#I need more friends on dbd

[bbugsy]

get it babe 😍 you can add me as a friend aaaand win every match with me bc I’m really good pinky swear 🤞

I kinda imagine this is what it’s like for the resident evil gang to meet up in the fog lol

meanwhile carlos is like hi jill :)👋

[skateboardtotheheart]

there is just something about the difference between edwin's love interests and having the cat king's reaction to edwin in hell being "i'll be waiting when he gets back" vs charles "no version of this where i don't come get you" rowland convincing a powerful trans-dimensional being to open a door to hell just so he could get him back

i am insane

[itolerate]

PLEASE CHECK OUT DEAD BOY DETECTIVES

this show actually healed me

[neproxrezi]

i've been trying to configure obs to work for clips! nothing super exciting to show yet but have this

[luckyythirteen]

Why can't I find any dbd players on ps4 I just want someone I can play with please solo q is killing me. If you want a wesker enjoyer to play with just hmu my user is jinxcide <3

[masonstired]

in other news my hair is now purple and solo queue dead by daylight might genuinely throw me into cardiac arrest

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | first meeting

info;

♡ fandoms; The Boy, House of Wax, Halloween, Hannibal, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, slashers (general), DBD

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Vincent Sinclair, Micheal Myers, Hannibal Lecter, Thomas Hewitt

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; mentions of blood/violence

The most random array of characters. All 5 are my bfs tho. Also this is written very very informally because it was originally just for myself lol.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire//

> approximateplotofthe movie. jpeg

> honestly you mind your own business once you realize it’s a doll but assume there’s cameras so mostly behave

> you find yourself naturally coddling his doll like a real child when you’re bored, speaking to him constantly

> even though you’re not doing much to upset him, weird things do start happening around the house

> he mostly wants attention

> you leave a note one day

> “dear brahm’s ghost; i’m sorry if i’m not doing a good job as a nanny. i’m really trying my best. I hope we can be friends”

> he scribbles a smiley face on it and you’re a little freaked out / excited

> when he finally shows himself you’re really stunned. but it makes more sense than a genuine ghost

> you’re in such shock that you just. keep going with the evening and make dinner.

> but even once you come to your senses, you end up more sad than scared

> “…they left you all alone. I’m so sorry.”

> he gives you puppy eyes

> “…I won’t do that to you. I promise. I’m staying.”

> he’s even more in love with you than he first thought. even if you’re going to make him shower six times before bed.

> to his chagrin you don’t help him bathe

> but you do kiss him goodnight

Vincent Sinclair//

> bo brings you to him

> at first he’s making some big deal, “special delivery” and all that

> you’re cute

> really cute

> and bo clearly knew you’re the kind of person vincent would like

> but he’s still got a job to do

> damn it

> “h-hey- wait- i can help you—?”

> that makes him hesitate

> “i’m an artist too. i can help with the sculptures. “

> …

>“i’ll be good. promise.”

> he didn’t need much more convincing than that

> bo is surprised he kept you but makes damn sure you’re not escaping

> but you don’t even try because you just feel so deeply for vincent, and he’s so gentle

> you weren’t lying about being an artist so you’re genuinely helpful

> he falls madly in love when you help him resculpt his mask

Micheal Myers //

> Meet because you wrote letters to him

> Not to interview him or as an obsessive fan

> At first out of curiosity, then as a sort of way to vent, because he never responds

> But as it turns out your letters are the only ones he keeps or even opens at this point

> So his psychologist wants you to meet him to see if you can get him to open up- of course there’s a cash incentive

> He doesn’t say a word from the other side of the glass.

> Obviously.

> But you treat it like a normal visit to a friend and just chat mindlessly a while

> And you’re so much tinier and cuter in person

> He wants to stab you so much

> But realizes that if he killed you, he might miss you

> Ew that’s a scary thought

> Still wants to make you scream tho uwu

> He escapes

> Because he’s Micheal Myers that’s what he does

> After his spree he finds himself in your house, bloodsoaked and honestly not all that sure what he’ll do when he sees you

> You don’t even scream, just give a tiny ‘eep’

> “…Micheal?”

> He regrips his knife so he can get it over with. You’ll just tattle

> “Oh gosh- you’re soaked from the rain. And all that blood-let’s get you a shower? I can get you some fresh clothes too,”

> He’s staring down at you in disbelief

> “…what? You thought I’d try and call the cops? I like talking to you.”

> There’s something very wrong with you

> It’s kind of hot

> He puts him knife away and follows you

Hannibal Lecter//

> you’re his patient lol

> at first he doesn’t have much interest in you outside of work

> but god, you’d be such a perfect subject to manipulate with that little authority figure problem you have

> and even though you’re young

> you do recognize some of the finer things in life

> mostly his artwork and cooking. you’re really good at inadvertently stroking his ego

> he starts diving into darker subjects in therapy

> you’re a bit of a morbid person under the sunshine-y exterior

> perfect

> he’s still chipping away at something big you’re keeping from him

> he could do some digging online and through your files but where’s the fun in that

> he gets you tipsy and then starts with the psycho babble

> you finally crack

> you killed some guy that was stalking you years ago

> god that’s hot

> you liked it, at least a little bit

> even hotter

> you licked the blood off your hands and it tasted good

> he’s in love ; good luck leaving

Thomas Hewitt //

> car trouble! it’s always car trouble

> honestly when you rock up to the gas station alone Luda Mae is thinking that it’s a shame the fridge at home is already full

> but you’re the sweetest little customer

> “your name is really pretty ma’am. ever since i was little i decided if i had a daughter, her name would be Audrey Mae”

> new plan, she’s playing matchmaker

> there’s just something about you that’s so gentle

> and mildly off-putting, like the rest of the family

> she brings you out to the farm to see if they have the car parts you need

> and to stay the night, if you really need to

> you run smack dab into Thomas in his old half mask walking in- even Luda expects you to recoil at the least

> instead you turn a bit pink

> “oh gosh- I’m so so sorry sir-“

> Thomas stares at you

> You just shyly introduce yourself, talking enough for both of you

> Luda Mae is already planning the wedding

> “That’s my youngest Tommy- why don’t you show em around? Alright baby?”

> Thomas is a bit hesitant but you’re so little and cute and smell so good—

> He’s already obsessed oops

[gladoswantscake]

Need You, Crave You, Love You - Dracula x Reader (DBD)

Summary: In need of help comes with a price

Warnings: Captivity/kidnapping, horror, blood, mild swearing

A/N: This take place right before you are taken by the Entity

Available on AO3

"I am no good nor evil, simply I am, and I have come to take what is mine." (Ptolemaea, Ethel Cain)

It happened so fast. One second, you struggled to see through the storm and found yourself in submerging water. You managed to escape your car after hitting the front glass multiple times before the cold water sunk you further underwater.

You swam until you felt dirt beneath your cold hands and slowly regained your balance. You took a moment to look around you. A large dark cloud illuminated by lightning with large spikelike legs emerged from the cloud close to you. Maybe you were seeing things? You turn away from the water and look for any light source within your view.

As the rain slightly lightens up, the harsh wind picks up. Strange deep whispers call out from behind you. You then turn to see fog emerge from the water and towards you. Your eyes widen, and you make haste through the wooded area.

Everything began to look the same the further you ran deep into the forest. You started to lose hope until a small light shined through the trees. A house not far from where you stood. Just a bit up the mountains.

As you ran closer to the house, your legs burned, and you lost all feeling throughout your body from the prolonged exposure to the frigid weather. Luckily, by the time you arrived, no fog nor sound was made; pure silence.

You gave the large wooden door a few sharp knocks. "Hello?!" You knock again. This time, the door slowly opens. You hesitantly poked your head inside, seeing the large and empty place only accompanied by several lit candles to light the inside. The storm isn't letting up anytime soon, and the longer you stay outside, the more you risk dying from frostbite weather.

The large door shuts behind you. It's much quieter now since you were out of the storm.

"Hello?" Your voice rang out.

The room you stood in consisted of old architect of carved dark wood and large antique paintings. It was a rather beautiful room, and whoever lived here took great care and pride in their home.

Only taking a few steps deeper into the room, a voice startles you.

"Good evening. I bid you welcome." The deep voice says.

You whip your head towards the voice. A tall man stood just a few feet away from you. "I'm sorry for walking in here. Your door was unlocked." You apologize. "I got into a bad accident from the storm. And my car is gone. It was the closest place I could find help."

His eyes never leave you as the tall man walks towards you. "An accident?" He questions.

"Y-Yes, sir." You stutter from the cold.

The man's skin was pale, just not as pale as yours. His long white hair slightly swayed with each step he took. His white facial hair was sharp-looking and neatly groomed. There was not a single flaw on his face, and his attire was odd. It wasn't something you'd see today. It looked as if his evening attire was from centuries ago but better tailored. The colors he wore were deep red, crimson, and black, which perfectly suited his figure.

"My condolences." He places his hand on his chest.

"I'd hate to disturb your evening, but do you have a phone I could borrow to call a friend? I can be on my way."

He smiles and lets out a short chuckle. "My dear, I'm afraid a phone does not exist within the walls of my home." His eyes travel down to your drenched clothing in a stalking manner.

"Rest assured, you have not disturbed my evening." He begins slowly walking around your shivering self. "Although you are an interesting guest." His voice lowers as he makes his way behind you. A hint of an accent can be heard in his voice.

"I'm sure I have been an interesting individual: Showing up drenched and injured." You made a weak laugh to bury the anxiety.

He finally circles back, facing you. "Injured?" He raises a brow.

"I honestly don't know where exactly. It might've been my shoulder when I crawled out of my car window. I'm too numb to know, but I can manage it if it's just a scratch. Do you have any bandages I can patch myself up?"

The man's lips slightly grow upwards upon hearing your injury. "Of course. Please follow." He turns his heel, and you follow him into another room. The halls were dark and slightly warm. It was much better than the outside.

"Your home is beautiful." You say. I see you put in a lot of work."

He turns his head and smiles. "I take great contentment into making my sanctuary a place of comfort."

He leads you into a brighter, lit room. The fireplace gives the room a better view of your surroundings. He guides you to a large couch to sit on.

"I am surprised you have not dwelled into fear. Mortals who've stumbled upon me would have cowered."

You watch him light a few large candles. "I don't think you're intimidating." You glance around the neatly organized room: A couple of large bookshelves and a few pieces of sitting furniture.

"Intimidating? He finishes. He strides towards you. "I am pleased to hear that." He sits down next to you, just close enough for his clothed knee to brush against yours. The rich and smokey fragrances coming from his attire made your heart flutter. "Tell me, is it my presence that's intriguing you? Making your heart thump so loud?"

You stared, not knowing what to say. It felt like your words became twisted whenever you tried to speak. The longer the man's eyes never left you, the worse your heart beats. You could feel your cheeks flare up the closer he closed the space between the two of you on the couch. His aroma was entrancing you.

