#other than the instinct to drink blood in order to survive

[lachemisenoire]

Ok hear me out

I know it's the oldest soap trope in the world (but let's face it IWTV is basically a soapy gay gothic vampire horror)

and I know it's not in the books

what if Lestat wakes up with fucking AMNESIA

[facioleeknow]

Dessert ° Hwang Hyunjin

Your vampire boyfriend loves to treat you and take care of you, in more ways than one ;)

Wc: 893 Genre: smut 18+ ONLY, Vampire AU

Tw: smut, Vampire Hyunjin, oral, biting, blood, blood drinking, mention of food and eating, public sex

Part of my valentine's day collab!

When Hyunjin told you the truth about what he really was you were shocked to say the least. It took you some time and some pondering to accept his nature and to not instinctively be afraid of him. The thought of breaking up with him did cross your mind but the way he behaved was not dangerous, in fact he cherished and protected life. The love you felt for him was way too powerful to ignore and when you went back to him, he welcomed you like you never left, with open arms.

Having a vampire boyfriend had clearly its downfalls; he was an undead creature and to survive he needed to take life from others. It was a bloody life, literally. But it also had its perks. Hyunjin had lived thousands of years, had hundreds of lovers and knew his emotions and what he wanted. That sureness was what attracted humans the most, the confidence he exuded was intoxicating. It was also what pulled you in at first, that confidence, and what made you feel safe now as months had passed and you were well into your relationship.

Another perk was the money. He was loaded because he didn’t need to eat nor drink nor do most things that humans spent money on. It would be a lie to say that you didn’t like being spoiled. And spoil you he did,he always bought you the finest dresses and jewelry and offered you the most delicious food.

That’s why when a box arrived at your house on valentine's day with a simple “wear this tonight “ note, you weren’t surprised, nor were you surprised when he parked his car in front of one of the most expensive restaurants in town.

He had booked a private room for you two, “only the best for you my love” he said and then the chef had dropped your food off and left. You were alone.

The food was amazing, everything melted in your mouth and the different flavors were paired so well together that a little gasp escaped your mouth. Hyunjin chuckled at your reaction. He wasn’t eating, he had told you once that human food all tasted bland to him after he was turned, but he had a glass of wine in his hand that he sipped lazily. 

You devoured the meal under Hyunjin’s attentive gaze.

“It was great, baby. Thank you,” you looked at him with shiny eyes. Your boyfriend simply grasped your hand and started to gently drag his thumb along your smooth skin.

“How about some dessert, my love? We could split it,” he asked with a sultry voice. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“You don’t like human food.”

“You are right, my love, but there is one dessert that I particularly love.”

You gasped in excitement,  it was the first time you heard of Hyunjin liking human food.

“Then we should order it,” you looked around for a waiter to no avail.

“There is no need, my love, it’s here already,” he smiled at you wickedly.

In a matter of seconds the plates were on the floor and you were propped on the table. 

“Hyunjin, the plates,” you whimpered as you felt his fingers drag along your thighs, left bare when your  dress rode up.

The vampire’s cold fingers creeped up your thighs and reached your hips.

“No panties? Naughty girl,” he purred in your ear.

“It’s your valentine’s present, do you like it?” you gasped as he kissed and licked at your neck.

“I love it, my love, I need to reward you for this fantastic present.”

Hyunjin gently pushed you to lay your back on the table, his fingers slowly pried your legs open and his eyes fixed on your already wet cunt.

“Baby,” you squirmed, trying to close your legs.

“You have the prettiest pussy, my love,” he moaned at the sight of you. 

His tongue delved between your legs, little moans and whimpers could be heard both from you and him. His long fingers massaged your thighs firmly. He lapped and sucked at your swollen clit, sending waves of pleasure up and down your spine.

“Baby, I feel empty,” you whined. Hyunjin hummed, the vibrations making you see stars. His pointer finger pushed against your little hole. Your pussy swallowed his fingers greedily.

Your back arched off the table, Hyunjin always made you see stars.

“Baby, can I drink? Just a little,” he begged.

“Please Hyunjin, bite me.”

You felt his tongue leave your clit just to be replaced by his thumb. He rubbed at your little bundle of nerves mercilessly while his fingers scissored inside of you, you wouldn’t have been able to last long if he kept that up. His sharp teeth delicately nipped the skin of your thigh and then sinked in, at the same time his thumb pressed more into your clit and started rubbing with more vigor. 

Your boyfriend let out a little moan at the taste of your blood, but it only lasted a moment as he parted from you a second later.

His mouth swiftly got back to his place between your legs. His fingers bent and pushed against that sweet sweet spot inside you, his mouth sucked harshly at your pussy.

The knot inside your stomach snapped and you saw white. The pleasure overwhelmed your senses.

“Sweet as always.”

[super-paper]

I feel like Toga and All for One have many similarities, but I am unable to articulate as to why I feel this way.

I think it's safe to say that AFO is an intentional foil to Himiko, Tenko, and Touya at this point! I've discussed how he shares body motifs with all three of them before, but his backstory more or less cemented that he's supposed to be read as "the worst possible extreme and the worst possible conclusion" to each of the trio's respective origins and overall stories.

As for how Himiko and AFO foil each other, specifically:

Cannibalism as a metaphor for Not cannibalism

Let's get the obvious point outta the way first, lol.

AFO and Himiko are both established as children that society wasn't prepared or willing to care for-- AFO was born during the advent of quirks where "paranormal" children like him were treated as diseased and shunned (or worse) by the rest of society, while Himiko was born during an "era of peace" where civilians are expected to maintain said peace through endlessly conformity and complacency-- outside of pro-heroism, civilians are essentially expected to role-play as though they've returned to "normalcy" (i.e. pre-quirk society) and the fear of being labeled as "abnormal" (despite living in a post-paranormal society) drives them to shun those who can't easily conform.

Both AFO and Himiko's "first sin" involves the "consumption of their fellow humans," which they both commit when they are too young to fully understand what they're doing-- and both acts of consumption were initially tied to their attempts to fulfill a basic human "need" that wasn't being provided for. Himiko drank the blood of a friend whose smile she envied after years of having her own smile called "creepy," AFO was a starving newborn whose mother couldn't provide him milk or protection and whose cries were ultimately ignored by everyone else. When Himiko takes someone's blood and "becomes someone else", she finally feels good "about herself". When AFO takes his mom's quirk and uses it to drink her blood, he no longer feels hungry and no longer has any reason to cry out for help/attention. Thus, AFO & Himiko ultimately learn and internalize that in order to fulfill their own neglected needs, they need to take from others.

Something something re: "the catharsis that comes with finally """"embracing your true nature'"""" so you can finally become what your family always feared you'd be (POV: you are 14 years old and utterly doomed by the narrative) (and so is the main object of your ""affection"") (puberty is a bitch ain't it!)" something something

To Himiko, the consumption of others becomes a way to "become somebody else"-- someone the world will treat more kindly than they treat "Toga Himiko." She feels the urge to completely drain the blood of anyone who has the life and relationships that she desperately wants for herself. Before that, drinking blood was simply her way of expressing admiration/affection and fell under the banner of MHA's definition of "pure love" (i.e. love as imitation). Himiko showed no inclination towards completely draining the blood of those she loves until her psychotic break with Saito, and she is notably able to restrain her supposed "urges" around the LOV despite loving them deeply. The "urge to drain those she loves completely" isn't actually tied to her quirk, but to her desire to "become someone else."

To AFO, the consumption of others became yet another way to rob them of their autonomy-- by taking away "a part of them" and forcibly turning it into a part himself in the most base, unsettling, and crude way possible. Before that, his consumption of others was simply driven by his instinct to survive. AFO's "urge to take" is tied to the preconception that no one will provide for him or look at him UNLESS he is taking something from them-- like Himiko, his quirk merely makes it easier for him to act on urges that don't actually stem from the quirk itself. AFO's warped perception of other people balloons wildly out of control by the time he reaches his teens, and finally cumulates in him ""eating"" the glowing baby out of jealousy:

*Kills someone over their follower count* Man, AFO is nvr gonna beat the "was a tiktok e-girl in his previous life" allegations

AFO and Himiko both "consume" other people out of jealousy and a desire to make up for what they feel they lack as individuals-- but an important distinction between the two of them, I feel, is that Himiko's consumption of others is ultimately driven by her desire to connect with other people while AFO's consumption is instead based on fear + mistrust of others. It's the difference between "Consumption as wanting to become a part of someone and become a part of the world they live in (+ consumption as a way to become a part of the world by living vicariously through someone else)" and "consumption as forcibly making someone a part of you and forcibly taking away their connection to the world."

Speaking of "consuming someone who has traits you envy in an attempt to make those traits your own" *pointedly looks at AFO's dynamic with Tomura* ...........yearp.

It's only after Himiko's human needs are finally addressed by Ochako, that Himiko learns the desire to "give" rather than take. I feel that this is probably one of the core take aways of the series while more or less being the "end goal" of the OFAFO plot-- "endless giving without ever taking" (All Might becoming the number one hero at the steep price of himself and Izuku almost destroying himself in the process of trying to emulate All Might) and "endless taking without ever giving" (AFO full stop, as well as society itself towards both the heroes and villains) are both extremes that only cause more people to get hurt. There has to be reciprocity. It has to be "One for All -AND- All for One." Give -AND- Take.

Side note: Himiko's favorite food being pomegranates also strikes me as ironic when you remember that Hori is gigantic mythology nerd-- In both art and mythology, it's not uncommon for pomegranates to be used as a visual for "flesh" and for their consumption to be used as a stand in for cannibalism. In greek mythology, pomegranates are known as the "fruit of the dead", and are believed to have originated from the blood of Adonis. There is also the legend of Persephone, who was cursed to remain within the underworld for six months each year as the price for consuming six pomegranate seeds while in hell.

The Buddhist legend of Hairiti/Kishimojin also stands out for framing pomegranates as a "cure" for cannibalism, by offering them to man-eating demons in lieu of flesh:

As for AFO-- it's been pointed out by several different people that he shares several parallels with the greek titan, Cronus, who is most famous for having devoured his own children whole.

With that in mind, I feel like the act of consuming blood has an almost mythological edge to it for these two (outside the obvious reality-based social stigma of it lol)-- the act of "eating" others, regardless of intent, is what condemned both AFO and Himiko to hell. But Himiko is offered a way out of that hell and ultimately finds salvation in allowing herself to be "consumed" in turn, while AFO just doubles down on eating every rando beefcake he can get his hands on while giggling like a school girl (and yet, when the chance to eat Toshi finally presents itself, he totally fails to capitalize on it. mfer can't even "cannibalism as a metaphor freaky gay sex with your dramaturgical foil" right smh 😤).

As an aside, when I say "people generally read into MHA too literally and expect entirely too literal conclusions for what is largely a fantastical story about abuse/trauma/coping mechanisms," how MHA depicts ""cannibalism"" through Himiko is actually one of the examples that comes to mind lol. So many people think that death or jail is the only appropriate conclusion for Himiko's character because it's the "only realistic conclusion" like they aren't reading a story where people have tape dispensers for arms lmfao.

OMNOMNOM-- (On Mouths)

:D

Not much to elaborate on here, mouths (and smiles) are AFO and Himiko's shared body motif in MHA's narrative. AFO's mouth is his only distinguishable facial feature during Parts 1 & 2, Himiko's smile/mouth is her defining feature and how others perceive it is a source of trauma for her. Her villain outfit is notable in how it covers her mouth/hides her smile while also resembling AFO's act 1 mask:

*squish*

During the final war, Himiko puts her mask on and hides her mouth immediately after being rejected by Izuku. This is symbolic of a lot of different things, but mostly, it drives home how she is no longer interested in talking things out and has "fully embraced being a villain." Ochako understands what's at stake and spends the rest of the fight trying to "take the mask back off"-- she understands there is something behind Himiko's villain mask that she needs to save.

