#[ ALKAS ;; THE DARK URGE ]

[hell-alka]

Hi Minsc!! 👋

[melpcmene-arch]

astarion: it was a simple plan, i was gonna seduce, sleep and manipulate you. alkas: you what.

[bhaalswn-arch]

instead of loving alkas if he was a worm, would you still love alkas if he was in his slayer form

[princguard-a]

not me mistaking @melpcmene 's Alkas for a squidman bc i don't know what a dark urge character is.

[sanguine-salvation]

Eliza brings them a tea, an alka seltzer, and a big breakfast. "Partied hardy my love?"

"Mmmghh... that is one way to put it..." They grumble through their hands, the sheer exhaustion and ache oozing from each word like they had to drag it out of their damn mouth. "Haven't been out like that since that night in Monaco..."

But the smell of breakfast and tea lures them out from under their fingers. "Mm... Rózsám, that smells nice, what is it?" They crack an eye open against the urge to just stay in some self-imposed dark.

[movedofunderdarks]

[ 𝐧𝐨 𝐚𝐢𝐫 ] : sender is holding the receiver by the throat. ( dark urge timeee )

HANDS round his throat, Tazengar opens his one good eye to stare at his assailant. Alkas? Eyes widen momentarily before realisation dawns. His hands come up, fingers circling @bhaalswn's wrists and tugging downward. The Urges have taken him over - Tazengar recognises that even as he fights to breathe with such limited airways.

{ ... could hit him, hurt him to free yourself . . . } he ignores the tadpole's temptations, knowing it's the last thing they need. Instead moving his hands to Alkas' face, cupping familiar cheeks; thumbs brushing the smattering of freckles. He hopes this works - because if it doesn't : he's a dead Drow.

" Al..." He chokes; willing himself to be able to speak once more.

"Do not go far from me. " fight it.

[stxrmstained]

biting your lover’s lip amidst a kiss .

Sharp canines press into his lower lip, piercing skin without a warning. If that is the dark urge crawling out, ravening, craving for a taste of freshly spilled blood— Seira fails to notice, too drunk in want, heat and passion.

The pain makes him gasp, and tighten his grip on Alkas' jaw, pulling away from their kiss and vicious teeth to lick their lips, tasting himself in them. Metallic. Not unpleasant, but not ideal. He has had his own blood in his mouth way too many times, and right now would rather have Alkas instead. With a thumb on his lower lip, that caresses briefly over his scar, he prompts the half-elf's mouth open. Warm breath from a hungry sigh is poured in it, and his tongue soon follows.

[inabsentiiarch]

( Just because I can't unthink this now ) Alkas laid there next to Lucan; shoulder to shoulder, on a bedroll looking up at the stars. What were they? Alkas wonders. He fears getting close and yet longs for it. Maybe it was the amount of gifts they both exchanged. One moment, Alkas wanted the elf to be far away from him, for obvious ( dark urge ) reasons. Now he can't bear it. He looks over at Lucan, and once Lucan looks back at him. He leans over, getting close. Close enough that you'd think that it is possible to go for a kiss. But Alkas wanted to tread the water lightly and brush their noses together; soft eskimo kisses.

There's a comfortable silence around them. Above, the stars twinkle brighter than usual. Bringing a smile to the young elf's expression. At that moment, he can easily spot the constellations and name them one by one like his mother once did. He explains them to Alkas in the quiet of the night, a little too aware of his presence next to him. How did it start? Him wanting to be close to Alkas like this? he couldn't tell. Maybe it started the day they crossed paths, maybe it was something he did or said. But if you were to look into his notebook now, you'd find that the half elf had effortlessly taken up room in the fighter's mind.

Right when he's about to get lost in those thoughts of his again, he feels a pair of eyes on him. His bright gold eyes meet a darker shade of the same colour and his smile widens, but before Lucan can say anything, the other is already moving closer so that the gap between them almost disappears.

Lucan's breath gets slightly caught up in his throat, his heart picking up its pace until he can feel it thumping against his chest. His cheeks turning a shade of pink he would rather hide, but cannot as the thought of a kiss crosses his mind. He'd be lying if he said he never thought of what it would feel like to kiss Alkas. And though what happens is not quite a kiss, it makes him warm inside nevertheless. Laughter bubbles out of him softly, and he instinctively nuzzles his nose against the sorcerer's to return the gesture.

"you are really sweet when you wish to be, you know?" The words come out hoarsely, in an affectionate whisper. A hand hesitatingly moves closer to Alkas', gently intertwining their fingers together.

[the-oc-nebula]

Name: Felicity A. Hearne Gender: Female Age: 21 when deceased, now 25 (Immortal) FC: Alka (Blade and Soul) VC: N/A Species: Human-turned-Undead Occupation: College Student (Art Major)(Former), Vampire Hunter (Current) Height: 5′6″

Powers:

Commonplace Vampire Powers;

Superhuman Durability

Superhuman Stamina

Powers Earned from selling Soul

Superhuman Strength

Superhuman Speed

Superhuman Agility

Artistic Manifestation (Ability to create anything that she can draw)

Bio: (Under Cut)

A once-human that fell victim under the turned-vampire, Missi. This was about a day or so after her transformation; Missi, trying and failing to resist the urge to feast on human blood, went out and found the nearest person she found at night, which was unfortunately Felicity.