He takes his hand into yours. "Tell me," His thumb traces over your veiny hand. "Is my presence causing you to feel so strained? Or perhaps you've never met a man like me?"

He could read your mind, expressions, and thoughts so well. You couldn't think of anything to reply to him.

The warm heat from the fireplace thawed your freezing body, and you now feel warm liquid travel down your forearm. You slowly look down, seeing a dark crimson liquid paint your pale arm. It looks like you did cut yourself really well.

He looks down at your arm. A good amount of blood was running down from your shoulder, where you complained earlier. A smile creeps upon his face. "My you are hurt..."

His pale, slender fingers gently wrap around your forearm, causing you to tense up due to his cold hand. His other hand collects a sample of your blood with his fingers, bringing it to his lips to taste the warm metallic flavor.

He takes a minute to savor the fresh, lukewarm blood that was exposed to his tongue. He then hums to himself, "Your blood is so pleasing to taste." He slightly leans in towards you. His cold hand remains on your forearm. You could finally see something even more off: His eyes, a bright amber color. His other hand finds its way to your face, and his fingers cup your chin.

"Such lusciousness and magnificence you have presented to me. You remind me of my previous lover." His fangs finally appear with a large grin. "I need you."

"You get the fuck away from me." You finally speak.

Without giving him a second to respond, you shove him with all you might with your free hand. The feeling of his sharp fingernails digging into your forearm caused you to yelp. Ignoring the pain, you quickly bolt out of the room.

You ran to the front door to open it, but it wouldn't budge. You cursed to yourself. You didn't have a second to think as you heard him call out for you. With no other choice, you ran as far as you could within the dark manor.

He's never had a human captivate him so much. With the isolation swallowing him whole for many years, his craving for another being became intense. Perhaps it was why the isolation made him behave the way he did. He wasn't going to kill you. No. He was determined to make you his and part of him. It'll take time for you to surrender, but he has plenty of patience.

You hid in a spare bedroom. The room was cold and dark. Thankfully, a full moon shone through the window, allowing you to see the room. You locked the bedroom door and walked up to the window. You could see the strange cloud from earlier, only closer to you now. You quietly attempt to open the stubborn old window.

You tried to lift the window a few times, but it wouldn't budge.

"No, no, no." You whine. "Open, damn it!" Anger formed into tears as you soon discovered there was no way out.

Then his voice came from the other side of the locked bedroom. The stinging pain from your forearm caused you to look down. You didn't realize how much you bled. That was why he was able to find you so quickly.

"Go away!" You cried out. You pulled your bleeding arm to your clothed chest to try to prevent yourself from accidentally making a bigger mess.

He could hear you break down into pathetic sobs from the other side. "Please don't fret, love. My intentions aren't to hurt you." He reassures.

"I just want to go home."

"I'm afraid your loud pleading cries fall on deaf ears." His hand wraps around the doorknob to twist, only to find out you locked the door. He chuckles to himself. "This will only make things difficult if you keep this door locked. All that I ask is to see you."

Momentarily, no noise came from the other side. Then, soft footsteps grew louder towards him. The lock on the door slowly clicked, followed by the door opening. You stood before him, sniveling, knowing your fate. Your puffy eyes look up at him. You frown through tears.

His brows lowered as he raised his thumb to brush a tear down your cheek. A small smile forms on his lips, big enough to display his fangs, knowing he has you in his grasp. Your soft, fragile skin and eyes remind him so much of 'her.' He's waited so long to have someone that showed any resemblance to her. Maybe God grew bored of punishing him for centuries.

He takes pity for scaring you. "I apologize for my behavior. It's just been so long since I've seen something so exquisite before me." His thumb traces your warm cheek. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you." His accent thickens.

"Please…" Your voice let out a pathetic plea to him.

"What is it that you yearn for, my dearly beloved?"

You wince as you feel his warm breath hit your ear. You could feel his lips travel to your neck, leaving feathered kisses.

His fangs teasingly gently graze your puncturable neck. He could feel your veins pulsating beneath his sharp teeth. He was greatly aroused by it. He knew better than to turn you. It would be selfish of him. But he couldn't risk the chance of losing you. He'll convince you to join him. He'll make sure of it.

"H-Home." You whisper.

"You do not feel at home? With me?"

You wanted to say no but couldn't. You feared that anything you say that didn't align with what he wanted to hear would upset him even more. "What...are you?"

He pulls away from your neck. "A vampire."

"You...you're real..."

"I'm sure you know my name from the stories you've heard about me."

His hand lowers to lift up your uninjured hand. His cold lips kiss your knuckles. He takes his time feeling his lips against your skin and taking in your faded aroma. It's been a long time since he felt the touch of another person who he craved for. He couldn't let you go.

He lowers your hand and cups your jaw. "Let me take care of you." His free hand slithers around your waist.

It felt like you were in a trance. You couldn't move or speak. Only watch him tenderly touch you as if you were an injured animal.

"Stay with me, and I will give you anything you desire." Your body is pulled closer to his. "Let me make it right."

[smallestapplin]

Alucard in dbd idea

Hi, castlevania dropped in dbd and I've been feral, please excuse my rambling.

Reader is a Belmont.

-

-

You and Trevor in the fog first and a month or so before Alucard shows up, and when he does he's glad to see his old friend and questions who the other Belmont is(you)

You're delighted to get to know him and Trevor more, as you have read so many books and texts about him from previous Belmonts, it's so nice to finally meet him! However, much like Trevor, there is a bit of a learning curve he has to go through.

Other survivors try to help him, but most aren't really easy on him, which is fair and you don't blame them! After all, in trials it's nerve wrecking, you can't exactly teach him with all the time in the world. But he picks up gens with ease.

It's everything else that trips him up.

Huntress landed one hell of a shot on him, he shouted surprised and pained by the hatchet that came out of nowhere across the map.

His shoulder now slashed, slowly dripping blood and soaking into his shirt and cloak. but ten minutes later as he was helping you on a gen, you noticed he looked to be in far more agony than anyone you've ever met, his skin sweaty, taking shallow breathes, he looked scared.

"Alucard?"

"I'm not healing, why am I not healing? Gods it hurts...what is this?"

You are swift to whip out your med kit and start patching him up, gently shushing his pained whimpers as you focus on healing him.

"There, good as new!"

He still looks so confused, and it makes sense, his own regenerative abilities always came in handy, he's never really need a med kit, and most of his human companions had a mage on hand for healing.

A match against Trapper was much the same.

Alucard didn't even notice the trap, that or he did didn't care, he just walked right into it and his scream was heard across the map, his second scream as he placed on hook sounded like he was right next to you he was so loud.

When you got him off hook and to a safer place, he collapsed on you, his forehead on your shoulder, which was growing wet, either from his sweat or tears you arent sure, but he held onto you as you patched him up, shaking like a leaf in a storm.

"Why...why does it hurt so much? I...I shouldn't have gotten hurt from such a weak trap."

He sounds so tired, his voice is weak, small even.

"The entity's abilities it seems, in this realm you're nothing but a human."

"This is what you feel?" He moves, his watery glowing eyes looking up at your focused expression.

"Every match."

He's horrifed, all these matches where you've gritted your teeth and bared through, all these matches where you sacrificed yourself just to make sure everyone else lived, hell even the missions he knew you took as a Belmont- speaking of!

Your family goes on such dangerous missions, gets injured or even killed, and yet you still bare your family crest? His respect for you and your family grew, knowing first hand the pain of your injuries and yet you still choose to be so selfless.

Cue Alucard falling for you, the poor thing didn't even mean to.

It's just you pulled him off the hook, the bell rings louder, warning there isn't much time left, yet you still came back for him.

The second he was touching the ground, he looked at you, despite the pain he looked at you confused.

Your face was stern, filled with sheer determination as you grab his hand and lead him to the door.

"Why did you come back? You could have escaped instead of dying here with me."

You patched him at at the gate, just to be safe.

"Either neither of us die or we both die."

Your eyes locked

"I'm not leaving you here. Come on."

His own eyes widen.

Oh.

Oh.

........so this is how those dames in novels feel being saved.

Oh, Trevor is going to have his head.

He grows more skilled and knowledgeable the longer he's here, and is determined to help you (by proxy the others) he's noticeably closer to you, practically shoulder to shoudler with you by the fire, the first to help you off hook or to heal you.

Even his familar, which followed him here likes to hang off you and get scritches.

He can feel Trevor's side eye, knowing the older Belmont isn't fond of him cozying up to hos descendent.

But he at least knows Alucard would treat you right.

[clearnachopirate]

School Dance Episode of DBD... HEAR ME OUT

like, crystal is back in school but feels weird going to the dance w no one else since all her old friends hate her, so the boys go invisibly, dressed to the nines (Charles is in an ugly ass suit from the 80's, Edwin barely looks different) and the boys spend the night accidentally ruining other people's nights (somehow they cause three couples to break up, Crystal thinks it's hysterical) and theres something supernatural going on at the dance (love potion style for someone to get their crush to dance w them or something)

naturally, charles accidentally drinks it, but no one notices bc he literally ACTS THE SAME toward Edwin

the big moment is when they're too late to stop the person's crush from drinking the "potion" (its orange soda or smth) and it doesn't work.

que edwin trying to track down who /actually/ drank the potion. this is abt when charles realizes what happened, and spills to crystal. the second half of the episode is edwin following clues, charles trying to misdirect him, and crystal giggling watching them.

at the end of the night (after a really awkward convo w edwin where edwin ultimately says something along the lines of 'Well, I should have expected the potion not to work. Not only are you a ghost, but our aspiring witch /clearly/ needs to find another calling. Charles is now incredibly confused about his sexuality and spends the next ep or two thinking abt it) Charles apologizes to Crystal for ruining her first school dance since she lost her memory.

Crystal, naturally, informs the both of them that she couldn't have had a better time, and that watching them both run around like chicken with their heads cut off was more fun than stuffy slow dances anyways.

It's marked down as the 'The Potion Switch of '24'

Crystal calls it 'The Case of the Obvious Infatuation.'

[shaylogic]

Messy Masterpost: I don't have the words so here's a mess of links and ideas

@captainfantasticalright's Dead Boy Detectives: a breakdown of Dante's hell. This post is a masterpiece of understanding how the Hell/afterlife dynamics work in Sandman Universe and DBDA, and it's sent my mind buzzing like crazy

My post about Simon's book

Not just any book

Theory about Simon's brother/father? Being a part of Burgess' Cult ("Order of Ancient Mysteries")

Thank you @niko-sasaki-dbd

Ba'al ==> Sa'al

Seems like Simon may have gotten a demon-summoning book that worked from his brother who may have been involved on Burgess' cult from Sandman. He died with book in hand, and that's the one he's tearing apart on repeat in Hell. Tumblr user listed above identified what the book might be, based off the image.

This interview at 12:52 George Rexstrew answering that Edwin's favorite thing about Charles is his unconditional love and acceptance of him.