Meanwhile, Toshi smashes past AFO's mask during Kamino and finds there is simply nothing underneath it-- reinforcing the idea that AFO has made "being a villain" his entire identity and that there is nothing worth saving behind his mask. However, Toshi was also the one who "smashed" AFO's facial features away in the first place. AFO definitely deserved getting his head popped, but in the context of MHA as a whole, I feel like AFO and Toshi's dynamic only highlights the overall tragedy of the hero/villain system and why it's a good thing that the new generation is starting to challenge it.

It is worth mentioning that mouths are frequently used to mask and dehumanize within the context of MHA's narrative, but this isn't something exclusive to AFO and Himiko ('sup Toshi) (''sup Tomura).

(I don't actually have anything else to add here lol)

Demon Child, Demon Lord

AFO and Himiko also stand out in how they're both framed as having been "born bad"-- Himiko by her parents, AFO by himself and the narration. Discerning readers already know that this is a crock of shit.

Child for One sees the Demon Lord being surrounded by people who provide for him out of fear while he's stuck living in isolation and squalor with Yoichi, and decides the only appropriate reaction to this is to make a children's comic book his entire personality (he's just like me fr)-- He embraces the idea of becoming a demon and shedding off his humanity, and immediately starts self-styling himself off a generic biz-caz corporate shmuck (lmfao).

Unlike AFO, Himiko resists the label of "demon" as much as she can-- she styles herself as "a cute high school girl" despite being a middle school drop out because she realizes the world will treat her a little more kindly this way (but only a little). Himiko longs to be seen as human, but is made to feel like a monster instead.

What I find interesting is that AFO himself outright admits that he lacked the ego/awareness necessary to "consciously" take Yoichi's quirk when they were children-- yet, both he and the narration continuously frame the siphoning of his mother's life, quirk, and Yoichi's nutrients as though they were intentional, malicious acts. AFO leans into this framing and builds his whole identity around it until that framing is finally pulled away from him literal seconds before his death.

Being "human" to Himiko means going back to a time where she was loved and accepted unconditionally. Being "human" to AFO means going back to being that screaming infant who no one would look at.

Like it or not, everyone is human in the end little dude.

Other Miscellaneous Similarities:

This one doesn't require much explanation-- through prioritizing their own needs above all else, AFO and Himiko both dehumanize other people the same way other people dehumanize them. Himiko is still a child, however-- and she is ultimately saved by her desire to be accepted and form genuine connections with others. Her final fight with Ochako is as much about getting Himiko to see Ochako as "human" as it is Ochako acknowledging Himiko's humanity. Once again, it's all about reciprocity/give-and-take.

""join our family and let me raise you! :D *hard cut to a burning orphanage*" AFO being genuinely puzzled that ppl aren't jumping at the chance to raised by him is my favorite running gag in mha.

Both AFO and Himiko also have a habit of being.... inappropriately intimate with other people, often to the point where whatever "relationship" they have with others exists almost entirely in their own head. Himiko calls Tsuyu by her first name and gets told to cut it out because this is a privilege Tsuyu reserves for her friends, and Himiko immediately interprets this as Tsuyu offering to be friends. AFO calls his worshippers his "friends" and his cult "his family" and asks that his young victims call him "uncle" like he's a kindly family friend and not the dude who is blackmailing them into betraying all their friends.

Also, neva 4get.....

To think AFO could have also had fun yuri times if he had just stopped being a dickhead for five seconds. Tragic. 😔

(/j)

[dxxtruction]

I do wish there was a bit more good faith discussion to talk about the phenomenology of IWTV vampires as vampires and how being a vampire does affect one's conscious understanding of their own world. It's a drastic point of view shift from being human.

Things such as:

Their baseline for the violence needed to survive starts at drinking blood to live, and most beneficially by killing humans. Which they also once were. It can really only go up from there.

Not getting blood in the beneficial way can be likened to an eating disorder based on being hung up on the morality of your own survival.

Escalation to inhuman levels of violence is something that's comprehensible to think of, since it's possible to do to someone else, or yourself, and to some minds it's hardly of any consequence or difference.

Question of what to do with one's immortality when stuck in this necessitation for violence. Occupying all that time. Confronting vampiric existentialism. Doing what one can to not be driven mad or disparaging by it.

In living forever all such violence risks becoming inconsequential to the conscious mind in how you outlive all of its importance. If not because of death taking it, then because time will simply weather it away. For the same reasons most things can end up carrying very little significance. Making one increasingly apathetic or nihilistic.

Because of above, enacting laws with consequence, even of death, naturally leads to some not really caring about them. Making them more useful as a means of power, threat, or as a way of committing suicide, than as something morally binding. If used in moral ways at all.

Those who survive the longest have to necessarily take on being okay with a level of violence that is incomprehensible to human scales. Necessitating that often the most violent, or accepting of violence, tend to become those who withstand the test of time.

Those fitting into this category extends fairly naturally towards walks of those accepting of or that act out other forms of immorality, dehumanization, and antisocial behaviors.

Your community is small and made up of violent killers. Developing paranoia or hostility towards violent killers is self preservation. You are also a violent killer, and take any hostility towards your person as an offense or threat. Without some kind of love, compassion, or trust in the mix, your community would quickly destroy itself.

Because of above vampires enter to greater degrees unfulfilling, pragmatic, or socially contractual relations with others they may dislike, or be indifferent to, and often might resolve interpersonal issues with fake shows of affection or remorse.

If you do happen to find a real relationship, the violence you enact out in order to survive can't ever enter into that relationship, without it becoming abusive. But the lines between those two can blur easily when you consider again how nurtured one has to be into violence to begin with.

Survival instincts look different based on their background for survival. And surviving as a vampire takes on different concerns for safety and endurance. How you survived being human is how you'd think to survive as a vampire, and those who had very little to survive through would lack a level of survival skills necessary to take on this kind of life.

Once you've seen a bunch of how this life is going to be you tend to take on a level of 'this is just how things are'. Since they can't place themselves in time, they can't place themselves properly in a forward progression. Those who last tend to develop a superiority on how to last through this the right way, or make judgments on who will or should be allowed to.

To make a vampire at all you have to actually decide on this last statement that there is anyone deserving of this life, and that it's a life one deserves.

You are stuck always in the bodily age of when you died. General feelings of stuckness are encompassing, as you're bound by your immortality, and often can only survive through those who are in it with you. Anyone and anything you knew in mortal life will be gone one day, and what you're left with are only those of your own kind.

In having such a substantially focused relationship to violence. One has to always make a hyper-conscious effort not to be violent, for the wrong reasons. Or just simply have a good conscience about such things. (some combination of the two)

One's life and culture as a human bleeds into who they are as a vampire. Even in rejecting humanity completely, they carry those ideas and understandings around with them. Including prejudices, ideologies, and sensibilities. Vampires lack a distinctly separate culture from that of humans, and instead live alongside it at perpetual outsiders. Only loosely being effected by it, and able to choose removing oneself entirely if they're white, or otherwise not subject to prejudice based on appearance. Vampiric alienation and loneliness is perhaps fairly common, and at a certain point this outside position lends indifference about the human condition and whats happening in the world.

Due to this, certain cultural shifts might take far longer to ever reach vampires, than it would in our naturally generative, and transformative human society.

Due to this as well though certain human hold ups about things such as homosexuality aren't very present in vampires.

The more vampiric you are the more it puts you into the throes of violence, while falling back into your humanity puts you at face with the qualms of your own morality.

Vampires have to find some way of justifying this existence has true worth to it despite such violence, and what it's done to their life, or simply abandon all sense of such morality, or care. Otherwise this fact of violence, and reminders of it, drive them to the flames or otherwise an all consuming resentment of all this.

The only ways you can die is suicide and being killed.

In trying to bring greater meaning to your violence you end up making a spectacle about it. Which fosters a manner of self importance, and egotism, about being violent. Or equally making it into a performance or ritualism.

BDSM is arguably a great way to contend with the fact you are violent, or can be subject to violence, in a controlled and consensual setting. It can be almost therapeutic, like taking power back from all the violence you can't control.

These sorts of things are interesting to think on when you don't have someone else making it apologia for abuse and egregious acts of violence. Because while they are violent by nature, they don't lack a consciousness about it. They have minds which can actively choose not to be violent, choose different paths to violence, etc. They're able to make decisions, and regret those decisions. And also, just like anyone in community with others, or in respect to themselves, have good reason not to be. They may possess inhuman abilities and understandings, but they don't possess inhuman feelings and are capable of being physically, emotionally, and mentally harmed or harmful.

And actually, given the fact they can take this to vampiric scales, is by scale, worse, not somehow made diminished by fact one can come easily to a conscious idea nothing has any real consequences when confronting one's own immortality. This inconsequentialness is a lacking and false understanding of immortality anyway.

Immortality can equally be about a constant uplifting of the present and future into something better, confronting their own impact on the world and those in it to generate some new way of living as a vampire, as opposed to stagnation, or depravity into cycles, and pits, of unnecessary and avoidable violence. Or just inevitable boredom.

A lot of those within this vampiric culture, don't necessarily foster well a society dedicated toward being as non-violent as possible. (I account for all forms of necessary violence, like self defense, as being non-violent.) Some might even find such an idea they could move in the direction of non-violence to be self hating. But the very fact they can be non-violent, choose that, and separate that for compassion, and love, and righteousness means their consequences and morality do end up mattering necessarily. If there's choice in that there's a way to effect things. An upstanding vampire, who's not just surviving through this, would have to dedicate themselves to consequences and morality as a good in itself, I'd think, to do right by others and themselves. To not give in to evil/violence as their only true condition. And somehow synthesize that information with how they can never be moral by a humanist standard, but those such standards are by nature more moral than their own. They can't fall into vampiric exceptionalism, but do have to accept the fact of themselves as vampires has special other conditions to it.

[himbo-in-limbo]

“At Your Service”…

Tw Kidnapping, gore,violence,intimidation,blood!

Yautja!Raian x Y/N the servant (gender neutral reader) //Chapter 2//

Limbo rant's: I often look at this AU and think of how silly it is, would badbloods even waste their time with ooman servants I wonder 💀...

The room became eeriely silent all of a sudden...

First of all you just heard that your going to be someone's butler for the rest of your life

And secondly apparently this new "Master" of yours is like the "devil incarnate" if he's scaring the other humans this much!!...

Naturally you begin to ask what was the problem with this "new master of yours" but before you knew it, everyone's collars had begun to glow

*gasp* "SHIT, EVERYONE LOOK BUSY"

All of the other humans quickly begun to scramble like headless chickens and proceeded to clean something or look preoccupied in some manner..

You looked like a lost kid trying to think of what to do since you also didn't want to get in trouble...

So you grabbed a random rag and proceeded to clean.....the floor??? You were panicking no one could blame you...

Being on the floor however you were able to feel footsteps approaching...very HEAVY footsteps...

The closer they got the more the room started to shake just a bit...

Suddenly a door opened.

Two of the creatures you saw before appeared in front of you!

Though they weren't the same ones as before...they weren't nearly as big as that pale one...nor as bloody...

But still big enough to crumple you like a piece of paper so you instinctively backed up a bit and lowered your head...

You did something right with that because the aliens just continued to walk past you and proceeded to intimidate the other humans...

They began ordering the others and telling them which areas they would be tending to today and one by one they started leaving the room

Eventually you were the last one left...

The tension in the air was so thick, you felt like you could choke on it...

"Now all's that's left is the unlucky one....*hr hr hr*"

Huh? Did they just speak?! And what sounded like a laugh too...

"What happened to the last one he had?"

They did!! And you were able to understand them?!? *You touched your new earrings* these things must have a translator imbedded into them!!

*makes the motion of something breaking* "the ooman broke one of his trophies so he did the same to them"...*the other alien shook their head* "That black sheep of our clan is a real handful"

At this point you were sweating bullets...you know you heard them right....your new "master" killed his last servant....

You were so lost in thought you didn't hear that they were talking directly to you now...

