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normal-internet-user · 1 year

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OKKK OK look technicality speaking,,, i'm supposed to be indulging in the sleebies rn. BUT my brain would NOT let me sleep until i commished this to ya!!

your peepaw leo answer? fantabulous. jaw dropping, awe-inspiring, hit just the spot. Extravagantly whimsically stupendous. ultra super mega amazing. need i say more? YES AND I WILL CONTINUE TO DO SO-

yet. ☝🏼 & hear me out here.

*folds hands all neat and preppy in front of me, leans in close so we're nose-to-nose, all business*

I have a storm a-brewin'. Up in the ole noggin'? Knock knock.

SPECIFICALLY ABOUT Reader and how they interact with Present (or to them, Past!) Leo!!

They're not as forthcoming as Casey, and I imagine that even after the war is won and the apocalypse is therefore prevented, that initial hostility would fade! … but instead it’d become … kind of awkward? They don't hate Leo, it's just.

Not the Leo they know.

Not the Leo they know and love and miss and mourn and glory to be, they’ve got their work cut out for them.

Reader is still coping with the loss of everything. the breathing techniques alongside Master Michelangelo's high EQ teachings on handling emotions help a lot more than they'd expected.

And!! The present (past??? aughguhghhhh) Hamatos are a big help too!! With time, it all does get better ^^)

(AKA: everyone's ✨traumatized & coping together✨, m'kay? m'kay.)

This all boils down to Reader and how they re-evaluate (rebuild?) their relationship with Leo. The Leo in THIS timeline that they helped save. How they heal from their wounds, inside and out, and try to make the best of what they’ve got. Because if the future taught them one thing: it was that no matter what, you've gotta keep going. Don't give up.

Canon plotline following n' stuff before the fluff downpour!

Here's a hc format for random moments in the way I see it bc it's easier? Is it? (/lh)

When Leo was finally released from the Escape Pod and everyone took in how haggard he looked— pale, shaking, horrified at what he just witnessed,

When he snapped and lunged at Casey,

Reader’s reaction was swifter than a bullet.

They swept in front of their brother, effectively and terrifyingly going toe-to-toe, snout-to-nose with this Leo, snarling out a bite of their barely-concealed rage. Their eyes are slits, their teeth are fangs poised to strike, and the venom is promised.

They’re just as dangerous as him at that moment.

The threat goes unsaid: Back. Off.

Their heart is racing like crazy, alarm bells ringing in their head and frustrated tears build up in their eyes. They're swimming— no. Drowning in confusion. In feelings. In dread. In nausea. In grief.

They didn't care what iteration of Leo this was or what they'd ever face: the image of Papa, whatever version it was, even thinking of bringing harm to Casey was enough to send them teetering over the edge.

Time travel. Alien invasion. From “Apocalypse Is The Norm” to “You Can Stop This Hellscape From Ever Happening BUT You Wipe Out Everything You've Ever Known Along With it.”

....

yeah that's enough to make a grown man cry.

Reader quickly realizing that, amongst their simmering anger, there was a kind of fear. Not just the impending sense of anxiety at everything that was happening around them, but this was familiar.

Papa had never been an inherently volatile person (turtle? snrt), but he was a Leader.

His very presence demanded respect. 9.∞ times outta 10, he got it.

Despite the image of their beloved dad momentarily crumbling within meeting his younger counterpart, Reader can’t help but cling to that familiarity.

The familiarity of that intimidation – that regard – in Leonardo.

He was pissed, that’s for sure. And Reader was actually kind of scared. Their Papa never was a violent person per se, but he’s had his moments.

It was kind of uncanny, seeing the young shards of those traits come to be. To see this young Leo, with so much ahead of him, slowly but surely become the man you knew and was raised by.

In spite of yourself, you could feel that same reverence and respect bloom in your chest. It hurt too, because it felt like it was for the wrong reasons.

Yet, you digress.

Besides, you were never one to hold fast to grudges – it was poisonous. And despite feeling like you were being poisoned slowly, in to out, you knew it’d pass.

It was along the lines of something Uncle Mikey had told you once ...

“What a caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.' Never forget, sunshine. Even when it feels like your world is ending, and you're caught right in the midst of it all?

... You can choose to birth a beautiful butterfly, ready to take on the world. You're a butterfly; every great thing starts small, no?”

So. You watched Leo out of the corner of your eyes. Listened to Junior as he sparkled and praised your young uncles, telling them the truth of their characters in your timeline.

—andddd a flash of hot annoyance flared up in your chest when your brother piped up something about Papa’s rescue of a resistance camp to the teenager him,

You tried to settle the war within yourself. How would you fight both at once? Not when there was an entire one unfolding right in front of your very eyes.

. . . you wanted your Papa.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ;༊

this has been,,, the first part of many a Wal-Mart ad. BA-DUM-TSS!

i'd add way more but my eyes feel like they're about to fall out jsjsj

*air kithes (ง ˃ ³ ˂)ว ⁼³₌₃⁼³ /p and lounges on your back porch, cracking open a cold juice pouch* Penny for your thoughts, toots?

Ok, first of all: Dear (/p) you are a freakin genius- now let us discus some things over a juice pouch.

READER POST-MOVIE/DURING THE MOVIE HEADCANONS

....................................

You are 100% percent correct about all of that.

Firstly, when April manages to knock both of you out and drag you back to the Lair,

Casey is much more open, and excited.

You're treating them as a potential threat.

I'm talking resting bitch face, broski.

Sure, in the future, these people raised you, but this isn't the future.

So you glare and let CJ do the talking, because at the moment your still processing,

And your anger could lash out at anyone in this room.

When Leo turns on Casey, your reaction was like second nature.

You had alot of moments during the apocolypse where if you took to long to assess the threat, you were dead.

So when Leo lunged at Casey, and your mind locked him in as a threat,

Those familiar instincts of, "Danger: protect family" kicked in.

Weapon drawn, teeth beared, you looked more feral than Leo,

But you were scared too.

You were so fucking scared.

You knew this wasn't your papa,

You knew that.

But to see his younger counter part so angry, so ready to be violent was terrifying.

You'd only ever seen your papa angry and violent one time in your life.

It happened when you had to drag Casey back to base, half dead and yourself much worse for wear.

You'll never forget the violence that shone in his eyes at the sight of his children.

One unconcious and bleeding,

The other hardly able to stand.

You have no idea what happened to the officer that sent you and Casey out,

But he wasn't seen around much after that, most said he was demoted to work in the more... laboring parts of the base.

Looking into Leo's eyes at this moment, you see a very similar violence to that day,

But what scares you is that violence is now directed at your brother.

After Casey explains none of this happened in your guys' time,

Leo shoved past you, and had his little, "We're going because I say so" moment.

You were beyond pissed.

Here was his team, telling him to wait,

To hold on a second, to come up with a plan,

And he was just- ignoring them.

But, you kept silent and followed Casey when he left with Leo,

You'd be damned if you left your brother alone with this idiot.

In the turtle tank, while Casey practically sings his praises, you can't help the scowl that builds on your face.

Casey kept using present tense, "You are.", and, "you were" in Donnie's case,

He just couldn't seem to grasp that this wasn't your family, future tense should be used.

Not past, not present, future.

Because he's not technically wrong,

But it still rubs you the wrong way for him to compare your Papa, to this guy.

In the subway tunnels, you get seperated from Casey, you end up with Donnie and Mikey.

Mikey had to physically pull you into the tank kicking and screaming.

You needed to be next to your brother.

You had always been right beside each other your whole lives,

You were terrified.

When you were in that tank, and it was on the verge of crumbling, you started having flashbacks of the time Kraang had attacked your first home.