Post about Charles bearing his soul to the Night Nurse like Orpheus played music to Cerberus

Interviewer talking about "straight friend" Charles "rejecting" gay Edwin, only for George, Jayden, Beth, and Steve to stiffen up slightly. Asking about how Charles didn't have a gay panic reaction to Edwin's confession. This interviewer is actually gay and interviewed on a gay network later, which threw me after this question.

=>If Charles had really gay panic rejected Edwin, it really would have ended like Eurydice, thrust back to the pit of Hell to wallow in the internalized homophobia, rather than being released with the support and healthy love of Charles.

Actors have reiterated multiple times that the case is not closed on Edwin and Charles' romance, they're just getting started and figuring it out in the midst of all the chaos.

People are stuck in Hell because they believe they belong there but Edwin gets out the second time because Charles KNOWS he doesn't belong there! And reminds Edwin of this when he's getting pulled under in it all

Charles went back to his red polo after the confession and escaping Hell with @nerdytacollama's excellent addition on episode 7 specifically!!

Edwin's whole arc was about accepting loving and being loved and his attraction to men, and his love of his best friend, specifically

Steve Yockey saying the confession NEEDED to happen on the stairs out of Hell. One reason being that Edwin may have been too afraid to go through with it after, another being that he could get dragged away forever at any second and it could be his last chance.

[above article pic quote from this]

But also based on the Hell worldbuilding of the Sandman Universe where people only go to hell if they believe in it and believe they deserve to be there > Edwin believing his want for intimacy at all letalone with other men being "such a sinful life" (Night Nurse paperwork) > the upward climb of healthy love from the Dante's Inferno Post > Edwin HAD to confess on the stairs and be accepted! It freed him of Hell~!

Simon moved on from Hell with Edwin's mutual sorrow for the two of them and somewhat understanding/forgiveness? Maybe self-acceptance from the gay guilt

Edwin's form saying he would serve in Hell for living such a sinful life and then be reassigned to a more pleasant state (Hell not an eternal afterlife, just time served and then moving one)

[image posted in @reviewcreature's post with @melefim's addition]

If Edwin went back now, loved and accepted by his friends and himself, would he pass on to the better place?

My post wondering about reincarnation in the Sandman Universe, which others weighed in on in the comments about how it's indeed canon

The parallels of the Lust room in hell being a butcher shop with bloody hanging bodies to reflect the debauchery of bloody writhing lust bodies ===> compare to "Girls' Night" when Jenny was running and hiding from stalker Maxine in her butcher shop behind meat ===> compare Edwin's arc of accepting "sodomite sin" of being attracted to men (challenge to the epitome and catalyst (ha) by the Cat King) and him having been through the Lust room of hell before and him STARING AT THE RED BULL ON THE BUTCHER SHOP WALL (as compared to directly in the first linked post)

The purity of Charles and Edwin's love compared to that and the stereotypes of how male love is depicted in media, as George, Steve, and Jayden have spoken out against gently in multiple interviews

How it's partially childlike, partially deep friendship where two men can hug and cry, partially a crush, partially potentially reciprocally romantic

The juxtaposition of Edwin's archetypical confession to Charles on the stairs of Hell on the way out of the Limbo of it, with Maxine guilty and desperate just below them, not even looking toward the open door

Fans wondering why it was so easy to get out of Hell. The worldbuilding canon saying that Hell is what you make of it (Charles says this in the original Season of Mists Ch 4 comic, Edwin says it in episode 7 to Simon). People in Hell stuck because they feel they deserve it.

@podcastenthusiast's post about being glad Edwin didn't see Simon move on, because then he'd really wonder we he himself suffered so long

==>CHARLES got Edwin out because he KNEW he didn't belong there!!!!

They push and pull each other by the arms the whole way to the top!!!!!!!

Magical weight in the snake pit "nothing's meant to leave this place"

Charles literally dragging Edwin out of Hell for the love and devotion to him!!!!!!!!!!!!

Allegory of dragging him out of his self-rejection and holding him by the face saying over and over "I love you. I accept you. I'm not leaving without you."

Openly gay producer/director Steve Yockey insisting on being the one to write Episode 7 and you can feel it in every color on the screen.

There's no higher power deciding this, despite the paperwork and minders ensuring everyone is sorted. It's an internal self-decided fate, unconscious.

I'm not gonna be able to link and list every pic and organize this in the state I'm in but--

ARE YOU SEEING ALL THE THINGS I'M SEEING?

Girl help I'm getting visions!!!!!!!!!!!!

[yourbestprincess]

OG Michael head cannons 🗣️ (I can’t stop thinking about him)

FLUFF-

-He would let you play with his curly hair, 100%.

-He takes pictures of you and you don’t even notice.

-He loves when you follow him around like a puppy. Why would he want to even be alone when you’re there?

-He stalks you just to make sure that you’re okay.

-You’re out with friends? No you’re not. He keeps a time limit on that shit. He needs attention from you too! (You left him for a hour)

-He would pick you up (dbd style) and just throw you over his shoulder whenever you’re being a pain in the ass, and you can’t even move from his grip because he’s so much bigger than you.

-He likes cats, he looks like a cat kinda guy. You would see a stray on the street and pick it up and he would just let you take it home.

-You guys are out and you’re getting tired? He’s gonna hold you, no matter how much you protest, your legs are gonna wrap around his sides and your arms are going to go around his neck. He’ll put his arms around your back to stabilize you. You doubt you’ll fall asleep like this…(you fell asleep 2 minutes after saying that)

-HE’S SO DAMN STUBBORN. Whatever he wants to happen WILL happen, no exceptions.

-He loves it so much when you wear his clothes. When you take a shower, he sets his shirt and boxers out for you to wear instead of your cute pj pants.

-He’a watching you at all times. He needs to know what you’re doing and how you’re doing it or else there’s a risk you could get hurt and he’s not willing to take that.

-He’s SO protective over you. He will kill for you.

-He likes to watch you do things when you knows he’s watching. He loves seeing your reaction to random stuff.

-He loves when you sit on his lap, he would keep you there all day if you’d let him.

-He LOVES LOVES LOVES kisses, this man will kiss you until your lips go numb. He doesn’t know what he’s doing but he loves kissing you.

-He drives you around wherever you wanna go.

-He’s always touching you, no matter what.

-He loves listening to you talk! He also likes listening to you rant, but be careful about who you talk shit about cause if they did anything to you, he’s killing them.

SMUT-

-He loves to breed you. He doesn’t really know what it means, but he loves cumming inside of you, EVERY time.

-If he’s having a good day then he’s more likely to take off his mask when you’re fucking, but if it was a bad day don’t expect his mask to come off because he’s using you as his fuck toy then.

-If he’s in a gentler mood, he gives you kisses while he bottoms out inside you.

-He loves when you say his name so much.

-He’s sooo dominate, he rarely lets you get on top, and if you do…TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THAT cause it’s probably not gonna happen again for a loooong time.

-He’s so big….both ways.

-He mouths your name instead of saying it even though he tries.

-Each time you guys fuck you see more and more emotion on his face!

-You’ll definitely be able to see a tummy bulge cause of how big he is…

-He loves when you whine and cry for him.

-He LOVES to overstimulate you until you’re sobbing and begging him to stop.

-He attempts aftercare and he’s started getting ‘good’ at it. In his eyes you laying on him and him putting his arm around you afterwards is exquisite aftercare. (I still love him 🙏)

-He tries not to make any noise but he ends up grunting…a lot.

-He will gently pull your hair or choke you if you’re not letting him do what he needs to do.

-If he sees that you’re visibly uncomfortable with something that he’s doing, he will never do it again, unless you convince him otherwise and that would be really hard.

-He will go up behind you and purposely scare you and that really turns him on.

[wordsinhaled]

hi there! I started following you after seeing your essay-long answers to DBD things in tags, and it made me very happy to see someone as deeply analytical as me about this show.

I wanted to ask you: if you were given the final say, how would you want the show to confirm both Charles' bisexuality and his romantic feelings towards Edwin (as both can be done at different points)?

Personally, I can't get the idea out of my head that it will be done with some kind of tragic goodbye, somehow Charles and Edwin have to separate, and Charles either verbally confirms it or kisses Edwin goodbye. Not saying that's what I want, but it's what I expect the writers to do.

Hope you're having a good day.

btw, would love to hear you talk more about timerogue (Fifteen/Rogue), I need more essay-long analysis about those two.

Hi there! <3 I am so happy you have enjoyed my tag rambles! And thank you so much for asking this great question, I had a lot of fun thinking through it!

I have many thoughts on this! Sticking them under a cut eventually because it is a long post!

Re: Charles' bisexuality: So the thing is I think that the DBDA universe generally seems to eschew labels in favor of showing rather than telling the audience what the characters' identities are. For example Jenny is interested in dating women, which is clear from her dialogue, and she goes on a date with Maxine, but she's never labeled anything. Edwin is never labeled anything by anyone in the narrative, either, but the narrative shows us that his only love interests and his desires and romantic feelings are for other boys. I would argue that we have been shown textually that Charles is bi, already, the same way the show shows-not-tells us other things. Charles by the end of the first season feels bi enough to me in a way that just feels like someone... living a bi life, and not yet realizing they might in fact be in love back with their best friend. I don't know how else to put it but I hope that makes sense. (My alternate, slightly sappier version of canon is that Charles fell for Edwin the first night, but has shoved it down for the duration of their friendship, but the former feels more likely as the direction I think we see on screen.) We are being told Charles is bi:

In the way Charles himself draws parallels between why he likes Crystal (his romantic love interest) and Edwin, pointing out they share the exact same traits

In the way he gives Crystal and Edwin the same genre of deep, loving gaze

In the way he thinks Crystal is fit, and he checks Edwin out, on multiple occasions, but only flirts with Edwin overtly in episode 8 ("My smile is pretty convincing," plus more than the usual amount of physical touch/proximity and less plausible deniability) once he can be assured by Edwin's recent confession that doing so will not be poorly received

In the different kinds of softness and masculinity he displays around both Crystal and Edwin

In the way that, despite not knowing the ending, he draws a parallel between himself and Edwin & a pair of lovers from classical mythology as though it is the most natural thing in the world to bring up the story of Orpheus & Eurydice, making overt the romantic potential of his relationship with Edwin

In the way he is so quick to write off that the two jocks were "just best mates" the way a person does when they are recognizing their own queerness in themselves and have to keep themselves safe from it, because of the environment that they are in (Charles being the Sports Lad, needing to fit in with other sports lads, and needing to avoid the censure/violence of his father)

And coming off the above, in the way that Charles navigates along the toughness-sensitivity spectrum within the social constructs of being "the brawn"

In the entire sparring scene in episode 1, tbh. The rituals are very intricate /drops mic

I understand the importance that's been placed by fandom spaces on "confirmed canon" queerness that is spelled out in so many words, given a label that can be pointed to to say "This character is definitely this!" but I think (and this is just my personal opinion) it can be reductive sometimes, and I don't really want Charles to label himself in that kind of way, just as much as I don't think the other characters needed the labels to "confirm" the queerness of their relationships or indeed of the show; having him be the one to do it for being bi would set him apart. I also think taking into account the time period that he grew up in, Charles would care more about living by the truth of how he feels and how he can use those feelings to connect with the one he loves, than what to call it. I just don't think we're gonna get like a "Hello my name is Charles Rowland and I am a verified bisexual"-type scene in season 2, and I think that's okay, and I don't really think that's the way for the show to 'confirm' it. Mind you I would love to see Charles talk about how it makes him feel to realize his feelings, and how his feelings for Edwin are different compared to how other people make him feel, because god, I love Charles so much and I just know such a scene would both destroy and heal me. FEEL YOUR FEELINGS, CHARLES <3

I think it says something really important that many, many, many people took one look at Charles Rowland and said: "Oh, he's bi." Not like... he has bi energy, or could plausibly be bi, or whatever; for so many people he just resonated as being bi, in a very organic way. (I know there are people who do read Charles as being straight/having rejected Edwin in s1, and I respect that, but they probably will not like my ideas about Charles very much, then, tbh.)