Felicity was coming home late one night from her college classes, when she was stopped and seduced by the newly turned Vampire. She was led to the alleyway, and soon, her doom, as she was bitten that night. Her screams were muffled by the Vampire, and she died that very night. She was found only days later, and buried in the graveyard.

However, that is not even the end of her story, not by far.

She was sent to Limbo instead of either Heaven or Hell. Her time, after all, had not yet come. Upon coming to Limbo, she had found a very powerful demon; the true Lord of the Underworld of the Wrath’s Circle of Hell, Whereas Duke was the Lord of the Pride Circle. He had an offer for this Lost Soul- in exchange for passage to Heaven, she would be tasked with going back to the Land of the Living and take down the Vampires; the vassals of the Cane.

Felicity would have done it for free.

Instead of just a simple ticket to Heaven, Felicity gave a counter-bargain; she would offer her Soul as a simple holding-stone; and in return, be given power to take her vengeance. The Demon Agreed.

During the events of Chupando, Missi had brought back multitudes of Undead with the power of the Cane; one of such beings was Felicity, albeit unintentionally. Having been horrifically decayed by years of being dead, she took to wearing a mask, and attempted to design a new one, based on her old face... and imagine her surprise when she could take what she drew straight from the page.

She then drew a block. She pulled a block from the page. A banana, a pencil. A knife. Everything that she drew could be at her fingertips.

As long as she can draw, she can do harm.

The one called Felicity... is no more.

All that remained was the Angel of the Black Star. Immortal, Vindictive... and invulnerable to all harm. All, but one.

Silver is pure, and shines even in darkness. All spirits fear it. Only blessed Silver can harm her now.

[candied-peach]

ao3: “black holes” rating: T warnings: sympathetic remus, intruality/moduke genre: fluff description: Remus takes Patton to the Imagination. ( @tsshipmonth2020 prompt: intruality)

"Come on," Remus says, bouncing in place. Patton smiles at him, tiptoeing through the heaps of junk that litter Remus's bedroom.

"Is the surprise in there?" Patton asks, pointing at the slime-streaked door into the Imagination. Remus nods eagerly. He's been keeping this a secret from Patton- from everyone- all week, and the effort makes him feel like he's going to shiver into a million tiny pieces.

"After you," Remus says, with a courtly bow he stole from his brother. Patton sidles past him into his side of the Imagination.

"Where are we going?" Patton asks, looking around. A bone white sliver of moon lights their way, dead branches of trees crackling under their own weight.

"This way," Remus says, gently tugging him down a narrow scrawl of path. A few thorny bushes extend projectile-laden tendrils their way, but Remus glares so hard at them, they immediately wilt in retreat. Nothing's allowed to harm his boyfriend, not on their first date in nearly a month.

"Up here," he says exuberantly, hearing the trickle of running water. Actual water this time, as opposed to his usual staples of blood, acid, or slime. A soft gasp of appreciation leaves Patton's mouth as they enter the clearing and Remus grins, his heart fizzing up like he's an alka seltzer tablet.

The meadow is ringed with evergreen trees, one of the few trees that Remus can keep alive for long periods of time. Bright moonflowers unfurl under the soft light of the moon, and stars litter the sky, like pin pricks in dark blue velvet.

"I heard you with Logan last week," Remus says. "That you- you liked the stars. You do, don't you?" Patton looks up at him, his eyes shining.

"I love the stars," Patton says sincerely. "This is beautiful, Remus." He looks around, taking in every detail, from the comforting fluff of the evergreens to the slightly brittle grass underfoot. An enormous picnic blanket spreads across the center of the clearing, carefully weighed down at each corner with a rock. The blanket is baby blue, like Patton's shirt, and has white puffs of cloud scudding across it.

"Wanna watch the stars?" Remus asks, bouncing on his toes. "We might see something exciting! Like a black hole or a supernova or-"

"The only thing I need is you," Patton gently interrupts. Remus goes wide-eyed as Patton re-takes his hand and leads him to the blanket. He flaps his other hand, unable to stop himself, and Patton smiles at the sight.

"Sorry," Remus starts to apologize, but Patton shakes his head.

"You don't have to apologize for stimming, sweetheart," he says. "Not ever."

"Roman wouldn't agree," he says, slightly sulky. Patton's lips twitch, like he's trying to hide a smile.

"Remus, you tried to argue that hitting him in the head with your morningstar was stimming," Patton points out.

"It could have been!" Remus says indignantly. Patton arches one eyebrow. Remus reluctantly subsides, fighting the urge to laugh.

"The stars are pretty," Patton says, after a few moments. "But not nearly as pretty as you."

"I'm not pretty," Remus denies. His face heats up, like he's shoved it next to a lava vent. "You are."

"I guess we'll both have to be," Patton declares. "Because I'm afraid I can't accept a world where you aren't the prettiest boyfriend I've ever had."

"I'm the only boyfriend you've ever had," Remus points out. Patton grins impishly.

"So?" He asks.

Remus has no answer for that.

tag list: @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @ancient-fruity @airiervessel @littlestliu @bexxbeauty @yalltookmyurlideas @matthindavick @killjoy-3000 @ihateitwhenyourejustvague

[hoes4bangtan]

My Mate ~ A Forbidden Love Story

Pairing~ Taehyung X Reader 

Genre~ Dark Werewolf Prince Tae ;) X Human Mate

Warning~⚠️ (Lots of smut will come later on) dirty talk, gore, blood, Dom!Taehyung, anger issues, mild angst, fluff (I guess)...