You were so small, just a little kid waiting for Papa to come find you.

You were on the verge of sobbing as you desperatly tried getting ahold of Casey.

Skipping ahead to the end of the movie,

You didn't wanna let go of Casey's hand.

It's odd, knowing that you don't need to see what's lurking in every corner,

Because there's nothing there anymore.

You don't have to be scared.

That's when you notice the shimmer of something clipped to your boot.

Looking down, you see a blue, star shaped hair clip.

How it had managed to stay on your boot this entire time was a mystery,

But what was less of a mystery was how it got there.

You knew your papa had placed it there.

You grabbed the hair clip of your boot, tears welled in your eyes,

Then you let out a choked sob.

You clutched the hair pin so tightly you might draw blood, and you sobbed and sobbed.

It was like all your emotions poured out at once, you didn't even know which one you were feeling.

It was a mix of grief, sadness, anger, and anguish.

Casey pulled you close, muttering how proud he was of you, you'd done so well.

"Sensei would be proud." he said, "Papa would be proud of you."

You clung to your brother like he was your life line, because in a way he was.

He was all you had left of your life before.

Post-movie, you're awkward around Leo to say the least.

During the movie, you were angry with him, mostly because of the paralelles between him and Master Leonardo.

But post-movie it's just awkward,

You can't look at him without being reminded of the father figure you lost.

All you wanted was for your papa to hold you,

To sing you to sleep like he used to do to hide the sounds of the monsters lurking above.

You just want your papa- no, you need your papa.

You need to hear his voice again, sure, technically you hear it every day but it's not the same!

You need to hear him.

You've taken to replaying audio recordings through your own mask.

Laying in your bed late into the night, replaying the same video's until your papa's voice lulls you into an uneasy sleep...

....................................

My thoughts for you my dearest! (/p) free of charge!

I plan on writing some fluffy Papa Leo oneshots sometime soon, not to worry!

For now, have these!

#tmnt #tmnt x reader #normie rambles #x reader #rottmnt #leonardo x reader #leonardo x reader tmnt #peepaw leo #platonic tmnt x reader #casey jones junior #casey jones x reader #casey junior #casey junior x reader platonic #leo rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #normie writes

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asjjohnson · 1 year

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Part 3 of my Dan adventure poll fic. (You can still vote on previous parts as long as the polls are active. I'm trying to find the top few options.) Links: Beginning Post. Part 2.

---

Dan bared his fangs at Plasmius. He could feel his eyes brighten in anger, ectoplasm revving as he fought against the lingering effects of the collar.

"Alright, you're not happy with me. I understand. But hear me out. A partnership between the two of us will be mutually beneficial: you'll get to rampage and overpower all the ghosts you like throughout the Ghost Zone, and I'll get to rule in the aftermath of your destruction."

"No deal," Dan growled, leaping at Vlad.

Halfway there, Vlad pointed a small device, and Dan let out a strangled shout and fell hard to his knees. His back arched as he struggled against the electricity snaking through his body.

"I'm afraid the deal has already been made. You don't have a say in the matter."

Dan glared as he tried to regain his breath.

In the silence, Vlad's eyes drifted. "Why do you wear Danny Phantom's childish little hero logo? Has he branded you after your defeat?"

"No one... brands me... you fruit loop!"

Vlad's expression faded to blankness, and his eyes widened. "Daniel?"

(If there's a clear enough winner after 3 days, I may have a new poll up around Wednesday. But I'll still be interested in seeing final results at the end of a week, and the more votes a poll gets the more motivated I am to write.)

---

"Alert me when there's an update" list:

@charlietheepic7, @chrysanthemum9484, @mymadmedleyw

(if you want on the list, specifically ask to be alerted for updates in a tag or comment)

#danny phantom #dan phantom #poll adventure #vlad plasmius #choose your own adventure #poll fic #asj post #asj writing #Froot Loops is the cereal brand. I'm choosing to think Danny's insult is less brand-oriented.#...I couldn't think of as many poll options this time around.#mymadmedleyw is the main reason there's a new post today.#...I hope I'm not forgetting something. I can't edit these posts after posting them.

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autisticempathydaemon · 2 years

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♪

Sam/darlin

How the most dangerous thing is to love/ How you will heal and you'll rise above

"God, you really were the All-American country boy-next-door, weren't you?" Darlin snarks, grinning madly as they and Sam flip through old photo albums. He really shouldn't be surprised his weekend of cleaning has gone out the window, his werewolf deciding the remnants of his previous life much more interesting. "It makes so much sense your eyes used to be blue."

"It's awful rude to make assumptions about a person like that," Sam grumbles in response, nestling his chin in the crook of their neck, their back and shifter core warm like a furnace against his chest. "City folk can have accents too, and I could have been a bad boy. Maybe I was a troublemaker.”

Of course, anyone with a working pair of eyes, empowered vampire’s or no, would be able to tell that was never the case. Alexis, back in the (good? bad?) old days, had called him Captain America- the blonde, baby-blue-hued hero. Sam objectively knows that that hasn’t changed, that darker hair and silver irises don’t mask the good inside of him… but knowing and feeling ain’t always on speaking terms.

Even now, looking at a younger brighter simpler version of himself leaning up against that pick-up truck he’ll soon hate and mourn in equal measure, Sam feels a familiar, acrid cocktail of emotion threaten to shove its way up his throat and between his teeth.

Stabbing longing for the boy he used to be.

Aching rage at the woman who turned him into this.

Consuming hatred for the man he has become.

Blinding love for the werewolf in his lap- or maybe that’s just the dusty, discarded cowboy hat the shifter pushes onto his head, grabbing his chin and pressing their face to his for a selfie.

The man on the phone screen in front of him is mean, tough, so scarred and marred and changed, he’s barely recognizable as the young freelancer in the faded polaroids… He’s also smiling up a fanged storm as his Darlin playfully bites and kisses his cheek, so Sam can't help but admit they paint a pretty fine picture.

Send me a ♪, and I’ll put my music on shuffle and write a Redacted ficlet based on the song I get! 💌

-Feel free to send a specific pairing with the ♪!

#redactedasmr #redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedaudio #redactedverse #redacted #redacted sam #redacted darlin #redacted fanfiction #busybee sings #busybee writes

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whumpshaped · 1 year

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tw fantasy discrimination (institutionalised), exploitation, mistreatment mention, capitalism

"A conscience? Ethics? I haven't looked for that around here in a long time. I know you're a soulless, disgusting creature. You and your kind... you all are."

Standing at almost seven feet, with broad shoulders, muscles tensing and untensing visibly even under the coat of fur, a mouth full of sharp teeth designed to rip flesh from bone, and a death glare directed straight at the human in question, one might've thought the image was intimidating enough to make them back off. But with two guards on either side of them, equipped with the latest (and deadliest) version of the silver-coated, monster killing weapon family, they could afford to meet her gaze with calculated coolness.

"Surely, scolding me is not the purpose of your visit."

"No. No, it's not." The werewolf, leader of not only her pack, but the entire coalition of non-human creatures, gestured for her assistant to step forward and present the documents.

Her assistant was an unassuming little thing, one chosen specifically for her docile appearance. She must've thought that by choosing a dainty nymph to accompany her on her diplomatic missions, the picture would be a little more balanced; at the very least, humans wouldn't employ twice the guards for every meeting.

She spread out the papers on the desk, then gracefully stepped back to allow the human to look them over. It was complaint after complaint, pleading letters, terrified confessions from every creature on land, in sea, and air, all about one corporation, the director of which was sitting in front of the two of them.