For what it's worth, though, Jayden's acting choices playing Charles, and the way Jayden (and George) have addressed the 'straight best friend Charles' line of questioning during interviews, both make it seem to me that Jayden is intentionally playing Charles as bi and we are already supposed to understand this for what it is, based on Charles' actions—just as we understand similar things about other characters inner worlds we are shown. Whether Charles is consciously aware of it yet is more the up-for-debate part to me, personally. It's like he is dancing right on the edge of the revelation, or something, but his actions (and his EYES) are speaking for him pretty loudly already.

As for how he confirms it more obviously? Hmm. Well, I'll admit i think a kiss between them would be lovely, if only because I think it would quite possibly be the Most Kiss a kiss could be, with all of Charles' tenderness and adoration for Edwin poured into it. I also think it would be in-character, given Charles canonically misses kissing, and wants to do it with people he's interested in romantically (see Crystal).

Charles struggles with being able to admit romantic feelings out loud because he is scared of his own capacity to hurt Edwin; after all the only example of "romantic" love he has seen was his parents' marriage. Charles is a person who acts first, thinks later, but in this process of understanding what he feels for Edwin he's taking his time and being the opposite of impulsive. This shows how important his relationship to Edwin is to him and his commitment to Getting It Right. Even with that deliberateness, though, I think it would still be easier for him to express himself through a tangible action like a kiss than through words—at least at first.

It reminds me of this scene from the first draft of Maurice between Maurice and Alec. Alec is struggling to verbalize his feelings for Maurice, although he does know he feels them. He can say other things, but naming love for what it is is the challenge; and in the end they use a shared memory of a time Alec showed his love through actions (running through the rosebushes just to see Maurice's face) to communicate and mutually understand their love for each other. Similarly, Charles finds it difficult to admit a deep romantic love aloud, but his actions speak louder, in his determination to retrieve Edwin from hell ("There's no one else—no one else—I would go to hell for") and he can allude to the romantic implications of the act, by referencing the Orpheus & Eurydice myth. It similarly becomes, I may not be able to say the words, but you and I both know the lengths i would go to for you.

Maurice : "I love you, sir be damned." Alec: "Maurice"—never before had the word been spoken—"you're an angel." Maurice: "I don't want to hear that." Alec: "Maurice, Maurice" his voice failed also; he had once said the rest to a woman. "Maurice - what you've said I feel. Understand?" M: "I think so, but I want to be sure. Remember those rose bushes in the other rain? - Look at me hard - That's right. That'll do. It's settled."

As far as the catalyst for Charles revealing his feelings... a tragic goodbye—gosh, as heartbreakingly compelling as I know seeing George and Jayden act that out would be (I know they would crush it), I really hope the writers don't do that to them! The thing about Payneland that is so refreshing to me is how they manage to subvert trope expectations and break out of the tragic narratives they are placed in, and I think they would ultimately defy any attempt at separation. As Edwin says, "I will make sure that doesn't happen," about them ever being split up. I am rooting for a happily ever after for them, because they have both been through enough, and have fought tooth and nail to stay together.

Steve Yockey has mentioned potentially having Desire of the Endless cameo on the show and I also think having them and Charles interact would be a fascinating way to bring to light some of the deep-rooted stuff Charles struggles with around love (and would nicely parallel Edwin's experience with the Cat King which catalyzed his Charles-feelings realization). I also like the idea of the team maybe meeting a couple during a case who parallel Edwin and Charles and are romantically involved. Seeing that would allow Charles to externalize the way he feels for Edwin by seeing it reflected back to him by other people; sometimes things are easier to pick up on in others than in ourselves. I think that would be a fun way to get him to see what's been there under the surface for some time :)

Oh my god this got so long asfhlgkjhg SORRY

(I'm sure the Doccy Who fixation will come back in time for the Christmas special! :D)

[xalygatorx]

Le Petit Mori (Zestial x AFAB!Reader)

Written for Hooked on Hazbin 2024, an event by the wonderful @fraugwinska & @macabr3-barbi3 ❤️

Minors DNI, you are responsible for your own media consumption

Summary: You're offered a deal by one of the most ancient killers in the Entity's realm. You take it.

Warnings: Angsty smut, graphic (game-typical) violence, blood, descriptions of pain, the reader is a survivor but not a good person, they're also losing it a little, Zestial is in Hell (or the Entity's realm) for a reason, some body horror, one (1) movie reference, oral (reader receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, exhibitionism, size kink, reader wants to live deliciously, solo queue will wear you down, it gets a bit monster-fucky, AFAB!reader

A/N: For anyone here from my Hazbin crowd who isn't familiar with Dead by Daylight (DBD), here's a short(?) summary for some optional context.

DBD is an asymmetrical—one killer vs. a team of four survivors—horror game that is, in essence, freeze tag.

At its base level (lots of things can affect outcomes like match offerings and character perks and addons), the survivors' goal is to repair 5 generators to power the exit gates and escape alive. The killer's goal is to kill the survivors before that can happen.

The "freeze tag" element is executed via a hooking system—survivors can be hooked (literally) twice without dying as long as they're unhooked in a timely manner. Their third hook is their "death hook" and they're out of the game at that point.

When there's only one survivor left in a match, an escape hatch spawns in a random location on the map to give the lone survivor one last chance at escaping the trial.

There are lots of other ins and outs to the game as a whole (it can get convoluted), but this is the bare bones and I think all you'll really "need" for this oneshot. :) If you're just here for the smut and the sexual tension, you won't need any of it at all. LOL

If you have questions about specific details in the story related to game stuff, I'll happily answer them in the comments.

Good luck, have fun. x

Also on AO3

You don't know what you did—that not-knowing is the crux of everything you know now, as strange as that sounds.

You don't know why you stepped out into the road that day. Why instead of the impact of a fender, you felt gnarled, eldritch claws hook into you and pull. Why you were probably dead already and yet had to die again and again and again and again and again every goddamn day. Why the other "survivors," as you dead souls were all called, didn't trust you. Why you cared whether they did or not.

You suppose it's because this marrow-deep loneliness sometimes feels colder than death. It might've been easier to stomach oblivion—in fact, you're sure it would've been.

Instead, you're in the worst purgatory you can conceive of. A limbo of running for your life, tungsten hooks through your shoulders and already bloodied by the viscera of those sacrificed before you, and the same hateful eyes staring at you, through you, as the claws of the false god known only as the Entity spear you through and pull you up into where the fog is thickest. The same vacant, raging eyes of a killer simply masked within different faces.

All but one. One seemed to hate you less than the others—even less than your supposed "friends" by the campfire.

He still killed you. They all did. And despite his clear, present, and vibrant green gaze whenever he looked at you—whenever he smiled at you—he terrified you more than any of them.

Because the Overlord looked at you and saw you and saw something that made him keep looking. Maybe that was why the other survivors treated you like a killer the Entity could send home with them.

You feel not-so-hateful eyes on you that night after your last trial as you sit wrapping a sachet stuffed with herbs and laurel leaves from the nearby bog. Your hands still and you glance toward the source of the feeling, noting Claudette furtively watching your progress as she wrings her scarred, careful hands.

Caught, she fills the silence. "You're getting better at making those," she says, nodding toward the bundle balanced on your knee and the twine you're wrapping around it.

You nod a couple of times, acknowledging what she said although you aren't sure what she wants from the interaction. No one talks to you. At least not like this. She usually doesn't either, but she was more skittish than baleful in her avoidance. Claudette was the nicest and also the meekest of the bunch.

"It gets easier," she suddenly offers, pulling you out of your thoughts again. The fire crackles nearby and shadows are wrought up her drawn, concerned features. "They'll… They'll get nicer. You're still new. They're not used to new people. And there's a lot at stake out there."

"Thalita and Renato are newer than I am," you point out. There's no animosity in your tone, just facts. Your voice is hoarse from the screaming you did today.

Claudette sighs, glancing at the flames. "You're right," she admits. "I'm not sure why it's different for them. Maybe because they came together. Or maybe because they're similar in a lot of ways to a few of the others. You're…different. I can't put my finger on it, but there's a different energy to you, I guess."

"You're sounding like Mikaela," you point out, but it's with a faint smile cast her way as you go back to tying up your sachet.

She laughs and it relaxes her a little. "I know," she says, curling her knees up to her chest and resting her arms against the tops of them. "But I think I mean it. And, hey, it's helped you here and there in the trials so far, so it must be a good 'different'."

You know she's talking about the killers occasionally letting you go. That had been the first reason you'd considered for the others disliking you so much—that they were jealous of the number of times you'd already been delivered to the hatch or an open gate no matter how hateful the killer's stare—but it seemed to go deeper than that. Much deeper.

And they didn't even know about Zestial's apparent fixation with you.

"I think they've just done that because I'm new," you say, even if you didn't entirely believe it. "Can killers feel pity?"

"None that I've met," Claudette replies. "And I've been here a long time."

"How long?" you venture to ask.

Claudette's eyes grow distant, glazed by memory, and she purses her lips. "…I'm not sure. But long."

"Claude."

You both jolt a little at the hard tone that comes with Claudette's nickname. Jake casts a wary glance your way before returning his gaze to your sole companion at the fireside and jerking his head back toward the camp past the trees. "C'mon. It's late."

It was a sorry excuse to get her away from you. You didn't need to sleep here. Or eat, or drink, or rest. Purgatory.

Still, Claudette doesn't refuse him and doesn't point out his inconsistencies. She stands, brushes off her pants, and glances at you one more time.

"Hope you get some rest after today," she says, chafing one hand against her arm despite the heat from the fire. Again, she says, "It'll get easier."

