleasure you crave.”

There's no other option, you have to say yes and you know you want nothing more. So you offer yourself to him fully, claiming to be his, watching as he seemingly comes alive; his fingers moving impossibly quick and something like colour appearing on his cheeks.

“Then cum.”

With his permission you let go, crying out his name as fireworks seemingly explode in your entire body. Squeezing your eyes shut, you can't control the frenzied movement of your body as it thrusts up into him. His grip on your thigh had loosened, allowing you to ride out your frantic pleasure as it seemingly lasts for an eternity. When you finally come back down from the heavens you're breathing sharply, opening your eyes to see Edward rising slightly from his position. You barely have time to think before he leans forward and bites your inner thigh. A sharp pain rushes through you as you look down in shock, seeing him lap up the blood that trickles from the wound; your thigh now has the exact same mark which was on your neck and despite both your morality and post-orgasm haze, your cunt throbs at the sight of him drinking up your blood.

“It seems I couldn’t control myself.” He states matter-of-factly, wiping a trace of blood from his lips with his finger. He then looks at you with an expression you can't read, before leaning over you and placing the finger in your mouth. Without thinking you suck the bloodied finger clean, staring at his eyes which darkened at your actions.

“Good girl.”

It had been the only time thus far that he’d praised your actions, which leads to you flushing and turning your head away. He brings you back to facing him with a hand on your jaw.

“You’re so easy to read, I hardly need to comb through your mind to know what you’re thinking.”

You stare at him, unsure as to how to vocalise your feelings. You settle on asking him how he can read your mind, which results in him smirking slightly.

“Reading your mind? What a simplistic way to put it. But I suppose if that’s the language it takes for you to understand, yes people like me can do that with ease.”

You feel a little embarrassed at the condescending way he speaks to you, although it isn't long before you forget all about it when you feel him push you so you're on your back once again. You look up at him, before he captures your lips in a fierce kiss once again. Each time he does this, it always strikes you just how cold his skin is to the touch.

“Now,” he starts, “I will take you properly, hm?”

You're a little shocked at how bluntly he says it, but you nod regardless. As he gets you in position, that same clouding of your mind happens as it had earlier; the weight of something pressing on your thoughts, making you feel so desperate for his attention, his touch, his anything.

With a gasp from your lips, you feel him enter you, a whine escaping your lips at the sensation. Grabbing on to his shoulders, you feel the air be drawn from your lungs as he pulls out and thrusts into you harshly. 

“You feel…divine” he manages to say into your ear, before his thrusts become slower. He traces his hand down your body, grabbing at your tits before growling slightly and ripping your top completely off; you’d been so caught up in what happened you’d forgot you were still wearing it. With every slow thrust you almost feel your sanity slipping away more and more, your fingernails digging in more and more to his shoulders.

“How does it feel? To have a…creature so superior to you inside you? He whispers, the pride in his voice suffocating. Despite his narcissism, you can't help but whine and tell him how good everything feels, not quite being able to articulate the pleasure he was giving you through more than just his physical touch. 

He begins to speed up after your admission, grabbing at your hip and waist before stroking his hand up and wrapping it around your throat; not squeezing but simply holding. You have no doubt that even though he was fucking you, he still posed a danger to you, and as you looked into his cold eyes you could see that that was the point. He delights in the control he has, that he could just as soon kill you than he could make you cum. And more importantly, he knows you like it.

You feel your eyes roll back slightly as he continues his pace, the slight noises of pleasure from his lips make your cunt throb more. He doesn't seem to get tired or over-exert himself, instead maintaining whatever rhythm he desires.

“Such a…greedy thing” he states, his thrusts getting faster, “You truly are a vision, what a pretty pet I seem to have found.”

You shudder at his words; your fingers having moved to drag your nails down his back as he adjusts his head near your ear to whisper into. The pleasure, the sensation, it's overwhelming. You shift your hips, the angle causing him to hit that spot inside you that has your mind reeling. All you can do is nod and release noises from your mouth that upon reflection you’re sure can't have come from you, they're so…desperate.

“And I’ll be sure to make you into such a good pet for me…all mine to use.” It was clear he meant what he said, his hand tightening on your throat. You can't help but moan at his words, the chill of his body pressing against yours mixing to create a euphoria in your head. Over and over, he thrusts into you, getting deliberately rougher as you two get closer and closer.

It was then you feel something you can't describe, an oppressive feeling throughout your entire body that simmers just below your skin. You don't know how, but you know it's him causing you to experience the strange sensation.

