#what could we become in the dark but monsters? || anon

[mv1simp]

for anon’s request: How about Lewis’ Daughter!reader like innocent and protected but Max completely makes her submit to him like actual love that she thinks Lewis is the bad guy for tryna come between their relationship? (Made it Lewis’ sister!)

Gods & Monsters ♥️

Max Verstappen x Hamilton!Reader

You got that medicine I need, fame liquor love, give it to me slowly…

As Lewis Hamilton’s younger, innocent sister, you’re desperate to prove yourself as an upcoming racer. Your family never seems to take you seriously, though, and after a fall out you end up training under Max Verstappen - your brother’s arch rival. Max promises he’ll train you to become the next world champion…as long as you do everything he asks.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, innocent virgin Hamilton! Reader, dark manipulative! Max, VERY dubcon, blindfolds, size kink, somnophilia, LH44 is sexist for plot reasons, ayo this is DARK!! 😙 3.4k WC

Growing up, you and your big brother Lewis were presented with two options. Either succeed, or fail to live upto the Hamilton name. Both your parents were incredibly hardworking and sacrificing - but all their attention would always go to their firstborn, the much older, bigger and better Hamilton. You were just as good as Lewis had been when starting out, spending every weekend on the track and dominating the junior karting races - but when it came time for you to progress into formula cars, your brother and father had chuckled, patting your head and saying it might be a bit too much for you, you were a lot smaller and younger than Lewis, after all. Maybe you should just stick to karting for now, or had you considered going into car design, you got pretty good grades in uni and that’s a much safer option?

You were understandably upset at the lack of opportunity to prove your last name. So you tried to sneak onto the F1 paddock, chatting up the team principals in the hope that they would recognise you from the karting podiums and recruit you into their junior teams-

But Lewis had caught on unbelievably fast, a tight smile and redirecting hand on your back as he led you out of the McLaren garage. We discussed this, baby sis Lewis said as you walked back to the Mercedes hospitality. He was never one to raise his voice but you could tell from his tone he was disappointed. You tried to argue again, saying that it wasn’t fair, you were a good driver too, but Lewis cut you off with a stern look. It’s not safe for you. The guys who race here - they aren’t like me, lil sis. You can’t trust any of them. I’m sorry, but you should stay in karting.

You’d slumped in resignation, briefly looking into the Redbull garage as you walked past - the only team you hadn’t yet gone to talk to. And home to perhaps the only driver who could understand the pressure you felt to live upto your father’s expectation - current reigning champion, Max Verstappen. Otherwise known as the bane of your family’s existence. He’d been the one to break your big brother’s winning streak, the subject of many a heated family discussion over the dinner table about how to defeat in a race. Truly, you hadn’t seen your big brother hate someone before until the day Max had crashed into him, sending him to the hospital and your heart rate into 200bpm as you prayed for his safety. Lewis had been fine, but his winning streak had not as Max went onto P1 that race.

So you had always learnt to stay far, far away from Mad Max. But last year when you’d been having a hard time on one of your karting races, and you paced back and forth during the red flag because normally you’d ask Lewis for help but he had started coming less often these days - you were interrupted by a knock on the door. You ran to open it, thinking your brother had decided to come after all - only to crane your head up to meet the handsome face of the tall Dutch Redbull driver. You’d immediately flushed, on guard just like your family had taught you to be and asking what he was doing - but he had kindly ignored your rudeness and said he happened to be here for another friend and had seen your race, did you need some advice?

You’d been so desperate to win that you had let him in, looking around to make sure no paparazzi had seen as you were sure Lewis would ban you permanently from karting if he caught a whiff of this. To your suprise, Max was so helpful and supportive, giving you excellent pointers and aggressive strategies your brother would never dare guide you towards. You’d gone onto win P1, and after the podium had excitedly gone to find Max and thank him. Of course, schat, he’d replied easily, a handsome smile on his face, making you blush. Since then Max had always been there to guide you at your races, making you win multiple competitions to celebrate together or comfort you after a loss. Your family had no idea, of course, because they would skin both you and Max alive if they ever knew about your close friendship.

But now, things were starting to reach a boiling point as your relationship with your brother became tense as he actively tried to deter your formula career. And Max - your kind, thoughtful friend Max - had definitely noticed this. So he casually informed you that the Redbull academy was recruiting, and personally drove you the trials the next week, and welcomed your excited hug into his broad arms afterwards as you sailed into P1 and were offered an immediate spot on the Redbull F2 team, so grateful that the older, experienced driver had taken such a genuine interest in your racing, unlike your own family.

When you tried to break the good news to your family, shit had obviously hit the fan and they demanded that you decline the position. It’s not that I’m not proud of you baby sis, Lewis had sighed. It’s that you cannot trust Max Verstappen, seriously - he only thinks about himself. He’ll definitely hurt you or use you to hurt me.

You had screamed and cried, saying that Max had been the only one to look out for you these last few months. You’d called the Dutchman for advice, sniffling and saying I’m sorry Maxie, they won’t let me go, I have to decline-

He’d gently interrupted and reminded you that you’re an adult, you know schat? And an incredibly talented driver. You should put yourself first for a change. You’d hesitated, because you’d never done anything without your family closely supervising you before - but where would you go, you say confused. You didn’t know anyone - you know me, Max offered. Come stay at mine while you sort things out, but don’t let it delay starting your F2 season.

You’d started crying again, telling the Dutch driver how lucky you were to have him as a friend. And that’s how you found yourself tucked into his much larger frame, on his private jet en route to Monaco, fast asleep from the emotionally charged day as he lovingly kissed your forehead. And your temporary residence at his penthouse dragged into months into an indefinite stay as he insisted it was safer for you, given the papparazzi that had gone crazy at the youngest Hamilton sibling switching sides - just for now, until it dies down. You’d gratefully accepted, becoming accustomed to his luxurious lifestyle and wanting to be in close proximity to Max. It was hard to control the thumping of your heart as you scolded yourself internally for your crush on the tall driver, who you were sure only saw you as a junior driver to guide.

Before the season started, Max had warned you that your family would interfere and try to turn you against him. You hadn’t taken it seriously, but when Lewis approached you at your first race, demanded to speak to you in person after you’d been blocking his calls for days, Max had been all to happy to get security to escort him away after you’d started becoming upset, just like he knew you would. Don’t pay any mind to him, schat. He’s probably just jealous of your success.

You’d found that hard to believe, because although your big brother had a few annoying traits, he would always be genuinely happy about your wins. But Max had planted the seed of doubt that began to crumble your inner self worth, questioning if your big bro had only been holding you back because he wanted to remain the family champion. Remaining on edge, your anxiety began damaging your racing and dropping you in the rankings. You slept fretfully, paranoid that you were going to be benched and would be forced to go home in humiliation and hear your family’s we told you so.

You let Max climb into your bed one night when he heard your muffled cries, running a soothing hand up and down your back, hungrily enjoying the view of your thick ass as your silky nightie rode up while you sobbed into his strong chest. And when you opened up about all your worries, it was only natural that he offered to be the one to train you, being the current world champion and all, right? You had lit up, so delighted that he had offered, flushed because truly you’d never met anyone so kind and giving like him.

And Max - well, he would never let an opportunity to get back at Lewis slide by. Training his precious little sister, the one he always protectively hid away from the rest of the grid? Oh, it was almost too perfect, he thought darkly. And it was an added bonus that you were so gorgeous, all dark curls, innocent doe eyes and a soft, curvy 5 foot figure under his almost 6 foot frame. But my training is intense, schat. Very strict. He made you promise that you’d do whatever he asked, no matter how you felt, because it was the only way to win - and that you couldn’t tell anyone else about his top secret training methods, especially your big brother. You’d eagerly nodded your agreement, looking up at him with starry eyes and saying Yes Maxie, of course, I trust you, thank you so much for offering, I’m so grateful!

As the weeks went by, Max proved himself to be the best mentor you could ask for. You two would train together, going on morning jogs, drinking the same protein smoothies, discussing the best overtaking techniques. All the time you two spent together made rumours fly around the paddock about the exact nature of your relationship - but Max dismissed them all with a roll of his eyes, telling you that it was so sexist of people to assume you were his girlfriend and not his junior driver. You’d agreed, althought you couldn’t help feeling disappointed that Max didn’t seem to think about you in a romantic sense at all.

Your rankings started improving, but Max had said that you needed a lot more work if you wanted to reach P1, especially given your smaller size compared to the rest of the drivers. You nodded eagerly, curious when he easily picked you up and deposited you in between his thick thighs on his sim rig, ordering you to show him your driving. You’d been doing so well until he started brushing his large hands across your soft waist and whispering naughty things in your ear about how sexy you looked, how hard it was to resist you every night while you slept right next door to him. You’d squealed, confused and asking just what he was doing - Trying to test your ability to focus, to avoid any distractions, Max replies disapprovingly as your car crashed on the screen. Clearly, you have a lot of work to do. This isn’t good enough!

Oh, you’d replied, feeling foolish for thinking anything romantic of it. Max didn’t like you like that, after all. So you two resumed the daily sessions, him torturing you for hours with caresses all over your body, squeezing your soft tits and pinching your nipples through your tight camisoles, and sliding large fingers up the skirt he’d always make you wear to tease your embarrassingly damp slit. You’d gone pink in the face when he first felt it, stuttering out apologies but he just sweetly reassured you that it wasn’t your fault, just a normal reaction - like this, he’d said, pulling your small waist back so you grinded on something very large and hard tucked into his sweats. You’d never felt something like that before, having never had a boyfriend since your family always kept you under their protective eye.

But it felt sooo good, you thought guiltily, hoping Max wouldn’t mind when you would be unable to resist grinding against him some sessions. He never seemed to care, instead progressing you to the next level by slipping his cock out of his sweats one night and letting it bounce up against your most innocent parts. You had gone wide eyed seeing it for the first time, not expecting it to look soo big and thick and angry, making your stomach twist in fear. But it was business as usual as Max angrily scolded you for becoming distracted, making you restart as he began gliding his cock along your puffy folds - always separated by your soaked lace panties, of course.

Once you had become a master at being laser focused, he made you develop your senses next. A good driver is always in tune with the feel, the smell, the sound of the car, he explains. You don’t question him, obediently drooping onto your thick ass in front of his spread thighs as he wraps a silk tie across your eyes. You bite your lip from the sudden disorientation, feeling nervous, but Max’s large palm comfortingly strokes your hair. At his command you poke your tongue out and hold your palms up, waiting for the first test and he almost groans out loud from your sweet gullibility. You correctly identify a bunch of different exotic tasting fruits, specific switches and buttons on the replica steering wheel - and sassy, you giggle, when you feel Max’s cat climb into your lap. He muses that he’s going to have to give you something harder to figure out cause you’re so good as this, making you blush from the praise. You curiously hear a rustle as he steps closer and then he guides your small hands to something very long and thick. You experimentally rub your hands along it, hearing Max hiss. A banana? You say dumbly after a few beats, Cucumber?

Wrong, Max says, sounding a bit breathless. Why don’t you taste it, hmm? You diligently lick the tip of it with your delicate tongue, not recognising the heady, salty taste, and begin licking more and more as you become determined to figure it out. You don’t know how many minutes have passed but you aren’t any closer to guessing it, instead saying It tastes really good, Maxie, what is it? You hear him swear, grip tightening in your hair, and then he orders you to open your mouth wide to get a proper taste, his normally deep voice even huskier than normal. You feel him trace your plush lips with his thumb, making you feel that dirty tingly feeling in between your legs again, before the mysterious warm and thick length is shoved down your throat, making you gag uncontrollably. You whine, trying to pull back and breathe, but Max’s strong hand doesn’t let up as he roughly shoves it in and out of your tight mouth.