"How could you have let this happen?" she snarled, fangs bared in a clear display of disgust and anger. "I know damn well- we all know damn well that rich human fucks love to abuse and take advantage of my people. So you, as someone who is working with hundreds if not thousands of them should've put in place strict measures to keep those people out of this corporation."

"Madam Chancellor, please, no need for such vulgarities-"

She slammed her clawed hand down on the table, letting out a frustrated, animalistic growl, ignoring the four weapons now pointed directly at her. "I will speak however I please, and you, Director, will listen. Get these people out of your corporation. I know there's not a smidgeon of empathy in that cold, dead heart of yours, but to think that you wouldn't even care about your billion dollar company is beyond me. Do you care for nothing but causing misery? Is that your sole motivation for getting out of bed in the morning?"

"I must ask you to refrain from making such accusations, ma'am," they said calmly, staring up into her glowing, yellow eyes. "I will keep the copies of these documents, and have my employees look through them. We will conduct thorough investigations, I assure you. Anyone found guilty of the crimes you've mentioned earlier will be let go."

"You have three months, Director. And during those months, while you conduct your investigation, you will make sure that the suspects don't set foot in this building, nor any of the others you own. Am I clear?"

"Very."

There was not an ounce of fear in their eyes, a fact that she could only lament. Slowly, she straightened up again, waiting until the guards lowered their weapons as well. "Good," she said finally. "Our meeting is concluded, then. I expect regular reports sent to my office."

"Of course, ma'am."

"I hope I won't have to barge into this office ever again, Director."

As they watched the two beasts leave, the human could barely stifle a laugh. Inflicting misery, as their sole motivation? Oh, what a ridiculous idea. No, they were a businessman through and through. Money had always been the only thing that dictated which direction to take the company in.

At the same time, these primitive monsters failed to realise that the billion dollar corporation was not the actual money making machine. The company was the cover-up, the ruse designed to lure hundreds of their kind to this one place with the promise of a well-paying, flashy career; a cover-up that had gotten a little too successful by complete accident.

The business, the real money was in letting those people in, the ones she expected them to now fire. And of course, they would, because it didn't matter in the slightest. Whether they were listed as employees and granted access to these disposable freaks that way, or they were simply let in through a backdoor, or invited to afterparties, it didn't matter. The money was going to keep flowing regardless.

They picked up one of the papers, scanning the tearful testimony with critical eyes. Oh, they were about to launch an investigation alright, and they were going to make sure that there would be no complaints like this in the future.

"Bring these over to my secretary," they ordered nonchalantly. "I want to know the sender of each individual complaint."

@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump

#'i will clear my inbox' writes smth totally random bc the inspo struck #to be fair i did finish two things from my drafts too #but yeah #whump #whump drabble #fantasy discrimination #exploitation #mistreatment mention #systemic mistreatment

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goatgoatgoat7778 · 2 years

Photo

I’m just in a MHR mood, although I’m not even using monsters exclusive to that game lol. But the little story I wrote is specific to that game, so there! Also there’s two versions of the pic just because.

This story contains: hunger kink, lesbians, uhh that’s it really lol

Rathian aimlessly flew through the darkened skies of the Frosty Islands. She’d gotten into a turf war with a Rajang- naturally, she’d flown away as far and fast as she possibly could. Those apes were scary, after all! But in her panic, she got lost; now it was dark and cold and she was exhausted. She scoured the area and saw a cave. It wasn’t an ideal location, but it would protect her from the bitter wind. She flew down and nestled herself between some rocks at the side of the cave. She would only stay the night. Once morning came, she would find someplace warmer (and Rajang-free). She laid her head down and closed her eyes.

*GGRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!*

Her head shot up and she looked around frantically, thinking another monster had joined her company. The growl reverberated the walls of the cave again and she realized it had come from her stomach. “I guess in my haste I forgot about finding food,” she muttered to herself. She heard the frigid wind blowing outside the mouth of the cave and sighed. “I’ll have to wait until morning, though.”

Her incensed stomach twisted and roared in response, making her wince. She gave her stomach a few brief rubs with her claws, but it refused to calm down. It felt like her stomach sunk in farther with each growl and each growl produced was louder than the last. With the way the cave carried her tummy’s wails Rathian was sure that all the monsters on the Islands could hear her. She curled up in an attempt to make herself smaller, hoping that whoever found her might leave her alone, but her company arrived sooner than she’d have liked.

A Mizutsune ran into the cave, fangs bared and tail raised. She couldn’t stifle her surprise when she saw it was a Rathian making all the ruckus. She shook her head to recompose herself. “You don’t belong here! I was here first, so you better move or you’ll be sorry!”

“I don’t mean to impose, I just got lost! I’ll leave as soon as the sun rises, I promise!” Rathian explained.

“Oh. But why were you roaring so threateningly? It really gives off the wrong impression…” Mizutsune said as she lowered her guard.

“It wasn’t me! I mean it was- well, kinda. I mean-”

*GRRROOOAAARGRGGGGGGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLLLLL!*

Mizutsune blinked. “Was that your stomach?”

Rathian nodded and covered her face with her claws. “This is so embarrassing,” she murmured as her stomach groaned again.

Mizutsune blushed and tapped her claws against the rocks nervously as she considered her next words. “I, uh, think it’s kinda neat.”

“You do?” Rathian asked, rubbing the back of her neck with her claw.

“Yeah,” Mizutsune said as she shifted closer. “Do you mind if I listen?”

Rathian was surprised and a little confused, but certainly not opposed. She rolled onto her back. “Go ahead.”

Mizutsune put her claws on Rathian’s stomach. She could feel Rathian’s stomach rumble beneath her tough scales, and her scaly stomach visibly shook. “Wow, you must be hungry!”

Her stomach roared in response and Mizutsune nuzzled in closer. Rathian blushed hard.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she laughed. She stretched herself across the top of Rathian’s body and stuck her nose in her face. “So where were you planning on going in the morning?”

“I don’t know… Anywhere but here I guess.” Rathian felt a twinge of sadness saying that last bit, knowing she wouldn’t be near Mizutsune anymore. “I’m still, you know, lost.”

Mizutsune perked up, “Oh, the Shrine Ruins is near here! It would be a comfortable place for both of us- er, I mean if you want-”

Rathian smiled, “that sounds perfect.”

“Great! I’ll show you first thing in the morning!” Just then her noodly stomach grumbled loudly against Rathian’s. “Well, after breakfast of course.”

#stomach growling #hunger kink

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sonicasura · 1 year

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I woke up from a nap to two crazy ideas. Both will have their own post but here's one of them. It's a big long hence the cut.

Monster Hunter Orion Pax

Specifically the Transformers Prime incarnation where he's an archivist. Also this is before he gains the Matrix of Leadership and becomes the Optimus we all. Orion is still friends with Megatronus.

Anyway, the archivist mysteriously disappears from his habsuite the night before seeing the council for his gladiator companion. Orion Pax wakes up to find in a strange jungle inhabited by very unfamiliar creatures: the Flooded Forest. He barely gets his bearings before he is attacked by a Rajang.

(For those not familiar with Monster Hunter, Rajang are powerful wandering Fanged Beasts known for their extreme aggression and devastating lightning charged power. A kind of monster that is best to avoid unless you want a very painful death. Not something an archivist with little battle experience should face. I'll be using my Monster Hunter OC Cheshire Masamune for this.

Raised in Kamura, he's a type of hunter known as a Rider, someone that fights alongside monster companions called Monsties. Cheshire's partner is Ainz, a Black Veil Vaal Hazaak who been his companion for years ever since their first meeting.)

Thankfully Orion is saved by Cheshire and Ainz before he ends becoming scrap metal via super saiyan ape. From there, the displaced Cybertronian is taught how to survive in this new dangerous world. Orion Pax may have read a forbidden file in the archives and knows how to make Energon via G1 style.