Jake clears his throat and Claudette scampers away like an anxious rabbit, walking ahead of him into the trees to join the others. He looks back at you one more time, measuring you up, before nodding once and following your resident healer.

It was maybe the second time he'd acknowledged you since you were dragged here by the Entity months(?) ago. You had a feeling he only did because Claudette seemed to like you well enough and he didn't want to disappoint her.

Your fingers still against the twine and your eyes dip down to the fire.

You could still feel him.

From the first time, he never really left you. You still remember it. Meeting those brilliant green eyes across an expanse of Yamaoka, fiery slits cutting the dark, before you knew what being the first to look upon him in a trial would do.

Panic had laced through your ribs, clawed through your insides, and your thoughts had scrambled along with your teammates'. A perk of being the Overlord.

David's nails had raked deep, long scratches down his face as he screamed for the killer's aural effects to wear off. You heard them even now, the screams to "make it stop." He'd not been quite the same for days after and because he'd been the one to put those scratches in his face, they left the trial with him, too. Every time Claudette had sat down beside him to clean the cuts, he'd nearly leapt out of his skin.

Meg had been tunnel-visioned on a generator for once in her life and hadn't realized how close Zestial was until her body buckled with exposure and he swiped her right off the gen and straight to the ground. You learned in that precise instant what "exposure" meant in this realm as she lay on the dirt, bleeding and coughing, her fingertips burnt from where they'd tangled in the wires and caused the gen to backfire with her fall.

Yun-Jin had bolted immediately. You'd come to learn this was expected from her—she was efficient and bold, but she was nowhere near altruistic. You'd been left in a trial by her in exchange for a gate or on a hook for the hatch more times than you could count.

At least she didn't specifically hate you, it seemed—by what you could glean from catching the others' conversations and the trials you'd been in with her since, she treated everyone with equal detachment. It was how she protected herself, you imagined, in more ways than one.

After half the team had bolted and you stayed frozen in place, your eyes shifted back to the killer you'd never seen before that trial.

Zestial. "The Overlord." A towering, enigmatic figure of glowing eyes and void-black spines, wrapped up in a cloak that flowed like spider silk. Had you seen him in any other context, you may have scoffed at first—he looked like Halloween personified.

However, standing there, stock-still in horror as he stared back at you and smiled, you didn't have breath in your lungs to scoff. You'd told yourself every day since that it was only due to fear.

You'd never been the best at lying to yourself.

Meg had been the one to finally jar you enough to flee when she gritted from the ground, "Fucking run, you idiot!"

You'd stumbled back and done as she said, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste to leave the hulking figure and everything, everything he stirred in you behind. You chanced a glance over your shoulder as you left and saw that he'd picked Meg up at last—just one of his enormous, spidery hands was enough to fully encircle her waist.

Your eyes met his once more and he smirked, his free hand thumbing the brim of his tall hat in an antiquated gesture of farewell. The instant you turned away, your chest constricted with the feeling of needly claws around your heart and you hissed through your teeth. You looked down and saw those finger-like claws of the Entity in miniature beneath the skin of your chest, nearly retching at the way they stretched your flesh.

When you'd collapsed at a gen next to David, he'd glanced over and seen the new deformation around your throbbing heart.

"Fuck me," he mumbled, his scratched cheeks still trickling blood as he fought dissociation to focus on the generator in front of him. "I didn't know he did obsessions."

He did apparently. But only when you were in the trial. And it was always you.

You'd all died that first trial with minimal effort on Zestial's part. You'd come to understand later that this was perhaps a display of the ease with which he could dispatch you at any point. Because subsequent trials with him were different. Much different.

The most memorable one had been the last one, perhaps a week ago now assuming your sense of time could be trusted, in the Red Forest. Mother's Dwelling specifically, if you had the map variants correct. Cold rain had drizzled down from a steely sky as you'd felt that painful cage wrap around your heart again, warning you that you were the obsession in this trial as you set off to find a chest.

It'd been quite some time since you'd last faced the Overlord prior to then and you'd been able to write off his smirks and gestures as part of his persona up until that point. It had nothing to do with you.

Or so you'd thought.

It hadn't even occurred to you to be wary of the chests. It wasn't one of the Lich's and unless whoever the killer was this trial had a specific perk to notify them that a chest was being disturbed, you saw no reason to fret. Your only concern was getting it open and looted before you ran into the whoever the killer was this round.

You'd prayed for a toolbox to replace the one you'd foolishly forgotten at the campfire as you reached for the lid, only to be stalled by something you couldn't immediately see.

You'd tried to give your arms a shake, eyes narrowing with confusion until realization dawned. Glistening, diamondlike droplets of rainwater clung to the near-invisible strands of spider web woven in thick, previously hidden layers over the chest you'd reached for and had secured you in place on contact.

"Flies in a Web," you'd whispered in horror as you recognized the perk effect and forced yourself to still.

Feng had told you about this one after she'd been ensnared by it once before and had stopped you from trying to help her out of it. She'd held completely still and told you to do the same if you were ever in her position, even if you could shake them off faster at a cost—struggling against these webs would bring the Overlord right to you.

It was him again.

And it didn't matter that you'd stilled, it seemed. The air had shifted and staled, feeling heavy in itself, as a humid breath fanned across the back of your neck.

You'd jolted. You couldn't help it. And the next warm exhale came in the form of a chuckle because of that.

Don't turn around, don't turn around, don't turn around…

You hung your head and held your breath. The second you looked at him, you'd reveal your teammates with that same panic that always started a trial against him—you wouldn't be the one to do it this time. Not again. Not when it would hinder your team and give you an exposure effect for an even easier down. Not that he needed help to accomplish that.

"Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?"

You froze. He could speak? You'd only ever heard a handful of killers do more than grunt. The Overlord had been silent up to this point save for the occasional chuckle or sneer, as far as you knew.

Your heart had flown, aching in its cage of claws, as you focused on not collapsing into a panic of your own, of keeping your eyes down and remaining still as you waited for the claustrophobic sensation to be dispelled with the webbing on your arms. It couldn't be much longer now…

Zestial had chuckled in your ear, his hot breath against the shell making you shiver in spite of yourself. "So responsive in all but voice… I asked thee a question," he murmured.

You'd been horrified at yourself as his deep timbre sent a shock of heat down to your core. Shaking off the unwelcome sensation as best as you could, you'd wondered if it was better for you to speak to him.

He'd likely kill you either way, wouldn't he? What was the harm?

"What do you mean?" you ventured to ask, still keeping your eyes trained on your hands as you waited for his webs to disintegrate and tried to hold off activating his first-sight perk you couldn't remember the name of.

In truth, the altruistic thing for you to have done would've been to look back at him and trigger it early—no one else was nearby, so only you would be exposed. But you weren't trying to save the others anymore by then. You weren't near so selfless anymore after the last handful of trials in which you'd been left to die over and over.

You wouldn't protect them anymore the way you had. Not for free.

"I meant what I hath said. Is this enough for thee f'r the rest of thy days?" he purred against your ear, the heat of him now settled just behind your back and the contrastingly cold skin of his cheek near to brushing yours. "Or doth thee desire more?"

Perhaps once, you would've used some semblance of faith to shrug off what could only be called a devil's temptation. But where was your God when you died? When the Entity—a real god, if a false one—dragged you into what could only be regarded as Hell itself? What did you have now to fight this feeling?

Nothing. So why should you?

The Overlord sensed your hesitation and whispered, "Forsake thy friends. Forsake thy freedom, if thee can liken this to such distant dreams. I can off'r thee a deal beyond aught else in this realm of the damned. If thou wouldst only allow it…"

"What deal?" you whispered back, your gaze starting to slowly travel back toward where his mouth hovered near your ear. The webs had gone from your arms, but you hadn't noticed, enraptured by this quiet voice full of promises.

"What doth thou wish?" he wondered.

You'd hesitated only to jolt in place when you felt his huge hands rest against your thighs—they would've been able to wrap fully around them if he'd angled them so. However, he trailed his spread, spindly fingers up along the inner seam of your jeans and sent shocks of desire to the vee he deftly avoided to instead trace his claws against the hem of your shirt and the soft skin beneath.

You'd not been able to help rubbing your thighs together to try and dispel the sensation—a meager, quick shift of your body but he'd noticed. A dark chuckle had left him after.

"Methinks I may know, little one."

A generator finally popped in the distance, freeing both of you from whatever spell he'd placed you under. A faint sound of irritation rumbled in his throat and you felt him rise behind you to leave. You felt your body stiffen, learnedly bracing for impact.

"Think on thine sins," he advised you in parting. "Those thou hast committed ere this night…and those thy dream of anon. I will await thine answer."

You'd (stupidly) turned to look at him then and had just been lucky he'd left already. You had the chest open—it'd been a first-aid kit in the end—and had seated yourself at a gen before you heard and felt his panic-inducing perk activate. You had immediately fumbled the wires you were working on, cursed at yourself, and tried to get the repairs back to where they'd been before your misfire.

He'd properly gotten in your head that night. And he's still there. Even now, sitting beside the campfire and bundling offerings, you can feel his hands on your legs. His fingertips tracing upward, just shy of where you—Heaven help you—wanted him most.

Your jaw clenches. It's no wonder everyone is creeped out by you. You're sick.

Shaking off those thoughts of self-loathing, you look back down at the offering you're making and immediately recoil hard enough for it to tumble off your knees.

The sachet had been speared through, all but replaced by the bones and guts of a tanager bird and wound up in the same knots of twine. Worst of all, it was fashioned into a formation that resembled the arms of the Entity. You'd stared up into those ascending arms so many times already, both as you lay dying among them and in the times you were seconds too late to save someone else.

Where the bundle clattered to the dirt near the fire, sparks leapt out and ignited it. The acrid smell of burning bloody offal hit your nose as the offering you had apparently made was turned to ash at your feet.

The shaky breath that fell from your lips obscured the softer, deviant chuckle that ghosted from beyond where the flickering light of the flames could reach.

"Whatever's fucking with you today, get over it now," Meg grits at you as you walk with her, Jonah, and Claudette to the starting area. "I'm not saving your ass every time you get yourself hooked in the endgame. There could've been 'Blood Warden' and then we would've all gotten killed! Don't get fucking hooked when the gates are open!"

"Don't be so harsh, Meg," Claudette pleads, surveying their surroundings with undisguised unease as the woodsy path shivers around them and shifts into the Eyrie. Crows swarm the top of the tower at the center of the map, their cries piercing the air.

You grind your teeth together as you feel your chest constrict. You're the obsession this round. Some quiet, surely deranged part of you wonders with something almost eager if it's the Overlord again.

"If I'm not harsh, none of them ever learn," Meg shoots back and the two of them share a thousand-yard look that only comes from being in the throes of the Entity's grasp for so long. Something vulnerable passes through Meg's expression, but it's quickly extinguished as she turns back toward the map. "Hurry up. We're wasting time."