Tears drip down your cheeks at the intensity and you’re drooling messily, but Max doesn’t seem to care one bit and you might’ve imagined it but you thought you hear the click of multiple photos being taken. Guessed what it is yet, schat? Max asks mockingly, and you whine, shaking your head. Too bad, maybe this will help you figure it out. He pushes the whole length past your lips as you feel something thick and creamy flood your mouth, giving you no option but to swallow it, licking your lips to try figure out the taste. Afterwards, Max had gently taken the blindfold off, revealing his flushed face, and wipes your tears away sweetly. Sorry I didn’t get the last answer, you say guiltily, upset that you had no clue. It’s alright, doll, Max reassured, I’m sure you’ll get it next time, yeah?

Another thing that you needed to improve was your endurance and stamina. F2 races were a lot more demanding than karting, Max pointed out, noticing how tired you would be after a race. He increased the frequency of your runs and workouts, always helping you stretch before and letting his dark gaze hungrily linger on your pliant body underneath him. You’d wear the cutest little yoga shorts and sports bras, leaving your sensitive chocolate-toned skin on display for him, and it was almost too easy to accidentally slide in between your legs or brush the swell of your breasts as he stretched you out, bending your legs right back up over your head and leaving you breathless. But it wasn’t enough for Max as you consistently scored on the podium now but never P1. So he proposed the ultimate endurance training, that all the F1 drivers did regularly - fucking.

Fu-you mean, making love?! You’d shrieked hysterically, whipping your head up as he brought it up casually when you two were watched a movie, cuddled up on the couch. He’d smirked, Sure darling, making love.

You’d looked nervous, like a deer in headlights, telling him you weren’t sure, you felt uncomfortable doing that for the first time…but Max’s stormy expression left no room for discussion. Everyone on the grid does it, all the time. Even your older brother, he said condescendingly. It’s a pretty good stress relief. Trust me, your driving will become so much faster.

You innocently eat up Max’s blatant lies, hesitantly asking if you should get a boyfriend then, that cute engineer from the Redbull garage had asked you out after all- No! Max says heatedly, glaring furiously at the thought of some other man laying their hands on what belonged to him. You look at him, confused how he expects you to- I mean, no, it’s fine schat, it’s part of your training after all, so I’ll take care of you, okay?

You flushed prettily, biting your lip and squeezing your thighs together at the thought of Max taking your virginity, as your romantic feelings had only grown the more time you spent with him. And soon enough, later that night, Max had climbed into your bed again to find you shyly waiting for him, dressed in that silky nightie he liked. Pulling it up over your hips, he moved your lace panties to the side and made you blush as he hungrily eyed your dripping innocence, just like he’d done many times while you’d been peacefully sleeping, unaware of the twisted desires your mentor had for you. He’d then stretched you out on his thick fingers, then replaced them with his even thicker cock - no condom, of course - sickly enjoying the tears streaming down your face as you sweetly moaned from pain and pleasure. Within minutes he was claiming you as his, sending you spiralling into orgasm after orgasm, screaming his name as you fell apart from overstimulation.

Max smirked at your small frame that was now passed out below him - you’d need a lot more training if this is all you could handle, he thought darkly as he gripped your petite waist, easily continuing to move you up and down his fat cock like a ragdoll. You moan blissfully in your sleep as he stretched out your virgin cunny. Maybe multiple times a day, Max decided, cause you just felt too damn good. In his bed next time, on the kitchen counter, in your driver’s room before the race and then maybe again after- and at least once in a hotel room where he neighboured Lewis. He could just imagine your wide eyes, teary from panic as you struggled to keep your moans quiet, begging him Maxie please, please not so rough as his thrusts repeatedly banged the headboard against the wall, making it clear to his rival just what kind of filthy things Max Verstappen was doing to his precious little sister.

The dirty, possessive thought makes him cum with a guttural moan, pumping you full of his generous load as he buries his flushed face in between your pretty tits to lick and bite at them. But what Max most looked forward to was the look on Lewis’ face when you would eventually show up to the paddock one day, F2 trophy in hand and a glittering rock on your ring finger to match, beaming in anticipation of replacing the Hamilton surname with Verstappen.

And no, Max would not be inviting him to the wedding.

—————————————————————————

A/N: ok anyways. This is a ridiculous amount of smut for me to have churned out in less than a day I need to touch some grass 🙏 as always lmk what you think and send in some more requests!

[sanguineterrain]

This is not on the prompt list(s), but I’ve been inspired by the phrase “This is for your own good.” and could we have a debut Red Hood Jason saying this to Vigilante!Reader, who was also his pre-death lover, as he’s keeping her prisoner in one of his bases so that she won’t be caught in the crossfire?

OOH. interesting prompt. I haven't really written a darker jason 😏 thanks anon! hope you like.

jason todd x gn!reader. DARK THEMES. drugging, toxic relationship, codependency, chain restraints, knife threats (not from jason). what would happen if jason's best traits (protecting the people he loves, prioritizing safety) manifested in the worst way?

****

"This is for your own good, baby."

You pull at your chains, making them clink against the floor. You snarl as he steps back.

"This is crazy, Jason! Let me go!"

Jason looks at you in sympathy. It pains him to see you like this; Jason never wants to do anything that'll frighten or upset you. Your comfort and happiness always precede his. He'd put a gun into his mouth without hesitation if it would save you.

But he means it: this really is for your own good.

"I thought you were better than this," you say savagely. "I thought you of all people would understand how wrong this is."

"I know it's wrong," Jason says quietly. "I know I'm a bastard and fucked in the head. I know I don't deserve ya. But this is the only way. You won't stop going out there. You're too sweet for this city. It'll tear you apart, and I won't let that happen."

"That isn't your decision to make, Jason!" you say, squirming in your restraints.

You take a deep breath. The Bats only respond to logic when they're this deep in paranoia. You have to appeal to that.

"Jason, listen to me. I know you're scared of me getting hurt, but I know what I'm doing. I've done this for a long time, just like you—"

"And that's exactly where the danger lies. Things go wrong all the time, no matter how long you've been out there. I'm expendable. You're not."

Jason tugs once, twice, three times on your ankles and wrists. Satisfied, he moves on to the chain around your waist that's connected to the wall. It gives you a walking range of about five feet before you're yanked back. Jason had fussed about bedsores, and what keeping you in a bed would do to your range of motion. This was his compromise.

I'm not a monster, he'd insisted. I don't want to hurt you.

"Jason, please," you say. He starts to walk away and you chase him. The wall chain pulls and you land on your knees. Jason stops, looking down at you. You start to cry.

"Jason, please, please! Please don't leave me like this," you say, reaching with bound hands to grab his pant leg. "Please. This isn't right. I'm not a doll for your keeping!"

"I don't think of you as a doll," Jason says, kneeling in front of you. He holds your cheek and wipes a tear with a gloved thumb. "Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. Please don't cry. Hate to see it. I won't keep you like this forever. 'S just until I finish up in Gotham. Then we can go away from all this. Live normal lives."

"This is the life I want to live!" you shout, pawing at his clothes. "Let me go, Jason, let me go!"

"Baby. Hey, hey. You're gonna work yourself into a frenzy. Y'want something to calm you down? Make y'feel nice and sleepy."

Your blood turns to ice. No. No drugs. If Jason drugs you now, there's no telling when or if he'll stop. This is a man who was trained by Batman. You're sure he knows about every drug there's to know about.

You shake your head, your crying becoming quiet blubbering. "No. N-no drugs. Please."

He pets your forehead. "'Kay. No drugs, baby. 'S okay, see? I'll be back in a few hours and then we can eat and I'll draw you a bubble bath. Those are your favorite, remember?"

Jason kisses your salty cheek and stands, putting on his helmet. Like this, looming over you, in full Hood gear, Jason is terrifying. The reminder strikes you again, how capable and deadly your lover is.

Jason leans in and pets your cheek. "So pretty. Love you so much. Won't let anything happen to you, baby."

You watch, defeated, as Jason leaves, locking the door behind him. You listen for the sound of the lock clicking.

Then you get to work on finding an escape.

****

You keep your breathing silent as you wait. Your limbs ache from how long you've been crouched in hiding, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except escaping.

The door opens and shuts. Jason quietly removes his boots and helmet, surveying the apartment like always. He sets a plastic bag on the coffee table. The smell of Thai food fills the apartment.

"Baby? Hey, I'm home. Brought your favorite takeout."

You wait until he walks by your spot behind the TV. Then you strike.

You take Jason down to the floor with a move that only works due to your element of surprise. Then you hold a dagger to his neck, the cold metal pressed flat.

Jason regards you calmly, hands at his sides. You pant furiously, pressing the blade warningly.

"Let me go," you order. "I won't be chained up like that."

"I see," he says, and the way he says it is scarily reminiscent of Batman. You keep that to yourself.

"I mean it, Jason. You can't do that. I'll—I'll call someone on you. Bruce, Clark, Dick. Somebody."

"Alright." Jason holds up his hands slowly. You watch the movement, nerves raw. "Alright. 'S okay. Just breathe. You're upset, I get that."

"I don't—I don't wanna hurt you," you say, squeezing the dagger harder. Your hand cramps in protest. "But if you make me..."

Jason nods. "Yeah, baby. I know. 'S okay. We can fix it. 'M not mad."

"Don't talk to me like that," you snap. "I'm not stupid, Jay. Not stupid."

"I know, sweetheart. I know you're not stupid. I don't think you are. Y'wanna cut me? Feel like hurtin'?" He leans into the blade, breathing steady as a river. "Go on, honey. I heal quick. You need to do it, take it out on me."

The thought of hurting Jason makes you sick. For all of his misguided protection, he hasn't hurt you. Hasn't laid a hand on you or shouted at you. Every form of restraint is as gentle as possible.

"No," you say, voice wobbly. "I-I don't wanna hurt you. Please don't make me."

Jason strokes your arm with his thumb. "No, I won't. You'll never have to hurt anybody. And I'll never let you get hurt either. 'S okay. You're safe with me. 'S me, just Jay."

Jason's hand wraps around the wrist with the knife. You stiffen, and the blade slips. A thin line of blood beads on his neck. He loosens his grip.

"Okay," he says. "Alright. You're safe."

"I don't wanna be chained," you say, tears in your eyes. "I can't be chained. I'll go fucking crazy, Jason."

"I know. I'm sorry. We don't have to do chains."

Your heart hammers in your chest. But Jason is nothing but calm. Blood sluggishly drips down his neck. Your eyes widen.

"I'm sorry," you say, reaching for his neck. "I'm sorry, Jaybird, I didn't mean—"

"I know." He catches your hand. "Shh, shh. That's okay. 'S just a scratch. It was an accident, baby, that's all."

Tears fall down your cheeks. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"I know." Jason slips the knife out of your hand. He slides it away. You collapse into his embrace.

"I can do it," you say, sobbing. "I can go out there, Jay. Please just believe me. Please trust me. You trusted me before."

Jason cradles the back of your head. He slots you between his legs and rocks back and forth. You put your arms around him. His heart is an even thump against your ear.