Summary~The Prince of Alka was made to believe he did not have a mate and if he did he was forbidden by the council and his father the king to even touch her. But what happens when his wolf screams mate at his fathers human mixed werewolf ball. A ball where Y/N was not supposed to attend because it would later determine her fate with a “heartless” monster.

Taehyung -Point of View-

I stared at her from my seat on the luxurious wine room above the darkly golden colored ballroom. Not many people were up here, just my brothers and some girls. Due to father warning us to stay away and not cause any trouble to our precious guests.

 What a disgrace that would be.

“You guys aren’t fit to interact with the villagers yet” his words still rang freshly in my mind and I will have to pester him later to decipher what he meant by “we aren’t fit to interact with the humans”. In my mind, I think I’m quite a gentleman when it comes to  those warm blooded creatures.

A glass of whisky is suffering under the tight grip of my right hand and the other is sustaining some girl on my lap. Who keeps on grinding and wiggling her ass on me as she whispers sinful things in my ear. For some reason I wasn’t listening to her or to any of the other girls who have come to me today for pleasure. I had to admit that is quite weird of me, I would've been in the guest room fucking girl after girl right now but for some reason: I just wasn’t. 

Because of her. 

“Mate,” my wolf growled again for the fifth time but it couldn’t be. No, I wasn’t capable of having one.

It’s forbidden, they said. 

I could feel the confused gazes of my brothers as they noticed the weird vibe surrounding me. I had not touched my bait and my mind was lost, I ignored their stares and was frozen in place  somehow mesmerized by her. The girl who caught my eye since I sensed her coming to our kingdom. 

She was beautiful like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Her face glowed with the emotion I wish I had: happiness. She wore a white gala dress that fit her curves deliciously, her lips where red and plump so delicate yet so sinful. 

She looked pure and innocent, like an angel who couldn’t be touched. I felt almost guilty looking at her, knowing I had to stop myself before I hurt her. But I couldn’t control myself: I never can.

I wanted her and for some reason a deep hunger ignited through my body like a never ending fire. My lips feel dry, I gulped down my whisky and slammed it down on the table as small beads of sweat formed around my neck. I let out a moan as I sniffed her intoxicating scent, making my dick twitch. 

“Why don’t we go to your room, Tae?” The girl whispered seductively as she kissed my neck and wiggled some more, making me growl in annoyance because my desire wasn't for her. I pushed her off my lap and onto the empty seat next to me, making her cough in disbelief. 

“Get out,” I said coldly, not daring to look at her knowing she would just start to cry like the rest because for some reason they just don't like rejection. She whined and groaned until I finally heard her loud heels stomp out of the room in anger. 

I took a deep breath as I gulped another shot of whiskey and set it down on the mahogany table in between the couch. I got up and in an instant was hovering over the balcony to get a better view of her. I almost smiled when I saw her laughing with an elderly woman. 

She stopped laughing all of a sudden and started to look around. I knew she felt someone staring at her, the woman talking to her stopped as well and asked her what was wrong but she didn’t respond. 

She kept searching until our eyes met. My heart jumped as those beautiful brown orbs stared directly at me and she flashed me a soft smile making me grip onto the railing harshly. My wolf whined and thrashed around like the psychotic monster he is. 

What the fuck was happening to me she is not supposed to be smiling. Doesn’t she know who I am? I am Taehyung, the Dark Prince of Alka. 

Our eyes lingered for a while until I saw the fear in her eyes take over. Then, her smile fell and then her gaze, making me frown. I looked over at the woman next to her, watching as she whispered something into her ear and grabbed onto her arm, pulling her away into the crowd until she disappeared behind colorful dresses and expensive suits. 

“Fuck” I whispered as anger started to arise through my veins once again. The thought of hurting the woman played in my mind but I couldn’t kill her. “But she scared away what’s ours” my wolf whined making me look back at the crowd of people dancing and drinking but I couldn’t find the woman.  

I shook my head and moved to sit back down on the soft plush seats soon thinking about what was going on with me. I never felt this way before, I think I may have a fever. I rubbed my forehead feeling it was hotter than its usual temperature. I spotted her again next to a different woman now, a younger girl. The young girl spoke to her with fearful eyes but I couldn’t see her face anymore as her back was turned to me. 

“Can I ask you a question, my dear brother” I called upon Yoongi who was talking on the phone over in the dark corner of the room, never taking my eyes off her. Once he didn’t respond, I turned to him and watched as he put up a finger signalizing for me to wait, in which I nodded. I couldn’t contain myself as my wolf kept whining and my legs started to fidget, I almost fooled myself to believe I was nervous.

Monsters don’t get nervous

I looked over at Hoseok, Jimin and Namjoon, who were all at the built in bar eating off some girls face. Jungkook was sniffing some cute girl’s neck, holding back his urge to do anything for father’s sake, and Jin was on the path to commit a crime of passion. 

How lovely.

“Tae, what do you want?” Yoongi said as he now stood in front of me, his dark persona beckoning over me. His eyes seemed emotionless and cold as he shook his head at Jin and Jungkook.

“ I have a question about someone” I said, watching as he averted his attention back to me and gave me that same confused glare from earlier. His glare soon turned into a warning that didn’t seem too convincing because he kept scratching his head and looking over at Jin. 