“Do you feel it? The control I have over you?” His grip tightens on your neck even more, causing you to struggle for breath. The feeling in your body swirls and fills every pore, every inch of you. You have never experienced anything like this in your life, the sheer ecstasy and torture of being at this monster’s mercy, inside and out.

“What fun I shall have with you, your mind cannot hope to quantify the things I am able to do to you, and I will do all of them.”

You aren't sure whether it's his rough pace, his harsh words or the fact that whatever he's doing to your mind decided it was time, but you cum loudly and frantically. The waves of pleasure crash into you; you feel as though if it wasn’t for his form pressed so close, you'd fall through the mattress and into nothingness. The world seems blurry and disjointed, your nails digging in to his back so harshly you're sure in the back of your mind you're leaving marks. Strained breaths claw their way up your throat as you feel his grip loosen, his thrusts never faltering for a moment. Overwhelmed, the feeling of him pounding into you while you're still so sensitive causes you to whine pitifully, but all you can do was lay there and let him use your body. The drag of his cock pulling out and pushing back in to you hurt so good, you almost don't want it to end despite the overstimulation. You aren't sure how long it takes, or even if you cum again from the sheer amount of pleasure your body was receiving but you feel him cum inside you, rambling about how you belonged to him as he rides out his own high. 

All that you can hear in the room is your loud laboured breathing, as the weight of his body on you was now gone. You look up at him, seeing him adjust his clothes like he’d simply done something mundane, not fucked you within an inch of your life. He glances over at you, at how pitiful you looked; half naked and sweaty, thoroughly satiated and he smirks a little. Within a moment he reaches over and strokes your cheek slightly, the intimacy surprising you. He brushes some hair out of your face, his fingers slightly shaking before standing up.

“Rest, your fragile body needs it.” His tone sounds distant, but there was a hint in his face that he wants to say something else but refrains.

“Will I see you again?”

Your question makes him smile slightly, walking towards your bedroom door but stopping before he left.

“Would you like that?” 

The way he asks makes you think he's experiencing surprise, as if the thought of you wanting to interact with him again was somehow unusual. You nod your head.

 “Then yes…I’m sure you will.”

He leaves without saying another word, leaving you still sprawled out on your bed, your mind racing. With slightly shaky limbs, you adjust yourself and wrap the blanket around your trembling form, exhaustion settling into your bones. The next morning, you're ready to write the encounter off as a wildly inappropriate dream until you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, still naked. Marks. Lots of them. All over your neck, with what looked to be fingerprints adorning the side. And as you gazed at the massacre of your skin, soft fingertips gently running over the blotched marks, you can't help but smile.

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

[yuurivoice]

Hi Yuuri I just wanted to say I miss Howell. That’s all I hope you have a good day😊

I do too! There's still a lot about him I want to know and figure out. I was able to delve into him a bit more (and get some much needed closure) with some friends. I don't think he's really a character that I want to do various iterations of in different worlds and campaigns, because it's that specific story of his that I love. If it's removed from that world and story, I'd rather have another shot at a new character.

I was able to salvage a couple of relationships out of the rubble from the entire ordeal surrounding TnD, and I've got no beef with anyone who wasn't literal human trash, so Howell's place in my heart is unscathed in terms of being attached to a really shitty time and situation.

Reflecting on those days, that shit was a nightmare scenario. Obviously my own emotional turmoil pales in comparison to the literal criminal and victim in our midst, don't get that twisted because those most directly impacted by one asshole's actions should be the primary concern. It is a hell of a pill to swallow having something that dear to you go up in flames in such a public and grotesque way.

I don't blame anyone who feels any type of way about how it was handled and the aftermath of it. The truth of it all is, one person's really fucked up actions had widespread effects on a lot of people. The radius of that bomb was no joke.

Howell is very dear to me, and those Sundays were genuinely the favorite day of the week for me over that time. The backlash, anger, resentment, and then emptiness of it all really took its toll, as I'm sure it did on everyone caught in the blast zone.

The bad guy got got in the end, and I'm thankful for the folks who made sure that happened.

That year as a whole was really difficult. That wasn't the only heavy thing I had to work through that year. There was a stretch of six months that were probably the worst of my adult life in terms of interpersonal turmoil. The universe really took a bat to my kneecaps.

Saying ALLLLLLLL of that to say, if I had lost my love for Howell, it would have taken a significant toll on me creatively. I would not so freely share the parts of myself it takes to create the stories and characters I do now. I can pretty confidently say that something like Echoes or Shattered would never happen.

I struggled mightily with BitterSweet Chapter 3 for that reason. It was hard to want to carve out pieces of myself to share with the world, and certainly very difficult to work with anyone else out of fear that their bad actions could rob me of my passion even more.