Finally, you've gotten through to him. Jason isn't completely gone after all.

"Don't worry," he says. "Don't worry, 's okay. It'll all be fine. I know my mistake. I'll be better. It'll be better for us."

Something pricks your neck.

Hope sinks like a rock in your stomach. You squirm, but Jason holds fast, legs trapping yours. You whale on his shoulders with your fists. He holds your biceps, expression sorrowful.

"Baby—"

"No, you promised. You promised!" you scream. "You promised me!"

"It's just to soothe your nerves, honey. Please don't—"

You lunge for the knife, ready to do some serious damage. Jason tackles you before you can. He traps you on the floor, holding you down in a full lock. He holds your arms to your sides, and your legs are pinned to the floor. It's perhaps the gentlest restraint you've ever experienced. You scream and thrash, but it's no use.

"You monster! You're no better than any of them!"

"Sorry, 'm sorry," Jason says. No matter how much you fight, his grip won't budge. You've never been a match for Jason's strength or ability.

"I hate you! You don't love me!"

"I do, I do love you." Jason rests his forehead against your spine. "Christ, your life means more than mine. I won't lose you. You're the only one who matters."

His words are muffled. Your world is going fuzzy. The drug is kicking in.

"You promised," you say weakly, wiggling in one last attempt.

Jason tucks his face into your neck as you fall unconscious.

"I'll keep you safe," he says, lips on your neck. "No matter what."

[azsazz]

Might Bite Back

Vampire!Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Anon Reqs: "how do you think vamp az would react it he lost control of his blood thirst and accidentally hurt reader?" and "OMG a fic where Vamp!Az loses control and accidentally hurts reader and then he realises what hes done!! I LIVE for those fics, we need more vamp az!!!!!!!"

Warnings: Biting, blood, vampire things.

Word Count: 2,544

Notes: This belongs on the vampire Azriel timeline.

_________________________________________

Something startles you awake.

It isn’t a noise, it’s the lack thereof that startles you awake. 

There’s an eerie silence to the black consuming the room. You curse yourself for falling asleep when you’ve been so desperately aware of the fact that he lurks at night, watching, waiting.

Your body is rigid, heart stuttering loudly in your chest, and the only part of you that moves is your eyelids as you blink wearily, sleep still clinging to your body, your mind searching through a hundred scenarios, trying to pinpoint what is going on. 

This is different from the silence you’ve slowly become accustomed to, when you were taken in the dead of night by the undead. His fangs had gleamed in the moonlight and you’d screamed so loudly that the trees surrounding the secluded home shook. Crows cawed in warning, flocking from trees and night creatures startled from the woods. Your blood wooshed in your ears like the wind pulling your hair from your nape, carrying your sickly sweet scent to his parted, hungry lips.

Your heart pounds in your chest exactly like that night. When you had felt like nothing more than prey.

Turning your head slowly, as if the slightest movement might make the darkness snap, you look towards the door. The chair you’d stuffed beneath the knob is still in place, and though you know the flimsy construction of wood would not withstand an ounce of his force, it serves as a piece to make noise should it shift, in case you’ve fallen asleep, much like you had tonight.

You force your rampant heart to calm, ears straining over the waves of blood rushing through them as you listen for the silent entity sharing the home with you. You’ve picked up on the noises that you could, trained your ear to hear the signs of the vampire that has locked you in this gothic tower. The whisper of fabric on cold skin, since his silent steps are impossible to pick up. The shifting of the air in the rooms as he moves, growing colder with his menacing presence. The rustle of his wings when he stretches them in frustration. The shivers crawling up your spine whenever he’s near.

But right now, there’s nothing. 

“Azriel?” you ask into the darkness, and you sound nothing more than a terrified child. There are no monsters lying beneath your bed, waiting to snatch you up by your ankles. No, this monster roams the large home freely, sharp teeth on display so that you know exactly what he can do. The only time you’re even a smidge safe is when the sun blinds through curtains you force open daily, but even the sweltering rays are not here to help you now. You are petrified beyond all belief, despite the softer instances you’ve seen of the slightly unhinged vampire who’s trapped you in what you know will be your grave.

There is no answer to your call, but you don’t expect one. He’s a predator first and foremost, and he thrives off of the quickening pace of your heart, the sound of your blood rushing through your body, the shuddering of your bones as you tremble. You catch him sometimes, when you quiver before him, how he licks his lips, fangs pressing into the soft skin of his unfairly luscious lips.

Your mind is screaming at you not to move, not to get up and find out what’s awoken you and has you feeling this unease. Surely, Azriel cannot be in danger. He is the danger. 

No one has tried to breach your room, the chair hooked up against the door, and you wince at the scrape it makes when you pull it away and turn the knob.

The door gives easily, almost swooping in on a phantom wind. It’s not him. Your body is too accustomed to his presence by now. And the lack thereof a darkness that rattles you so deeply it makes your thighs clench, you know he is not near.

The hall is long and dark, freezing cold. So much so that you can see your breath puffing before your face. Azriel doesn’t understand that you need heat to survive in your inferior human body, and you won’t tell him. Maybe it will become so cold at night that you’ll fall into a peaceful slumber, each shallow breath icing over until your heart freezes in your chest. Then, you won’t be trapped anymore.

But there’s a part of you that’s driven down the hall, seeking him out. A part of you that you shove away when you wonder if he’s alright. A part of you that likes knowing that he’s there, watching you when you’re doing the most mundane things to keep yourself from getting bored to death in this hell. When you read in front of the window, or cook yourself something in the kitchen. When you put on a particularly expensive dress for what? For…for him.

Your footsteps are silent against the carpets but to him you know you sound as if you’re stomping around the corridor, making as much noise as possible. It’s normally your tactic during the days, wanting him to know your displeasure for this place. The thought of him being able to hear your soft steps, your hardly there breaths makes you quake in both fear and excitement, knowing how he always knows your location, and can seek you out no matter where you run.

“Azriel?” you call again, softly. It’s hardly a whisper at all, and there is no response.

Your fingers tremble where they’re pressed to the wall, following the darkened corridor. They brush over the frames of artwork curling at the edges, paint dusty and faded with time. You caress the wooden railing, following it down the staircase, ignoring the nagging in your mind that’s telling you to run.

A fire crackles in the hearth and you pause, confused. All this time Azriel has never kept a fire going, not even per your request with chattering teeth and bluish fingers. He doesn’t like them, and you don’t ask why. You don’t care why. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

You don’t know what possesses you to move closer to it when the popping of logs is a clear warning sign.

Pausing on the last step, foot hovering before the floor, the hair at the nape of your neck prickles. It winds down your spine like an icy rope, settling into the very marrow of your bones. It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right.

Before you can whirl around, race back up the staircase to your room, a voice sounds softly in your ear. “You smell impeccable, crow.”

You whirl, a scream tearing from your lips as you tumble from the stair. You catch yourself on frozen toes, staring up at Azriel with wide eyes, who is shrouded in shadow. He’s standing with preternatural stillness, spine tall. His wings are tucked tightly behind his back, and the talons stick high above his head like horns. 

“Azriel?” you ask, taking a step back. Two.

He doesn’t answer, he follows. Azriel takes one step forward for every one you move away, towards the sitting room with the fire. Orange light bathes him, and you can feel it roaring hot at your back.

As the firelight washes over his stoic face, your stomach roils in horror. This is not the Azriel who had stolen you away, who had given you dresses and your own space, who tried to make you feel less like you were robbed of your former life and more like this had been a choice.

But none of it has been a choice. And you are reminded just what he is capable of at the sight of red-rimmed eyes, the lack of color, the baring of sharp fangs that call your name. 

Bloodlust.

His pupils have swallowed the stroke of hazel completely. You watch as his fingers curl and his nostrils flare when your heart triples in pace. His unfocused gaze sharpens on the column of your throat where your pulse pushes through your skin. 

“Please,” you beg, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. Azriel is no longer there, instead, the very beast that lurks inside of him has taken control and is thirsty for blood.

Azriel lunges and you scream, pivoting on your heel. If you can make it to the iron poker by the fire you may be able to slow him down, stun him as you claw at the front door to try and get away. It’s no ashwood, which would kill the vampire who is much too fast for you to even take a step, grabbing you and pulling you back into his chest.

You thrash, screaming, but your efforts are futile. No one can hear you in the depths of these woods. Your strength is no match for him.

Azriel must be in there somewhere, as he is not crushing your body into dust. No, he wants you otherwise unharmed except for holes in your neck. That, he doesn’t mind seeing, tasting. It’s exactly what he’s taken you for, isn’t it? Just when you’d begun thinking that he might not be as bad as the stories you were told when you were young, tales of bloodthirsty creatures who would tear your throat out to taste your pretty blood.

Now is your time.

His grip is strong around your wrists. You kick back with your leg but can hardly reach him. He is immune to your weak hits. You can feel him leaning over you, closer and closer until his fangs are a whisper against your skin, a tease pinpricking right over your thrumming pulse.

“Devine,” he whispers, and the sensuality of it rips through your body like a lance. As you part your lips to exhale another beg, he bites. You scream.

You tremble in his iron hold. His fingers feel like icepicks as they dig into your flesh. Your scream melts into something long as heat courses through your body, the adrenaline and sting of his teeth burning you to your core. It feels…good. 

It feels like you’re walking on flames, yet they aren’t burning you. They’re caressing you in the best way, holding you, cradling you like a babe. For the first time since you’ve arrived at this horrible place, you feel warm. Like Azriel is embracing you, and he is, because you’ve stopped fighting. His hands are around your waist, holding you tightly, and yours are buried in his thick hair. Heat courses through your bones, pooling between your thighs. Your mind whirls with pleasure as he suckles, the hot press of his tongue lapping your skin, mirrored in the pulse of your throbbing clit.

You relish in the feeling. His body pressed tightly to yours, the strain of his cock through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You can feel the way his muscles loosen the longer he leeches from your neck. 

And you enjoy it until you become woozy, when the euphoria seeps from your blood back into his mouth. When his grip feels like each individual finger is imprinted on your bones. Your neck throbs painfully, and your vision is blackening with shadows in the corners. Your head lolls a little, unable to keep it up.

“Azriel,” you choke, but it’s hard to get your lips to form the words. It’s difficult to do anything except lean into him, to let him take his fill. But you have to try, because this is not how you want it all to end. “You’re…” you huff a painful exhale, “You’re hurting me.”

He goes still, bones popping with the effort. His hold on your falters and you sway, and as badly as he wants to pull away, to run and hide in a whisper of darkness, he catches you, because he’s harmed you and the bloodlust has been wiped away by your words alone. Words he swore he’d never pull from you. Words that will haunt him for centuries.

You’re hurting me.

His vision clears, goes sharp, staring right at the two holes in your neck, thick, red blood still dribbling from the punctures. The beast in him rages to lean down and lick you, keep sucking at the marks until your already slowing heart stops completely. He wants to feel the last beat of your heart beneath his hands, his lips, but he forces himself to do the one thing he hadn’t been able to do tonight: focus.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in horror, when his mind catches up to what he’s looking at. You, looking so broken and fragile in his arms, pale. Your head rests against his chest, eyes fluttering with the strain to keep them open. Your mouth parts but no words come out. 

Azriel wants so badly to drop you, to get away from you, because he’s so stupidly allowed his bloodlust to consume him. He selfishly thought that he would be okay for a few more days, that he wouldn’t have to hunt in the aftermath of a brutal storm because all of the animals would be hidden away. He’s been stupid to think that, and the worst has happened.