"Are you listening ooman?." "You better learn his habits quickly if you want to survive longer than the last one did"....*they shoved you out the room*

"first you'll be making an offering to him to introduce yourself..." *One of the aliens walked ahead of you*

They lead you to another room that resemble a sort of...kitchen? It had to have been

The whole place reeked of meat of some kind...

There were things hanging about that resembled vegetables? You weren't quite sure...but you saw a few other humans preparing something! It looks like a soup?....

"The other oomans will teach you how to make this drink. But for now grab a container." *They slapped your back to move you forward*

You shakingly grabbed a pot-like container

*snaps fingers* "DON'T JUST STAND THEIR OOMAN HELP THEM FILL IT UP"

The alien ordered the other human to assist you and they yelped a bit in fear..

The two of you proceeded to fill up the pot with the strange broth.

"This delicious drink is C'ntlip" you best memorize how to make it ooman."

"Now carry it and follow."

This pot was pretty heavy to begin with but now filled to the brim with this "C'ntlip" you worry your arms will give out soon...

Ough...the smell in the air changed drastically…

The hallway was flooded with the sent of bitter oil combined with a men's gym locker...

*distant roaring could be heard* …..”damn brat is at it again”….

It sounded like people were fighting…and soon enough

That seemed to be the case…

You must have seen 3 other aliens get thrown like rag dolls in a matter of seconds…

“He always takes it too far that idiot.”….*the last alien that was thrown landed near your feet*

You were shaking so much the pot could be heard rattling a bit…

It wasn’t necessarily the brutal fighting that was making you nervous…it was because you recognized HIM.

The alien you saw before you were kidnapped…the thing who killed every crew member on your old ship…

He was brutally sparring against his kin to assert dominance…

And just like how you saw him before….he was covered in blood…this time of his own kind.

“YAUTJA!RAIAN THAT’S ENOUGH FOOLING AROUND ”…one of the aliens spoke

“Hah?. And why should I listen to you weaklings?” He said in a dark growl.

*one of the aliens started growling but was stopped by the other* “the Patriarch will not be pleased in hearing of you going on another rampage again.”

“If you wish to participate in the next battle I suggest you save your blood lust for another day”…yautja!Raian appeared to roll his eyes like some delinquent and let out an annoyed huff…

“Feh, no one was giving me a challenge here anyways…” and with that he started to stomp away

But before that happened the other alien spoke, “You were assigned a new servant brat..” *you felt a hand shove you forward*

“The patriarch ALSO demanded that you keep this one alive for AT LEAST A CYCLE..”

“These oomans are hard to come by you know!”…if the pot shaking wasn’t heard before it was now…

The amount of pressure this thing was emitting was just…..terrifying..

*he started inspecting you while clicking his mandibles* “you look….”

Oh god he might remember you

“You look weak.” “Why do I always get the meek looking ones?!”…..

……….lord knows what possessed you to say this..

let alone even speak up but…this asshole…

You shouted

“IM NOT WEAK!” And everyone was so taken aback…

You immediately felt all the color leave your body as you quickly realized how stupid that was…

The aliens were in so much shock that you talked back that they didn’t even know how to respond…”their dead”…is probably what they thought…

“Hr hr hr…HR HR HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!”

He was laughing…

“Not weak huh?! I don’t believe that but I’ll tell you what! Your the bravest ooman I’ve ever met so far!! I like you!

You have no idea how that turned in your favor but….you sure as hell weren’t gonna test that twice…

“Is that C’ntlp? Perfect timing..bring that and yourself to my room ooman!” And with that he turned around and started walking away

To which you realized you needed to be following him and quickly scurried along…

“……how long do you think they’ll last?….”

“…*clicks*….I’d give it a week?”…”wanna make a bet?”…the two aliens chuckled and soon left.

Oh what horrors will this new ship life bring….

The image of him in a blood bath will forever be ingrained in your mind…

[watchoutforthefanfics]

Ticking Love Bomb (Part Six) || Eleventh Doctor × gn! Reader

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

Taglist: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @solitairemvp @idontevenknowwth @this-is-me-lolol @rokosbasalisk @solarbxby

Summary: Your adventure with the Doctor and the Ponds takes a harsh turn when it seems you're targeted with a potion. A love potion, specifically the type where you fall in love with whoever's eyes you met first after "drinking" it. But what if you're already in love with him?

TWS: aliens, space, references to guns, smoke, unrequited love (but not really), self-sacrificial attitudes, and purely oblivious people. Also, just a touch of angst (typical of a love confession).

Your heart halted, as your eyes lost that pink fuzz, and the world around you came to a harsh reality, a tinge echoed through your chest, “That’s not… Don’t say that, that’s not-”

He continued, as if your words hadn’t even been spoken, “You can’t do this to me, Y/N, I love you. How am I supposed to go on withou-”

“S-Stop, that’s not true,” you gulped the words down, as the figures were now much clearer than before -the world was normal, and you felt like you could breathe again. The rosy fuzz dissipates around the edges of your vision, and your heart is silenced.

“It’s terribly cliche,” he professed, a little bit of a chuckle in his tone, “-whoever loves you has to confess. Or, you have to. To the person, you actually love, not just… not the potion.”

“God, you’re-” you exhaled, shaky, “-you’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he spoke, calmer in tone but you could almost feel his heart on the tip of his tongue -when was the last time he was so open, so honest?

“Amy?” You asked, tone a bit incredulous.

There was a silence for a second, you only assumed before she spoke up, “Yes, he’s… he’s telling the truth.”

“God,” you exhaled, shaky and a bit in disbelief, “-you love me?”

“Human,” the crowd was suddenly much closer than you remembered, eyes laser pointed to your every move, “-answer our questions. It’s best if you cooperate.”

“Y/N?”

Your head was spinning, a bit dazed at the confession, but your survival instincts kept themselves in check, “Y/N, I’m Y/N your… your lab rat, remember?”

The men (you honestly weren’t sure of their… origin) stilled, their weapons pointed at you confidently -unflinchingly. Your hands shook now, a fear instilled in the blood, blowing across your skin like a chill breeze.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” whispered across your brain but you couldn’t quite grasp it, not now.

“Headmistress wishes to keep this one,” one of them spoke as if they were recounting the order -which suddenly made much more sense now. With this new… information.

You were incredible bait, the Doctor loved you. Holy shit, the Doctor loved you.

“Restrain them,” the one near the front ordered, a leader you assumed, “-2407B, unlock the door, we wish to speak to the Doctor. Headmistress has conditions.”

In a blink, you were grabbed by one of them -your arms locked in something like handcuffs, but not quite, it almost appeared magnetic. White and sleek like they were from a sci-fi novel or something. Probably something you couldn’t slip your hands out of, anyway, and the hands set heavily across your shoulders didn’t exactly help matters. You were stilled.

“Emergency override active,” the tone spoke out, robotic, as one of the crowd took their place back -the metal doors that were once snapped shut now opening. And your heart was taking leaps out of your chest, nerves or disbelief you weren’t sure.

The one that had you was towards the back, so you couldn’t see much other than a glimpse of red hair and a fleece jacket.

“Y/N?!” his voice spoke out before faltering to a stop, you assumed because of the crowd, only for a second though, before his tone echoed something dangerous, “-where are they?”

Your heart felt like it was in your throat, as you struggled in the grasp -maybe he could see through the ruckus, and spot you. You just needed to see him, just for a second.

So, you wiggled, and the hands became heavier adding extra pressure to your feet; you sucked in a breath through your teeth at the sting.

“Doctor,” the leader spoke, tone balanced, “-the Headmistress wishes to have your company. It’s impolite to refuse.”

There was a heavy silence then, and you ached to see anything -were they alright?

“I’m not here to negotiate,” he clicked, tone cold and you felt something pass through the air, “-that option vanished when you took someone I love. Where. Are. They?”

Your head spun at the notion, you’d only just learned that after all. A dizzy buzz under your skin that it was true, that the Doctor loved you. He fought this hard for you.

“The human?” the leader asked, tone still even and no shake or even vocal inflection as they spoke, “If we present them, will you cooperate?”

The silence was heavy now, like a standoff on who would produce the next move -who would take the next shot. You wondered often, what made the Doctor so scary to so many, but what you’d seen today had seemed unmatched -this was the Doctor the universe truly knew.

“Yes,” he answered, pointedly, “-let me see them, and then I’ll… speak to your Headmistress. I give you my word.”

The leader seemed to hesitate, a big hulking frame pausing before turning to the back of the group -the crowd dispersing like a sea to you. It was eerie, yes, but you weren’t exactly comfortable back there either; being closer to the Doctor was the best option for yourself. Even just for a few seconds of calm.

You saw Amy first, hand death gripping Rory’s as the weapons pointed their cold tips in their direction - her eyes were puffy and agitated, and you imagined yours were the same. Amy smiled and almost stepped forward to meet you in the middle, but Rory held her firm -he was incredibly conscious of the guns held against them.

Then, you saw the Doctor.

His jaw was clenched, eyes in a hardened stare at the tallest… creature that you’d assumed was in the lead role and he hadn’t looked like he would move his gaze… until the movement of Amy brought his attention to where you were.

Brilliant green eyes met yours, you felt an ease of calm over yourself -even just for a moment.

He scanned you, quickly, before eying the leader again -a conversation between them just in simple gestures that no one else could read. The leader, the creature who looked unlike any of the robots that held you against them, merely looked at the Doctor -his eyebrows furrowed expectantly.

"1254A," he spoke, flicking something out of his wrist -you saw the gleam of metal, "-bring the captive to me, I shall keep watch of them while a meeting is in place."

The creature moved within seconds, scooping you into his arms and the needle -you realized- pierced your skin. Something in it made your head swim.

“What did you do?” The Doctor’s voice all but grumbled out, deep and dark and twisty.

“Just resting, Doctor,” the creature echoed, “-no harm will be done with your cooperation.”

“I don't feel so good,” echoed out of your lips, as your knees buckled, but the alien held you up, “-Doctor, I don't feel good.”

“Y/N-” he softened.

“Let me go with them,” Rory spoke up, “-I'm… I'm a doctor, a nurse really, if I stay with them, I can make sure they stay healthy.”

“Rory, no-” you slurred out, head tilting, “I'll be-”

“We are perfectly capable,” the creature spoke, authoritative -your mind was slowly beginning to fade.

“-Fine,” you finished, eyes slinking shut and head swirling -you fell limp into its arms.

[grimgrinningghost456]

Hello everyone, it’s time for some

🦇Vamp behavior headcanons🦇

To start, I’m gonna handle the difference between “brides” and “Mates” because where there’s not too big of a difference in a turning process, there’s a difference in the relationship between two vampires or, on the much rarer case, a Vampire and a human

🦇Behavior differences between Mates and Brides🦇

A vampire can have as many brides as he/she/they want. A mate is only once and it’s for life. Vampires are actually very naturally physical with affection and it tends to be more primal habits than anything suggestive. For example, Nuzzling is a pretty casual and platonic way of showing affection. It can be really for anyone a vamp trusts or just has an interest in. Sometimes nuzzling is simple as “i like the smell of that person” kinda like a cat. Vamps will also “latch” onto a lover. This behavior is only for those they have claimed as their life partner. “Latching” is in which the vamp bites their lover as if they were going to drink, only to just kinda sit there and do nothing. Occasionally a few sips are taken but generally “latching” isn’t really for feeding. It’s purpose is to keep their mate/lover close to them, or ward off any other individual they believe is coming into their partner. It’s for closeness, comfort, and dominance over other Vamps should two ever fight for the same partner.

With Brides, the Vamp who is the “Master” of the relationship, never latches to their brides, however, allows their brides to latch to them. This is a “cruel love” tactic used to pacify the bride in question and have them believe that the vamp actually sees them as a life partner. Unlike Mates, brides are usually provided for because they tend to develop less in their hunting instincts.