“No, Tae, you heard father’s orders,” Yoongi said, crossing his arms over his chest confidently but I could smell his unease. Almost as if he knew what I was going to ask.I stood up from my seat and breathed out heavily, moving over to the railing of the balcony now leaning coolly against it. “Since when do I follow orders… brother” I said lowly, shifting my gaze to him with an evil smirk displayed on my lips as he gave me a cold glare. 

“Since father tells you everything and you probably know everyone, I wanted to ask if you know a girl” I said my throat already starting to itch with thirst from the thought of her warm sweet blood running down my throat or something else I can't wait to taste.

“Who”He said as he scanned the crowd until he stopped somewhere and his eyes flashed with something I couldn’t read because once I went to follow his gaze he broke it and looked down at his grey expensive clad shoes.

“Her” I said pointing my finger over at her small frame, her back was still facing me which made me frown but it soon disappeared when I saw Yoongi follow my finger and freeze in his place.

“Well that is Y/N/L, she’s the daughter of fathers right hand” Yoongi said with a nervous tone making me watch him suspiciously and I knew he was hiding something. “Father never told us Mr.Lun had a daughter and why is that”I said looking at him suspiciously as he avoided eye contact knowing I was capable of making him spill the beans with one look.

“Don’t you dare lie to me brother” I mind linked him making him bite his lip harshly and look back at Jin who seemed too busy to see him begging for help

“I know what you are feeling is strange right now but I can’t tell you” Yoongi said his voice seemed disoriented making me send him a glare as my wolf growled loudly. “Tell us now brother you know how I turn when I’m angry” I said through gritted teeth as my fists turned white from their tight grip on the railing 

“Tae-“Yoongi started to say but I cut him off with the raise of my hand, I closed my eyes and breathed in and out like mother taught me. “Yoongi now please” I said in a warning tone and whimpered as a strange hotness creeped in and out of my skin.

“She’s your mate but you can’t get close to her, it’s forbidden and you know that... Tae you are a monster the worst out off all of us and you know it goes against the council. You will hurt her when you turn into that morbid thing... she’s too innocent and pure for you. Her father and the council tried to hide her away and I don’t know why he brought her here if he knew this already”Yoongi said now looking up at me with a sense of pity and confusion also trying to figure out what was happening but I was frozen.

My mind whirled with confused thoughts and I couldn’t believe what I was just hearing— It couldn’t be. “How” was all I could muster out,  my voice scratchy and low as I looked over at her frame and the fire seemed to ignite.

This doesn’t make sense, I could kill her that’s why it was forbidden for me to even have a mate. Since I was born I was told and set to believe that she never existed so why now, I was fine and I shouldn’t be feeling this way for no one.

“Everyone has a mate Tae, please don’t do whatever you are thinking on doing, you can’t get close to her”he said slowly and carefully as if he wanted to drill the fact that I had a mate but couldn’t touch her, which only made my anger worse and my wolf hungrier with thirst for not only her but blood.

I needed to kill someone to get rid of all this anger but I’m going to get her first, no one is going to keep me away from my mate, that I finally found. My woman who was destined to be with me forever, the one who will love me for who I am and not the monster everyone sees. The one who will bear my children.

No one will stop me.

Not the council, not my brothers, not even father. If they want to stop me from getting what’s mine they’ll have to get through me and I know they won’t even dare.

Everyone is afraid of me.

I gave Yoongi one more look and smirked as I stared at her again and growled with want. “Tae please you can’t drag her into our mess she’s an innocent human-“ Yoongi yelled but I ignored him as the rest of my brothers stopped doing what they where doing and gave me a warning glare but before they could even say anything. I was out of the room and down the grand staircase.

I set my eyes on her and nothing else.

 I wasn’t even halfway down when someone yelled “My prince” and everyone turned around but she didn’t which made my wolf whimper. For every step I took the music seemed to get more and more dramatic making me shoot a look at the violinist who froze along with the rest of the musicians on the stage.

I made it down the stairs, some people whispering and watching my every move as they bowed down to me but stood far away as if I was some monster coming to eat them but I just smiled evilly because that’s exactly what I could do but not now.

I ignored the woman who tried to talk to me as they extended their arms out to stop me and look at them even for a useless minute but they weren’t who I wanted. looked up at the balcony seeing all my brothers gathered by the railing looking down at me with a look of curiosity and anger making me shoot them a quick wink.

I could feel father trying to mind link me but I just ignored him and kept walking until I saw her small frame dressed in white. I grabbed ahold of her arm feeling a sense of power burst through me which made me feel dizzy for a second as I turned her around.

Y/N -Point of View-

“He’s coming, where’s father-” my sister said but she didn’t finish her sentence when I suddenly felt a cold hand wrap around my arm and I swear I felt an electric current flow into my body.

I looked around the room ignoring the dirty looks I was suddenly getting from some women and the fearful gazes of man and the elders, but I couldn’t find my father no where in the room.

My heart fell as the person I learned so much about in such a short period of time. Since the moment I smiled up at him and was scolded for doing so turned me around to face him.

I gasped as my breath got stuck in my throat and the silence of the room ate me alive but he was so beautiful. He seemed soft and tender but dark as a poisonous snake. His lips were a soft pink and his eyes dark with yellow glowing specks, he looked too perfect to be real.

“Dance with me”he whispered, his eyes boring into mine and I couldn’t seem to break the stare as his voice made me shiver like a cold winter breeze.I shook my head no, but he gave me an evil smirk making me whimper as his hand  moved up to my waist and pulled me to him. “Are you scared of me” he said in a low tone making me start to shake in his hold as I tired to break eye contact but I couldn’t look anywhere else but at him, it almost felt as if  he was controlling me.