He shoves the couch closer to the fire with a shove of his boot. The logs pop and he winces, hating the sound. He’d started the fire as a way to lure you down, the warmth calling to you. It was as much of a present for you as it was a distraction for him. A warning he was giving himself, not to enter the room with the fire roaring in the hearth. He hates the way the flames taunt him. You hadn’t made it to the room before your scent had stuck in his throat and his beast caught a whiff. 

Your body looks frail when he sits you down. Your eyes have closed and your lips have lost color. Azriel knows that if his heart was capable of pulsing, it would be a pounding drum in his chest, beating with worry. He races to your rooms, ripping your blankets from your mattress and is back by your side in a matter of seconds. He tucks you in tight, worrying over you as if you are a sick babe. But you’re not, you’re a pretty little thing that he’d taken in the dead of night for his own selfish reasons. For company, for your heart. But never for your blood. 

This is not how any of this was supposed to go.

Azriel’s mind races with thought. The wounds on your neck have stopped leaking, and they’ll close up quicker if he just licks over it one more time but he can’t force himself, not when he’d violated you like this, hurt you. He needs to leave. He needs to get as far away from you as he can. 

The lethargic beating of your heart tells him that you’re going to be okay. You will be wobbly for a few days, throat in pain, but you’ll live. He didn’t go too far tonight. He didn’t drink you dry.

So Azriel does the only thing that he can. The only thing that he’s ever been good at. 

He leaves.

[animentality]

Tavtash leaves such a sour taste in my mouth. Like they could have had durgetash but they were too set on playing a manic pixie dream girl who is super sweet and lovely except that oh yeah she's fucking a mass murderer and a slaver

You know what's really funny to me?

I wrote a 5000 word rant about disliking Tavtash, and I think Tavs in general ruined the story of Baldur's Gate, but then I deleted it. Because people here just want me to fuel their Durgetash/Gortash thirst by making the funnies and the angsties.

They don't care to read things that challenge their viewpoints, offer a strong negative opinion, or encourage them to think critically.

And I know people wouldn't agree with it. Ultimately, that's why I delete a lot of rants. I come here so people can stroke my ego. I don't generally come here to start fights, because that simply bores me.

So it's just comedic to me that I get this anon, right as I deleted that post.

Because I'm glad someone understands.

Like oh, I'm sorry, you're too "nice" to pick the Dark Urge?

But you have no problem blowing a slaver?

You're like the stereotypical 90s love interests who are "nice girls" but also inexplicably dating a dude who knocks a kid in a wheelchair down the stairs. How the fuck can you be "nice" and compassionate, while the dude you're fucking is a sociopathic felon?

Durgetash works for TWO reasons.

Reason 1: They are both fucking awful, and we all know it. Them torturing and ruining each other is a tragic romance with broken teeth, and we enjoy the low moan of a dying animal, tearing itself apart in distress. They start evil, they end evil. Evil horny bastard sex. Tavtash could never be so demented.

Don't jump into bed with Enver Gortash if you intend to keep your hands clean either.

Reason 2: The Dark Urge was given a second chance, even though they didn't deserve it, and took it. They were given the opportunity to fix their mistakes in game. Gortash doesn't get that. The romance is in the tragedy of, he could never be saved. And you cannot save him, even as you save the rest of the world. You grow, and he stays behind.

The romance is in the longing and the yearning for something that is no longer there. The camaraderie of two lonely people...who were separated, and never ever came back together again. It's also about how you were born evil, but chose redemption, while he was born innocent, but chose damnation. Durgetash operates well on this level because it's always equality of opposites. It is character development, mirrored. And it's fascinating to consider.

And what does Tavtash have going on?

It's someone Gortash just met who has something he wants, who may or may not want to kill him but he's desperate enough to throw his eggs in that particular basket. And on Tav's side, it's weird because it's like omg.

I just met him, and he ruined my life, he put a fucking tadpole in my head, and I'm close to becoming a mindless monster without any free will, something he DIRECTLY did to me and my loved ones -

But I still think he's hot.

Hm. ok. that might be amusing if there wasn't a better precursor for a relationship sitting right there beneath you. rotting in Orin's dungeon.

I won't deny, Durgetash might be absolutely nuts - but it will never be as nuts as Tavtash.

But anyway. You didn't hear that from me.

If anyone asks, I looooove Tavtash. I loooooove Tavs. Especially YOUR Tav.

[ghostlythunderbird]

Can we get some more Omega-Verse HC with König and his mate?

maybe how they first met? Idk, I just really crave some more omega verse stuff with him.

love your work! <3

Omegaverse ~ König and how he met his mate

OMG wow my first ever ask! Ngl this has inspired me to write one for each of the boys, but Anon this one is for you! Hope you and everyone enjoy and once again a special thanks to @l-lend and @kelpiesummer for throwing ideas at me XD.

Now both your and Konig’s first meeting is the farthest thing from perfect, and remember when I said you literally barged into his life? I was being serious.

Now I’m just gonna say that you're secretly an Omega, but in order to get higher paying and government related jobs (cause that’s where the money is at) you cannot be anything less than a Beta. To safeguard your identity you have both high end scent patches and pill suppressants.

And after making sure no one could tell what your true second gender was, you applied to become a part of a Rut Retrieval Team. Your assigned member? The Austrian Apex known as König. But what you didn’t know about this supposedly dangerous second gender, was that even the least sensitive apex could still pick up on what you were even with patches and suppressants.

Now your team are the only people who can handle him after he’s coming down after a rut, primarily because many think he would be extremely dangerous. So after being dispatched somewhere in Spain, your team finally finds him while he’s still both coming off his rut and the excessive amounts of adrenaline. He was showing signs that he didn’t really want the team there but made no moves to act.

But when someone reached for him, he grabbed the much smaller beta male and practically threw him before attempting to pummel the poor guy. And in order to protect your teammate, you barrel into the apex and attempt to wrap your arms around his neck to make him stop. One main way to calm down an apex would be with a heavily scented pad that had an omegas heat scent doused into it. But before you could apply it, he grabbed your wrist and pressed his nose to your covered scent gland instead before quickly letting go.

The scent that washed over him was much stronger than could have ever been on the cloth, but once he realized there was a scent patch there he dropped your wrist like it practically burned him. You both didn’t move after that but your gazes were locked almost like a trance.

Thankfully your team didn’t catch this interaction between the two of you, as they were more focused on the beta on the ground. But once they see how he’s decently calm, they begin moving him to evac to get him back to the KorTac base. Your team didn’t desire to be anywhere near him after his earlier display so you end up being voluntold to secure him while your team is on security outside the helicopter.

König hadn’t said anything during the duration of his retrieval, he was completely silent but all he did was just keep a watchful gaze as you strapped him in. His gaze wasn’t broken until you had brought that dreaded muzzle into his view, he zeroed in on it and without a single thought he had asked “Your an Omega aren’t you?”. To König it was more of a shot in the dark, and wasn't fully expecting you to answer him.

It wasn’t until he had looked up and froze, your eyes were wide from under your mask; the fear was evident. Your grip on the muzzle tightened and the instinctive urge to get away from him was starting to take over. But before you could fully take a step back he had moved, yanking the muzzle from your grasp and had tightened it before you could blink. He had practically shrunk in on himself and made no move to look at you, even though it had no change on his height or mass for someone of his massive size. The poor guy didn’t want to scare you, and make him seem like the monster so many make him out to be.

It was odd to say the least. You had been told that Apexes were demanding and took whatever they wanted whenever. But this odd apex has only become more interesting to you in just a short amount of time. It wasn’t until he had looked in your direction and muttered a “Don’t worry your secret's safe with me, Ich verspreche es dir~.” That you had decided to try and get to know this enigma of a man much better. And you definitely never looked back after that chance encounter.

Translation : “Ich verspreche es dir” - I promise you (sorry if this is wrong, I’m using google translate because I’m an uneducated American XD)

Taglist: @l-lend, @kelpiesummer, @fatedeniedhope, @grizzersmamma

[serickswrites]

Hey :)

Can you write a fic where whumpee is new to the team and has a dark mysterioys past - so when their framed as a traitor the team believes them.There beaten up by some members of team despite protests of not being the traitor and given to whumper o put in custody who posses as a good person and planned it all to have them.

The team eventually uncovers the truth that whumper is bad and is actually the traitir-however whumper already tortured whumpee-sexually assaulting them,branding their name into their arm.When they break into whumper's place-whimper is already dead courtesy if whumpee who managed to free thrmselvez and kill them-however they collapse upon seeing their team.

The team us guilt ridden and doesn't know how to make amends and team leader feels like a failure

It's ok if your not interested in doing it♡

Anon, Anon, Anon! When I tell you that I have had an idea like this on my back burner for a while, I cannot tell you how long it has sat there. I have scrapped this story twice. But, because you are voicing exactly what I wanted to write several times, I'm going to do this. This is a series and will be posted under the title "Monster"

Please enjoy!

Warnings: betrayal, physical violence, unconsciousness, captivity, restraints

"Leave your weapon on the table," Team Leader said coldly as they watched Smallest Teammate.

Smallest Teammate was confusion. What had happened? Team Leader never talked to them like this. "What, I don't understand? What--"

"Put your weapon on the table," Team Leader ordered.

"We know who you really are," Teammate One hissed.

Smallest Teammate's mouth went dry. "I can explain, let me--"

"You sold us out!" Teammate Two stepped forward angrily. "You sold us out after we accepted you!"

Before Smallest Teammate could open their mouth, Teammate Two swung, their fist connecting with Smallest Teammate's cheek. Smallest Teammate didn't try to fight back. They hunched over themself as Teammate Two and Teammate Three surged forward.

"You sold us out!"

"How could you!"

"Whumper revealed exactly who you are!"

Teammate One's words froze Smallest Teammate's heart. Whumper. Whumper had infiltrated the team. Whumper had found them. "I'm not....Whumper....they..." Smallest Teammate couldn't get a good word in as the team was unrelenting in their beating.

"I don't want to hear another lie from you," Team Leader said, their voice very close. Smallest Teammate could see them through the flailing limbs of their team. "You lied to all of us. You lied to me. And you sold us, all of us, out."

"Pl-Pl-Please," Smallest Teammate tried. Their body hurt. Everything hurt. The team was relentless in their beating. If they fought back, they would prove Whumper right. And so they had to hope that the team wouldn't kill them.

"Whumper has graciously offered to take you off our hands and turn you into the proper authorities," Team Leader sneered as they stared down at Smallest Teammate. "They will be here soon to collect you."

And though Smallest Teammate wanted to respond, wanted to beg for mercy. They couldn't. The darkness that had edged their vision for so long as becoming all consuming. They could only hope that Team Leader would realize their mistake sooner rather than later. And that Whumper wouldn't kill them yet.

Tags: @acer-whumpstuff

[yuesya]

Twin au anon again, it would be neat if cursed spirit au Shiki was attached to Satoru in an adjacent way to Rika and Yuta, maybe she grows with Satoru and protects him as much as she can, maybe she gives him an additional technique like the one she would have had, I'd love to hear more of your thoughts on this!

As far as the wider clan and the rest of the world is concerned, Gojo Satoru was born on December 7th. This was a truly joyous occasion for the Gojo Clan, the long-awaited birth of a child blessed with both the Six Eyes and Limitless-

Only a select few within the clan were aware that this event had been marred by the birth of a twin sister.