She walks past you with a hard clip of her shoulder to yours and you stumble, body rigid as you swallow your anger and the urge to scream at her. To turn on her. To put her on a hook yourself.

Have you always been this filled with rage?

You almost swing at the person who touches you next, but you still when you meet Claudette's apologetic eyes.

"She means well," she says softly, imploringly.

"Yeah," you murmur, shying away from her hand and heading into the arena, yourself. "You keep saying that."

What are you supposed to think when the kindest touch, the kindest offer you'd yet received in this wretched place had come from someone who had killed you? Who would likely kill you again? And again?

And again.

As you pass one of the sandstone outcroppings, you pause and listen. A faint crackling sound meets your ears again, almost as easily mistaken for the dead tree branches also rustling nearby despite a lack of wind. When you step back and worm your way through the rocky formations, you spot a lit totem nestled against a stony curve. You hunker down into a crouch and set to work dismantling it, working your lip between your teeth as you do so.

What would they do?

In your place, if offered an out—or even a sliver of something, anything!—from one of the killers, the persuasive Overlord in particular, what would the others do? They acted high and mighty with you at times, certainly, but you couldn't imagine they wouldn't buckle at least a little at the notion of…whatever it was you were being offered.

He'd left that up to you, hadn't he?

The last ties around the bones beneath your hands slip free and a resounding crack echoes through the map as the hex breaks and the flames licking the skulls now decorating the ground die away with a flicker.

Normally the thing to do would've been to hurry off. Go find a gen or at least walk around the corner in case the killer comes to see who's meddling with their plans.

You stay though. The squeeze of the cage in your chest increases as blood begins to roar in your ears and the air swells with something that just bridges the gap between music and a coming storm. The faint keen of a violin confirms who you will turn to see before you shift your gaze upward.

Meeting Zestial's eyes has its usual first-time effect. Panic rises in the form of bile in your throat and you hear your teammates shriek, near and far, from their stations. Anxiety muddles your senses, panic that isn't yours but induced by the power itself.

You feel a little drop of blood run from your nose as you hold his stare and watch his Jack-O-Lantern smile creep higher up his cheeks.

"Bold of thee not to flee, little one," he intones, stepping closer until he stands with you in the stone crevasse, his towering figure easily surpassing the height of the formations. "Or foolish. Unless, of course, thou hast come to some conclusion…"

He leans down toward your face to study your eyes. You saw them—wide and unsure—reflected in his. "I am most eager to learn which is thine truth."

"I think I want…," you force yourself to stammer out, stopping and holding a hand against your mouth as you hesitate. You could smell the dusty earth still on your fingertips from the totem, lingering notes of sand and rot.

"Go on," Zestial urges you, his tone kind and encouraging while something impatient like hunger alights his eyes.

"A deal," you finally choke out.

All four of his luminescent lime-green eyes flare at your words.

"A deal forsooth?" he purrs, the top pair of his eyes flickering with red irises for an instant until they calm back to a placid lake of pure green once more. "How curious. I am listening with mine full attention. As is She."

"She?" you repeat in a lowered voice, instinctively glancing around for signs of Meg or Claudette.

The Overlord chuckles. "The Entity, little one," he explains, his smile curling into a sinister grin as if sharing a well-kept secret. "She hungers."

"For what?" you ask, realizing how dumb your question sounds only after you speak it into existence.

Zestial merely hums though, as if your silly question is worth consideration. "For thine bodies of course," he says and the way his voice drops into a deeper tone sends shivers skimming up your spine. His eyes narrow on you and, although there are no pupils present to follow, you can feel him taking you in. "An unending craving nigh only sacrifice may appease."

"And whatever you're offering…has something to do with that?" you inquire with caution.

He smiles at you, the expression almost warm. When was the last time someone looked at you with warmth?

Something inside you begins to break. Is it from the pressure of the cage around your heart? You ask yourself that, even knowing it isn't.

"Forsooth, little one," he practically coos down at you, painfully gentle as he brushes the trail of blood away from your nose.

Somewhere a gen pops and your gaze flickers sideways toward the sound while his own stays completely fixed upon you. He takes your chin and turns your attention back to him, the grip of his long, clawed fingers tight but not painful. Not yet.

"Thy fate is sealed upon manifesting within this realm to oppose me," he warns you as you fight the urge to sag into his touch. The danger and the savior—he represents both now and you aren't sure which one is the truth.

He has you right where he wants you—a fly in a web.

"What doth thou wish to exchange f'r the heads of thy comrades? For thy head, verily?"

Your eyes widen. You'd committed to not sticking your neck out for the others anymore, but to offer them on a platter to the Entity? To him?

They would do it to you, whispers a traitorous voice, a tickle in the back of your skull. It doesn't entirely sound like yours though. They would sell you in an instant. You know it to be true.

"That's the only option?" you ask carefully, shuddering as he curiously runs his fingertips along your jawline. Around a lock of your hair. "That's the only way?"

Zestial nods with feigned compassion. "It is the only currency of this realm. Naught else is valued," he tells you as his hand skims down to your throat. "Or little else, perhaps, with regards to thee."

"What do you mean?" you ask again, feeling like it's the tenth time you've asked the same question.

It's hard to focus when he's touching you with hands that can and have plucked you right off your feet and slammed you onto a meat hook. When he's instead brushing those same digits across your scarred flesh with a rare, unspoken tenderness.

It isn't lost on you that a being that could kill you, that is meant to kill you and is choosing not to, instead finds you interesting enough to touch. To bargain with. In fact, it's disturbingly enthralling to you, but you don't realize that until heat blossoms in your core again, just like before.

Zestial just smiles at you instead of answering your repetitious question. He knows you needn't ask any longer what he means by his implications. You know.

You swallow hard under his burning gaze. "Okay," you murmur at last. If you were going to die again anyway, you should at least get something out of it.

"Exquisite," he whispers, running the pad of this thumb across your lower lip and freeing it from your teeth. "And what of thine reward, hm?"

You shudder. Your thighs tense and squeeze together as you draw in a shaky breath. His charcoal skin smells like brimstone, ink, and old books—you catch traces of all three as he continues to stroke your face.

"I thought you knew," you murmur sheepishly, shame washing over you.

"Of course, I do," Zestial coos, encroaching further on your personal space as the hand holding your chin tips your head back. Another two gens pop in succession as he murmurs, "For the sake of our deal, I would have thee speak it."

Your face goes red with deepened shame as he stares down at you expectantly, holding your head in a grip that doesn't allow you to look away. "Please…," is all you can muster, the barest breath of a whisper.

"Please…?" he coaxes you to continue as his free hand slides around the small of your back. Presses your smaller, so much more breakable body against his.

Something unmistakably hard digs into your stomach as he holds you to him and you fear you might give away your very soul for free in this moment if he only asks.

This is also what finally pulls the words out of you that he is looking to hear.

"Please just… I just want to feel good," you plead, feeling weak beyond measure as the dam breaks. A stream of tears escapes your right eye and falls against his hand. "I can't remember the last time I felt anything but hurt or angry or alone… I just want to feel good. Just for a little while. So I…"

You avert your eyes—shame reignites in your belly. You still aren't fully sure what you're asking for—or rather what you'll get by asking for it—even as you, at last, confess your poorly concealed desire.

"…I want you to fuck me."

Zestial's brow rises despite knowing that's where this was heading all along—all these centuries in the Entity's realm and he's never quite gotten used to the way modern language has worked in such harsh words with such casual meanings. Yet these particular sharp words from you inspire a dark coil in his gut that makes your request feel just as much his reward as it will be yours.

"Thine wish is for the taking," he murmurs as he slides the hand cradling your face down your neck to your shoulder—past the puncture scars he himself has added to—and then ultimately down to your hand. He clasps it as a flash of green light erupts from between your palms, his engulfing yours in full. "And a deal is struck."

You very nearly whine when he lets you go, but you swallow the sound. Somehow, despite quieting before you can embarrass yourself, he seems well aware of your disappointment.

"Do not beest so somber, little one," he murmurs, playfully tapping your nose with the tip of a claw. "Thine aura is mine to behold—and mine is thine. Aid thy sacrifices, then thou mayst find me in the collapse. I shall linger with bated breath 'til next we meet."

You aren't sure how you're meant to manage the elixir of dread and arousal flooding your veins until that time, but you do as he asks. Slinking off, you find an unrepaired generator and come across Jonah already bumbling through repairs on one side, the sluggish rate of the pistons something you might've found discouraging had you not already known how the trial would end.

How, for once, you were looking forward to the endgame.

Jonah gets his wires crossed and the generator blows back at him with a series of cantankerous sparks. He waves the air in front of him and glances at you fleetingly but with an air of sheepishness in place of his usually dismissive gaze. You just shrug and nod at the gen for him to get back to it, your own deftly done repairs already getting most of the progress back that he'd lost with his error.

The silent understanding between you isn't unwelcome. It's just a touch too late.

Your gen pops to life and Zestial suddenly swoops in out of the shadows, raking his claws up your back and shoving you aside to lunge after Jonah. Your fellow survivor bolts, panicking into a vault he's not ready to take and paying for it with a loss of speed—Zestial easily plucks him from the sill and drags him, kicking and thrashing in protest, toward the nearest hook.

You pull yourself off the ground by gripping the finished gen, stumbling away and wondering for an instant if you hallucinated the entire exchange between you and the Overlord earlier on. You suppose you might be unhinged enough by now to be delusional. Perhaps this was the more likely outcome anyway.

However, a sideways glance of his glowing green eyes and a faint, almost rueful smile says that you didn't and he's instead helping both of you save face. You scurry off to find a med kit or one of your teammates to help you patch up.

Meg finds you before you find anything at all. She spots your blood trail after dismantling a dull totem near the mausoleum and follows you, nearly startling you into a cry when she suddenly steps up behind you and pushes you down to her level.

"Quiet," she mumbles, pulling the fabric of your T-shirt back from the bleeding clawmarks. She begins rummaging in her pockets for the remnant of a bandage roll she still has from the med kit she came in with. Zestial must've gotten her earlier, too, before finding you and Jonah.

She pulls the bandages too tight when she's distracted by Jonah screaming in the distance, suspended at last on a sacrificial hook. When she hears the hmph of discomfort that escapes you, she shakes off her nerves and mutters a halfhearted, "Sorry."

Bandaged up and mobile, you readjust your shirt and she hangs back to help you—perhaps a wordless apology for her earlier attitude—and then sprints in the direction of Jonah's cries without further ado.

There's one generator left to do before the gates are powered and, spurred on by a drive that rivals anything the Entity could've inspired in you before, you find it. Claudette's already on it, blood dripping from her back, which has been sliced not dissimilarly to yours.