“If you don’t speak to me, we will stand here all night”he said leaning down to my neck and inhaling deeply making me let out a whimper. “T-theres no mus-music”I stuttered wanting to scold myself for saying that. “I know baby but we don’t need music to dance,  just follow me” he said softly and with that he pulled me to the center of the ballroom that was already empty with a crowd forming around us. He kissed my cheek softly making me widen my eyes as I started to think if he was really as horrible as they made him sound.

“Your so beautiful”he said softly as he guided me back and forth in a soft slow rhythm that almost would’ve seemed romantic if I wasn’t shaking. “I-I’ve ne-never seen you before”I stuttered which made his frown deepen as he let go of my waist and twirled me around for a mere minute and pulled me back into his hard chest. His hand snaked back onto its place on my waist as the other gripped onto my hand tightly.

My chest heaved up and down as I gasped along with everyone else around me. “Well, let's start off by saying- I’m the most dangerous person in the world, and may I ask how don’t you know about me”he said with a raised eyebrow as he pulled me even closer to his chest.

“No-no I’ve never heard of you until today this is my first time here, Papa doesn’t really allow me out much”I said with a nervous tone knowing father will be mad at me for getting close to him or even talking to a man.

“Why”he said as if he was interrogating me but his face was plain and cold as stone, you couldn’t read him. “He’s protecting me”I said my voice escaping below a whisper but loud enough because he heard what I said due to the smirk growing on his lips. 

“From what”he said as he kept guiding me back and forth in circles across the marbled floor of the ballroom. “The bad people”I said breaking my gaze and looking down at the floor as a weird feeling watched over me after finally breaking eye contact.

“Oh so do you know who I am” he said with amusement in his voice as he moved down to my neck his cold lips grazing softly against the little hairs that now stood up.

“Use your words baby”he said making me shiver as I closed my eyes tightly and brought my hands up to put them on his shoulders feeling as he tensed up from my touch. “Your one of the bad people that is all I was told” I said as he hummed and brought his lips away from my neck and moved down to my chin making me suck in a breath. I tried pushing him away but he didn’t move an inch.

“Hmm, they are right”he said lowly as he moved his rough hands to my cheek caressing it softly as my trembling became worse. “Can-can you please stop, I don’t want to dance with you anymore”I stuttered as I tried to get away from his tight hold just to receive a cold glare.

“Why, aren’t we having fun”he said in a dark tone making me whimper as he tightened his grip around my waist. “Please let me go” I said my eyes getting watery as I tried hitting his chest harder this time but nothing.

“No”he growled making me stop in my movements as he moved his hand away from my cheek and stared at me his eyes entirely black now. “Excuse me” I said in disbelief making him smile evilly as he shook his head excruciating slow at me.

“Your mine”he said lowly making me widen my eyes as all the blood soon drained from my body and I got lightheaded. “N-no, i’m not” I said but he only nodded making me look around for my sister who was hugging my mother but they had their backs turned to me.

Why. 

This can’t be true, “but it is” something told me.

“Let’s go”he said and pulled me away from the center of the ballroom and toward the large crowd that opened up a path for him. “Mama help, please call Papa”I cried out as tears formed in my vision and I tried to to get out of his tight grip on my arm to reach for my mother who didn't budge.

“We are going to my house”he said as he pulled me behind him roughly as I tried to wiggle out of his hold again but he was too strong.“No-no”I said but groaned when he stopped, making me bump into his back with a thud.

He turned around and wrapped both his arms around my waist and pulled me toward him as he hid me in his chest, he secured his arms tightly around me in a protecting manner as a tall shadow descended over us.

I tired hitting his chest and kick him but he was holding me too tightly making me whimper as more tears fell down my cheeks.“Son where do you think you are going with her, you have rudely disrupted our guests with this scene”A man I couldn’t see the face of due to him covering me spoke coldly. “We are  leaving” he said letting out an animalistic growl which made me cry even harder. 

“Alone right, because you are not taking her”the man shouted powerfully but he just laughed as if this was funny to him. “Father, should I say what I’ll say next in your ear or for everyone to hear and tremble in fear”he said with a chuckle at the end of his sentence.

“Son”the man who I figured was his father said in a warning tone that made me afraid to hear what he’ll say next but I had a feeling I already knew. “Y/N is my mate and thanks for keeping it a secret from me because now you can't take her from me”he growled loudly his chest rising harshly as everything around us turned unbelievably quiet and with that he unwrapped his arms from around my body and picked me up bridal style.

I was in a confused daze with what was happening as I screamed with all my might, hitting his chest as I tried to look for father for that he could help me. I saw him running from behind the crowd towards me, but he suddenly stopped and fell to his knees making my heart fall. My world soon became blurry as he ran at such a fast speed, everything was turning into mush and then darkness captivated me.

[hell-alka]

Intimidating Vampire Lord🦇

[melpcmene-arch]

one-liner starter call. ( @darkysturge )

( You feel a connection - a familiar rancid blood calling out between the two souls. ) "You're... You're like... me, right?"

[bhaalswn-arch]

Also since I took the bd/sm test for Alkas-- well. Here's the results:

[sciencespies]

What We Can Learn From 1918 Influenza Diaries

https://sciencespies.com/nature/what-we-can-learn-from-1918-influenza-diaries/

What We Can Learn From 1918 Influenza Diaries

SMITHSONIANMAG.COM | April 13, 2020, 8 a.m.