An ill omen, in the jujutsu world. Twins were seen as one singular entity. Neither would reach their full potential if this were not... corrected.

On December 7th, Gojo Satoru was born.

On December 14th, his younger twin was killed.

Muneyoshi was the one who'd committed the despicable deed with his own two hands. It was despicable, but necessary, in order to ensure the Gojo Clan's future. He'd held down the pillow over the infant girl's face and counted One two threefourfive-

...

By the time the infant had finally stopped struggling, Muneyoshi's hands had long grown numb.

... It had been the right thing to do. Muneyoshi had done the right thing. Hisayasu-sama had nodded solemnly when Muneyoshi reported back to him the next day, informing him of the cursed twin's death.

"Well done, Muneyoshi. Your family's sacrifice will be remembered."

There were no grave markers. No incense was burned, and no offerings were made. There could not be any tangible traces of any imperfections tainting the 'honored one.' As far as anyone was concerned, Satoru was Muneyoshi's only child.

Gojo Shiki did not exist. Could not exist.

("Muneyoshi, what did you do?! You monster, you wretched excuse of a husband, give me back my dAuGHTER-!")

...

It had been the right thing to do.

Gojo Satoru grows up brilliant and powerful. He is everything the Gojo Clan could ever have wanted in a clan heir, easily mastering his lessons with effortless grace. In retrospect, Muneyoshi should've become suspicious of this so much sooner, but it hadn't occurred to him at the time. He'd only taken it as a sign that he had done the right thing, severing the weights that would drag Satoru down.

What a fool he'd been.

In the end, Muneyoshi discovers it by complete accident. One night, he wakes up in the dark emptiness of his own room, feeling parched. On his way to fetch himself a glass of water, he notices a light coming from Satoru's room, which gives him pause.

Sleep is important, particularly for growing children. As much as it warms his heart to see his son working so hard to meet the expectations of his clan, it wouldn't do for-

"Yadda yadda ya, who cares about who killed whoever in the Muromachi Period?"

The man pauses his footsteps, frowning in confusion.

That was... Satoru's voice, there was no doubt about it. But why was he talking aloud to himself in the middle of the night, instead of sleeping? That was-

"I guess you have a point, but whatever." A frustrated, explosive breath. "Ha? 'Just go to sleep, if you're not interested in reading?' Hey, why do you think I'm staying up late in the first place? You're always asleep during the day!"

What?

A chill runs down Muneyoshi's spine. He can't sense anyone else in Satoru's room; the boy is sitting alone at his table. Then, who is he... talking to?

"Don't apologize, I know you're a little sleepyhead." Satoru's voice is affectionate, in a manner that's entirely uncharacteristic of him. "I guess it's a good thing that at least one of us is interested in this rubbish, so we can at least get lessons over with quickly. Counting on you for the next test, Shiki!"

Muneyoshi, only a half-step from opening the door to his son's room and demanding answers, freezes entirely.

That name. The name that's never been spoken aloud in this house, or in the Gojo Clan, the name that Satoru should not know-

Oh gods.

Oh dear gods, please don't let this be true. Please let this all just be a fevered nightmare. The implications otherwise...

(Is this the retribution for the sin of murdering his own daughter?)

Horror seizes Muneyoshi's throat in a tight grip at the thought, heavy and suffocating. His hand as it rests on the thin doorframe separating him from his children trembles viciously with dread terror.

... He doesn't have the courage to open it.

[whitepine-estate]

Okay, so this theory is partially based on VEX1N's Whitepine theory.

I'm gonna start with the most normal part, and the part that can most easily be taken as kinda a mini theory. Basically Pyroscythe has tuberculosis. All the symptoms line up (coughing, vomiting, etc) and Whitepine's a period drama, TB is pretty common in those and adjacent genres, plus was an actual threat back then.

Now onto the more insane part. Okay so one of the things that VEX1N points out is how the wound on Mysti's neck resembles a bite mark. TB was also associated with vampires and vampire attacks in the past. When Mysti asks Pyro if he had a bad dream, another symptom of vampire attacks, he dodges the question. I'm saying that the killer in Whitepine is a vampire. This is out there I know that, but hear me out. (most of the evidence for this comes from both the New England Vampire Panic, and Dracula, also random bits of vampire lore I've heard)

First things first, there's pretty clearly something wrong with those woods. All the shots lingering on them, the ominous sound design, there's something off. When Pyro is staring out his window, we see that his room seems closer to the woods than other spaces in the house. This means that if something malicious were in those woods, he'd be the easiest person to get to. The camera is also always in some kind of corner when Pyro's alone, almost like its stalking him.

Mrs. Hemlock is pretty clearly dead. It's implied she's been dead for a while (or at least a few months) given no one mentions her and her piano is in the basement. While I can't prove she's a vampire, at least not from ep 1 alone, its plausible. If we do go with the "Pyro's TB is caused by a vampire" theory, then that does point to Mrs. Hemlock being the cause as it was thought that if one family member fell to vampirism, more would soon follow. She'd also circumvent the whole "needing to be invited" thing cause it was her house.

While this is the part I'm even less sold on, it could also tie back to Ivory. Her habits remind me of two bits of vampire lore. The first one is how if you spill poppy seeds in front of a vampire they'll stop and need to count them all. While its more specific than what she does, it fits how she follows things to the letter. Does this mean I think Ivory's a vampire? No, I think she might be a dhampir. Dhampirs are half vampires, they can live like normal people and don't get burned by sunlight. However, in some superstitions they have "a dark mark on the back like a tail." While Ivory's tail isn't particularly dark, it felt wrong to not call it out.

The second thing it reminds me of is how, in Dracula, vampires can control people through force-feeding them their blood. This could also explain Ivory's weird way of carrying out orders.

I'll admit the Ivory stuff is probably the weakest part of the theory, overall it relies a little too much on obscure lore, but when I heard there was a possibility it could be a monster, I couldn't not mention vampires. I'm almost 100% certain Pyro has TB though.

idk if we're allowed to sign off but in case we are -🌊 anon

(Yup! Sign offs are completely allowed!)

As a lover of vampires, I adore this theory so so much - Plus, I’ve become a bit fond of Pyro too over the past few days.

I don’t honestly have anything to add, this is great plus I love the explanation behind Pyro’s vomiting and that he’s the easiest to get to from the forest to absolute bits - Would love to hear more thoughts on this theory. Particularly on your theory of how she might’ve died after acquiring vampirism!

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ 𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚'𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒆 ◞ ₊˚

1.) (your selection of characters) finding out they are the readers muse secretly! - ⭐ anon

. ˚◞꒰ 🍰 mercenaries x reader, snake monster x reader, grim reapers x reader, scientist x reader, rhytaari x reader, detective x reader ꒱

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ALESSIO 781 ꒱ would be over the clouds knowing about this. a part of him deeply flustered and the other flattered — it would have been when he had bumped into a paperstack of your works when he discovered your interest for him and he hadn’t intended on snooping or looking.

he never does, he knows how important privacy is. it wasn’t until he saw his name written on the paper he tilted his head in confusion. or when he saw the sketches of him. and he neatly put the papers back in order, pretending he hadn’t seen anything. still processing. however, the next day when he had class with you, he couldn’t stop himself from giving you a few smirks and gaze a little longer than usual. chuckling as he watched your face turn several hues of red.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ JÌNGYÍ 1311 ꒱ found out when he discovered you had forgotten your sketchbook, and picked it up. he’d always admired your works. he didn’t turn pages, all he did was flip the cover of the book over so that it would be closed and nobody but you could look.

however the face that met him on the page was his own, and a small shiver went up his spine — in fact, it wasn’t just one sketch of him on the piece of paper, but multiple. why, you almost sent the poor man into a coma without having any sort of clue. he closed it as quickly as he saw it, restraining himself from smiling like an idiot. and when you came around to get the book, there was a few of your favourite flowers and trinkets on it for you.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ RISHIMA 781 ꒱ would be red in the face and spluttering flustered noises all to herself when she found the pieces of poetry you had written about her. with sketches among the piles. making even the most mundane parts about her so special.

delicate and written down in the most breathtaking descriptions that had her poor heart stuttering. it brought her to a stage she never displays to anyone, because it’s a difficult emotion to express. but you truly managed to make her lose her breath. her eyes scanning across the papers — she hadn’t meant to snoop. your papers and hers had been mixed up. and the next time she saw you, you yourself got flustered, when you noticed the way she was staring at you.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ YIZÉ 781 ꒱ had come home from a long day at work. settling down in his dorm and noticing the papers from earlier that you had been sketching on, and with a small hum, he’d get up once more and slowly drag himself over to them. wondering if you had forgotten to take them with you home.

it wasn’t until he saw sketches of him standing in the kitchen, sitting on the balcony, and doing the usual tasks he busies himself with when he’s home. a string of stuttered heartbeats follow the sight and he sighs, smiling to himself. oh yeah, you definitely forgot your papers here. hadn’t you been in a hurry too? you usually only showed him the drawings you had done of takara and the rest of your mutual friends. and without you knowing, he had snuck the drawings into his drawer so that he could keep them. . . at least for a while before he “finds” them.

꒰ tinkering in his university dorm, we see yuè yizé working on his next big project for his mechanical engineering class. with a sharp and intelligent mind, and a certain carefree nature. yizé moves along life smoothly. . . well, that’s what it may seem like. the busybody has his own dark secrets to keep. he has midlength silver hair, tan skin that is slowly becoming pale, a pair of silver eyes and stands at 6’3” ꒱

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ HÀOYÚ 9948V ꒱ he had most likely found out during one of his own little expeditions to find stuff for his next ritual. rustling through drawers and cabinets throughout the zhào estate to find the plants and the fruits needed. and in the cabinet he had given to you. he remembered that he once put some dried nightshade into it and kind of left it there in the jar.

it took one click of the cabinet lock and a large array of papers scattered into his face. his tall form stumbling back and landing on the floor, hands and arms flailing while his uncontrollable laughter rung through the empty, old, estate. it wasn’t until he stopped laughing he picked up your papers with curiosity and tilted his head at the reveal of songs you had made about him, poetry. oh you were in it now, and you had no idea. to muse a rhytaari such as hàoyú is like putting a chain around his and yours heart and interlinking them. and he had a mission to make you his.

꒰ ever brewing in his hatred of humanity,, the phantom looms. zhào hàoyú, a rhytaari left to haunt his abandoned family estate. slaughtering cities where supernatural discrimination lays prominent. he is 6’9” ft pale, with dark long, black hair that reaches his ankles, his dioxazine eyes dull and haunting, with an unforgiving, ever gleeful smile. ꒱

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ RISHEN 9819 ꒱ would be at a loss of words and breath when he had quite literally stumbled over the big file holder that had been thrown on the floor earlier when you had made a run for it to catch one of your suspects together with jìngyí.

you see. rishen had run back home to retrieve your crime investigation gear after finding the most recent victim downtown elritea. and had made his way up the many stairs of his, yours and jìngyí’s home, the clocktower. and of course he felt bad for stumbling over your precious file holder — there were important documents in those! so the detective had picked it up and watched as a few pieces of paper fell out of it. just his luck, no? he almost fainted from fluster when he saw the several drawings and songs about him — oh but you did not know of his knowledge of this, so he was not to say anything. and he had to hurry back, didn’t he? what a mess.