🦇The turning processes for a bride, vs the turning and mating process of a life partner🦇

In order to claim a mate, the process usually involves courting. After courting the vampire seduces their selected mate into bed. After having relations with a chosen mate, the vamp has a “venom” that they inject into their mate. While a human could survive the “venom” intake, the process works smoother after the chosen lover in question is turned. Side affects of the venom on a human can lead to hair turning white or grey. This is because the venom for mates is supposed to make them live a longer (in the case that they’re human still) or more fertile (will be explained later). The reaction to the slowing of the age of a human is what confuses the body and turns some of the hair white/grey. This happens within a night and the amount of color change varies on how old the vamp is, and how willingly the human lover’s body takes the change.

With brides, it’s only slightly different. There’s no process that involves the bedroom as it does with a mate. Rather, when turned, the vamp usually uses the same type of venom they would for a chosen mate, and bite themself to give the blood to their chosen bride. Rather than injecting the blood, the bride intakes it, which changes how the body reacts and how the venom works. This process is more dangerous than the mating process and few brides survive it. Those who do, suffer side affects from ingesting the venom which includes: Hallucinations, Hunger growth, and long term memory loss.

🦇General Vamp Behaviors🦇

Fledgling vampires have a “fail safe” when first turned. When one grabs the nape of their neck, they go completely limp. This is a reaction they can’t control, and helps their Sire restrain them if need be when first feeding, or first turned

Vampires hibernate through the summer. They have their familiars bring them a large quantity of food and gorge before heading into their coffin and sleeping through the sunny season. Occasionally if a vamp HAS a familiar, the coffin is nailed shut in order to prevent murder attempts. Mated vampires tend to hibernate in the same coffin and also tend to latch through the duration of their sleep.

Brides don’t hibernate the entire length, because of their larger appetite. They wake once in the middle of summer to gorge one more time, and sleep for the rest of the duration.

Vampires are loosely related to demons. Being as such, mates tend to be genderfluid. Same sex reproduction is possible with some pairings, it once again comes down to the age of the sire and the smoothness of the transition for the mate. Even so, not all pairings are looking to reproduce.

Vampires have a low population which is the reason to their evolvement into all genders having some form of compatible reproducibility

There are vampire nests. Nests tend to start with one pair of mates who have had at least 2 children. Then the children find mates of their own and continue to grow the nest through reproduction and bond building with other lone vamps.

Nests can’t exceed 40 vamps or there will be too many to feed without too much panic filling the area

That was long winded. Phew. Anyways, because I’m curious, @argyleheir , @0nelittlebirdtoldme comments, Questions, Thoughts? (I’m interested to see where we line up, and I’m curious to know if you can connect any of these facts to the murder husbands)

[breakfastteatime]

Things Cal does when he wakes up numb, empty and too deep in his thoughts? When he just... Doesn't want to do anything, but he knows he *has* to.

These moments would be dangerous for him. He'd home back more bruised up than usual because he's just not in the head space for exploring; how would the rest of the respond when they realize it's probably not merely distraction but something deeper?

Cal knows he shouldn't be going anywhere, shouldn't be putting BD-1 or the mission at risk... and yet that's exactly what he's going to do because that's what you do to survive. You push and you push until things feel normal again or someone steps into your path and says no.

No one ever said no on Bracca. Prauf tried, but all Cal needed to say was he needed the money and Prauf backed down.

Cal isn't on Bracca any more.

Greez, Cere and BD are the ones in his path saying no.

Greez might not be a Jedi, but after all this time with the kid, he recognises when Cal's not himself. He's too quiet, distracted, like he's picking up one of those echoes even though he isn't. Plus he's favouring his left ankle ever so slightly no matter how hard he tries to hide it. Something had definitely gone wrong yesterday on Zeffo and Greez won't let it get any worse. When he's the one who catches Cal, he locks the ship and tackles Cal head on. Okay maybe not head on. Cal's still a Jedi after all and Greez can't put up much of a fight. Instead, he makes tea, orders Cal to sit, and talks at him until he either talks back and opens up, or agrees to take it easy for the day. Sometimes Cal just does it to silence Greez. Other times, like today when his ankle is definitely bruised and swollen, he talks to Greez about what's getting to him. Not much at first, but enough that Greez can actually see his blood pressure decreasing. Then comes the day when Greez instinctively goes in for a hug and Cal returns it, clinging on like Greez is his only lifeline.

Cere does tell him straight, albeit it with a Jedi twist. She's hardly one to lecture about the dark side, but she can tell Cal that the Force will not respond to him when he's got too much on his mind. She tells him he needs to take care of himself, that his wellbeing is more important no matter how critical he thinks their mission is, and she needs him to share some of what's on his mind before he implodes. He doesn't need to carry it all alone now. She sits with him, waits him out, and listens when he offloads. When he tells her how tired he is, she gives him a warm drink and sees him back to bed where, if he can't quieten his mind enough, she'll tell him stories until he drifts off. As they get to know each other better, she'll run a hand through his hair and gently tease him about either cutting it shorter or tying it back. Cal doesn't seem to mind and leans into her touch.

Honestly, BD doesn't really have to do too much standing in the way because Cal talks to him. Most of the time. BD can tell when Cal's saying one thing and thinking another because it's all in his vital signs. BD can run quiet scans when he needs to. He talks Cal into resting when his big friend has used up all the stims and is still showing signs of pain and injury. If Cal is being particularly stubborn, BD will claim he needs to recharge for longer so Cal should too. Of course it's obviously a ruse because he likes to snuggle up to Cal and keep watch. Cal gets better at letting it slide instead of telling BD he's fine. Once Cal's asleep, BD will stand in the doorway because Greez needs to learn that Cal will get out of bed when he's ready and not a moment before... unless he's skipped meals. Then BD will step aside and let Greez grab Cal and feed him.

Slowly, steadily, Cal realises that he doesn't always have to push through. He doesn't always have to put on a front. It isn't weakness. He isn't trying to survive. Even with the mission to think about, he can still look after himself. His needs matter too. And now he has people he can be fully honest with.

(Loved this, Anon! Thank you!)

(Got a JFO headcanon you wanna discuss? Drop me an Ask!)

[magicalgirlagency]

As for a Demon Slayer MagicalBoy!au, I got some ideas that I think you'd like to read:

*The story would focus mainly on the power of Hope, and how it along with Kindness can do many great things. As terrifying as I made the Demons in this au, it'll still have a Happy and Hopeful Ending. And Tanjiro, Nezuko will get the Development they deserved.

*If you want to skip straight to Tanjiro part, its at the 5th paragraph downward, the few first paragraphs focus more on the Demons

- just give Muzan magic, how tf does drinking a blue flower liquid give him superpower and also the ability to mutate other humans into demons with superpower like how does that work??? Just, instead of weird rare blue flowers tea, make him an actual, magical, supernatural cryptid that's also an undead entity like Afton from FNAF (who is basicaly a modern day lich) Muzan'd gain power through dark magic or sth, and the blue flowers is just one of the many material needed to truly make him OP

- the demon are flat out eldritch-humanoid abominations now, as they are humans mutated by magic. Most of their ability remain the same (they'll have acidic blood now though), except sunlight would only hurt them, not straight up kill them. Normal Demons can be killed if one hurt them enough with magic to overload the healing system, effectively shutting down their regeneration ability. The Lower and Upper Moon demons would actually have a sort of separated "core", in which their immense power is housed (as there are too much magic to safely store in their body) - sort of like a Lich in fantasy stories. So the issue with killing the Demons Moons is that Slayers have to actively search for the Demon's Core (which for the upper moons, can be cores, they are powerful enough to have several of these) so even if a Slayer severely damage a Demon, they still can't die unless their core is destroyed. Additionally, if one were to fight a Lower or Upper Moon, they don't have to damage the demons themselves, they only need the core to be destroyed in order to eliminate these Demons. As such, these Demons hid their cores in extremely hard-to-find-and-to-reach place, and often change their hiding spot for safety.

- Normal and Lower Moon Demons are hard to fight, but the Upper Moons are just absolute nightmare now. When encountering an Upper Moon in their true form (no human disguise), even a long-time slayer will get scared sh*tless. Because the very atmosphere around these Demons is unnatural. A human standing before them will feel like a tiny ant meeting something far bigger and stronger than they'll ever be. Slayers, as they are magic users in this au, can bypass this somewhat. But upon meeting an Upper Moon they'll still get the horrible urge to turn tail and flee. Looking directly at an Upper Moon will cause some mild headache and dizziness, looking straight into their eye would f*ck with your mind real bad. An encounter with Upper Moon Demons tend to make weaker Slayers - if they did survived - sleepless for weeks, haunted by nightmares and night terrors. As for a Hashira, the effect will last a few days or a week at most. Their cores also inflict similar haunting effects, but they can be found due to their unnatural properties as well.

- Demons that disguise themselves can be found by Slayers through their magic Trails. The stronger a Demons, the better they can conceal their Trails. The Lower Moons can hid their core well due to this. The Upper Moons however, just as their cores, leave trails that the slayer couldn't even detect. The Trails detecting ability of the Slayers function like our eyes and ears - there's a range, a limit to how much colors we can see and what sound we can hear. Similarly, there's a limit to what magic Trails Slayers can detect, and anything outside that perceivable range is basically invisible to them. To find an Upper Moon or their cores, Slayers have to rely on their instinctive reactions to these Demons unnatural auras.

- magicalboy!Tanjiro have memory power of some sort. Like, if he touches someone when they're in an extremely emotional state, he gain a glimpse of all their memories, an overall view of their life. This also extend to Demons before they die, which will allow Tanjiro to view how they came to be, how they lost their humanity. This is to make use of all those sad backstories the demons are given, seriously, why did the writer put them there to begin with if they don't impact the story? This would tie in to Tanjiro development in this au [more about the boi below]

- at first, Tanjiro is just a good boy who want to save his sister (who has a much more important role in this au) from demon-hood. Too kind, too gentle, just like his original version. However, through time he'd meet actual cruel humans, who made him doubt himself, his compassion and humanity goodness in generall. This'd double down when he shift through the demons memories, seeing how their life before Muzan was already made horrible by other humans. This'd make Tanjiro incredibly doubtful if everything he does actually have a meaning, does being kind truly have any effect on the world, at all? Maybe he ended up despairing so much, his only goal now is simply killing Muzan to save his sister, and he'd give up on anything else. But his sister, her hope and kindness, along with all his friends would made him hopeful again! They would help him realize that "yes, what you do always have an impact, being kind always does have an impact!" He'll stand up again, still full of compassion and empathy despite having seen humanity darker side...

- ...which will also give him a new motive to move forward, other than kill Muzan and save Nezuko. He want to be the light of hope that people need in their darkest time. When he look back at all the demons memories, he realizes that had there been someone, anyone instead of Muzan, who truly desire to help these unfortunate humans, they wouldn't have become demon out of despair - because that someone would've gave these poor souls hope, hope for a better future, hope that they will get better, Hope That they will get their Happy Ending. Muzan was their despair and darkness personified, he dragged them down to the darkest part of their heart, and thus they lost their humanity. Then, Tanjiro will be their light, their Hope. He couldn't save the demons nor can he save everyone, but he could save some from becoming a demon simply by helping them when they need compassion the most. This will set up a clear parallel between him and Muzan, with Muzan being cruelty and despair, while Tanjiro is Kindness and Hope.

- Nezuko, give her a role, an actual role instead of "moe silent girl". She'd retain her human mind (consciousness, intelligence, memories, etc.) but also gained quite alot of Demonic instincts after becoming a half-demon (Muzan make her into a demon by accident, so the process wasn't fully correct and she became a hybrid of sort). So she'd still attack Tanjiro at first, but stop when her human mind come back in full focus. Throughout the story, she'd have to actually fight her demonic part that want to hurt people, she cant just sleep it out now. Nezuko would drink human blood, using a spryinge to take people blood (with their consent ofc) and drink those blood instead of having to flat out eat someone. The bamboo mouth piece thingy would stay (it help reassure her that she's okay), so she and her brother communicate with sign language instead! (Make for some good wholesome sibling bonding eyyyyyy

- Nezuko will help her brother fight demons and save people, obviously. She can't eat human foods anymore though, her body can't process them (not even meat), so if she tried to eat anything other than human blood, she'll get sick and will vomit out whatever she ate. She's also able to detect other Demons' Trails more clearly, including the some of the Upper Moons Trails (although their Trails do left her extremely shaken whenever she felt one nearby).