The archivist learns the art of monster hunting under Cheshire's tutelage. From how to carve monster parts so it could be made into weapons or armor, how to navigate the various dangerous terrain and overall thrive than just survive. Living as a monster hunter will definitely open his eyes to more than just the corruption from Cybertron.

Speaking of his home planet, you can bet your ass that it is in utter chaos since Orion Pax had mysteriously vanished. The archivist's disappearance is the final push to Megatronus less than peaceful campaign. Entire council is in a tizzy as they try to find any sign of the 13th Prime's reincarnation.

Meanwhile Orion Pax enjoys this peculiar new lifestyle under Cheshire's care. The many cultures that this world's people share with him, rich uncensored nor forbidden history to study in his spare time, and the other unique experiences waiting to be found. He does wonder how his planet is doing but there is no way back home.

Doesn't mean I ain't hurling Orion Pax back into Cybertronian conflict. An exploration gone wrong leads the young monster hunter to a different version of his universe and other versions of him who go by the name Optimus Prime. The one with the most potential for angst flavored chaos would be canon Transformers Prime.

Imagine Orion's reaction to seeing what would happen if he saw the Council. His friend's descent into madness, their friendship falling apart, and Cybertron in shambles. Such a revelation would break him.

Optimus and Megatron are gonna be shaken by this strange blast from the past. The former is because Orion never gotten the Matrix of Leadership. He was spared fighting a massive civil war that still rages on. The young bot still has his innocence.

Megatron will be full on possessive. This is a version of his friend untainted by the Matrix and Cybertron's darkness. Even if the Orion Pax here can fight similar to a hunter, it is still that shy kind hearted archivist he met during his gladiator career. Megatron will be gunning to capture this young bot.

Orion Pax is stuck in the middle of their feud and needs to do whatever he can to get back home. Whether it be his Cybertron or the Monster Hunter world. The archivist does know that Cheshire might go on the warpath than just be worried sick for his disappearance. Oh boy.

What do you guys think?

#sonicasura #back on my bullshit #transformers series #transformers #transformers prime #tfp #orion pax #monster hunter!orion pax #monster hunter orion pax #monster hunter #monster hunter series #mhr #monster hunter rise #maccadam #my ocs #cheshire masamune #optimus prime #tfp optimus prime #optimus

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yanderelucy2 · 2 years

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What I think is each prince's favorite kiss placement. (f!reader)

Note: Might not be character accurate, and I'm not good at writing.

Warnings: Some may be inappropriate or suggestive, Licht contains mention of self-harm.

Chevalier Michel

He doesn't have a specific favorite, but he does have a specified region he kisses most (not referencing canon storyline) which are your forehead. It's just easier for him. To quickly grab your head leave a quick kiss and leave is good enough for him. Anywhere on your face works for him though, sometimes he likes to kiss the corner of your mouth to avoid getting you or himself too excited with a real kiss.

Leon Dompteur

He's a true gentleman with his, he loves to give a sweet kiss on your hand. He knows it makes you feel special. He does that mainly for you though, it's not his favorite. His true favorite is just your lips, he loves the feel of your hot breath, and how your lips taste on his. He gets addicted and carried away though so similar to Chevalier he goes to the cheek to save himself the excitement.

Yves Kloss

Yves' favorite spot is your cheek, sometimes when he's bored he'll just *nom* take a very kind bite, not hard just ticklish. He only does that while giving you a surprise back hug though. He loves giving a quick kiss on your kiss because of the simplicity, he also loves how adorably soft it is, and how you smell.

Licht Klein

(TW: mention of self-harm)

(No scars version) He loves to just stare into your eyes and kiss your soft lips, but his favorite spot is your forearm. Seeing how it's so clean compared to his, he loves to feel how soft they are with his lips. He loves that there are no scars like his.

(Healed scars version) He sees the scars, he sees they're healed. He loves you so dearly, he loves to kiss your healed scars. To feel how you're okay now. His lips on your sensitive scars, they show lust and adoration.

Nokto Klein

(Contains inappropriate content!)

His favorite spot is your shoulder, he loves to see the slight shiver when he comes without warning. The fact your shoulders are so perfect, the smell of your hair dropping close. When he's holding your legs and pounding into you at night though, he loves to give soft kisses on your calf, seeing you barely able to think yet you still are able to react to such a soft kiss, makes him absolutely fall for you.

Clavis Lelouch

He's known for his adoration of thighs, he's not a woman fanatic but you're legs are his exception. You are his exception. When you lay in bed with your knees up and a book in your hand, the way your thighs beautifully keep the book more steady. He loves to just come in the middle of your reading and causes you to lose focus when he comes in and kisses the back of your thigh. When you move your book down to see him and he just spreads your legs open and starts devouring your inner thighs.

Jin Grandet

(Contains inappropriate content!)

He can't help himself from the temptation when he sees your chest. He loves to kiss your breasts. His favorite dessert was better than any dessert Yves could ever make. He loves to just suck and leave his marking on you. When he sees you lay on the bed looking at him with eyes that scream "Please fuck me!" He can't help himself, he'll go straight to your breasts, he'll kiss your lips and suck on your nipples seeing the repressed moans escape your mouth.

Luke Randolph

(Contains inappropriate content!)

He has no specific favorite spot he adores all of you, but if he had to choose a favorite he'd pick your collarbone. You're so very sensitive there, the feeling of his hot breath hovering over your collarbone like a vampire about to seek his fangs into his prey. He'd love to just pour honey on your body and lick it all off your body and see you just let slight moans escape. How dare you have such a beautifully tempting body, he can devour whenever he desires.

#ikepri #ikemen prince #chevalier michel #leon dompteur #yves kloss #licht klein #nokto klein #clavis lelouch #jin grandet #luke randolph

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hellguarded-moved · 1 year

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≥ @distopea moved to beta from here_

" so you've said, " the demon grumbled— his new partner's name was something the man himself had shared with him as the very first thing. was he going senile already? he didn't look that old. at the very least ignis had the decency to keep that to himself, at least for as long as they were within the walls of the headquarters. once outside, however? it was free game.

the smoke of cigarette didn't bother him; made no efforts in dispersing it as it hit his face. the scent was, in fact, quite pleasant. it reminded him of home. the reason for the frown upon his lips was his company's words— already, further insults tickled at the very tip of his tongue, but with a heavy inhale, he swallowed them down.

" fine. i'll follow. i was given only the short version of the briefing— i guess that's how they handle assistants around these parts? " he mumbled low, eyes trailing after the butt of the cigarette, before simply following after the other, just a step behind. as per his assumptions, mads knew the juicy details on the mission they were assigned to handle.

he expected to be led to... archives, the board room, stuff like that. not a garden, although intentions soon became clear... or at least the demon thought so. " mm? " with a curious, dog-like tilt of head, he stepped closer as instructed. did the man want to spar? well, he wouldn't make the first move— not unless provoked or asked to. but he would very well defend himself if needed be.

with a smirk, he straightened his spine and stood proud, hands clasped behind his back. " as you might have already guessed, hellhounds are infernal creatures. we excel at pyromancy, as well as thermokinesis— that is, controlling the temperature of our target. in other words, i could make your blood boil. quite literally, " the smirk upon his lips widened, enough to bare pointed fangs, " besides that, i am also quite adept at umbramancy. however, the key ability that hellhounds possess— and why many love to employ us —is our ability to phasewalk. for as long as i've seen or better yet, visited a specific place, i can open a rift in reality itself to take us to said location. "

#alternative records. ( “SHACKLED” );#reports. ( “CERBERUS” );#distopea #q.#// cartwheels!! i kept saying i ought to have a verse for this and now that i've made some ORDER in my verses #// i do know how to tag it #// yeee #// and i can tell u!! if this is mads' grumpy verse then this is ig's snarky verse #// as he hates being imprisoned/bound to anyone. gonna be fun!!!!