When Dorman B.E. Kent, a historian and businessman from Montpelier, Vermont, contracted influenza in fall 1918, he chronicled his symptoms in vivid detail. Writing in his journal, the 42-year-old described waking up with a “high fever,” “an awful headache” and a stomach bug.

“Tried to get Dr. Watson in the morning but he couldn’t come,” Kent added. Instead, the physician advised his patient to place greased cloths and a hot water bottle around his throat and chest.

“Took a seidlitz powder”—similar to Alka-Seltzer—“about 10:00 and threw it up soon so then took two tablespoons of castor oil,” Kent wrote. “Then the movements began and I spent a good part of the time at the seat.”

The Vermont historian’s account, housed at the state’s historical society, is one of countless diaries and letters penned during the 1918 influenza pandemic, which killed an estimated 50 to 100 million people in just 15 months. With historians and organizations urging members of the public to keep journals of their own amid the COVID-19 pandemic, these century-old musings represent not only invaluable historical resources, but sources of inspiration or even diversion.

“History may often appear to our students as something that happens to other people,” writes Civil War historian and high school educator Kevin M. Levin on his blog, “but the present moment offers a unique opportunity for them to create their own historical record.”

Members of the Red Cross Motor Corps, all wearing masks to prevent the further spread of the influenza epidemic, carry a patient on a stretcher into their ambulance, Saint Louis, Missouri, October 1918.

(Photo by PhotoQuest / Getty Images)

The work of a historian often involves poring through pages upon pages of primary source documents like diaries—a fact that puts these researchers in a position to offer helpful advice on how prospective pandemic journalers might want to get started.

First and foremost, suggests Lora Vogt of the National WWI Museum and Memorial, “Just write,” giving yourself the freedom to describe “what you’re actually interested in, whether that’s your emotions, [the] media or whatever it is that you’re watching on Netflix.”

Nancy Bristow, author of American Pandemic: The Lost Worlds Of The 1918 Influenza Epidemic, advises writers to include specific details that demonstrate how “they fit into the world and … the pandemic itself,” from demographic information to assessment of the virus’ impact in both the public and personal spheres. Examples of relevant topics include the economy; political messaging; level of trust in the government and media; and discussion of “what’s happening in terms of relationships with family and friends, neighbors and colleagues.”

Other considerations include choosing a medium that will ensure the journal’s longevity (try printing out entries written via an electronic journaling app like Day One, Penzu or Journey rather than counting on Facebook, Twitter and other social media platforms’ staying power, says Vogt) and defying the sense of pressure associated with the need to document life during a “historic moment” by simply writing what comes naturally.

Journaling “shouldn’t be forced,” says Levin. “There are no rules. It’s really a matter of what you take to be important.”

Seattle police officers wearing masks in 1918

(Public domain via Wikimedia Commons)

If all else fails, look to the past: specifically, the nine century-old missives featured below. Though much has changed since 1918, the sentiments shared in writings from this earlier pandemic are likely to resonate with modern readers—and, in doing so, perhaps offer a jumping-off point for those navigating similar situations today.

Many of these journalers opted to dedicate space to seemingly mundane musings: descriptions of the weather, for instance, or gossip shared by friends. That these quotidian topics still manage to hold our attention 100 years later is a testament to the value of writing organically.

State historical societies are among the most prominent record-keepers of everyday people’s journals and correspondence, often undertaking the painstaking tasks of transcribing and digitizing handwritten documents. The quotes featured here—drawn in large part from local organizations’ collections—are reproduced faithfully, with no adjustments for misspelling or modern usage.

Edith Coffin (Colby) Mahoney

From the Massachusetts Historical Society

Between 1906 and 1920, Edith Coffin (Colby) Mahoney of Salem, Massachusetts, kept “three line-a-day diaries” featuring snippets from her busy schedule of socializing, shopping and managing the household. Most entries are fairly repetitive, offering a simple record of what Mahoney did and when, but, on September 22, 1918, she shifted focus to reflect the pandemic sweeping across the United States.

Fair & cold. Pa and Frank here to dinner just back from Jefferson Highlands. Rob played golf with Dr. Ferguson and Mr. Warren. Eugene F. went to the hospital Fri. with Spanish influenza. 1500 cases in Salem. Bradstreet Parker died of it yesterday. 21 yrs old.

September 24, 1918, diary entry

(Collection of the Massachusetts Historical Society)

Four days later, Mahoney reported that Eugene had succumbed to influenza. “Several thousand cases in the city with a great shortage of nurses and doctors,” she added. “Theatres, churches, gatherings of everykind stopped.”

Mahoney’s husband, Rob, was scheduled to serve as a pallbearer at Eugene’s September 28 funeral, but came down with the flu himself and landed “in bed all day with high fever, bound up head and aching eye balls.”

By September 29—a “beautiful, mild day,” according to Mahoney—Rob was “very much better,” complaining only of a “husky throat.” The broader picture, however, remained bleak. Another acquaintance, 37-year-old James Tierney, had also died of the flu, and as the journal’s author noted, “Dr says there is no sign of epidemic abating.”

Franklin Martin

From the National Library of Medicine, via research by Nancy Bristow

Patients at a U.S. Army ward in France

(© Corbis via Getty Images)

In January 1919, physician Franklin Martin fell ill while traveling home from a postwar tour of Europe. His record of this experience, written in a journal he kept for his wife, Isabelle, offers a colorful portrait of influenza’s physical toll.