But I learned a lot, and over that time I also think I was able to show my community how serious situations get handled while I'm at the helm. I hate that me and the team have been on the frontlines of a few really serious community PR nightmares, but I do think we've been able to exhibit an ability to treat things with maturity, respect, and direct action.

So Howell means a lot to me. We've been on two journeys, one fictional, and one real...and boy we've gotten our asses kicked more than a few times.

There is a chance, albeit a small one, that there's a DnD story to be told with Howell and some friends, for the world to partake in. Don't know if it'll happen, but the chances aren't 0%...

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut: interdimensional whoring for Timkon. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim keeps stroking his hair, over and over, and twines his gloved fingers through his curls. Kon shudders underneath his hands, and Tim doesn’t have to see his eyes to know the exact half-lidded, hazy look that’s in them. He’s seen it countless times, at this point. Seen it again and again, and intends to see it plenty more times. 

“Any time, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and Kon melts in a way he’s seen just as many times; goes lax and soft and easy and lets his hands slide down the back of Tim’s other self’s thighs and curl around them just above the back of his knees. Tim knows exactly how that grip feels, lax and loose but steadying. Even like this, Kon always feels like he has his own center of gravity; like the sun at the center of someone’s galaxy. 

Obviously, yes. 

And he knows the other’s throat is still just as sweetly tight and sweetly open as always, too. 

“Your mouth is so good, sweetheart. We always love it,” Tim sighs appreciatively, going to lightly massaging Kon’s scalp as he speaks. Tugging his hair; twisting curl after curl of it around his fingers. Rubbing the textured grips of his gloved fingertips over and into every little place he knows Kon likes best. 

Kon, unsurprisingly, reacts just the same as always for the treatment, and purrs blissfully, staying soft and compliant and content with the hands in his hair and the praise in his ear and his throatful of cock. 

“Jesus,” Tim’s other self croaks, a rough shudder going through him. “What . . . ?” 

“He’s purring,” Tim informs him casually, because he didn’t know that was what it was the first time he heard it either. It definitely is not a human sound, or even an earthly one. “Means he likes us.” 

He watches his other self go through the experience of realizing, in order, how much he’s understating that, how much Kon in fact loves this, and how much Kon loves this when he’s barely even gotten touched. 

He figures he’ll let his other self figure out in his own time that no matter how happy Kon gets, the purring only happens when he feels really, genuinely safe somewhere. That’d been a good moment, when he’d first realized that for himself. 

“We love how you get like this, Kon. Your mouth is so good, and you always thank us so pretty for fucking it,” he murmurs down at Kon, whose purring gets raspier and softer and heady-sounding. His hands keep gripping the backs of Tim’s other self’s thighs, and his body stays soft and easy. Tim knows for a fact they could move him anywhere right now and he’d go. He also knows Kon would be fine if they kept him down on his knees like this all night and never really touched him at all, and would even like it. If they just used him like this and didn’t even get him off–except maybe by letting him get himself off, at most. 

Tim’s seen the appeal of giving that treatment before; taken his time about making sure Kon felt like something useful and appreciated, like something with a purpose, and a purpose that someone he gave a fuck about valued and appreciated and trusted him to fulfill. Made him feel like that ‘til he purred for him just like this, in fact. 

But that’s not all he wants to do for him tonight. 

“You should tell Kon what you’re thinking about,” he tells his other self in the same casual tone he’s been using with him, tightening a languid fist in Kon’s hair. His other self is this Kon’s Robin, after all. So . . . 

His other self gives him a look full of wary suspicion and spiked irritation, but Kon’s mouth, unsurprisingly, takes priority. 

“I’m thinking about keeping him under my desk when I have to write my full mission report about those stupid fucking robots,” his other self manages, and drops the hand half-over his face down to stroke shakily down the side of Kon’s open, inviting mouth where it’s wrapped around his cock as Kon goes to absolute liquid. “Nnn–fuck, you’re so–fuck. I should’ve come on your face. Should come on your face right now.” 

Kon purrs like a damn industrial engine. Tim’s other self curses hotly, and Tim gives Kon’s hair a gentle little pull with his fist and slips his free hand under his jaw. He thinks that was enough for Kon to get to keep and appreciate for now, and his dick’s fucking aching to get some appreciation of its own. 

“You’ll let us both have a turn, won’t you, sweetheart?” he asks lightly, and asks it the same way Robin would ask Superboy to do something he knew was going to seal the deal in a fight. “You can do that for us?” 