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jackrrabbit · 3 years

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Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl�� 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

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rallamajoop · 2 years

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Christopher Lee and the Humour of Dracula

Though Hammer’s Dracula series may not quite be my favourite Dracula films, I think Christopher Lee still ranks as my favourite actual Dracula (and as I may have mentioned before, this is a crowded field).

There are, IMO, three key components to what makes his particular take on the character work.

You’ve got your menacing Dracula:

Your sexy Dracula:

And your oh shit this did not go as planned Dracula:

That last one being the aspect I feel doesn’t really get enough appreciation.

I don’t know how many of the faces Lee pulls are unintentionally hilarious, or just intentionally hilarious, but they’re amazing either way.

Dracula dies a different way in all 7 of Lee’s Hammer films. Marathon the Hammer Draculas, and you’re going to watch the poor guy make these faces a lot. By the time I’d finished the series, I’d seen him die so many times I’d started kind of rooting for him as the underdog.

None of this is to take away from how genuinely menacing (or sexy) this take on Dracula can be ‒ which might be a little surprising, given this is an interpretation devoid of so much of what made Stoker’s original so threatening to begin with. For all the noise the Hammer’s scripts make about Dracula as “the greatest evil that ever lived,” this is a rare version with no interest in invading England, whose worst acts are inspired by nothing more machiavellian than hunger or revenge. We assume he’s out there in the countryside eating people on the regular, but it’s surprising how little of that we see. This is a rare take where you could make the case Dracula may genuinely have invited Jonathan to his castle for no reason more nefarious than wanting someone to reorganise his library.

I bring all this up not to convince you that Lee’s Dracula is secretly misunderstood (though, you know, by all means write me that fanfic) ‒ this guy is still seriously bad news ‒ but it is just a little embarrassing how many of his actual kills happen only as retaliation, usually after some bastard tried to kill him first (see Dracula Has Risen From The Grave especially) and fucked it up.

He also hardly speaks. So little, in fact, that the supercut of every word he says across his 7 Hammer Dracula films is barely 9 minutes long (and about 3:30 of that is from the last just the last third of The Satanic Rites of Dracula, being the one and only film in which he actually shows some ambition).

Nor does he spend much time even trying to pass for human ‒ a crying shame, IMO, considering how well Lee plays the few later scenes where he gets the chance (see also: why Scars of Dracula is honestly one of my favourite entries, for all its many flaws). A Dracula who can lull you into a false sense of security has a whole other kind of menace.

The point here is that Lee’s really not given that much to work with. Bloodshot eyes, pointed fangs and cherry-red Kensington gore will only get you so far. Add in the fact that he has to put up with the indignity of looking very silly and being killed in some gloriously ridiculous ways, and keeping the menace going must be something of a job.

But for what he’s given, somehow Lee still pulls it all off.

Not many people could do that. Not many Draculas could do that.

Ultimately, Lee’s Dracula is more wild animal than evil, more of a presence than a character. But short of maybe Nosferatu, I’m not sure I could name a more effectively menacing Dracula.

Nor do I think I could name a sexier one.

Obviously, this is the very specific kind of “sexy” built entirely on (many) lovingly-shot vampire-hypnosis scenes, but Hammer really went in hard on the seductive-Dracula angle. This is by no means the first time Dracula had sex appeal ‒ Bela Lugosi had a rather intense female fanbase going all the way back to when he was only doing Dracula on the stage ‒ but now men were noticing it, and academics were writing about it, and that made it official. For all Christopher Lee may protest that he wasn’t trying to become a sex symbol, that he just “did what was in the script,” he still did that really very effectively. (So did the actress who played Mina, who was famously directed to play her following scene “like the morning after the best sex of your life.”)

The major Dracula films of the 20th century form one heck of a sexy-Dracula trend. Before Hammer, the 1931 film couldn’t more than hint at any fangs going into any necks. After Hammer, by 1979, Dracula’s seduction of Mina had become the core of the film. By 1992, Dracula had become the hero of a romantic tragedy.

But as Dracula became increasingly more of a romantic figure in those later films, he lost something of the core of the original sexy-vampire-fantasy that had all those women swooning at Bela Lugosi ‒ of meeting something so irresistibly alluring that one, long look into its eyes could have you willingly taking off the crucifix that was meant to protect you, and baring your throat to the beast.

I don’t think any Dracula has committed to that better than Christopher Lee. Whether he meant to or not.

Mind you, being Hammer’s Dracula, you’re also going to have to put up with then being suddenly interrupted, and having to stop, panic, and leave the building in a hurry.

Or getting caught in the act of trying to hide down a trapdoor, then looking urgently back and forth with a panicked expression, before giving up and just chucking the nearest candlestick at Van Helsing.

Or that great moment where he’s finally wrestled Van Helsing to the floor and leeeeans in to bite him... with this one stray lock of hair in the middle of his forehead sticking up like the start of an impromptu mohawk.

Which brings us all the way back around again to the joy of watching poor Dracula have a very bad day.

Hammer’s take on the character always had its campier side, and was that much more fun for them. Even Stoker’s original novel had its moments, where Dracula twice pauses to make a grand, self-important speech right before turning tail and fleeing. Dracula may be evil, he may be sexy, but he’s a difficult character to play completely straight. And I don’t think even Christopher Lee ever really tried. Dude had some real comedy chops I don’t think he gets enough credit for.

We’ll end this ‒ much like the films ‒ on the glorious spectacle of Christopher Lee meeting his untimely end by making the fatal error of walking into a bush.

Classic.

#Christopher Lee #Dracula #Hammer Dracula #Hammer Horror #my gifs

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dark9896 · 2 years

Text

Tale as old as Time [Klaus x Reader]

Klaus opened the door to the office, uncertain why you'd asked him specifically to look at the book you had just found. According to Steven it hadn't done anything with anyone else in the room, but kept appearing around you as if attached to you.

"[Name]? Where's this book?"

You turned, the book sitting on a stand. Klaus had to marvel at the delicate golden swirls aross what looked like a dark hard oak cover. It reminded him of a fairy tale book he had owned as a child.

"It won't open or anything." You looked back at the book with a small frown, "Except follow me around apparently. I mean I found it in the trash of all places."

"Perhaps its a magical artifact?" Klaus laid a hand on the book, it was surprisingly cold for hard covered book, "Artificiers are known to drop their failed projects after all."

■■■

Klaus woke up in a vaguely familiar environment, it looked slightly more elegant than his childhood bedroom. Though his feet hit tile with a concerning clicking noise. Investigating his form in a mirror, Klaus felt his heart sink.

He looked more monstrous than normal. Covered in thick, deep red fur, fangs far more massive than normal, curved horns, sharp claws, and a long skinny tail. Klaus hoped this was temporary, whatever spell he was under would fade quickly.

Klaus attempted to calm himself in the.... his....garden. Was this the doing of that book? Or should he believe the blurry memories telling him he was cursed for not marrying someone he didn't love? Or perhaps it was both. But then, were you pulled in this universe as well? Was this his fault?

No. Klaus shook his, now more massive, head. This was the book you found. Not that Klaus would blame you for this, it seems like the unnamed Artificier had this kind of situation in mind. After escaping this universe, he would simply ask Steven to put out a search for whoever is making charmed books. Just to be safe and avoid this kind of situation for anyone else.