Soon after feeling “chilly all day,” Martin developed a 105-degree fever.

About 12 o’clock I began to feel hot. I was so feverish I was afraid I would ignite the clothing. I had a cough that tore my very innards out when I could not suppress it. It was dark; I surely had pneumonia and I never was so forlorn and uncomfortable in my life. … Then I found that I was breaking into a deluge of perspiration and while I should have been more comfortable I was more miserable than ever.

Added the doctor, “When the light did finally come I was some specimen of misery—couldn’t breathe without an excruciating cough and there was no hope in me.”

Martin’s writing differs from that of many men, says Bristow, in its expression of vulnerability. Typically, the historian explains, men exchanging correspondence with each other are “really making this effort to be very brave, … always apologizing for being sick and finding out how quickly they’ll be back at work, or [saying] that they’re never going to get sick, that they’re not going to be a victim of this.”

The physician’s journal, with its “blow-by-blow [treatment] of what it was like to actually get sick,” represents a “really unusually profound” and “visceral” point of view, according to Bristow.

Violet Harris

Violet Harris was 15 years old when the influenza epidemic struck her hometown of Seattle. Her high school diaries, recounted by grandniece Elizabeth Weise in a recent USA Today article, initially reflect a childlike naivete. On October 15, 1918, for example, Harris gleefully reported:

It was announced in the papers tonight that all churches, shows and schools would be closed until further notice, to prevent Spanish influenza from spreading. Good idea? I’ll say it is! So will every other school kid, I calculate. … The only cloud in my sky is that the [School] Board will add the missed days on to the end of the term.

A Seattle streetcar conductor refuses entry to a commuter who is not wearing a mask in December 1918.

(Photo by PhotoQuest / Getty Images)

Before long, however, the enormity of the situation sank in. The teenager’s best friend, Rena, became so sick she “could hardly walk.” When Rena recovered, Harris asked her “what it felt like to have the influenza, and she said, ‘Don’t get it.’”

Six weeks after Seattle banned all public gatherings, authorities lifted restrictions, and life returned to a semblance of normal. So, too, did Harris’ tone of witty irreverence. Writing on November 12, she said:

The ban was lifted to-day. No more …. masks. Everything open too. ‘The Romance of Tarzan’ is on at the Coliseum [movie theater] as it was about 6 weeks ago. I’d like to see it awfully. …. School opens this week—Thursday! Did you ever? As if they couldn’t have waited till Monday!

N. Roy Grist

Panoramic view of Fort Devens in 1918

(Courtesy of the Fort Devens Museum)

Fort Devens, a military camp about 40 miles from Boston, was among the sites hardest hit by the 1918 influenza epidemic. On September 1, some 45,000 soldiers waiting to be deployed to France were stationed at the fort; by September 23, according to the New England Historical Society, 10,500 cases of the flu had broken out among this group of military men.

Physician N. Roy Grist described the devastation to his friend Burt in a graphic September 29 letter sent from Devens’ “Surgical Ward No. 16.”

These men start with what appears to be an attack of la grippe or influenza, and when brought to the hospital they very rapidly develop the most viscous type of pneumonia that has ever been seen. Two hours after admission they have the mahogany spots over the cheek bones, and a few hours later you can begin to see the cyanosis extending from their ears and spreading all over the face, until it is hard to distinguish the coloured men from the white. It is only a matter of a few hours then until death comes, and it is simply a struggle for air until they suffocate. It is horrible. One can stand it to see one, two or twenty men die, but to see these poor devils dropping like flies sort of gets on your nerves.

On average, wrote the doctor, around 100 patients died each day.

Nurses at Fort Devens in 1918

(Courtesy of the Fort Devens Museum)

Grist’s letter is “a remarkably distinct and accurate description of what it was like to be in the midst of this,” says Bristow. “And then it goes on to talk about how difficult it is to be a doctor, … this sense of not being able to do as much as one might like and how exhausting it all is.”

Toward the end of the letter, Grist notes how much he wishes Burt, a fellow physician, was stationed at Fort Devens with him.

It’s more comfortable when one has a friend about. … I want to find some fellow who will not ‘talk shop’ but there ain’t none, no how. We eat it, sleep it, and dream it, to say nothing of breathing it 16 hours a day. I would be very grateful indeed if you would drop me a line or two once in a while, and I promise you that if you ever get into a fix like this, I will do the same for you.

Clara Wrasse

From the National WWI Museum and Memorial

In September 1918, 18-year-old Clara Wrasse wrote a letter to her future husband, Reid Fields, an American soldier stationed in France. Though her home city of Chicago was in the midst of battling an epidemic, influenza was, at best, a secondary concern for the teenager, who reported:

About four hundred [people] died of it at the Great Lakes … quite a number of people in Chi are suffering with it too. Mother thought that I had it when I wasn’t feeling good, but I am feeling fine now.

Quickly moving on from this mention of disease, Wrasse went on to regale her beau with stories of life in Chicago, which she deemed “to be the same old city, altho there are lots of queer things happening.”

September 25, 1918, letter from Clara Wrasse to Reid Fields

(National World War I Museum and Memorial)

Wrasse is believed to be one of the two women pictured here.

(Courtesy of the National World War I Museum)

Signing off with the lines “hoping you feel as happy as you did when we played Bunco together,” Wrasse added one last postscript: “Any time you haven’t got anything to do, drop me a few lines, as I watch for a letter from you like a cat watches a mouse.”