- The Demon Slayers are Magic Users in this au, utilizing their power to fight the Demons. Their Breathing Style is actually their way of using their natural powers. This mean that all those Water, Fire and Lighting, etc. that appear when they use their attacks is very real and contribute alot to their wins.

*Sorry for such a long ask, I'm very passionate about this au of mine and just want to show someone about it to see if it can be improve in any way

Does Rengoku survive the Mugen Train in this AU? His death was the reason I gave up on watching the series!

[mareastrorum]

WIP Wednesday: TF&TS (Favorites)

Here is a scene from an early of a longfic I am working on.

Fanfic Summary: Mollymauk Tealeaf survived the encounter with the Iron Shepherds, but a short time later, a spirit had begun hunting him, claiming that he stole his body. This Campaign 2 AU begins with Episode 26 and continues on from there.

This fanfic will be posted on AO3 starting in July.

Cree was about to sip her whiskey when she heard a knock at the door. Finally. Cree set the glass down and briskly walked to the door, pulling it open. However, instead of Tyffial finally arriving to her own meeting, Zoran ducked to step into the tavern bedroom sideways, a keg under one arm and four tankards in his other hand. None of the Tombtakers were with him. Cree felt the tension in her back worsen. She did not want to wait for the others with him, not when he filled silence with complaints, jabs, and general malcontent.

“Afternoon, Cree,” Zoran said flatly as he walked past to the table, avoiding Tyffial’s piles of notes strategically mapped on the floor.

“Hello, Zoran,” Cree responded with matching enthusiasm while she closed the door. “I don’t suppose you know where the rest have gone?”

Zoran set the tankards on the table before he got to work opening the keg, “Tyffial and Lucien wanted to check at the docks again to sort where the Nein’s ship’ll come in, and Otis’s in a bloody mood, so they all fucked off for a bit. Said they’d be back.”

Cree growled a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. Wonderful. It made sense that they had left him behind for a trip that required stealth, but why couldn’t he have waited in his room? Or at the bar downstairs? She looked up at the sound of him tapping the keg and pouring out a tankard for himself.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Cree sassed as she walked back to her seat and grabbed her glass of whiskey before he helped himself to that as well.

Zoran shrugged, then offered the tankard, “Ale?”

Cree shook her head and tilted her glass. He set the tankard to the side so he could close the tap, then sat across from her and took a long drink. She sipped her whiskey; this type from the coast had more vanilla than she was used to, but just as much sting, so it helped with her distaste for this situation. Maybe she would be lucky and he would be more interested in downing the whole keg before the others got back.

But no.

“So, Cree,” Zoran drawled, “think maybe we could bring Lucien back as a bodak next time? Or maybe one of ‘em allips.”

Cree growled, then snapped, “There is no other way. How many times must I defend myself before you understand that?”

Zoran leaned back in his chair and laughed, “I ain’t raggin’ on you, not really. Just ‘avin’ some fun.”

Cree glared, biting back the instinct to chuck her glass at him. “Tell me, is it more fun to insult your teammates or to take care of the Myriad’s loose ends? You had us all fooled, thinking you enjoyed the thrill of a hunt rather than working for crime bosses in the city. You said you hated the Orders’ insistence on killing indiscriminately, that they were no better than the monsters they hunted. Was it a lie or did you change your mind?”

"A monster to fight monsters," had been the Claret Orders' unofficial motto. Their justification for delving into blood magic, a highly specialized form of necromancy that tapped into one's own soul via their blood. Each Order focused on a different form of blood magic, training and mutating initiates into something else so they could hunt otherworldly monsters.

The Tombtakers had left when they could stomach the hypocrisy no longer. But if this was what they had resorted to, had any of them really changed?

“Tch, you worked for the Myriad in Zadash,” Zoran scoffed. “Ain’t any different from wot I’ve been doin’. ‘Sides, I still get to kill monsters. Just a different kind, and this time I get to be sure of it.” He took another sip.

The fur along Cree’s spine bristled. How could he possibly compare butchering people to keeping tabs on peers? “Yes, I worked in the Myriad, but not as a torturer. My work was simply tracking those that did business with the Gentleman, not inflicting pain on the Myriad’s victims.”

Zoran barked a laugh, “Victims? Wot?”

“You think I don’t know what happens to people that cross the bosses?” Cree pressed. “They send people like you to torment them or their families.”

A deep, rolling laugh bubbled out as Zoran grinned wide. “Aye, there’s those thugs that go out and break legs and scare the kiddies and worse to the spouses. But that ain’t me. I don’t even work with those jackasses, and sometimes they’re my charge ‘cause they fucked up worse along the way.”

Cree grimaced, unconvinced. She had no delusions that Myriad leaders were comfortable lying to their underlings to keep morale up or avoid rebellion. Strangely enough, the Gentleman made a habit of being at least somewhat honorable, but that was why he was in charge of Zadash, not working his way up the ranks in Rexxentrum. Iris Bethelas, “Queen Bee,” the de facto leader in the capital, was far more practical. Far more ruthless. Heartless.

After a long pause, Zoran tilted his head, “Wot, you thought I was out torturin’ people that don’t pay protection money or somethin’? Nah. Murderers, rapists, traitors, slavers, all the worst in the Myriad that got too greedy. The ones that stepped on Queen Bee’s toes. Those’re mine.” He gave a bloodthirsty grin, the same that showed up before every duel. “Not a proper chase, but it kept me busy.”

“You truly think none of them were innocent?” Cree prodded, with less bite than before. She had not expected this, but he seemed convinced of what he was saying.

Zoran finished off his ale before replying confidently, “Every single one of the ones I carved up deserved wot ‘appened to ‘em. Maybe they got sent to me for somethin’ else, but they’re all the worst of Rexxentrum and the Myriad. Not their kids, family, friends. Only the fuckers that stepped wrong and got caught. No one, not a single bloody one, was innocent.”

Cree sighed, shooting the rest of her whiskey before staring down at the table in thought. Zoran was not the sharpest in the group, but he was not clueless either. He had decent instincts for reading people—rather, better than most of the other Tombtakers. So, as much as she wished she could argue the point that a torturer was not a good path, it sounded like he had managed to find a niche in the Myriad that did not rot the soul, just as she had.

What did that say of the both of them, that they were willing to work with such horrid people as long as the blood on their own hands was the right kind? Was that all the improvement they had managed since leaving the Orders?

Once Cree looked up again, Zoran was watching her, not quite as cold as he had been before. But still bloodthirsty, like he was tracking prey.

Zoran spoke low, as if he wanted to be sure only she heard even though there was no one else in the room, “Y’know, maybe we’re monsters, but it’s not for wot we been up to since Lucien died. We did worse at the Orders, and you know it.”

Every muscle in Cree’s back tensed as she pressed her ears against her head and clenched her jaw shut. Decent instincts, indeed, because he had gone through the same line of thinking. She could not fault him for throwing a spike through her heart after how she chose to lead this conversation, but it riled her all the same.

“Wot’s the worst they made you do?” Zoran pressed with a dark chuckle.

Cree snarled at him, “I do not wish to discuss that.”

Zoran snorted, “You came after me, callin’ me fucked up for bein’ a torturer. Oh, I’m fucked up, but not for that. Know wot I did at the Orders? I didn’t just kill fiends and undead. I killed people ‘cause the Orders insisted they were the ones summonin’ the damn things. Tch. They were bloody morons. Farmers tryin’ to fix sick fields by sacrificing starvin’ kids, not knowin’ the soothsayer wot told ‘em to was a fey collectin’ parts. Merchants sellin’ tokens cursed by cultists ‘cause they thought they were for some new god of prosperity. Tieflings ‘cause their neighbors wanted the devil-bloods gone and lied to the Orders that they were warlocks tradin’ in souls. So convenient those missions left a buncha orphans with nowhere to go and their villages wanted ‘em gone and the Orders always needed new blood. All those kiddies joined up, fresh bodies for the Bane, and the few that lived got just as fucked up as we did.”

Cree frowned, gripping her empty glass tightly. She had heard as much from Tyffial, but hoped that perhaps it was just the elf’s brand of vicious rumor. All of the Tombtakers had clashed with the various leadership of the Orders in some way or another. It was simultaneously disgusting and heartwarming to know that Zoran had done such things and regretted it. But he had done it all the same, and he had stayed at the Orders for years, far longer than the rest of them.

“You knew and still did it?” Cree asked softly. She meant to carry more anger in her voice, but, well, apparently she was not as willing to target the goliath as she had thought.

Zoran laughed coldly as refilled his tankard from the keg, “We only ever found out after the fact ‘cause the ones leadin’ the missions don’t let us ask questions, don’t let us figure shit out ourselves. Told us to keep our mouths shut 'cause it’d fuck with morale. And any time I went to the leaders, they didn’t believe a damn word ‘cause it’s me against the favorites. Or they already knew.” He took a long drink.

“Why did you stay?” Cree continued, now more confused than bitter.

“Sure, I coulda left,” Zoran shrugged. “Nowhere to fuckin’ go, but maybe they’d let me leave ‘cause no one’d believe me anyway, or maybe they’d cut me down just to be sure. It wasn’t gonna stop nothin’, change nothin’. So I stayed, and years on, Lucien banded a group to get out, so I joined in.”

Cree pondered that for a moment, and, thankfully, Zoran let the silence linger. Many of the Orders’ leaders had been extremists willing to do anything so long as it meant eradicating fiends, undead, and fey from Wildemount. There were some who genuinely wanted to do right by the lower ranks and the common folk, but they had not stopped the harassment against Lucien and other tieflings, nor the avoidable slaughter of bystanders if it would give the Orders’ teams an edge in a fight. Those occurrences were always “unfortunate mistakes” by “a few bad eggs” that repeated over and over and over. Tolerable sins.

That same leadership also refused to take any criticism of their recruitment of children. The Hunter’s Bane was a taxing, dangerous ritual to join the ranks. Children were not warned of the risks because it was more effective if it was applied when they were young. If they survived.

A man’s sneer echoed in Cree’s mind, “Better they die to the Bane than a devil.”

Cree forced an exhale and poured herself another glass of whiskey. It would do her no good to get riled up thinking about that. The Tombtakers had left all that behind for good reason.

“We are not monsters for doing what we thought we needed to,” Cree said half-heartedly as she looked back at Zoran. “We can’t always do the right thing in a world this warped.”

It wasn’t the truth, and it wasn’t a lie. It was what Cree wanted to be true. An aspiration? Did that apply to past deeds? Was it wrong to do what you thought you had to, even if you knew you would never do it otherwise?

“We’re all monsters, Cree,” Zoran insisted, dark eyes staring her down. “Just ‘cause we started over with the Tombtakers don’t change wot we did. We did better, aye, or at least not as bad. We came up with lines in the dirt that we said we wouldn’t cross, but that don’t undo nothin’. And now we’re waitin’ in ambush for some fucker that don’t know nothin’ ‘cause Lucien’s ghost says the prick needs to die.”

Rage riled up quickly, as though it lit the alcohol in her veins aflame. Cree bit back, “What, we should just leave Lucien as a spirit, then? Give up? Then we wouldn’t be monsters?”

“No,” Zoran said plainly. “I’d pick Lucien any day over some jackass I don’t know. But I won’t pretend it’s cause we’re doing somethin’ right. It’s got nothin’ to do with ‘im bein’ the Nonagon and wot we’re gonna do once we bring back Cognouza, all that talk ‘bout fixin’ shit. We’re doin’ it ‘cause Lucien’s one of ours. That’s all it takes for us to start throwin’ rules out the bloody window.”

“It is called loyalty,” Cree replied bitterly. Does that make it any better?

“Call it anythin’ you like,” Zoran retorted. “But we’re still monsters. We’d kill anyone if we thought we needed to, we’d torture, maim, butcher, all that. Don’t really like it as much ‘cause it’s not sportin’, but we’ll do it.”