Klaus was snapped from his musings by footsteps nearby. Upon seeing a portly merchant sneaking closer to his prized rose, Klaus felt a strange surge of hope. Maybe it was that this man looked so much like you, or maybe it was something else.

Regardless, Klaus had to stop him, "Sir, what are you doing this for?"

Klaus was torn between seeing the clear fright on his face and the fact that he was attempting to steal his prize rose.

"Ah, I-I'm sorry. I-I didn't realize this castle was inhabitanted." The man was trembling, "I was just getting a rose for my youngest. They aren't interested in nicer things, but they love roses. F-flowers of all kinds really."

Klaus looked down, if the youngest was [Name], then he needed them to come here so they could break this spell, "I'll offer you a deal. You return to your family, explain to your children the situation and deal you've made. One of your children returns here as my companion. If they decline, then you will return yourself to honor this deal."

The man nodded nervously, "Of course, of course."

"Though please." Klaus plucked the rose himself and handed it to the man, "Do NOT hide any of the details from your children. I would rather they know EXACTLY what they are agreeing to."

"Of...of course." He barely accepted the rose, "I'll do precisely that."

Klaus hated this feeling. He knew the only reason the man agreed was due to his intimidating stature. Yet he knew this story, several versions of it. He suspected the best way to get through this would be 'playing along' to the story.

To say Klaus was excited to hear knocking on the door was an understatement. He had to force himself to not smile when he opened the door. But seeing you, he almost broke into a massive grin. This was perfect, he had hoped you would be the one to show up.

Klaus felt nervous as you looked him up and down, "Your fur is a little darker than I thought it would be."

"Really?" Klaus bowed his head a little in embarrassment, "I....I didn't think I'd be covered in fur."

"My guess is that we have to break the story." You really didn't want to go through the entire story, no matter how satisfying it would be to see Klaus turn back into a human, "Though this doesn't seem to be enough to do that."

"You think breaking the storyline will get us out of here?" Klaus was compelled to lead you to a room, supposedly the next part of the story.

"Its either that, or we let this play out to the end." You were following the path for now, "And there isn't a garentee that'll let us out."

Klaus stopped, having led you into the bedroom since it was quite late. While he didn't want to press his company on you, you had asked Klaus to stay. Though Klaus never thought about the idea that the book wouldn't let them out after the story was finished.

Laying next to you, Klaus felt much better all of a sudden. You still didn't flinch at his appearance, despite him looking far more monstrous than normal. He tentatively put and arm around your shoulders, pleased that you snuggled closer and fell right to sleep. Klaus very gently pressed a kiss to your forehead, knowing how deeply you would trust him no matter his physical form made him so happy.

Without any really clue what might break the book's spell, you spent a few days just following Klaus around. Sitting in the garden, reading books, even just snuggling. Somehow nothing that was unnatural for any of the versions of the story was working. You were wracking your brains trying to figure out what might finally break the story.

You were curled up next to Klaus, trying to fall asleep, except your mind was racing. You worried that you two were missing several days of work. How many people needed you right now, especially needed Klaus.

Klaus was startled when you sat up, concerned there was a bit of the story he was missing out on.

Until you turned to him, "I think I've figured it out."

"What have you figured out Leibling?"

"Kiss me."

Klaus sat up slowly, blinking, "Do you think that will break the story?"

You nodded, "You've only ever kissed my hands and sides of my face. But the ending always has a kiss. So by logic, doing it before the curse breaks, it should break the book's spell."

Klaus was quite nervous, but couldn't deny your line of logic. He was even more careful than normal cupping your face with his clawed paw, leaning down into a soft kiss. Which you returned in an eager way.

■■■

The sudden gravity shift from sitting to standing made you trip into Klaus's lower torso, but he was more than capable of steadying you. Both of you looked around, it seemed as if no time had passed at all. Though the book itself disappeared off the stand, despite a thorough search around the office, it couldn't be found.

"That's quite odd." Klaus stood up, scratching his head, "It must have been charmed to disappear after use."

"Let's just hope its completely gone." You popped your back while stretching, "Or rendered useless. Who knows where it would show up next."

Klaus gently slipped an arm around your waist, "We can still research the form of magic and attempt to prevent this from happening again. Though perhaps we should return home? A nice cup of tea and a good rest should refresh our minds."

#bbb #kekkai sensen #kkss #blood blockade battlefront #klaus von reinherz

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richietoaster · 3 years

Text

cut me through my skin

hello im posting a fic yaaay surprise!!!

read on ao3

words: 1,030

TW: blood, vomitting, vomitting blood (its a vampire/werewolf universe okayyy)

read unformatted version below:

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

“Are you crazy?! You can’t feed on Stan!”

A hungry, black-eyed Eddie is pulled away from the staircase that Stan is unconsciously leaning against. Richie struggles to hold him back.

“Let go-! I just need a little bit more-”

“When does it stop? What, huh?! You’re gonna kill him. You’re gonna kill him. This is what happens when you start drinking Live blood, and Stan is trying to help Bill!”

Eddie looks over to where Bill is lying at the bottom of the staircase, currently trapped in a dream world. He slumps down on their flipped living room couch. “I-I know, I’m sorry- I just.. Richie, try to understand. I’m a goddamn vampire.. I need- I need blood to survive! And I thought that I could be different, be better, but I just can’t, okay? I’m not cut out for this, okay? Bill has us trapped in our house all because he can’t get his fucking ghostly powers or whatever under control.. And that’s not even the worst part! I’m starving, you’ll be turning tonight, and Stan is a human.”

Richie apologetically looks away, and then sighs heavily, beginning to take his watch off. Eddie looks at him curiously.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m being brave.. For all of us..” Richie holds out his arm to Eddie, and makes a fist. “Go ahead,” he tries to encourage, but he sees Eddie hesitate. “Come on, Eds.”

“Wh-? No, I can’t.”

“Well, you don’t really have any other option.”

“Vampires don’t drink from werewolves,” Eddie says.

“Why? Do we smell or something?”

“Yeah, actually! We’ve always taken the smell as a warning.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “That- That’s a thing? Like a legit thing? Eddie for fucks sake, if this is some type of weird vampire-”

“What? No, it’s just something we don’t fucking do. We have never done that.” Eddie shoves Richie’s arm away, but Richie pushes back.

“I have blood, you need blood, and you can’t drink from Stan- at least without permission.. Listen..” Richie crouches down in front of Eddie, holding his face. “I’m strong, alright? I can handle it. You need blood to survive, those are your own words.” He holds out his arm once more, “just do it.. And before I change my mind.”

Eddie takes in a deep breath and nods slowly, hand clasping over Richie’s fist. He’s ready to sink his fangs into Richie’s flesh but immediately pulls back.

“N-n-no-”

“Oh, come on-”

“It’s the smell!”

“I’m gonna fucking change my mind-”

“Alright, alright, give me a se- give me a second!” Eddie shakes his shoulders out once more and then lunges forward to begin feeding.

Richie is shocked at how it actually doesn’t hurt that bad, but before he can start his thought process of how he feels about all of this, Eddie stops, giving a very specific look, and wipes a stray blood droplet from his mouth, “It.. it tastes different.”

“D-Different? Different how?.. Do you think it’s because of the movie theater popcorn from-” Richie doesn’t finish his sentence before Eddie is diving back in for more. He hisses in pain- or pleasure? No, he doesn’t really know, it’s somewhere in between. A mix. All he knows is Eddie is getting what he needs from this, and Richie is.. getting.. Hard? Oh. Oh fuck.

Eddie pulls back for the last time, “Oh, god,” he gets up to pace around the living room, “I need to walk away.”

“Was it bad?” Richie asks. “It was bad.”