꒰ one of elritea’s greatest detectives, sent out to figure out some of the most devious cases of murder, theft and kidnapping. with a heart of good intention and hope for a better world, he keeps himself going trotting along the dark night streets. with dark curly hair that tickles his neck, maroon eyes and bronze skin, he stands at 5’9” ꒱

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ XIÀNLIÁNG ꒱ he would be surprised, yet, would brush it off. and it is not that he does not care, because in his head, he is touched by the attention and the interest.

but with circumstances of his past and how the rhytaari has become so used to blocking off such sentiment, he ignores it. leaving the pieces you had lost where you lost them, for you to find them yourself once again. he chooses to stay silent, and appreciate it in silence and only held to his chest. pretending he knows nothing of it when you eventually come to ask if he had read any of the contents on the papers. disregarding any and all facts he had read them.

꒰ xiànliáng, otherwise known as the rhytaari of catastophe. a stone cold and genuinely bored individual who takes pleasure in the mass chaos that comes with instances of disaster. a symbol of bad luck — yet the epitome of elegance. long, straight black hair that extends to the floor, black slitted eyes, a pair of black antlers, ghostly grey skin, stands at 7’4”꒱

[yandere-wishes]

Opinion on the absolute ANCIENT history of Star Wars legends? Meaning Tulak Hord, Marka Ragnos and such

Anon I am SO SO SO SORRY this took me forever to answer. I loved the ask so much that I wanted to have the perfect mood and ambiance for when I answered it. Suffice it to say that that hasn't happened for a good while now. But I sincerely hope that you are still lurking around this blog and get a chance to see my response. I cannot express how excited this ask has made me!! I harbor an extremely unhealthy obsession with ancient Sith lords and their lore

I'm going to start off by saying that, if we were in the Star Wars universe I would have already become a Sith lord. Due SOLELY to how much Darkside lore I read~🖤❤️

I swear whenever I see a new Sith lord my brain goes: "Omg he's so ugly." Then he proceeds to live in my head rent-free for three days and on the third night, I find myself dreaming of making out with him... this has happened one too many times...It might be a little bit concerning. XD

Tulak Hord gives off major samurai vibes so I feel like he does follow some sorta Sith honor code. That being said he most likely acquires his darling as either a war trophy from some rival or conquered planet. Or she's a wide-eyed Acolyte who he can twist into his perfect darling. 

He's also so pretty and I want to kiss him so badly!!

 I'd love to be his little darling, a war trophy won in battle. Kept locked away within his fortress. A prize none but him are worthy to see. 

After each bloody campaign, he returns to you, his starlight. A dividend that keeps him fighting, keeps him tethered to the dark side of the force. He fights to provide you with an empire, to win your praises at his many accomplishments. 

 Little does he know of the aversion you harbor for him.

Tulak Hord the monster who took everything from you.  

No, but to be fair, I'd still be MADLY in love with him. Just imagine Lord Hord coming home from the battlefield, bloodied and still high off his bloodlust. 

Imagine straddling him as you lovingly peel off his bloodied armor. Kissing his flesh every time it appears from under his armor. He'd run his clawed gauntlets over your back tracing your spine. Making you shiver from the frigid steel. Your warmth feels welcoming, innocent, he longs to corrupt it. 

Then obviously kissing when you get to his helmet. Deep and passionate. Filled with hate and love. Out of fear, you've learned to play your role as a doubtful lover, a devoted wife, to a fault. 

"The universe is more complicated than you could ever imagine, starlight. Be thankful that I've shielded you away from all its inconsistencies."

It's getting harder and harder to remember why you resist him so much. Why push him away when his presence is so overwhelming? Consuming you wholly. 

"Thank you, my lord." 

NOW...

If you were his Acolyte things would play out a bit differently. He'd have trained you for so many years. Building you up to be the ultimate weapon and simultaneously his ideal darling. You're too far gone, mistaking toxins for affection. You've learned to cherish every bruise and broken bone that comes from him.

You were such a naive little girl when he first took an interest in you. Now he's morphed you into the scourge of the battlefield. The mere mention of your name sends generals running away in fear. 

He finds you after every campaign. Permits you the honor of washing his armor and tending to his wounds. Basking in the way your nimble fingers apply bacta to what little scars he may have received. 

Tulak is such a tremendous master. Personally seeing to your wellbeing and recovery. 

He pulls you onto his lap, kissing your open wounds as he stitches them for you. Sometimes he pulls his helmet up and plunges his tongue into the trauma lapping at the blood and broken muscles as he ravishes in your delightful moans. He'll whisper sweet praises into your ears, telling you how proud he is of all you've accomplished, what a stupendous sith lord you shall make someday, ruling by his side. All while his iron-clad fingers work bruises into your soft flesh. 

You are his perfect little doll.

Tulak Hord's perfect little acolyte.

Would it be wrong to say that I kinda want to be Marka Ragnos' concubine? Or just his pretty little princess who's always at his beck and call!! Look he's literally a giant hulking red alien with golden horns... what's not to love!! 

Plus I'd give anything to just sit on his lap as he holds court. Tracing patterns across his chest and relishing in the feeling of his claws scraping across your flesh, leaving his mark even when he's focused on galactic domination. 

Prior to that Marka would totally dress you in the most ethereal dresses!! All lavish golds and blood reds. Somedays they'd be full-blown multilayered dresses and other days (when he wants to show a bit more dominance) he'll have you wearing danity silk dresses that show more skin than you are comfortable with. 

He'd also shower you with praises throughout the day. Calling you his "sweet little princess" and "pretty girl". look getting called "pretty girl" by a sith lord is free therapy and I am HERE for it😤😍😤😍. 

I also have this random headcanon that Marka Ragnose is (in some ways) a father figure to Vitita/Valkorion/Tenebrae. That being said it's only logical for Marka Ragnos' darling to be (younger) Vitita's mother figure. In a twisted forceful way, they're kinda like a happy family. Also forced Yandere family is one of my fav tropes, so I had to reference it here lol. 

Okay, guys seriously this ask has made me so happy since the MOMENT I got it!! If anyone wants to send in asks for any Star Wars Sith lords (well-known ones, obscure ones, hated/loved ones) my ask box is wide open. 

In conclusion, I've been collecting Sith Lords to simp over like an 8-year-old collects Pokemon cards. Sith lords are unconventionally HOT and I'd totally be down to be there sweet little darling !! Like please just let me be a Sith Lord's cute little side piece, the eye candy that hangs off his arm. His pretty little bunny girl that'll do anything to please him.

(*Concerningly looks down at the pride and self-respect I just smashed.* "Whoops...that wasn't supposed to happen") 

Anon I think I answered your question with these little stories. I am very much IN LOVE with the ancient Sith lords. And it doesn't just stop at Tulak and Marka. I literally NEED a harm of Sith lords. Look they may not be conventionally handsome, but there's something about "the dark forces warping their appearance" that makes me go absolutely feral!! 🤣🤣😍😍

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Hi, the anon who wondered about the Elizabeth Afton post, after reading your response, I couldn't help but get another thought, we all know that no matter the age, everybody is curious about things no matter what.

Imagine Guiding Light (could be of any age but child age would be a lot more most likely here) becomes a victim of William Afton?

Or is like the CC (Crying Child) and gets 💀 via Bite Of 87 style.

Or, Guiding Light does get 💀 via Elizabeth Afton style but it happens right in front of them? Like, it was a random animatronic that has a similar mechanic to Circus Baby's way of luring people (ice cream) and once close enough, they get killed with her claw.

I include the idea of GL being partly transported into BSD World and still have a slim chance to return to the real world.

Warning: English is my second language. William Afton does Afton things. The Bite of 87. Afton's robots for collecting remnant.

_________

William:

They can't move. Controlled shocks froze their metallic bodies. They were waiting for that bastard William's return.

He said, he wanted to show them something.

He returned. He was carrying something.

Someone... Someone familiar.

William ignored their curses and promises to end him. He stepped towards Tachihara.

William opened Tachihara's cavity chest. Putting your body inside.

"I always wanted to see, what would happen, if one animatronic got possessed by two ghosts."