Cree sat quietly for several moments, sipping her whiskey before responding, “It won’t come to that.”

“Wot, you think that moron in Lucien’s skin and all ‘em l’il buddies ain’t innocent?” Zoran chuckled.

“They are mercenaries,” Cree answered spitefully. “They have killed plenty. They lied to Otis and I that the thief was Lucien.”

Zoran nodded. “Aye, ‘cause the fucker wanted to live. Can’t ‘old that against no one. Still gonna kill ‘im, but the bastard’s no bloody different than those farmers, those merchants, those parents. We’re killin’ ‘im ‘cause the Somnovem said so and ‘cause Lucien said so, not ‘cause we know wot the fuck we’re doin’. And once the thief’s dead, those mercs’re gonna come after us if they actually gave a shit, and then we’ll kill ‘em too. ‘Owever many it takes, s’long as it gets Lucien back.”

The burn in Cree’s blood did not subside. She was angry. Yet, she could not deny that Zoran had seen right through her. She did not know why the Somnovem had insisted that Lucien kill the thief nor why they had taught her how to summon him as an undead rather than anything else. But she had done as she was told because it was the only way to bring Lucien back.

She was angry at herself. For not finding another way. For turning her back on all her intentions to guide the Tombtakers to being better than those that had done them wrong. It was not fair, not right, but she had made her choices.

A tabaxi, a tiefling, a goliath, two elves, and a halfling, all willing to do anything for each other because they had no one else? Because they had bonded at the Claret Orders? Did they even have a reason?

Cree let a deep sigh loose, “You are right. We are a mess, aye?” She laughed cynically. “I do not even know what to call us. Friends, family, tribe, team, compatriots. None of those seem right.”

“We ain’t friends,” Zoran spat, drawing her attention. “Friends fuck each other over when times’re rough. We ain’t family, ‘cause they’ll leave you behind when it’s a choice between ‘em or you. We ain’t a tribe 'cause they’ll cast you out if you ain’t wot they wanted. Nah, there ain’t a word for wot we are. We picked a buncha favorites, and we’ll raze the bloody world to the ground on another’s say so. The only reason we ‘aven’t is ‘cause none of us wanted to yet.”

Cree sighed, tilting the glass in a circle to watch the liquor swirl inside as she spoke, “How is it that you are so certain when I am supposed to be the most faithful?”

Zoran laughed and shook his head, “I’m the one that’s just gonna do wot’s asked since I don’t got a better idea. You’re the one tryin’ to make it make sense while you do it.” He paused for another drink and shrugged. “Worryin’s your thing, Cree. Lucien picked you for ‘is second for a reason, and it’s not ‘cause you’re pals. You see things different. Go on tryin’ to be the goodie-goodie. S’not bad. We’ll try since it’s wot you want, but don’t go feelin’ guilty when we go back on it ‘cause one of us is at stake. S’why you brought ‘im back as a ghost, innit? I’ll sure as fuck give you a time after all the bollocks you threw my way, but that’s not ‘cause I think you’re wrong. I sure as balls don’t know right from wrong. S’just talk.”

As abrasive as Zoran was, Cree still felt better. She had misjudged both of them. Here she thought she was going to counsel him on how to correct his ways. Instead, he had seen the situation for what it was and had resolved to follow through for Lucien’s sake. She had been pretending that there was something noble about their circumstances.

No. Cree had not shattered Lucien’s soul like DeRogna, but turning him into an undead was heinous. She had done it because it was the only way the Tombtakers could bring him back to life—because the Somnovem assured her it was so. She could dress it up as she pleased, but it was desecration all the same.

All she could do was ensure that it was worth it by bringing Lucien back properly.

“Thank you, Zoran,” Cree added after chewing on the words a moment. “I needed to hear that.” She paused before shifting her tone to a livid warning, “But if you joke about bringing Lucien back as an undead again, you will never have another ale in peace.”

Zoran’s only response was a belly laugh.

[wickedsrest-rp]

NAME: Spawn vampire

RARITY: ★☆☆☆☆

THREAT LEVEL: ★★★☆☆ | Very dangerous despite being commonplace; they can rip a person in half. Many of the town’s deaths are at their claws and the population requires constant culling. Fortunately, they have many easily-exploited weaknesses and would be recognizable to most. 

DESCRIPTION: Spawn are bestial vampires that more closely resemble bat-like demons than anything that was once human. They have large fanned ears, a leaf-nose, pointed teeth, hooked claws, and bright red eyes. Some individuals may have their hands and arms become membranous wings, enabling them to take flight. Their skin is a mottled grey color and they smell like a mixture of decaying matter and dirt. They have a hunched posture and increased muscle mass, and frequently communicate only with snarling and growling noises. A spawn that was created recently will likely still be wearing the clothes they died in, but many who survive long enough don’t wear any clothes at all. 

Spawn have no notions of good or evil, no emotions to speak of, and run purely on feral instinct, with their end goal always being a meal of blood. Some may be capable of very limited speech, and most can follow simple tasks or orders given to them by other vampires, of which they are often beholden to. These vampires not only drink blood, but feast on the entire body of their victims, and seem to enjoy the taste of corpses; they’re incapable of the restraint and delicacy needed to keep their victims alive, unless under partial control of another vampire. They rarely survive for longer than a few years without finding themselves pinned against the pointy side of a stake.

CREATION: Spawn can come about in three ways. The first is by choice – a vampire or elder may choose to sire humans to be spawn. They may do this to surround themselves with dangerous vampires who may obey them, or for the sheer chaos of releasing monsters into the world. The second way is by mistake. When an inexperienced vampire sires someone, spawn may be the result, despite that vampire’s intention. The older and more experienced the vampire is, the more choice they’ll have over whether their progeny become spawn or higher vampires like themselves. This can be quite the heartbreaking surprise for vampires, in some cases. The third way is more complex: higher vampires may become spawn if they’re starving or under other extreme circumstances. Sometimes they stay that way forever, but reversal can be possible with the bite of an elder vampire. On rare occasion, an elder may also choose to give a spawn their bite, even if they were not previously a higher vampire. These spawn then “evolve” to a higher vampire state, shifting appearance and regaining their human mind.

ABILITIES: Despite not being as intelligent as higher vampires, spawn are just as strong and fast. They are also fast healers and highly resistant to most forms of damage. Their senses are incredibly sharp – they have excellent night vision, a strong sense of smell, and bat-like hearing. Since they exist in great numbers (and are indeed the most commonly seen type of vampire– an annoyance for slayers), they’re often used as disposable lackeys by other vampires, and can become a real threat if they surround someone. 

WEAKNESS: Spawn have all of the typical vampire weaknesses. Their strength is sapped by exposure to sunlight (and prolonged exposure will turn them to dust), they’re burned by religious iconography, and they can be killed via decapitation, being burned, or a stake through the heart. Additionally, they are not very smart, and can be outsmarted and cornered. Their instincts easily get the better of them and they can be lured and trapped with relative ease.

[catboyaesthetic]

Green & Unpleasant Land.

This story was made with the help of the "Green and Unpleasant Land" solo RPG.

He was always a clever fellow. How disappointing it was to see him fall so low. He sought to lose me in the offal and squalor of the slums, but the prints of his boots in the floor were too evenly-weighted, too clean. The long decay of years had not yet rotted parts of his sole out of his boots. Any true denizen of this place would walk around with half a foot hanging out of the remnants of their shoe, with decaying bandages or wraps on the other. Even in the ever-changing mire of the slums, his prints were obvious. A mistake only a novice would make.

I knew he liked the drink. Not alcohol, mind you, if only it had been as simple as that. No, he drank blood. Blood of his foes, to be exact. He used to say it strengthened him. That it made his head clearer. That it let him think like them. A shame, then, to see him slowly turn into one of them before his body ever showed any sign of it. In the end, he became just like them. They say we all are, in order to hunt the things we do. In his case, he proved them right.

There’s still something of him in there. I know because he tried to bait me by leaving one of his victims for me to stumble upon. I’m not sure if he’s forgotten he taught me everything he knows, or he’s hoping that I’m a greater fool than I am. You always try to get a bigger fish – or creature – with a smaller one. I still remember the look he gave me when I’d almost managed to sneak up on him. I think that's when he realised there are more tricks in the world than just his alone.

He was beside me in a blink. He’d always been a diabolical swordsman, but there was a fresh speed to him, fresh strength. It was a flash of steel and only by instinct did I manage to intervene my own dagger before my sword cleared the scabbard. I had hoped to make it quick, but he used to say that luck does not favor monsters. If books were written about people like us, this battle would have been a grand scene with swordplay, drama, life and death at stake. The last part, at least, was true. I managed to get by by the skin of my teeth, matching blow for blow and cut for cut. Despite his descent and the favor that came with it, he did not outmatch me. He might have learned new tricks, but so had I through hunting alone. A realization he seemed to share, as what remained of him in there chose survival over revenge and fled to lick his wounds. In truth, it would not have taken much longer. Likely we both would have ended up dead. But I would have had him. And he never could stomach being beaten.

I remember the first time I’d written him with questions. Where had he been? Where was he now? What were these unexplained journeys he kept having to make? He’d always hated being questioned, but this did not speak of his usual gall or ire. This held something new. Amidst the sweet words of assurance and the explanations of his absence, there was naked fear. He had always been comfortable with me, comfortable enough to share his affection for his practices. Now, it seemed, he had repented his ways. He’d come clean to the Arbell, recused, reformed, reborn. He was many things. Pious had never been one of them.

Eventually I managed to track him to this place. A simple process of elimination. One which – in a great stroke of irony – he had taught me. Perhaps I have given him more credit than he’s worth, for he degenerated to a state of animalistic instinct. He would have known to kill and keep moving, so they can never find you. Keep your patterns random. He’d committed the cardinal sin. He’d become predictable. The denizens of the surrounding area had begun to take notice. Reports had been made. In the end, they’d sent me. I knew his patterns by now. I’d specifically asked to be sent, so I could be the one to send him off. He deserved that, at least. For his lessons.

He'd taught me to trust nothing but myself. Advice, I realise, which has become increasingly archaic. There is no world worth living in if we cannot trust our fellows. Why else do we do what we do? Simply because we must do this work does not mean we must eschew all contact. Though he had been right about Sinar. He had said she merely wanted me for the prestige. The ability to say she had managed to seduce one such as myself. That her affection was as spurious as mine was a waste on her. I was young and foolish. He was right. I didn’t want to believe him, nor did I want to believe when I saw Sinar entertain three of the guards during their nightly rounds. I could have killed them all. I wanted to. Sinar for her betrayal of my feelings. The guards for simply being associated. It was him that pulled me from the brink with his hand on my shoulder and the comfort of true companionship. I knew I loved him then. Not like I had loved Sinar. But I did. I still do. It’s why I’m here.

The door opens with a creak and I am pulled from my recollections. As he stands in the doorway, the moonlight outlines his figure. I can see his face and the blood that covers it. I see him then. The man he was. I see the fear in his eyes as he spots me in his chair and realizes he is outdone. As he begins to speak I shoot him. The din of my rifle echoing in the vast stretches of land surrounding this hovel. The blood and gore of the impact splattered across the doorway and the door behind him. He is no longer the man. He is the hateful creature that has been hunting innocents for years. He growls at me as he tries to push his organs back into his torso and the sting of regret fades to nothing. I pull the lever of my weapon and the shell ejects, landing with a hollow clatter at my feet and rolling towards his head. I do not ask for forgiveness as I set the barrel against his head and do the last kindness I can for the man who raised me.

[nay0hmeee]

As promised, vampire lore!

This is the lore I've crafted for the world my vampire, Viktor, exists in.

Vampires are predatory creatures who drink the blood of humans. Their fangs inject a toxin into their prey, which dulls the pain they feel and increases pleasure, discouraging them from trying to escape.

They are nocturnal creatures by nature, but many are accustomed to life during the day.

They are not affected by sunlight, running water, silver, mirrors, garlic, or any stereotypical vampiric weaknesses.