Something in you begins to eat at itself when you consider offering to help her wrap her wounds, knowing despite that surge of compassion what your deal with the Overlord—at least to some degree—will ultimately do to her. You know this time that going through the motions of suturing or binding up her cuts won't stop her from being annihilated with the rest of the team, yourself included, when the realm begins its tradition of falling apart around you. It's a time-old ritual of splintering, festering earth and the deep, foreboding toll of a bell you can't see with each tone signifying another moment to escape transpired.

You still offer because you aren't a monster, even if you're starting to feel a bit like one.

"Do you want to patch those up before we pop this?" you ask, pausing to glance behind you to make sure you're alone.

Claudette gives you a watery smile and stops what she's doing, presenting her back to you as she passes you her unused first-aid supplies.

"See?" she says as you pop open the box and get out some disinfectant and a suture set. "You're getting better. I was about to set this off like the Entity just dragged me down here yesterday."

Guilt pools in the base of your stomach. It rivals oddly with the lingering lust. The shame is spread evenly between the two, bridging the gap.

"It's not always the smart thing to do, I guess, but since we have time," you muse, hoping you sound as casual as you're attempting to.

"Yeah, it's weird," Claudette says, wincing a little as your unpracticed hands stitch her wounds but saying nothing to discourage you. "Folie à Deux happened pretty early"—that's what his panic perk is called—"and then we didn't see hide nor hair of him until just a few minutes ago. Did you see him first or did Jonah?"

Your belly churns. "I did," you say honestly. "I cleansed that hex and happened to see him when I was leaving the area. I think he was coming back to see who'd broken it."

"That was a good early find," Claudette says, but she doesn't seem to be paying attention in full to what she's saying. "Who knows what that might've been."

You hum agreement as you finish bandaging over her stitches. "All done," you say, handing her back the remainder of her med kit and settling yourself adjacent to her spot at the gen.

"Thanks," she murmurs, the sparks from the wires she tinkers with reflecting in her large glasses as she picks up where she left off. "I think we may all get out this time."

You can taste your own stomach acid as you say, "I hope so."

The generator pops and the gate sirens wail, one coming from across the map while the other goes off directly behind you both.

"C'mon!" she says, eagerly pulling you toward the gate just past the stone wall you're situated behind.

You hesitate, turning to look back at the eyrie and the graveyards sprawled around it. You espy a tall, rosy silhouette—an aura—within the eyrie itself, ascending the stairs with such grace it almost appears to glide.

When you make yourself look away to figure out how to escape Claudette's attention, you notice the switch she's about to grab.

"Wait!" you suddenly shout, stalling her with your urgency. "Look!"

Claudette casts a confused look at the switch but gives you the benefit of the doubt and steps around to view it from the same angle as you. Thick, faintly dusted ropes of spiderweb layer over the switch, presenting a trap for anyone too eager to pull the handle.

"Ugh," she mumbles, shrinking back from the spiderwebs. "Good eye. Maybe Meg and Jonah have the other one done already. Let's go see."

"I'll catch up," you say and she pauses to cock her head at you. "I have a glyph I was supposed to find. I'm going to take the long way around to see if I can spot it."

Claudette hesitates. "…Okay," she slowly agrees. "But don't get yourself killed, alright? We've made it this far. And the Overlord's not someone to screw around with." She cracks a smile. "Plus, I think Meg will actually kill you this time if you get hooked after they get the gate open again."

You shrug and offer her the best smile you have available. "Probably," you agree. "I won't be long."

Claudette blessedly leaves you to it and you feel bad about how easily she believes your lies. Even though warning her would do nothing, you still feel a slight urge to do so as you wait for her to leave and then begin your walk to the center building.

Still though, even if she was never cruel to you, did she ever really help you? What did you owe her, in all actuality?

Perhaps what you'd already given her—a healing touch and a well-wish. A chance for a gate you knew that, one way or another, none of you would be crossing today.

The cawing of the circling murder gets louder as you enter the building, the acoustics of the structure the truest thing of horror on this godforsaken map. At pace, but on shaky legs, you round to the stairs and begin the climb, spotting the static silhouette of the Overlord through the far wall on the top floor. Outside on the balcony.

When you arrive, you see that this side of the wraparound ledge provides a perfect vantage point of the other gate.

"Behold," Zestial murmurs as you join him, standing a polite distance from his side.

You follow his gesturing hand to the gate and see Jonah down there, still injured—likely because Meg used the last of her bandages on you—and holding down the gate lever with the strength he could still muster. It'd always bemused you how hard he took his first hook. While the rest of you were running on fumes and a death wish, every cut and minor inconvenience seemed to take years off his undead life.

The gate buzzer sounded. Once. Then twice. And then three times as the doors rattled open.

The entire gateway past the doors was covered in layer upon layer of webbing. So thick that the entirety of the other side, the exit and the field that would take them all back to the campfire, was obscured. There may as well have been nothing there at all.

You swear you can somehow hear them from your perch despite knowing it's impossible. Still, you aren't sure you need to hear Meg say "what the fuck" to know that Meg has said "what the fuck."

Your concern is flaky at best as you feel Zestial's hulking form slide up behind you, the expanse of his hands folding over your hips and pulling you back against the straining erection beneath his silken robes. You shudder, that mixture of fear and longing back and burning in your core, slicking the heat beneath your skirt. He hums softly against your hair, inhaling deep, and you aren't sure how you know, but you know he can smell your arousal by the way he presses harder against you.

"Thine sacrifice is made, little one. Thy first," he whispers over the shell of your ear, sounding almost proud. He shifts you by your hips, turning you and walking you back against the stone wall behind you both.

For a second, you think he might be shielding you from whatever is about to happen down on the ground, but he's doing no such thing.

Like you weigh nothing, he lifts you up, presses your back against the stone, and positions your legs over his shoulders. Your thighs clench in needy humiliation as Zestial puts himself at eye level with your wet, aching hole beneath just a skirt and the thin fabric of your underwear. You bite back a groan as he noses into the wet spot you've made there. You're practically panting as his hands curl fully around your thighs and he nuzzles into your heat with abandon.

Hooking a claw beneath the waistband, he removes the slip of fabric from beneath your skirt with surgical precision, tearing it out of his way and smirking at the way your body jerks with surprise above him. He feels your fingers burying themselves against his back for balance, not fully trusting him with your weight or at least not completely understanding that you weigh next to nothing straddling his shoulders.

The deep inhale he takes of your near-to-dripping cunt feels like sin incarnate.

"We begin," he murmurs just as the first bell of the endgame collapse belatedly tolls and he slides his too-long, monstrous tongue languidly along your lower lips.

Meanwhile, you remain hoisted and pinned in place, left to helplessly watch that which you've wrought upon the match. All while desperately grasping for purchase on his cloaked shoulders as he plows your tight channel with his tongue, reaching far deeper than your human fingers could ever go. It takes no time at all for him to have you moaning, crying out for relief, and wriggling in his grasp while your teammates scream for a far different release below.

"There has to be a way out, there has to be another way out!" Meg is rambling, in a full-blown panic. Her voice hitches up into a shriek as she yells, "There's ALWAYS another way out!"

"The other gate had webs on the switch, but maybe it's clear inside!" Claudette stammers, her eyes wet with frightened tears. "But wait, we have to get—"

"Forget her!" Meg shouts, her fingers knotting into her hair as she claws at her scalp. "She went off on her own and, even if she were over here with us, she's just as fucked!"

Claudette nods, reaching for Meg's arm and then thinking better of touching her right now. "Then let's—"

Claudette's no sooner started to suggest the alternative route again when the hook behind her pitches forward, forced into a bend by the long black limbs of the Entity, and spears her through the shoulder with its tungsten fang.

She screams as it repositions and yanks her back, the claws immediately descending upon her and bypassing the usual state of a first hook. Claudette is barely able to catch the claw that rounds down to impale her before it can succeed.

"CLAUDE!" Meg shouts, sprinting to get her down while Jonah loses his nerve behind her, whirling this way and that as if he might somehow spot a third exit where there is none.

Not yet, anyway, he realizes.

You've lost yourself in full above them, tears streaming down your reddened cheeks as you feverishly ride Zestial's face and he ruts for any semblance of friction against the wall he's pinned you to. He traces near-bruising circles over your clit as he continues to devour you, body and soul, and it's enough to make you unravel.

"Oh, fuck, please, Zestial, I can't—"

"Thou canst. Thou will."

He intends to make you come and a strategic curl of the oral muscle he stuffs back inside you ensures it.

His ministrations pull a genuine scream from you just as another scream echoes from below—this time from Meg, who's suffered the same fate as Claudette after unwittingly wandering too close to another hook. She's shrieking for Jonah to unhook them, but he's already made up his mind. He's waiting for them to die for a chance at the hatch. The second Meg realizes this, she hurls every insult at him she can think of.

Trembling as you try to unclench your thighs from around his head, needlessly fearful yet again of what match you might be to his strength, you raggedly suck in a breath and practically turn to jelly as he removes you from his shoulders and holds you like something cherished.

You think he might be finished with his end of the bargain—and fair enough, you'd half-expected him to take what he wanted from you, to use the loose wording of your deal and move things along as quickly or perhaps even as violently as possible to punish you for the loopholes you've allowed—until he takes you to the edge of the balcony.

You hear the hatch pop open down below as Zestial lays you across the crumbling stone edge of the overlook, your spine bowing back as he lets your limp weight settle in its new spot. He tangles one of his enormous hands in your hair and cranes your head back until you're able to watch, the realm on its inverse, as Jonah betrays the girls and makes a mad dash for the open hatch.

"Feel naught for those thou hast forsaken," the Overlord murmurs into your ear as you witness the remainder of the trial in detached delirium. He bends over you as one hand stays fisted in your hair and the other pushes aside his cloak and frees his hard, leaking cock from his pants. He grasps the base and pumps once, twice, three times, as he murmurs in a voice deeper and more gravelly than before, "These fools art purest folly compared to thee."

The second Jonah is within arm's length of the hatch, it snaps shut, and that's also the instant Zestial pushes into your primed, pliable entrance. He coos praises into your ear and drops a chaste kiss against your temple when you whimper. Still, he continues to stretch you beyond what you've taken before. It hurts, but it feels better than anything you can fathom, and the coil in your lower belly begins to tighten again as he finds a leisurely, thorough pace that agrees with him.

Your eyes roll back in ecstasy and it grants you a look at Jonah as he stumbles back from the slammed-shut hatch. He is immediately snatched by the very hook the hatch spawn was meant to lure him to, his keening screech mingling amongst the screaming crows circling with ever more fervor above. The bell tolls again and the ground around the tower begins to break apart in fiery, shuddering fissures.

There's a hollow sound that echoes through the map as Claudette ceases to struggle and is speared through by the Entity, its gnarled limbs crooking around her like a spider's legs as it lifts her up into the vacant sky. A sky you see stars in for the first time in what feels like an eternity as Zestial cants his hips just right and hits that sensitive, spongey spot inside you.