“No! It was good.. Too good..” Eddie bounces on his feet as if he’s experiencing an adrenaline rush. “I’m tingling. Like all over. Oh, man, I’ve never felt more alive despite not actually being alive.”

“Okay, so we’re- so we’re glad we drank me?”

“It’s just- I barely even touched you!”

“Well, I’m assuming that’s a good thing-” as if Karma had second thoughts, Eddie is buckling over, beginning to gag. “Eds, you okay?”

Eddie answers by throwing up the blood he had just drank from Richie.

After a couple minutes of Eddie puking blood and bleeding from his eyes, Richie is holding a warm wet towel on his forehead. “What.. What the fuck was that? Was that like, an allergic reaction or something?”

“What? No, Rich. That’s because I fucking drank werewolf blood. I told you we don’t do that- and it seems like that’s why.. Maybe I can go ask Pennywise if he’s ever-”

“-You said you would never go back to him, Eddie.” Ouch. The whole name.

“I’m not going back to him. But he is my maker and if he can give me an answer about why your blood caused me to react like that.. Then I’d really appreciate it. Because just seconds ago I thought I was going to die.”

Richie grins sheepishly, “But you didn’t.”

Eddie laughs. “No, no I didn’t.”

“Do you regret it then? Are you still hungry?”

“No and no. I don’t regret it and my appetite hasn’t changed. I still feel full, surprisingly. Just don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.” Eddie leans back onto the wall, legs spread, and lets out a sigh. “It just seems like anytime we make progress of.. Of being normal, we’re thrown three steps back.” He locks eyes with Richie, they’re screaming “HELP!” And they both know it. Eddie chuckles dryly. “We’ll never be normal, though, will we? We’re always going to be stuck.. We’re always going to be monsters, aren’t we? I just.. I just can’t slip again.”

“Hey.. hey.. Don’t talk like that, okay? You’re a monster with morals. You didn’t choose this life.. But you’re trying to make the best of it, right? We’re all trying. You’ve got me.. Me and Bill by your side. And maybe even Stan, if he doesn’t completely hate you for drinking him nonconsensually..” Richie looks over to Stan. He’s worried about him and Bill, but there’s nothing he can do about their situation. “We’ll..” He trails off, slowly moving his hand towards Eddie’s, “We’ll figure it out, yeah?”

Eddie’s eyes follow the motion, and copies it, linking their fingers together. “Yeah.. we will,” he says. It’ll just take some time.

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#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #it 2019

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darkeninganon · 3 years

Text

Heyo! Back at it again with Ghost Dream (Gream). He has a little weirdness happen in this chapter, mostly because my brain just yeeted off to Pluto. I don’t think I need any Trigger warnings, I mean... Tommy gets a little shaken up emotionally, but beyond that, this is a pretty safe chapter.

Gream smiled, setting up the final blocks to complete the diorama on the table. It had taken many days, but finally Gream had completed it, with the help of Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy. It was an exact replica of the server. Well, with a few changes. Some places had no walls, and the building in place of the prison was nothing more than an obsidian box surrounded by red and orange string. There were also the dolls, almost exact replicas of the people of the SMP.

Almost.

Tomothy had a blue sweater on, instead of whatever the real Tommy was wearing. William was grey-skinned, had no white streak, and was wearing a yellow sweater. Prezbo was wearing a classy suit, reflecting his position of power. Lethe was wearing a cloak and bandages over his eyes. Gream even made one like himself, naming it "Nightmare", it lacked a mask though. He was not about to try and figure out how to make a doll-sized mask. There were so many more as well: A centaur-like creature named "The Warden" sat on top of the prison box, a tall cloaked figure standing in a sandy area along with many other smaller ones, including a fox man; most notably was a figure in a bloody suit with crooked eyes, a pink scar slashing vertically through one, a beanie, a gold tooth, and a square smile. "Fangs", "Raev", "Sir"....

Gream shook his head, fear and dread creeping up his spine and making his stomach roll. He sighed, setting the dolls down after inspecting them. Raev was his favorite in the group; Gream had given him bright orange hair and a smile, plus a cute green-black suit. It clashed with the hair and fur, but Gream didn't mind, it was kind of cute in a way.

Gream continued to just stare at the little scene, sitting cross-legged as he took it all in. All of these characters were related, their stories tied together in some way. Gream reached over, pulling Nightmare from the little brick house he stood on and placing the doll in the cell The Warden stood on. That was where Nightmare belonged.

Gream spun to look at the door as the floor creaked, Tommy looming in the doorway, staring at the ghost.

"Hey there. Your table is finally done?" The teen asked, stepping into the room and over to the table. He wouldn't deny, it made him nervous; it was a replica of the SMP with New L'Manburg, the oldest version of the Community House, and the maximum security cell of the prison, plus Snowchester and Las Nevadas. It was like the server had been spliced between several time periods. "Looks good."

Gream looked back at the table, nodding. "Thanks. I also made the dolls." Gream motioned to them. He noticed Tommy tense, specifically when looking at the one in the prison. "That's Nightmare. He belongs in jail."

Tommy knew Dream was... quiet, to put it lightly, but he had never seen Gream do the same. "Yeah, and why's that?" he asked, sitting next to the ghost.

"He did a lot of bad things." Gream grabbed the doll, pulling it from the "jail" to look at it more.

"Well... sometimes people do bad things for a good reason-"

"That doesn't make it okay. Nightmare did a lot of bad things. He wanted to have a family... He wanted Tomothy to be his little brother, but Tomothy chose William, and William was a megalomaniacle dick to everyone, even Nightmare. But then William died and things got better." Gream placed Nightmare back in the cell. "But... William managed to convince Tomothy that Nightmare was evil, and Nightmare saw people drifting apart because he gave Prezbo a test, and Prezbo failed it." He grabbed the two dolls, holding them close. He then placed Prezbo back in the town he had built, placing Tomothy in a bare plains-like area with wooden fort-like walls around him. "Prezbo kicked Tomothy out of their home because Nightmare got mad and threatened the town. Then, Nightmare tried to... twist? Corrupt? No, neither of those words work..."

Tommy's breath hitched, and it took a moment for him to speak; "Manipulate?" His voice pitched up. Fuck, he really had to get that under control. It was such a tell.

Gream looked to Tommy, nodding solemnly. "Yeah. Nightmare tried to manipulate Tomothy into liking him. Like William had done when alive. Instead, Tomothy just hated him more." Gream picked up another doll, rolling it around. "Then, Nightmare asked for Lethe's help. A favor. Lethe needed to protect the server, but he had to forget everything unless there was actual danger. A True threat. They cast some... spell or something, and Lethe forgot." Gream placed the doll in the area that looked like Snowchester, and now Tommy could see who it looked like: Ranboo. "there is a way to reverse it, but... I don't know if Lethe knows it."

Tommy watched, listened. It was so obvious who was meant to be who. It was like Gream... Wait... "Hey, so... you said Nightmare wanted a family, right?"

"Yeah."

"So... he made everyone think he was evil... and now he's in jail, yeah?"

"That's right. Mostly. He is in jail."

"Well... did... I mean, how did he get in there?"

Tommy watched as Gream seemed to think, staying silent and still before grabbing "Nightmare" from his cell. "Well... everyone teamed up against him. But... even though he'd never see anyone again, he was happy."

"Why?"

"Because, they were finally a family." Gream placed the little doll back in the cell. His voice was soft, wistful.

Tommy nodded. "Pardon me." He stood and left, Gream nodding to show he had heard. Tommy barely made it to the stairs, clinging to the railing as he finally broke. Gream was... He wasn't just playing out his memories, he was sharing what he felt and his thoughts at the time. Dream was... Jealous? No, that didn't excuse his actions, at all! He was still worse than... But... No, he wasn't. Dream was just more physical, less mental.