William left. And their sorrow remained.

~~~~~~~~

You didn't knew where you are. The place was dark. Sometimes, you could make out a decoration from the Plex. Sometimes, you saw a familiar ADA office desk. And, sometimes, you heard Tachihara's voice.

You were afraid. Until another person appeared.

Puppet, you saw on old Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria pictures.

"[Y/N]... I can help you and them get free. Will you trust me?"

Puppet put its hand towards you.

You shook it.

____________

The bite:

Gin froze, looking at the scene before her. Guiding Light... [Y/N]... Their sweet little child... Were gone...

The animatronic alligator, one of the many animal mascots that bastard William still kept in the Plex, despite trapping Dazai and others in animatronics bodies, towered above your broken body. Monty's jaws were red because of blood... Your blood.

Gin focused on people, who were to blame.

Your older sibling and their friends.

Even in metal body, Gin remained Verlaine's pupil.

What left of your murderers were unrecognizable. And your body was gone.

Gin could swear, she saw your chest moving.

__________

Robot:

"Here! That animatronic has another page... AHH!"

They can't react. One moment, the animatronic was offering you a manga page. The next, a giant claw dragged you into the animatronic.

Akutagawa tore it apart, freeing you. Your boned were broken, you were catching bloodied manga page. There was also an ice cream cone in the animatronic.

That monster... William not only designed animatronics to lure children. This one was programmed to get you.

They will avenge you. William will pay.

Yet... Akutagawa could swear, that, once in a minute, your heart still beats.

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

Holy fucking shit your askbox is open

I have been waiting for this

Ahem ahem...

So, I have been fangirling too much on one of your oneshots (SQ x Knocked Up Reader)

And now I shall request more fics about the children.

Thank you!

Main 4 - Raising the babes

Started this ages ago and finally got it to a finished state lol. my apologies for the wait, anon. I hope you're still around.

HANK Lilith (she her)

"Steady." Hank grumbled in their usual husky, gravelly voice. Lilith's arms shook, the gun was heavy in her little hands.

"I-it's really heavy dad." Hank let out a sigh through his nose, or what was left of it.

"I know, but you need to learn how to use it, and how to be safe around it." Being involved with Hank was dangerous, but being his family put a target on your skull. Child or not, if the agency found you or Lilith, you'd be executed just to spite the man.

As much as Hank was devoted to their family, they knew fine well that they couldn't be around them all of the time to protect them. Even the SQ couldn't guarantee your safety every second of the day. Learning to fight back was the only way you two would have a fighting chance.

Being Hank's partner meant he'd already trained you up to be a threat to anyone, and now it was your daughter's turn to learn the harsh world she was born into.

"I'm scared." Lilith looked to you, her eyes the same blood red as her dad's own.

"So was I when I first picked up a gun," You knelt to her level, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "but you'll learn that it's just a tool, like any other. You learn how to use it correctly and you'll be safe." You kissed her forehead, and adjusted her arms, Hank carefully putting his large hands over her's as well.

"Hold your breath, steady your arms,"

[ B A N G ]

One of the glass bottle Hank had lined up shattered, and Lilith dropped the gun in fright. "That was scary!"

"But you did it. Overcoming challenges laid before you... First step to becoming strong and unkillable like me." Hank felt pride, and they picked up the gun. "Just... Don't drop it again."

SANMOS Mars (he him)

Baby Mars was a blessed little guy, having not just two parents, but three, and their whole support system to fall back on. Both your lovers are dutiful dads, but Sanford rarely ever wants to put his lil man down. He's got one of them baby carriers custom fit for his bigger frame, and Mars is his spitting image.

With curls of black hair, a chubby build and pout, it was like San was carrying his little mini-me. Mars had mixed skin, a dark grey, but slightly lighter than Sanford's, as well as dark freckles across his full body.

"Think we can find some tiny round sunglasses for babyford?" Dei joked to you while he was warming up some formula milk. "Totally, we could get him a little tank top, grow his hair out and make locs with them." You replied and laughed.

Sanford rolled his eyes, but smiled as well. "I just wanna protect my babe."

"A." Mars weighs in his opinion, throwing his arms up at Deimos as the smell of warm milk hits his nose. "It'll be ready soon yah little monster." Dei smiled and softly pinched his cheek, making Mars squeal happily.

"Let me get him ready." You took Mars from Sanford and set him on your lap. "You should get some sleep Fordie, you've been up with him all night. Relax and cool off, Dei and I got this for now."

"I'm not tired." Sanford lied, immediately yawning and taking his sunglasses off. He had dark circles under his eyes. "You're absolutely tired." Deimos snorted, handing you the warm bottle.

"Relax wonder-dad. Go get comfy and rested, the three of us will be waiting for you when you get up." You gave the big man a kiss, and he finally agreed to get a few hours sleep.

2BDAMNED Rhea and Phoebe

Raising twins was a handful, everyone in base had to chip in a little now and then. Doc was sitting on a soft cushion on the floor, trying to not give himself back ache with shrimp posture, as Rhea chewed on the arm of her stuffed dog toy, and Phoebe was playing with wooden blocks Sanford had kindly made for the girls.

"Hey handsome," Doc arches his back slightly as your smooth hands rub against his shoulders, a pleasant shiver runs up his spine. "you three having fun?"

"Of course, they're engrossed in their own little worlds, and watching them develop is fascinating. Pheebs is working on her hand-eye coordination, which is wonderful to see, and Rhea is... enjoying herself."

Rhea raised her arms up to you, always happy to see her parent. Luckily each girl had their own favourite parent, you being Rhea's, and Doc being Phoebe's, so juggling toddlers wasn't an issue for one of you.

You embraced the little troublemaker, picking her up into your arms and giving her a cheek kiss, earning a happy squeal. "Damma!" Her chubby fingers grabbed your neck as you cuddled her into you.

They'd been born looking similar, but developed differences as they aged. Rhea took more after Doc, dark grey hair tied in little twin tails to show off her pretty face, maroon monolid eyes and a crooked smile. She'd be the spitting image of her dad, if she didn't have your skin and nose.

Phoebe on the other hand was like the opposite, her hair was like your natural colour, tied back as well to keep it out of her face. Her eyes were mirrors of yours as well, and looked wonderful when the light caught them just right. She had Kyle's paler complexion and thin nose.

"Hello my little moon~" You cooed sweetly to her, Doc had insisted on naming both girls after moons, which Deimos laughed about at the time. 'Three moons in one base, you building a solar system here old man?"

Rhea yawned widely, little white puppy teeth lined her mouth. "They've been up for a while, I've already fed them, and was hoping to try and educate them a little bit, but it looks like someone's ready for a nap." Doc smiled to you, making his deep set crows-feet more apparent, each wrinkle in his face seemed to get more and more defined as the days went on.

He made a very handsome DILF. "Perhaps I'll take Phoebe and work with her one on one, and give Rhea a lesson later. Shame, I was going to talk about the stars with them." Rhea's head perked up, all signs of fatigue suddenly removed.

She loved space, Doc had even gotten the lads to paint the nursery into a galaxy, with bright glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. "Staaars." She reached out for her father, heart set on looking at pictures of the night sky over sleeping.

Phoebe was slightly more grounded to earth, interest in the things in front of her, as opposed to those miles and miles above. "Blocks." She pointed to her cubic toy, heart set on continuing to destroy and rebuild with them.

"How about you teach in here? You can read to both of them, I'm sure they'll both enjoy it. Rhea can look at the pictures, and Pheebs can just listen." You sat with Phoebe, offering her another block.

"Thank you Damma." Phoebe smiled to you, finishing a star shaped tower using coloured blocks. Doc sat down, Rhea on his lap and he laid a book in front, starting from the beginning.

"The constellations are patterns of stars formed in the sky, there are many to discover...."

...

From a distance, a star faced figure watched his nieces with a softening in his heart. He found it strange when his brother had told him he was going to live a mortal life for a while, and he couldn't understand it, not at first. But now, seeing the family he'd made, Maker couldn't help but smile.

[igotanidea]

Bubble : Ajax Petropolus x reader

request by anon: Hey, could I request an Ajax Petropolus X reader fic? Where the reader gets injured in the ending battle against Crackstone and Ajax finds her and comforts her. And helps look after her while she is injured. Pure fluff <3

so yes, pure fluff. It's a bit short but I hope you'll like it.

"Where's Wednesday?" Enid was scared, covered with blood and looking around frantically in search of her roomate turned best friend.

"And where's Y/N?" Ajax was also begining to slightly panic, realising that not only young Adams, but also his girlfriend was gone "Has anyone see them?"

"Look!" one of the other students pointed his finger towards the gate of the school, where four silhouettes was emerging from the shadows. Wednesday Addams, proudly pacing in the middle, Bianca on her right side and Eugene on the left.

For a second everyone went completely silent and still. Well, everyone except the blonde werewolf, who, upon seeing her dark counterpart started running towards Wednesday, hugging her tightly.  At first Addams tried to move away but when she saw Enid’s tearful and relieved expression pulled her in again

“Guess miracles happen” Y/N smirked from behind and at the sound of her voice Ajax’s eyes went wide “Wednesday Addams becoming a hugger in front of everyone”

“I;m gonna let that comment pass just because you just helped me safe the school.” Wednesday muttered with her cold stare. There was however a bit of sparkle in her eyes.  

“And yourself too, Addams, don’t forget that”

“Y/N” Ajax interrupted girls’ bantering, finally gathering his girlfriend attention

“Ajax….” She whispered and tears immediately sprung to her eyes as now she started running towards him, longing for his calming embrace, his warmth and safety she always felt in his arms. The boy knew exactly what to do when he grabbed her tightly allowing the girl to hide face in his chest letting the tears flow freely.

“Hey, it’s ok, it’s ok” he caressed her hair in lovingly manner, whispering in her ear “it’s over, you’re safe.”

“It was so scary, Jax” she whimpered

“I know. My brave girl, you did so well.” Ajax pressed a little kiss on her temple, slightly pulling away to look into her eyes “I thought I lost you….”

“You could never…..” she started speaking but all of a sudden her vision became a bit blurry.

“Y/N? Are you ok?”

“I….. I …… I feel a bit dizzy….”

“You need rest, all right? Let me just…..” he moved his arm towards her waist to support her and prevent from falling but as he did, he felt something warm and thick on girl’s side “Y/N! You’re bleeding” great, now he was freaking out again. Not much of a help.

“Calm down, stoner” Wednesday stepped in, clearly being the only one who could remedy the situation “we need to get her to the school hospital, like now. You’re attitude only makes everything worse. Enid?” the female werewolf was no better than the gorgon, pacing around nervously as her other friend was losing more and more blood every second “Enid!”

“Oh fine, alright, you’re right. Let’s get her patched up. Should we lift her, or…..?”

“I’ll do it” Ajax had to put his best effort into lifting Y/N up but didn’t show a single sign of it. She was hurt. He was there to make sure everything will be fine, not leaving her out of his sight for a single second.

***

A few hours later, Y/N found herself waking up in white room. How cliché, that even in the school for the outcast the hospital was still stigmatized with this particular color. The light was too bright, the rare sounds were too loud, her head were killing her and her abdomen felt stretched and like it was on fire. It took a couple of minutes to remember the memories from before. Crackstone, Wednesday, Eugene, the battle for school. Oh, and the Hyde. And the fact that the only normie teacher turned out to be the monster’s master. Just typical day at Nevermore. She groaned a bit since her body seemed to object even the smallest movement and that sound woke up the boy napping in the nearby chair. Judging by the position and the face expression it must have been uncomfortable and numbing. Ajax however did not seem to care as he rushed towards Y/N bed.

“Y/N. You’re awake.”

“I am, mister obvious” she smiled cupping his cheek lightly “and you have print on your face. Were you here the whole time?”

“I was worried. Sick worried about you.”

“How long did you stay?”

“All night sweetie” one of the nurses came into the room making the teenagers jump away with flustered expression “hey, don’t mind me, kids, I’m just gonna check your vision…. Follow the flashlight, dear, please… ok, seems fine …. And I’m out. You can continue your talking lovebird” she winked making Ajax turn red in an instant “let me just tell you something, my lovely girl. This boy refused to swap places by your side with everyone who offered. He really must be into you. If I were you I would keep him….” She grinned one again and exited the room.

Y/N followed her out and after making sure the woman was not coming back (at least for a while) she eyed the boy.

“Ajax.” He was still looking at the ground, not capable of meeting girl’s eyes “Hey, Ajax, look at me. Please.”

How could he ever refuse her pleading tone, her sweet voice and those beautiful eyes. The second their gazes meet he exposed everything he felt during that last hours. Fear. Anger. Hope. Love.

“You refused Wednesday?” Y/N asked

“What?”

“I bet she was the one who wanted to watch me while I was sleeping. Such creepy behavior is in-character. So, did you tell her no. “

“I did.”

“My hero” she smiled “must have taken a lot of courage.”

“A bit” he smiled sheepishly and turned the gaze away once more “wait. Did you just call me a creep?”

“What? Me? No way? Never.” She answered innocently. “at least I don’t think so.”’

“I missed you.” the gorgon cut her train of though

“Missed me? Ajax, from what I can tell I was just a couple meters away from you…..”

“I don’t mean it like that and you know it well enough. I don’t know what I would do if I ever lost you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You say that now. But you’re always the one who jumped into danger without thinking if anyone you care about is threatened. I love you for that, but…. But…..”