"Right there, right there, right there," you babble like a prayer, pressing your forehead against Zestial's when he leans in to tighten his hold around you and secure you in the position he wants. That he knows you both need. "Please, Zestial, please, I—"

The Overlord shushes you softly and brushes his lips across your face, his hand relaxing its grip on your hair now that there's nothing else below to witness. Instead, he simply cradles the base of your skull as he thrusts up into you and turns your whines back into wanton screams.

"T'is mine intention to take care of thee, little one, rest assured," he mumbles against your cheek, his pace stuttering as he feels his own release approaching. "Wouldst thou allow me to—" A surprise cant of your hips that lets him fuck even deeper into you takes him by surprise and he groans low into your ear, the sound making you shudder and pushing you closer to euphoria. "—to care for thee?"

You're not completely sure what he means, but you won't be asking that question anymore today.

"Yes," you moan, crying out as he shows his approval for your response with an intentional, deep thrust of his cock.

He seals his lips over yours and you grant him full access to your mouth without his needing to ask, tasting yourself on his tongue as he pounds into you and swallows your screams. You flutter and clench around him, your body desperately milking his until he can no longer hold off his own pleasure.

The hot rush of his seed filling you up nearly makes you come again in your oversensitive state and you whine as he fucks his release deeper into you, tilting your body back just a little more as if to make sure not a drop of the load you both worked so hard to spill escapes you.

Your arms and legs remain entangled around his body as your own body continues to shake with aftershocks. Your shivers stem from pleasure and not from fearing how easily he could send you plummeting from the tower if he chose to let go. You realize with some surprise that you, perhaps foolishly, trust him not to drop you at least.

You can't help another shiver when he finally pulls his softening cock from your heat and you whimper from too much sensation at once. He collects you in his arms again and lets you bury your face against his neck as he adjusts himself back into his pants and fixes his cloak, watching with fascinated satisfaction as your mixed releases drip down your quaking thighs.

He smooths your hair back from your head and kisses your cheek again, surprised at the depth of feeling this venture has unexpectedly brought him.

The final toll of the bell sounds and you tense in a Pavlovian response. You wait to be speared by the Entity and forcibly dragged down to respawn at the fire. You know you need to start conjuring your tale of what happened this endgame if you're ever going to be taken off a hook or healed again.

And yet…nothing happens.

Claudette, Meg, and Jonah have all long been taken. The map settles after the final toll, the ground pulling itself back together with the god of this realm appeased, and then…nothing.

"What's happening?" you whisper warily, as if speaking too loudly will alert the Entity that She missed a morsel on her trial grounds.

Zestial pauses to admire you in the afterglow before glancing skyward and then down toward the mending earth. "It would seem thou hast found your true place within the realm," he murmurs, the whispers of the Entity an undercurrent of song amidst the avian cacophony above you both. "For thy lovely hands, verily, be the lovely hands of a killer."

Your eyes widen. "A killer?" you repeat, your voice shaking.

He hums and begins your joint descent to the ground floor, carrying you along as you slowly recover control of your body and your shaking starts to cease.

"She is pleased with thee," Zestial tells you as he strides toward the edge of the map—an edge of the map you've never been privy to before. One that branches off into a darker, denser part of the woods you know. "Thou hast far more potential than a lamb for slaughter, little one. I didst know it from the first time mine eyes beheld thee. She doth know it now that thou hast proven thyself. Now the sole epiphany we wait f'r is thine own."

Your fingers tighten against his cloak, the fabric soft and cool against your warm skin. A glance down the path he approaches fills you with uncertainty, but something stirs awake as well. Something you've felt within you from the beginning, perhaps the very thing your "comrades" sensed as well.

And as you meet Zestial's eyes and nod for him to take you through, to take you with him, your soul settles as if for the first time—as if this is where it should've been all along.

This time, at least, you know precisely what you've done.

Bonus A/N: In case anyone's interested in the loadout details I wrote for Zestial before starting the story, here ya go. :)

Perk Loadout

Folie à Deux - A panic born in a crowd can mean the end for everyone. After the killer is sighted for the first time by a survivor, all survivors become aimless and scream for 15 seconds if 2+ survivors are within 50 meters of each other. If any survivors are within 10 meters of the killer, they also become exposed for a quick 5-second period.

Overlord's Influence - Strike a deal with a survivor. The survivor gets one more hook state before death but all progressive actions (healing, gens, gates) are at half-speed for the rest of the match. By contract, the survivor's aura and the killer's will be revealed to each other in the endgame collapse.

Flies in a Web - The lure of something tasty can be a tragic downfall. Two chests in the game are covered with a spiderweb that becomes visible after a survivor interacts with the chest. They're held in place for 15 seconds and a notification is given to the killer (additional notifications occur if the survivor struggles, but the effect wears off more quickly if they struggle). The chest can be opened normally after the web is activated.

Addons

(iri) Liminal Teacup - When hooking a survivor, any survivors within a 30-meter radius doing a progressive action (gens, healing) stop what they're doing (are interrupted).

(purple) Sewing Kit (patchwork hat) - Adds an extra 10 seconds to webs. When "Flies in a Web" is equipped, if no chests are disturbed for the entire round, one of the gate switches is webbed instead.

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[coloursflyaway]

For DBD, I saw a post on how mirror hopping would take a lot of trial and error to learn which might make for a fun short story, especially if they get stuck somewhere by accident

Thank you so much for the prompt ♥ This was really fun to write, I like thinking about how they might have been at the beginning of their friendship!

“Charles”, Edwin says, and while Charles isn’t looking at him, he still knows that Edwin is rolling his eyes. He can hear it in his tone, even if all Edwin said was his name, but it’s right there, spelt out in between the intake of breath before and the drawl of the vowel: Edwin is rolling his eyes. They haven’t known each other that long, only a few months, so maybe Charles shouldn’t be able to read his new friend’s tone this well, but it was just never difficult to read Edwin to begin with. Something about them just clicked, even if Charles was dying and Edwin fresh out of hell, like their souls had touched and found that the other was what they lacked.

Okay, maybe he is getting a bit ahead of himself now.

“Are you even listening to me?”, Edwin asks, and actually, Charles isn’t, but he nods anyway, and finally looks up at Edwin. Who is standing very, very close.

“You were scolding me”, Charles answers, because on one hand, that seems to be a pretty good guess most times, and on the other, well. He kind of deserves it.

Edwin makes a sound, a tiny little thing that is both exasperated and fond, and Charles gives him a smile, because that usually helps with making Edwin less annoyed. And it works this time, too, because a moment later, Edwin smiles back, his pretty eyes softening.

Pretty? … well, yes. But maybe a thought for later.

“I know that mirror travel is quite difficult to navigate”, Edwin tells him, definitely more fond than exasperated now, “but when you said that you would take the lead this time, and I asked you if you were certain and you said yes, well. I expected you to actually bring us where we were supposed to be going.”

“And not into a pretty cramped supply closet, you mean?”, Charles asks, trying for humour because that, too, is a good way of making Edwin smile, and making Edwin smile has become kind of a priority for Charles lately.

“Precisely”, Edwin answers, and there is a smile in his voice, a smile on his lips. It feels like a victory.

“At least we know how to get out again”, Charles says and gestures to the small mirror behind Edwin. “I’ll even let you take the lead this time.”

Edwin tuts, turns around as gracefully and theatrically as possible when stuck between cardboard boxes and discarded furniture, and says, “As if I ever needed permission.” Before he disappears through the mirror, leaving Charles behind.

Who, for a moment, just looks after him, this brilliant, headstrong, impossibly fascinating boy, who somehow managed to read him to a peaceful death and has kept him company ever since. And thinks, I really couldn’t have made a better choice.

[deadbydangit]

Recently got into Dbd x Reader fics and loving all of the ones you have made so far!

An idea I had is The Unknown attacking the S/O of one of the killers as they are heading to meet up with them (Huntress, Deathslinger, Trickster) and how the Killer would go about saving/protecting S/O from The Unknown.

Thanks for doing what you do!

I believe I can do that. I might switch it up to just their significant other getting attacked. Please enjoy.

Protecting the Reader: Huntress, Deathslinger, Trickster

Huntress

It would take an absolute idiot to hurt Anna.

It would take an absolute moron to hurt someone on a cares about.

She's already lost someone important in her life.

And she couldn't do anything about it.

But now she can.

And she will.

They won't even get a warning.

They hurt you?

Hatchet to the face.

Was it an accident?

Hatchet to the face.

It does not matter.

Anna can get a little too protective at times.

She's always super worried about you.

So much so that it might be hard to make other friends outside of her.

You might need to get her to tone it down a bit.

You just have to understand that she's not willing to lose another important person in her life.

Another thing she'll do is throw herself in the way of harm.

Just so you don't get hurt.

She knows she's tough and can handle it.

Although, she's not invincible and you'll have to remind her of that.

Sometimes, it's minor dumb things.

Like standing in the way of a snowball or something little.

It can be ridiculous at times. Just know it's her way of showing her love.

Deathslinger

Caleb is a little more reasonable.

On one hand, he'll protect you.

On the other hand, he doesn't want you to become too dependent on him.

If you're in danger, he'll come to help you.

But he will stand back and see if you can handle it on your own first.

That's not to say he'll let you get hurt.

He just doesn't want you to become lazy and depend on him too much.

He'll probably teach you how to shoot a gun.

Something he's made especially for you to defend yourself in case of an emergency.

Though it is something smaller and simpler than the Redeemer.

He'll put you through lessons before he lets you even touch it.

You'll have to learn all the parts and how to put it together before your even allowed to shoot anything.

And, being able to defend yourself is good for your confidence.

He couldn't handle a scaredy cat significant other.

If it's something that you can't handle, or you've tried your best and are still In harm's way, you best believe he'll be right there protecting you.

He'll beat the perpetrator to a bloody pulp, and then some.

He'll keep going until you stop him, and you'll have to stop him.

He's trying to make an example out of this person.

"Anyone messes with you, they mess with me."

He's not always the best at showing affection, this is just his way of showing he cares about you.

Trickster

Ji-Woon has more of a hands-off approach.

He's probably going to leave you on your own.

He really isn't much of a fighter aside from throwing knives and swinging a bat around.

If he entered the fray, it would only make things worse.

And it might damage is beautiful face.

He can't have that!

However, he'll leave you with a small supply of knives in case of an emergency.

He isn't the best teacher, and throwing knives can be very difficult.

Instead, he'll show you how to stab people with them just in your hand and all the vital places that would help you defeat your opponent faster and easier.

Now if somebody insults you or is mean to you?

"Bitch, I know you didn't just say what I think you said?"

If you think the person verbally attacking you can talk smack, he can double it.

Easily.

He's amazing at picking out every little flaw that a person has.

And exploiting it.

Drastically.

He's actually trying to make the other person cry.

And he has.

He thrives on that type of stuff.

"Don't worry. As long as I'm around, no one will dare insult you my pretty little s/o."