Kon’s too much purring liquid right now to even shudder, but he goes right with Tim’s gentle little pull and slides back off his other self’s cock, mouth going slack and soft only once it’s out of it. Tim’s other self groans roughly, tightening his grip on the desk again and dropping the hand on Kon’s face down to his collarbone, fingers digging in just above the bone. Tim rubs his fingertips into the soft underside of Kon’s jaw, just once, and then grips it and pulls it back just like he pulled his hair: easy, because Kon will let him, but inexorable, because he knows Kon will let him. 

And Kon does let him, of course. Tim stretches the other’s neck out fully and tips his head just shy of upside-down to get a full view of his face again, all flushed and hazy and visibly breathless. “Breathless” is always a nice achievement to get out of someone who doesn’t really need to breathe all that much, Tim’s always thought. He looks that flushed face over idle and appreciative, because no matter how many times he’s seen it, it’s always worth the appreciation, and then loosens his grip on Kon’s jaw just enough to stroke his fingertips into the underside of it again. Kon looks up at him hazily, his eyes blurred and not quite focused, and Tim can see his chest rising and falling just a little harder than usual, and his other self’s hand on the other’s collarbone, and just how easy Kon’s willing to be for them. 

Kon likes to be easy, and Tim likes to make him that way. 

[a-pirate]

[trashtulip]

Hazbin Hotel endgame theory: Alastor as future ruler of hell

Pretty much every other demon is portrayed as a deeply flawed human. They could eventually be redeemed, or at least want to be.

Alastor seems to actually love being a demon; he revels in being cruel and powerful and non-human.

My theory is that Lucifer will eventually make his peace with Heaven and the throne of hell will be passed onto the guy who actually wants it: Alastor.

[schemelin]

every now and then i experience brief moments of self-awareness telling me to make major changes to the fusionsprunt story

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 4 :)

[poisoned-pearls]

okay I now can elaborate on the thoughts I was talking abt in the tags of my last post-

Jamil has always hated being touched, and physical contact in general. He was raised around kalim, he's had enough hugs for a lifetime, thank you.

well, that is until he started dating Azul.

Azul is very clingy. Physically, at least. He is an octopus, after all. He finds comfort in just, having any kind of contact with someone. It keeps him grounded and focused. So once he has permission, he can and will hang off of Jamil every chance he gets. Jamil doesn't like holding hands (because his training has instilled the need to constantly have them free just in case) so Azul hangs off of his elbow. If they're in class, Azul either has his hand on top of his arm or his hand. 

and Jamil realizes... he doesn't mind it. In fact, he enjoys it. Way more than he thinks he should in fact. It relaxes him so much that it almost unnerves him (the first time he found himself dozing off while Azul laid in his lap doing god knows what he quite literally shoved him off in shock.)

belatedly, he figures out that he is in fact, VERY touch starved, he is just very particular about how someone touches him.

it's silence. He likes silence. Azul rarely ever talks when he's laying with him, usually doing other work or something for the Monstro lounge. When kalim would run up and hug him, he knew it just meant he was about to be bombarded with questions and ideas and statements and work. He never gets to relax with Kalim. It always came with noise, with chaos. While being around Azul was like lying on the beach, with nothing but the soft crashes of the waves to bother him.

(Of course, this wasn't every time. Azul was still a schemer and quite annoying, but he quickly learned that if Jamil wasn't in the mood to entertain his ramblings or schemes, he'd simply shove him off of his lap. It always made Azul quite disgruntled, but he'd take the hint and shut up.)

This also lead into another thing: Their forms of nonverbal communication. Azul and Jamil could easily have a whole conversation from opposite sides of a room when they got along. Jamil knew all of Azul’s little ticks (like whenever he fucking clicks, something he learned was an octopus thing (which begged the question of how the fuck he made that noise in his human form-) or when he randomly slaps Jamil or the twins, who then immediately told him it was a sign of affection and he should be immensely flattered over (apparently it was something he only ever did lightly with friends, which he has concerningly little of. But Jamil doesn’t know if he has much room to talk on that front.) and Azul knew Jamil’s. Azul almost knew his too well, in fact, but every time Jamil tried to ask him about it he was simply met with some comment about how ‘he simply couldn’t keep his eyes off of him.’

Jamil still didn’t like people touching him.

Azul was an exception though. And he was quite happy about that.

[dimsilver]

just read Yumi and the Nightmare Painter by Brandon Sanderson (secret project 3) and it was really good :)

[alliluyevas]

finished the tunnels series because i wanted to know how it ended after reading the first two books when i was about twelve. here’s a representation of the books:

[bumblingbabooshka]

Tuvok's such a bitch for real <3