Tommy took out his communicator, sending a message to Tubbo and Ranboo: We need to talk. Meet me at Snowchester. Bring the others Ranboo. Tommy grit his teeth. He couldn't let Wilbur near Gream. Wilbur would see Gream as an easy mark, and likely a way into Las Nevadas. Sure, seeing Dream's version of everyone on the SMP was unnerving, but it was even more unnerving that he has so perfectly replicated Quackity and Las Nevadas. Quackity who was likely the reason Gream even existed in the first place, and also someplace Dream had never seen. Gream probably didn't even know he had done that.

Tommy swung open the front door, hoping to meet the others right at the tunnel; nearly smacking right into Wilbur. Fuck.

"Tommy! There you are! Now, look, I know me and Quackity were a bit intense-"

"Not now Wilbur."

"Okay, but hear me out! We need so much more stone, and more importantly, we need to team up with-"

"I have more important things to worry about here."

"It'll just take a moment! We team up with Tubbo and Ranboo and let them expand into our land right by Las Nevadas, and-"

"I'll talk to you about it later, alright?"

"Alright, but real quick, We also need to come up with a plan to get Dream out of Prison-" Tommy tensed, unseen by Wilbur; "Because, you know, he has that book that brought me back. God, imagine how useful that'll be! No more death ever! We can fight for eternity and no one can stop-"

Wilbur's head was snapped to the side. Tommy had punched him. "He's not a fucking tool you can just lock up once you're done using him! What the fuck man?!" Wilbur groaned, rubbing his jaw as he slowly turned to look at Tommy, clearly wanting to say something, but too shocked to do so. "You will... never get the revive book, or the power it holds... Dream is... I hope Sam kills you again." Tommy turned away from Wilbur, storming over to the tunnel. He knew Wilbur was following silently behind, confused and desperate to say something, to get to the bottom of why Tommy just punched him.

Tommy stood by the tunnel, furious. Sure, Dream was a dick, and everything would have been solved if Dream had just talked to Tommy, but at the same time... Asking Gream more about Nightmare would shed some light. But he needed everyone else to show up first, to see what Gream was doing. Tommy tapped his foot, staring at the sky as they waited for everyone else.

Ranboo burst from the tunnel, trident in hand, panicked expression, netherite on. "What's going on?!" Someone crashed into the poor half enderman, causing him to make that distinct noise of an enderman in pain as they crashed to the ground.

"Shit! Sorry-" Phil couldn't complete his apology as the rest on the Syndicate tumbled out of the hyper tunnel, crashing into each other.

Tommy snorted, trying his hardest not to laugh as the four people untangled themselves. Ah yes, the most fearsome group on the server, couldn't navigate a hyper tunnel. Tommy lost it as Tubbo came speeding out of the tunnel with a scream, crashing into his platonic husband and causing Ranboo to let out another pained enderman noise. Something about Ranboo yelling like an enderman was just so funny to Tommy, surely he was cursing in the language of the End.

"What did you want to talk to us about, Tommy?" Niki cut in, her usually calm voice cold, snapping Tommy out of his laughing fit.

"Right, uh... Let’s walk and talk, yeah? It's a little tough to explain." Tommy lead the group to the mansion, casting a quick glare at Wilbur. "So, you all know about Gream, yeah? Of course you do, anyways, he was building and working on a table to play games with when it comes to spending time with Big Mike, since neither are really allowed to leave due to safety." Tommy glanced back, making sure everyone was following along; Techno and Wilbur looked completely lost, while Niki looked confused but was clearly listening. "So, the thing about this table, more importantly the dolls he made for the table, is that they're... well... This is going to sound really weird, but it’s everyone and everywhere on the server. You’ll see." Tommy pointed to the door, and everyone crowded around to peer into the room.

Gream sat by the table, looming over it. Even with the cursed mask on, it was clear he was concentrating hard on something. The table and dolls had his full attention. Tommy motioned for everyone to linger back, hiding just outside the door-frame; before he walked in, he let out a quiet cough to not startle Gream. The ghost looked up at the noise, spotting Tommy and nodding at the teen.

"Hey Gream. I... actually had a question for you about that uh... Nightmare character." Tommy carefully walked up to the table, pulling the doll from the cell.

"Well, ask then."

Tommy smiled nervously, fidgeting with the toy. "Well... You said he did bad things because he was angry... jealous, actually. Um, why didn't he just talk it out?" It was such a huge risk, and for all Tommy knew, this could make Gream angry and have the ghost snap like he did back at his house.

Gream was silent, perking up as if thinking about something. Finally, he sighed. "Nightmare... Nightmare can't figure out his emotions... and he doesn't like talking about them... Someone... Hurt him once, someone he loved. It’s something I understand, but... you prefer talking about things, right?"

Tommy was quiet, frozen. "What?"

"I..." Gream pulled on the edges of his mask, a puddle of acid began to form under him. "Ever since the incident with Jack and Puffy I... Tommy, you're not telling me the truth, are you? No one is!"

Tommy flinched. He could hear netherite armor being thrown on behind him, but he took a breath, relaxing as he placed the doll back in the cell. "You're right. I haven't been honest. But-" Tommy held his hand up as Gream glared at him; "But I have my reasons. Nightmare... He did bad things for a good reason... He knew he'd go into jail for it, didn't he?"

Gream was silent, thinking again before nodding.

"That's why he asked Lethe for a favor. Well... People do bad things for good reasons all the time. I'm... withholding information from you for some very good reasons. It's not just for your safety, it's also for me. The things I'm keeping from you... they're things I don't like talking about, ever." Tommy sighed, running a hand through his hair. It sucked having to try to explain it, but now... Now they'll get to see things from Dream's view... something that no one was interested in before-

"Dream died?!"

Tommy cringed as he was reminded that Wilbur was there. "Yes, Dream died. Congradu-"

Wilbur shoved Tommy out of the way, grabbing Gream's hand and shaking it vigorously. "It's amazing to meet you! You and I were such- Oh man, we had so much fun together! I was... What was the word again? Oh yeah! I was your vassal! You helped me blow-"

Tommy shoved Wilbur away. "Alright, enough! Leave the poor guy alone!" Tommy stood between Wilbur and the ghost, Gream didn't need to know that he helped destroy L’Manburg or was a traitor or anything like that. Wait... Tommy shook his head. Dream was never really on their side.

"You... I don't like you."

"I'm.... What? What do you-"

"You're a megalomaniac aren't you?" Gream crossed his arms, glaring at Wilbur from behind his mask. "You... You were... Why do I hate you?" Gream turned away, pacing around until he looked to the table. He grabbed Nightmare and William, setting them up along with Tomothy on a hill. He stared at them, gently fiddling with Nightmare as he stayed quiet.

Wilbur went to go say something, but Tommy stopped him, staring intently at the ghost.

"You could have been a good leader... But I don't want to be a good leader. I hate you so much, I'm going to be worse than ram man... I will tear this place apart because I hate you... Tomothy gave up everything and you gave up nothing, you are going to get him killed..."

Gream removed Tomothy, setting him up with Prezbo on top of an obsidian wall. "Can't we all just be a family... No, you're the bad guy... but why?" Gream stopped, picking up Nightmare and holding him close. "But why?"

#Gream #Ghost Dream #mcytg/t #mcyt g/t #Gream is trying to remember things #but he doesn't see himself/Dream/Who Dream Became as the same #So if he were to ever make a ''pre-wilbur'' version of himself #he'd call it Dream as opposed to Nightmare #I was super creative with names wasn't I? XD #He also references the incident with George #angst

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