Like most things with a pulse, a wooden stake through the heart will kill them.

They do not sleep in coffins, but in beds like normal humans.

When hunting, they use a combination of ocular and auditory forms of hypnosis to subdue their prey. They can never take complete control of a person, and the human’s ability to resist their control is dependent upon their strength of will.

Most vampires will not kill their prey, instead only taking what they need to survive.

While most vampires cannot turn humans into one of their own, it is possible for pureblooded vampires to do so.

Vampire saliva has blood clotting properties, allowing the wounds to heal faster, if not close completely following the bite.

Young vampires do not develop their need for blood until they hit puberty. During this time, their fangs will fully grow in, and their sense of bloodlust will begin to develop. In order to teach them to control their instincts, young vampires are locked in a room alone until they are able to calm themselves. Only then are they allowed their first taste of blood.

Vampires can and will bite themselves out of sheer desperation if the urge to feed is strong enough, though this comes with significant downsides. They are immune to their own toxins, so the bite will cause pain. Drinking one's own blood offers no nutritional value, and does not taste nearly as good as another person's. They often will drink continuously in a vain attempt to curb their desires, only to drain themselves nearly dry and pass out from lack of blood in their bodies. Upon waking again, they will feel even hungrier than they had before, creating a spiraling descent into madness that can lead to a vampire killing innocents due to no longer being in control of their instincts.

Vampires, though typically solitary creatures, mate for life, often only having one romantic partner. Should they outlive their spouse, it is extremely rare for one to remarry, lest they subject themselves to more heartbreak.

Vampires have the ability to swallow with their mouths open. This is an evolutionary trait to allow them to keep their fangs sunk into their prey while they feed.

Vampire Social Hierarchy:

Pureblood: Treated as royalty, extremely powerful, the only type of vampire able to turn humans into one of their own. They are capable of controlling other vampires if the need arises. They basically live forever, and often put themselves into long slumbers when they tire of living. They cannot die of natural causes, only via external means such as suicide or murder.

Noble: Vampires who are direct descendants of purebloods, but are not pureblooded themselves. They are held in high regard and treated as royalty, though not to the extent they would a pureblood.

Commoner: The average vampire whose bloodline has drifted far from their pureblooded predecessors. They are beholden to the wills of purebloods, though they obey more out of fear than obligation.

Newblood: Vampires who were once human. They are completely obedient to the pureblood that turned them, though they lead normal lives otherwise.

Feral: Vampires who have lost themselves to their instincts and need for blood. They attack indiscriminately and often kill any prey they catch. The most common type hunted and killed by Hunters. Looked down upon by vampire society and often pitied.

[wolfeyedwitch]

Can you write a flashback with Celeste having her fangs pulled out????

CW for: lady whump, female whumpee, mandhandling, burns, mouth whump

When they finally came for her, Celeste thought she was ready.

She should have known better. The men that left her to starve in a locked cellar for weeks weren't just your average humans. No, they were vampire catchers.

Not hunters.

Catchers.

She fought against them, but even vampires have limits. After weeks without blood, she was finding hers. She only got a single bite in before they ripped her off her victim, the men pinning her down and attaching leads around her bound wrists and leashes to the collar they already forced on her.

She snarled as they got up. They merely laughed at her and pulled her along, four armed men handling the various leads on her and several more accompanying them. They weren't taking any chances.

They pulled her up the stairs and out of the cellar. She stopped struggling and planted her feet when she noticed it was daylight out.

"Oh ho, the little leech doesn't like the sunshine!" one of the men said, and the others roared in laughter. "Don't you worry none, darling; we aren't stringing you up outside."

"Yet," another man added.

"So we can do this the polite way, where you stop fighting us and we take you to our boss, no sunshine involved," the first man said.

"Or," said another, "you can keep fighting—uselessly, might I add—and we drag you to our boss anyway, but we take the long way around. It's a lovely day, and I'm sure we'd all appreciate some daylight right about now."

"What's it going to be?" asked the first.

Slowly, Celeste loosened her tense muscles and followed the men's lead. It chafed, following their orders, but she knew better than to let her pride get in the way of her survival.

"That's a good pet," a man said. She bit back another snarl and kept walking.

They brought her through a series of covered paths to the back entrance of a large house. Inside, they took her to a man.

He was average to the point of being completely unremarkable. That was until you looked into his eyes. In them, Celeste could see a cruel hunger that rivaled the worst clients she ever serviced at the blood house. He looked her and her captors over with a cool, dispassionate eye.

"Lyam," he said. "Is that from it?"

"Yes sir," another man, Lyam apparently, said. "She got one in before we got the leads attached."

The man, presumably their boss, clicked his tongue. "Sloppy," he admonished.

"You're the one who doesn't let us use muzzles," Lyam shot back.

Their boss raised one eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed. "I would think that the premiere group of vampire catchers in France could manage one little leech without needing one." He sighed. "I suppose I was wrong. Get out of here; the smell of your blood will only make this harder."

"Yes, sir," Lyam said, then left.

Celeste swallowed down her instinct to lunge after him. His blood was far from the best she had tasted, like switching to stale beer after drinking the finest of champagne, but right then she was too hungry to care.

"So you do have some self-control after all," their boss mused, stepping closer to get a better look at her. "Good. That will make this easier."

"Make what easier?" she demanded. "What are you doing? Why am I here?"

He shook his head like a disappointed teacher. "That tone won't do at all," he said. Then, in a motion swift enough that even she had trouble tracking it, he backhanded her across the face.

She screamed as he made burning contact. That- that wasn't just a hand. He was wearing silver gloves.

"Be silent," he commanded.

Her mouth shut with a click of teeth.

He looked at her cheek, where she could still feel the burn the silver had left. "It seems she was right; you are beautiful when you're afraid."

Celeste's eyes widened and her stomach sank. He- no, that couldn't be. Who had told him that? No one else should know that. That was a private conversation.

She wouldn't. Madame- no, she wouldn't.

Would she?

"As for your questions... I am feeling generous today, so I will answer," he said. "I am about to begin training you. You are here because I am your new owner."

Celeste stared. He couldn't be serious.

A slow, sinister smile spread across his face. "I am the most prestigious trainer and provider of vampire pets in all of Europe. And you, little leech, have much learning to do."

He looked to one of the team of men who had brought her in, one who wasn't holding a lead. "Bring me that box over there."

The man hastened to obey.

The trainer opened the box and pulled out a pair of pliers. "We'll begin by teaching you the consequences of biting without permission, pet."

Celeste tried to get away. She put every scrap of strength she had left into escaping. Panic and terror lent her some power, but she was still far too weak, and the men were prepared for her struggles. The men easily opened her mouth and forced in a contraption that held it painfully wide, then pushed her to her knees.

The trainer approached at a leisurely pace, pliers held loosely in one hand. If her heart still beat, it would be pounding against her ribs with her terror. He threaded his free hand through her hair, pulling painfully tight and forcing her head back.

She closed her eyes as the pliers came down, but she couldn't stop her other senses. She couldn't help but hear the little clink of metal against enamel as he grasped one of her fangs with the pliers, and the sharp crack as he twisted and pulled. She couldn't help but feel the bright agony radiating through her mouth as her jawbone lost hold of the tooth, and she couldn't stop herself from tasting her own used, dead blood running from the socket where her fang should be.

She gasped and whined and shuddered, but the men held her fast. She opened her eyes to see the trainer holding her fang—her fang, he had her fang, that was hers and he couldn't have it, mon Dieu why was this happening—up to the light.

"A beautiful specimen," he said. The curved, needle-sharp tooth gleamed in the light, coated in saliva and blood. He pulled out a handkerchief and dropped the fang in, then wrapped it up and tucked it in a pocket.

"But it will be better with its twin," he said.

He lowered the pliers again.

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

Taglist:

@kim-poce @cupcakes-and-pain @nonbinary-disaster @onlybadendings @neverthelass @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog @appleejuice, @someonesnamesblog @rainbows-and-whumperflies

[hogwartsfirebolt]

cw: wizarding war, and the violence it ensues.

The year bled.

It bled great gouts of wizards, beacons of hope shining bright red at the tip of their wands. Led them to their deaths, in the battlefront that had taken their friends and family, yet remained unsatisfied.

The year took his Hagrid, took his Ron, the year flung a sword into Harry’s survival instincts and turned them inside out — backwards, all wrong. He lived and breathed for his days on the front, inhabited the outermost trench for longer than anyone was allowed, his wand glowing green more often than red.

Voldemort’s tooth — sharp, a snake’s poisonous incisive — hung on a thread, rested against Harry’s throat, had for the better part of the season. Yet the war raged on.

There’d been a time when things had been simpler.

“Will you be resting this fortnight?” Hermione had asked him when she’d served, a few days earlier. She was at a safe-house, now, replenishing her core, drawing energy from the underground streams that pulsed with golden magic so she would be ready to return to the fight. It was was everyone did, every couple of weeks, what their warlord had ordered.

Harry’d not been to a safe-house in three months. He’d not known anything but carnage in all those days, was beginning to suspect that the inexhaustible nature of his core didn’t extend to his body, definitely didn’t extend to his mind.

“Where are they getting this strength? These numbers?” Ron had asked, the night before a Death Eater had torn his head right off his neck.

They still did not know the answer. It happened everyday, at the strike of dawn: dozens of Death Eaters arrived at the front, and it didn’t matter that Harry sliced right through their ranks like a sword, there were dozens more the next morning. And they still did not know the answer.

It was not simple. Nothing was simple.

“They must have found a way to clone their soldiers. It can be done — they have Voldemort’s knowledge on soul-splitting.” Kingsley had written, in the letter Harry had received two days earlier. “Soon enough they will press at their advantage. I trust you will know what to do. Do not fail me.”

There was no “soon enough”. The advantage was already being pressed, every waking second, on multiple fronts. Harry spent his days blocking them with his magic, with his body, and his nights fighting against their secret weapon, they one they seemed to reserve for him only — the mind games.

“They impersonate us?” Arthur had asked, when he’d brought health potions the previous week.

“They show up as you, or Molly, Gin, R-Ron. I’m not sure what they want, they seem to be trying to extract information, but not on our lines, not on our manpower. I don’t know what I have that they want.”

“Don’t trust anyone.”

The days cut him, and the nights suffocated him. He got approached by group after group of imposters, wearing a different face every night. People Harry loved and hadn't seen in months. Those ones didn't hurt as much. Not like it hurt when it was people he had loved and lost.

Arthur had told him not to trust anyone. Some nights, he didn’t even trust himself.

He was going mad, sending away whoever it was that wore Cedric’s body, that showed up in his mother’s face, that slipped into Sirius’ limbs like they would into a coat. People he trusted, people he loved, and whose memory would forever be tainted by this, in his mind.

The night Draco Malfoy showed up, Harry thought it was another mind trick. Then, he realized that it broke the pattern. He’d never trusted, never loved, never even tolerated Draco Malfoy.

But there he was. He showed up, nose bleeding, broken arm cradled against his chest, miserable, everything Harry raged against. His tears shone bright silver over his cheekbones, down his jaw, carrying magical energy, draining him.

“Please,” he said. “Please, I don’t know where else to go.”

Harry didn’t trust him, he shouldn’t help him. But he did. He mended the fractured bones, cut his own palm with a knife and gave him some of his magical energy, poured it right into his gaping mouth. Saved his life.

Malfoy stayed.

Something like guilt, if he was still capable of that, draped itself across Harry’s shoulders as he fed him their food, let him drink from their goblets, gave him their healing potions.

He didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust himself.

Malfoy talked, at least, which was useful.

“Portraits.” He coughed, shivery from the core-loss. “They all have hundreds of them, their magical energy split. Not their souls, that’s not sustainable, it’s their magical energy. And they take them out, give them life. There’s an energy source, and an ancient spell, a rune ... I wasn’t told, but I saw, she performed it in front of me. Please, I’ll tell you. I ran. I need your help.”

Harry didn’t need to ask who she was.