“But what?” she grabbed his hands in her squiring them tightly “come on, Jax, tell me.”

“It’s my job to protect you. Not the other way round. I should have been there and ….”

“No.” Y/N shook her head and the sudden movement made her hiss in pain. “I’m fine” she assured Ajax whose face was crossed with worried expression. “And it’s not about your job or my job. We, I mean, the whole school were one in that fight. And what I find most important is that you were there for me. You know why I decided to fight Crackstone alongside Wednesday?”

“Because she’s your friend?”

“Yes, silly, but also because of you.”

“Wait, what? I don’t understand” he frowned and the girl laughed at his confused and deeply focused face.

“stop squinching! Let me put it that way, I was fighting because I knew what was on the line. Not only Addams, not just Nevermore, not my life, but also yours. You do realize I love you more than anything, right?”

“I love you too and that’s why I think….”

“Shhh” Y/N silenced him by putting a finger on his lips ”you think way too much, Jax.”

“ Well then maybe I should stop…..” he leaned closed, resting his forehead on hers

“Mhm…. Maybe you should “ she whispered mimicking his movement, their lips now inches away from each other’s.

“So…. Can I…..?”

“Oh, shut up and just kiss me already.” And with such incentive he finally closed the distance crushing  his lips on hers. Simple movement, filled with so much passion and emotion that for the second time in less than 24 hours Y/N felt dizzy. But this time it was the good kind. Full of love, hope and every positive emotion Wednesday Addams would scoff. Neither Ajax nor Y/N would ever care about it though. Their little bubble was all they needed.  

masterlist

[animentality]

Maybe a hot take, but I think Durge is the real protagonist of BG3. Like... I'm sorry, everyone love their Tavs, but from a narrative point of view, it doesn't have fucking sense. It's just another guy (gender neutral) in a The Choosen One situation. I've read this story before, hundreds of times. But Durge's recepción (or disgrace)... now that has juice! That makes sense on a narrative level. You started it, you end it, one way or another.

Anyway, I'm never (with my +500 hours) going to play a Tav run. Ever. Origins only, mostly Durge. Durge and Durgetash are waaaaay better, sorry not sorry.

You are spitting nothing but facts, anon.

You wanna know what the HONEST to GOD fundamental problem is with the writing of Baldur's Gate 3?

It's that it spreads itself so thin, desperately attempting to write an open sandbox sort of world in which ANY kind of character can fit in...that it ends up being this hollow nothing.

IMAGINE if the Dark Urge WAS the default protagonist. It WOULD'VE BEEN an amazing story, if it had been given the focus it deserved, instead of just blankly repeating the SAME dialogue you'd get as a Tav and as an origin.

The idea of a former villain turned amnesiac, and going on an adventure, learning about themselves from the perspective of an outsider and seeing firsthand the horror they've wrought? It's like a fucking Zuko arc, except finding out you were the Big Bad all along could've been written even better than that...

We could've had that blank, nothing slate that Tavs start out as...and then find out, that it has thematic significance, because WE CHOOSE who we become, after a childhood/adulthood of being unable to make our own choices, and being forced into the role of the villain before the game even starts.

It's a MUCH BETTER WAY to give people a blank slate to work with, for the fun of roleplaying, but ALSO asserting a particular theme. Which is, the gravity of your choices, big and small. To do good or to embrace evil.

YOU KNOW. How Baldur's Gate 1 and 2 did being a Bhaalspawn.

IT'S ALSO A REALLY GREAT WAY to DO an RPG because yes, you slightly infringe upon the freedom of the customizable characters a person can make, but in exchange, you actually tell a fucking story where choices are the main theme.

INSTEAD. Because they were so dedicated to Tavs and the variety of ways you could play as a Tav...they completely undersell and underutilize what could've been a really amazing character.

You can literally choose to DIE for your friends in the end...and then what?

Withers brings you back in five seconds, no one has any real reaction to you doing that, except saying good job buddy :)

And then you're basically a Tav.

And ALSO. I want to say this, because it's been bothering me.

The Dark Urge has Tav syndrome too.

They have TWO notes in the entire game that we have to read into to try and glean a greater depth to their character other than murder hobo.

And that's it. They're a blank slate too.

If the Dark Urge was the protagonist, we might've been able to look into who they were before, outside of just laughably evil flesh eating monster.

They might've had real fucking depth, instead of just tidbits.

I and my fellow Dark Urge/ Durgetash enjoyers have to do the fucking work for them and write in stuff that isn't actually there. The Dark Urge as a protagonist could've been really meaningful. We could've seen inklings that they had misgivings about being Bhaal's Chosen. We could've seen scars of resistance, where they tried to defy Bhaal, but were punished with death, disintegration by the loving hands of your own father and flesh. We could've had betrayal, redemption, loyalty to one's blood family vs one's found family.

But we don't get that, because it's taking too much time away from Tavs.

Sometimes I really wish the Dark Urge wasn't even an option. They gave me this thing, and I thought wow this is the only way to play the game...and then I look and see, ah. But the potential for greatness could drive me absolutely insane.

And it has.

Durgetash is the product of my frustration with the game's characterization of the Dark Urge.

And I know I'm pissing off the salty BG3 fans who love their Tavs and all, and think the Dark Urge is lame, and god FORBID a protagonist have a character, can't have that in an RPG, but I can't find it in myself to care.

I'm built different than the rest of y'all. I don't just feed on content, I analyze its nutrients. I calculate how good for me it actually is.

And BG3 has wonderful mechanics.

But the story has so many problems, from beginning to rotten end.

And it is what it is. I still enjoyed myself playing it.

But the story isn't good for anything except allowing you to create a far more compelling story on your own, in fanfic or in original work inspired by it.

And I guess if that's all they wanted, then fine.

But goddamnit, I'm gonna complain anyway! Divinity 2 did it fucking better.

[beesmygod]

old hunters DLC also highlights some themes of colonial violence and exploitation too, imo. what’s been done to the fishing village and kos ties the beast thing up with this idea that like, the impulse to Conquer and Dominate another leads directly to the Curse. It’s not enough to understand the old ones and the blood and all that, they needed to control it, to take it for themselves, and exploit it however they can. And now there’s wolfmans everywhere.

And this is in the core gameplay loop itself, we extract all the vials and blood echos and blood gems that we can in order to become strong enough to conquer more and more powerful prey. When we’re hit, we hit back harder and take back the life that was taken for us. Sure it’s ostensibly to Break the Curse and seek Paleblood and all that, but we know why we’re really doing it. Because it’s sick as hell, and feels awesome to best these monsters. The old hunters knew that too, and it turns them into giant horse creatures unable to do anything besides violence. That thirst for violence and power makes hunters turn into beasts, now only functioning as a cog in a perpetual violence machine. They lose their humanity not through repeated death like in Dark Souls, but through taking life. It turns the characters into monsters, and the players into wiki editors and lore theorists (aka monsters) bc we also can’t let go of the feeling Bloodborne gives us.

Tl;dr: Bloodborne is like if Spec Ops had any subtlety or desire to leave itself up to interpretation (probably helped by the fact that very little of what I’m talking about is likely intentional and I’m just insane)

OKAY im back from my appointment and finished my little treat. anon ("anon" @chicknparm who should get credit for these good thoughts) i could not agree more. i mentioned this in a previous post but finding a strand of commentary about the evils of colonialism made me worried i was becoming dangerously online, but it's a relief to see someone else mention this idea. i think you are absolutely right that one of the overt messages in bloodborne is that spilling blood for your own benefit leads to ruin. its actually kind of shocking how, in spite of the combat being the draw to these games, the message of most fromsoft games is a message of anti-violence. like, how many times do we end up fighting something that, in hindsight, needed to be put out of its misery. oh. shit. thinking about it, our player character is explicitly an outsider. the role of hunter of hunter is filled by outsiders...

also lol you are so right about the wiki based insanity but i think that's the consequences of insight poisoning. literally every once in a while while trying to edit this stupid bloodborne doc i think to myself "oooeergg too many eyes" and take a break for a few days

anyway, turning this back around to the colonialism theme, hear us out ok: watching/reading the sekiro lore videos/posts by shetani of shetani's lair helped introduce a lot of esoteric buddhist and shinto concepts that were totally novel and unknown to be as a baka gaijin. now these ideas are impossible not to see in all of from's other works.

i did a few days of research on "shinshi" (mostly a lot of stuff that turned out to not be relevant, but interesting) after becoming aware of them and found they shared a lot of qualities with the augurs (or "phantasms", invertebrates that act as intermediaries to the great ones) of bloodborne. realizing this, i thought about the great ones not in the context of a christian god, as the MODERN yharnam does, but as kami. kami are numerous, everywhere, hidden, and are thought of as actively controlling or influencing the terrestrial world. the re-translation reveals that the "great pthumeru chalice" had some nuance lost in translation: "祀る - Means to enshrine or worship, but has connotations of doing it to appease spirits so they may reach nirvana or Buddhahood and avoid becoming evil"; this is simply translated to "deify" which is technically correct but the original feels like it's much more pointed about finally revealing to the player that the "gods" as we've been lead to believe them to be are not what they seem.

the healing church, a product of georgian to victorian era western beliefs, razed pthumeru, loran, isz, and the fishing village (and probably yahar'gul too) in the quest to become like their newly discovered gods. the framework by which they related to pthumerian culture was completely wrong and misunderstood the nature of "gods" as all knowing or all powerful and, thus, something aspirational. the reality was more that they are just another type of creature in the world with different limitations than a human. and they're still mortal.

[sugar-grigri]

Ok so from my understanding of your analysis Johan killed the fortners because, 1:so that they could become one again and destroy the Nina identity and 2:bec Johan distrusts adults except for Dr tenma and he wanted to entrust nina to Dr tenma? The 9 year gap could be Johan leaving her alone so that she could heal (she had a terrible emotional shock after all and the fortners gave her a therapist) 1)

Hello little monster fan Anon! I'm sorry if my answer lacked clarity, often the asks I read impel me into an analysis that doesn't precisely and succinctly answer the question posed.

*** You've summed up my answer perfectly, but I just wanted to clarify a few points. To understand Johan is to understand a shadow cast on the wall. Even if we understand its contours, it is uncertain. After all, Johan's very existence in Monster has been questioned by characters, he has no name and appears very little. So we won't know, and the point is not to know precisely what Johan might have been doing for 9 years.

I don't think Johan himself was interested in studies, education or even knowledge. Or rather, he wasn't interested in them as such. He saw them simply as means either of domination, and playing at martyring ants, as with the bank, or as means of accessing answers about himself.

The fact that he studied children's rights in international law proves this. He is studying it in order to manipulate better; being close to children, his speciality as an academic, is part of the mask he has decided to wear at Munique University. But I don't think he chose this speciality at random and that in this discipline, but also in his interactions with children, Johan was looking for answers.

I'm researching the rights of children proclaimed by the United Nations in 1986.

He is a selfless genius, but he has also shown hesitation at times, even vulnerability. And he suffers from traumatic amnesia, just like Nina. For Nina, the secret to her recovery was to forget Johan. Johan's recordings show that ‘Anna’ was his lifeline.

I was waiting for Anna. - For Anna? Who's Anna? 

You really have to read them as reflections of each other, because even though Johan's actions are obviously awful and against Nina's happiness, I'm going to take the risky step of saying that I don't think Johan wanted to hurt Nina. I know that sounds excruciatingly inevitable. But although Johan embodies nihilism, the only inevitability he admits to is Nina.

When Nina returned from the House of the Rose, Johan decided to carry the trauma with him to the point of convincing himself that he had lived through it. Convincing himself that he has lived through it is a mental defence mechanism for Johan. It's more terrible for him to think that Nina suffered than that he suffered.

All the despair, the trauma, the fear of Bonaparta and his return, Johan has carried with him. Nina was rid of it. If Johan asks her to kill him, he is doing it for her. Johan is Nina and Nina is Johan. If Nina gets rid of the dark, desperate part of herself (Johan), she will be able to achieve happiness.

It's all yours.

It's all an unconscious, silent contract between the twins. When Johan kills the Fortners, I think Johan knows he's not doing it for Nina's sake. But he doesn't want to hurt her either. But it was inevitable. Paradoxically, Johan is the bearer of a certain fatalism, the past and memories are the greatest determinism that conditions us. The past returns. And even if she has forgotten it, the death of Nina's parents has hit her again.

There is no question of limiting the Fortners' death to Johan's intentions per se. The death of the Fortners is a question.

Who killed them ? Nina by failing to kill Johan? Tenma by saving him? If we see them both in front of the bodies, it's to question their own responsibility. They contributed to the tragedy and are actors in it.

Why did you save him? - Didn't I kill him?!

Why did you save him? - Didn't I kill him?!