Vogt of the National World War I Museum cites Wrasse’s letters as some of her favorites in the Kansas City museum’s collections.

“It’s so clear how similar across the ages teenagers are and what interests them,” she says, “and that … they’re kind of wooing each other in these letters in a way that a teenager would.”

Leo Baekeland

From the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History

Leo Baekeland, inventor of the first commercialized plastic

(Public domain via Wikimedia Commons)

Inventor Leo Baekeland, creator of the world’s first commercialized plastic, “documented his life prolifically” in diaries, laboratory notebooks, photographs and correspondence, according to the museum’s archives center, which houses 49 boxes of the inventor’s papers.

Baekeland’s fall 1918 journal offers succinct summaries of how the epidemic affected his loved ones. On October 24, he reported that a friend named Albert was sick with influenza; by November 3, Albert and his children were “better and out of bed, but now [his] wife is sick with pneumonia.” On November 10, the inventor simply stated, “Albert’s wife is dead”—a to-the-point message he echoed one week later, when he wrote that his maid, Katie, was “buried this morning.”

Perhaps the most expressive sentiment found among Baekeland’s entries: “From five who had influenza, two deaths!”

Dorman B.E. Kent

From the Vermont Historical Society

Dorman B.E. Kent’s diary

(Courtesy of the Vermont Historical Society)

From the age of 11 to his death at 75 in 1951, Dorman B.E. Kent recorded his life in diaries and letters. These papers—now held by the Vermont Historical Society, where Kent served as a librarian for 11 years—document everything from his childhood chores to his views on Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal and his sons’ career progress.

Of particular interest is Kent’s fall 1918 diary, which contains vivid descriptions of his own bout with influenza. On September 24, he wrote (as mentioned above):

Awoke at 7:00 [a.m.] sick, sick, sick. Didn’t get up or try to. Had a high fever an awful headache every minute all day and was sick to my stomach also. Tried to get Dr. Watson in the morning but he couldn’t come. Told us instead what to do. Greased cloths with inflamacene all day and put around throat and chest and held a bottle of hot water at throat most of the time. Took a seidlitz powder about 10.00 and threw it up soon so then took two tablespoons of castor oil. Then the movements began and I spent a good part of the time at the seat … There is a tremendous lot of influenza in town.

Kent recovered within a few days, but by the time he was able to resume normal activities, his two sons had come down with the flu. Luckily, all three survived the illness.

In early October, Kent participated in a door-to-door census count of the disease’s toll. Surveying two wards in Montpelier on October 2, he and his fellow volunteers recorded 1,237 sick in bed, 1,876 “either ill or recovered,” and 8 dead in one night. The following day, Kent reported that “25 have died in Barre today & the conditions are getting worse all the while. … Terrible times.”

Donald McKinney Wallace

From the Wright State University Special Collections and Archives

Partially transcribed by Lisa Powell of Dayton Daily News

Donald McKinney Wallace, a farmer from New Carlisle, Ohio, was serving in the U.S. Army when the 1918 pandemic broke out. The soldier’s wartime diary detailed conditions in his unit’s sick bay—and the Army’s response to the crisis. On September 30, Wallace wrote:

Layed in our sick ward all day but am no better, had a fever all day. This evening the Doctor had some beef broth brought down to us which was the first I had eaten since last Fri. Our ward was fenced off from rest of the barrack by hanging blankets over a wire which they stretched clear across the ceiling.

On October 4, the still-ailing farmer added, “Not a bit well yet but anything is better than going over to the hospital. 2 men over there have Spanish Influenza bad and are not expected to live. We washed all windows and floors with creoline solution tonight.”

Donald McKinney Wallace’s September 30, 1918, diary entry

(Wright State University Special Collections and Archives)

Wallace survived his illness (and the war), dying in 1975 at age 78.

Though Wallace’s writings don’t reference the situation in his hometown, Bristow notes that many soldiers expressed concern for their families in correspondence sent from the front.

“You get these letters from soldiers who are so worried about their families at home,” she says, “and it’s not what anyone had expected. Their job was to go off soldiering, and the family would worry about them. And now, suddenly, the tables are turned, and it’s really unsettling.”

Helen Viola Jackson Kent

From Utah State University’s Digital History Collections

When Helen Viola Jackson Kent’s children donated her journals to Utah State University, they offered an apt description of the purpose these papers served. Like many diary writers, Kent used her journal to “reflect her daily life, her comings and goings, her thoughts, her wishes, her joys, and her disappointments.”

On November 1, 1918, the lifelong Utah resident wrote that she “[h]ad a bad head ache all day and did not accomplish much. Felt very uneasy as I found out I was exposed to the ‘flu’ Wed. at the store.”

Armistice Day celebrations inadvertently spread influenza.

(Photo by Topical Press Agency / Getty Images)

Kent escaped the flu, but her husband, Melvin—called “Mell” in her diary—was not so lucky. Still, Melvin managed to make a full recovery, and on November 18, his wife reported:

Mell much better and dressed today. Almost worn out with worry and loss of sleep. So much sickness and death this week, but one great ray of light and hope on the outcome of the war as peace came this past [11th].

Interestingly, Kent also noted that the celebrations held to mark the end of World War I had sparked an inadvertent uptick in illness.

“On account of the rejoicing and celebrating,” she wrote, “this disease of influenza increased everywhere.”

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