“I can fight. I can help. Please. Please, they killed my mother.”

And there were the tears again, but crystal clear, no longer carrying Malfoy’s power. Harry had successfully stopped the drainage.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Please. Write to your general, I’ll say anything, I hate her.”

There had been a time in which Malfoy’s desperation would have made him feel at an advantage, would have made him laugh, prod at the wound. But that time was long gone, desperation was the only thing he knew now, as well, and there was no winning. It was a winless fight. Malfoy was too human, too scared, not an instrument of war.

“No. We don’t know he’s telling the truth, I forbid you from sheltering him.” Kingsley’s letter said.

There’d been a time when things had been simpler.

But the war raged, the weeks blended into each other, and the pain, renewed as it was every single day, numbed him.

Harry was human. Harry was scared. Harry was an instrument of war.

He sheltered him anyway.

“One wrong move, and you’re out. You have one chance.”

Malfoy nodded, weeping right there in the trench, in his blood-stained clothes. Harry couldn’t afford to distrust him, was too busy staying alive.

And Malfoy did not fail him. In the morning light, dozens of Death Eaters Harry had killed a million times marched into the battlefield, and Malfoy fought next to him. Harry’d not had anyone watch his back in months, and it made for a nice change.

At night, they fended off the imposters, and Harry fed him his own magical energy, watched him grow stronger with it. His core was inexhaustible, he knew. He didn’t have to send Malfoy away to regain strength, he gave it to him, every single night.

It was forbidden, but it was also the only thing that seemed right in the vortex of destruction he’d been living in.

“She keeps an artifact at the Manor. It looks like a prophecy, is kept under lock and key inside her chambers. I saw it, she made me clean it once. I think it’s the source of all this. I think if you destroy it, this will be over.” Malfoy said, three weeks after they’d been fighting side by side. He looked stronger, energized, and if Harry closed his eyes, he could feel his own magic inside Draco’s corestream, like an extension of himself.

“How?”

He felt Draco prodding back, felt him extending his energy so it circled back to Harry, so it flowed freely between them.

“There’s no time to look. Burn down the manor.”

The discovery that they could access each other’s magic should have been monumental, yet felt like nothing at all. They’d known, they’d experienced it every night for weeks. An intimacy unlike any other, between enemies, between allies.

“I thought I forbid you from taking him in.” Kingsley’s letter said, when Harry proposed the idea. It didn’t feel like a reprimand. It felt like a father, telling a child off for keeping a stray kitten. “I have sent reinforcements to the front, come to headquarters. Both of you. We’re burning the house this week.”

The plan was to march off to Malfoy Manor the morning after they arrived at headquarters. Instead, they slept for three days straight.

They were in different rooms, but Harry only had to close his eyes to trace his energy back to Draco, and it soothed him.

They’d been enemies. They were human, they were scared. Now, they were allies. Now, they were one, more than they were two.

“I think we can read each other’s minds.” Malfoy said when they woke up, except he wasn’t anywhere in the room. The voice had come from Harry’s head.

“So it seems.”

They found each other in the kitchen, had breakfast, made vague conversation, not a single word spoken out loud.

“Is the war ending?”

“Once they stop multiplying like crazy, we can beat them, and stop fighting. Live our lives, maybe. But I don’t think the war will ever end, Draco.”

He wanted to explain that he felt like he would carry it forever, but he didn’t have to. In the space between thinking it and wanting to communicate it, he already had.

“I know.”

For the first time in months, when Harry searched inside himself, he didn’t feel empty. There was energy, magic, there was someone else with him, in the space that had existed between his anger and his grief.

“Also, I can do wandless now," Draco added.

“Yeah, that’s on me.”

“Do you think this means we are …?”

“Yeah.”

They showered.

After, they apparated to Malfoy Manor, didn’t even have to touch to do it together, the crack of the spell going off in unison, turning heads once they arrived. The entire Order was there, and, in front of them, the house aflame.

The Manor bled. It bled tendrils of black magic that dissipated into thin air, screamed, called to the tooth hanging at Harry’s neck. He wrapped his fingers around it and held it tight — his trophy, his burden.

All that was left of the enemy army were twenty wizards that scuttled out of the blazing house like fleeing rats. She wasn’t amongst them. Somehow, Harry knew she’d died trying to protect her energy source. He knew that he would have, and soldiers weren't so different.

He and Draco took care of the survivors, both their powers pulled into a single explosion of green.

“Wow.” Hermione said, standing next to Harry.

“We think it’s over.”

“You two are …”

“Yeah.”

“Permanently.”

“Yeah.”

“You know that’s forbidden.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

The year had bled, had been an open wound. Then it had been cleaned and stitched, messily, but closed. It ached. It bore the name of the friend Harry had loved the most, his other half. It would never go away, it would scar.

But it was healing.

Harry reached out with his magic, and felt Draco meet him halfway.

-

Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt "forbidden"

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Can I have a drabble with Thrawn ?

I was thinking about a scene, shortly after the death of the emperor and Vader and the death star explosion. He would summon Reader to tell her they are among the last authority figures of the empire alive and although he has everything under control, it will be difficult and he could really use an hand this time.

Bonus point if they hug.

Thank you Darling (may I call you that way?)

A/N: Okay, so we’re going Original Thrawn Trilogy canon with this. Let me see what I can do. And you absolutely can, if you like.

Also, this turned into a thing because I have no sense of control.

Word Count: 1.4 K

You kept your head high as you walked through the quieted hallways of The Chimaera.

Nobody could focus on their duties and none of the officers had it in them to give orders. The shock of information had dumbfounded the entire ship. The second Death Star was destroyed. Half of the Imperial Fleet was gone. The Emperor was dead.

The rebels had done it. It was the beginning of the end.

But, The Chimaera was still there and all waited on baited breath for their Grand Admiral's orders.

You tried to focus on your steps rather than the whirlwind of emotions threatening to drown you. You had always been sure of who you were and where you stood in the galaxy. You were Commander Y/N of the ISD Chimaera, second to Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Imperial Navy. But what did that mean, if the Empire ceased to exist?

You shook your head.

No. Empire or not, you were still a Commander. The Chimaera was still your ship and so long as it kept flying, that would never change.

With new found resolve, you quickened your pace stopping just in front of Grand Admiral Thrawn's office.

You knocked on the door and a moment later, it opened with a small hiss.

Upon entering, your eyes were drawn to the holo projection in the center of the room. It did not take you long to realize the calamity of the scene before you. The Battle of Endor in all it's fiery disaster.

Thrawn stood in petrified stillness, watching the holo in intense concentration; his glowing red eyes illuminated in the dim blue light.

You stepped forward, focusing your attention on the calmness of his form rather than chaos.

"Has the fleet regrouped?" you asked.

Thrawn turned his eyes toward you, refocusing to the present moment.

"No," he said. "This was sent to me from the Accuser, requesting assistance from all Commanders."

"Should I plot a course, sir?"

He shook his head. "No. We're too far out of range to provide any timely assistance. There are others on their way.”

You nodded, understanding the logic behind the statement. Still a question buzzed in your mind, one that was plaguing everyone on the ship: what do we do next?

You kept quiet all the same, knowing if Thrawn wanted to tell you, he would do so, in his own time.

Thrawn turned off the projector, allowing white lights to fill the darkened space. He then reached behind his desk and pulled out a crystal bottle filled with amber liquid and two glasses.

"Join me, Commander?" he asked.

It wasn't and order, which itself prompted it's own question.

"Depends on what we're drinking to, sir."

"To our fallen officers," he answered, pouring a healthy dose into each glass. "And to the new Empire which will rise from the ashes."

He held out the glass, which you took with caution.

"Implying the Empire has already fallen."

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe it will survive?"

You opened your mouth, with a ready yes on your lips, but stopped. Taking a moment, you looked down, examining the ridges of the glass in idle thought.

"No," you said, slowly. "If it was just the Death Star or just the Executor, that would be one thing. But the loss of both and the Emperor is too much. There is no central leadership, and will all the Navy's resources poured in the second Death Star, I doubt there is enough remaining to maintain control over the rebelling systems."

You looked up to meet Thrawn's approving eye at your assessment.

"Of course," you continued. "If there were someone to take control..."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Thrawn's lip as he bowed his head.

"You flatter me, Commander," he said. "However, how many of the remaining Admirals do you believe would willingly follow my orders?”

Your instinct was to say all of them, but again, you hesitated. As your superior officer, you had learned to trust Thrawn's command implicitly, but a quick review of your history reminded you of how rare that truly was. There was a reason the Emperor had left Thrawn to deal with the fringes of the Empire rather than involve him in Core politics.

Each and every Grand Admiral would see themselves as the successor to the Emperor's legacy, not the alien with nothing but rumors to uphold his reputation.

You let out a sigh. "None, I suppose."

He inclined his head in acknowledgment, just as he raised his glass.

"The Empire is gone," he said, solemnly. "Long live the Empire."

You each took a drink. The expensive liquid both burned and soothed your throat on its way down. It was an odd sensation, but one you hadn't realized you needed until that moment.

"I take it you have a plan," you said.

"The start of one," he assured, with just a hint of a smile. "In the mean time, we shall continue to maintain control of our own systems. Whatever resources available, we will refocus into our fleet. With any luck, others may join us, but we cannot rely on that fact."

You nodded, finally feeling as if your feet were starting to settle on solid ground.

"Shall I inform the crew?" you asked.

He shook is head. "I believe it would be best if they heard it from me."

There was a pause as you waited for him to dismiss you, but, no such order came. He just kept looking at you.

It was a familiar look, but one always caught out of the corner of your eye. The kind of look that left your heart racing and blood warm. Now, so clearly directed at you, it was hard to breath.

"Is there something else, sir," you prompted.

He blinked as if coming back to himself. "How long have we known each other, Commander?"

You frowned, slightly taken aback by the sudden change of subject.

"Ten years, more or less."

He nodded, setting down his drink as he did so. "I could tell you exactly; ten years, seven months, and twelve days. You were a Captain at the time."

The warmth in your cheeks spread, forcing you to put down your glass as well.

"And you were a Commander," you said, the memory coming back to you with the ease. "It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Yes." The word was spoken so softly, you almost wondered if someone else had said it.

Glancing up, you caught a strange gentleness in his expression. It only lasted a moment, but it was there all the same.

"You don't have to stay," he said.

You straightened in bewilderment. "Sir?"

"The reinstatement of the Empire is a task which will take years to complete," he continued, calmly. "It will take dedication and sacrifice. Only complete devotion will allow it to come to fruition. I plan to announce that any who wish to leave the service are free to do so and return home. Those who remain, will likely never see their home worlds again. It is not to be taken lightly, and I will not have anyone on my crew who doubts their resolve.”

He paused, just as a hint of emotion came into his voice.

“I would not force you to stay, if you do not wish it."

You stared at him, mouth gaping in wonder. Your answer came easily.

"I'm not leaving you, sir."

He blinked. Your stomach twisted.

You had said “you”; not the Chimaera, not the service, you.

You wanted to take back the words, but it was no use. You knew the truth and now so did he. You might be willing to give years of your life to the service, but you would give your entire self to Thrawn.

He watched you with an unreadable expression. Slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal, he walked out from behind his desk.

"I thank you, Commander," he murmered. "I admit, I hoped that would be your answer. I could not imagine the next few years without you with me."

Your breath hitched, just as he stopped only a foot from your body.

He had said "me".

Without a word, he reached out a hand and tenderly pressed it to your cheek.

His touch sunk into your skin making your melt into him. You placed your hand, over his, keeping it there. If this was your imagination, you needed to cling to if for as long as you were able.

He stepped closer, his glowing red eyes gazing into yours as the warmth of his breath brushed against your lips.

"There is something else I must ask of you," he whispered.

"Anything."

He leaned a hair closer, his nose brushing against your own. "May I kiss you, now?"

A small smile came to your lips. "You needn't ask."

With that permission, he pressed his lips to yours pulling you into a slow and passionate kiss.

The Emperor was dead. Long live the Emperor. And long live the one at his side.