#byron imagine

[gatorbites-imagines]

Uhhh maybe something something with werewolf!mreader and count orlok?🥰

Count Byron Orlok x Werewolf male reader

Ficlet

I spent way too long reading about old werewolf mythos to write this. Reader’s kind of a mix of the different myths I found, and my own cooking. I took mild inspo from the Neuri people, and the myth of Lycaon, and what I could find about Mount Lykaion.

Lil bit of Thomas x reader, but its not really important.

Nosferatu 2024 spoilers ig?

For many years you have wandered and existed, whether you could claim to be alive or not was something you had dismissed many years ago. You remembered being born to a nomadic people who wandered from one place to another, passing their tales verbally and through song, never staying in one place for long. You remember the older men leaving for days at a time, only to return to your people, battered, bruised and exhausted, but the usual hunger in their eyes sated.

Memories of your first transformation were blurry at best, only weak memories of pain, blood, hunger, hopelessness. There wasn’t much need to remember your younger years, just that your father had been a beast amongst beasts, and so had you. When you came too after the first shift, you awoke naked and bloody, the camp of the people that were yours, destroyed.

Mixtures of flesh, fur and gore lay scattered, the tents and makeshift homes torn apart, from what looked like a wild animal trying to break in to devour whoever was inside. The taste of blood in your mouth and meat stuck between your teeth, was all you needed to know. You were that beast, and you had devoured them all. Man, woman, child and wolf, all torn apart by your hunger.

You remember stumbling away from what remained of your family, friends and near, naked as the day you were born. The cold feeling of falling into a stream, of all the blood washing off your body, washing away your sins. Memories of stumbling along, uncaring of your naked nature, so full of regret and horror of yourself and what you were.

Not much could be remembered from that time, only flashes of pain as you transformed once more, and devoured, be it human or animal. Everything only became clear in a mountain, where a cult worshipping wolves and those who could transform had found you. You learned that they were cursed by a god to be what they were, but you? You were born this way, gifted.

Their chants and magic taught you control of your inner beast. Where before there had been two beings inside you, wolf and man, there now was one. In the end you wandered from this group, leaving them to their whims of cannibalism and human sacrifice.

With control of your inner hunger, of your lack of humanity and beastly desires, you wandered. You slept when you needed to, and ate when you were hungry. You could even take part in humanity at times, joining celebrations, or sleeping in a real bed every now and then. Where raw flesh and blood tasted divine, their dishes and spices were enough to keep you sated for longer.

You never kept track of your age, but you watched as the old gods fell, and was replaced by another. A pantheon of gods, with so many duties and whims, replaced by one who became three, yet were still one. You watched as their influence grew, as their one god became the one most worshipped.

You watched as many were killed in cold blood for not worshipping their one god, or were tortured for going against the word of their holy book. It was during this holy period that you discovered your weakness to silver as well, but you being naturally born this way, let you survive it, unlike those cursed to be like you.

Your long wandering took you to somewhere in the Romanian mountains, where superstition and beliefs were as strong as ever, where a count ruled over the land, a count who yearned for immortality. Maybe it was the way you dressed when he saw you for the first time that caught his interest. He wore a cape of sheepskin, where yours was that of a wolf, the head thrown over your own almost like a mask or a hood.

Byron Orlok was his name. And he was handsome, as handsome as the men of this era could be, even if his eyes were dark and hungered for something beyond mortality, even as he buried himself in the occult to seek it. The tales of your own long life, what little you told him, only fueled him. If you could live from before the very creation of Christianity, then he too could become immortal. Unageing.

Your wolf form lingered around his home, a large building far beyond anything you could have ever seen in your youth. The sounds of his transformation, the reek of sulfur and acid, like the bile of a stomach, was so powerful that you felt that even the wandering natives would smell it. and yet as he screamed and wailed, you lay still, your massive wolf head resting on top of your paws. It was not your duty to save him or stop him, his demons and gods were not connected to you.

In his death, Byron Orlok did not cease moving. His corpse and body still moved and spoke during the night, before the sun rose and the first rooster’s crow. and you, you stayed. Over your many years of life you had met many beasts and monsters like yourself, or warlocks and alchemists who were bound to the otherworld, even priests and priestesses who could communicate with their gods of choice. But none intrigued you like Byron.

As something beyond human, the idea that only a man and a woman could bond was beyond you. It was a belief that had never existed in you, as the people you had been around in your youth never carried it, but for Byron it was new and strange. Even as his body changed and altered, looking more like a corpse than a man, his passion persisted.

The locals built temples or stands to keep him away, filling them with crosses and hunting others like him, Nosferatu. You, they feared, less than Byron, but feared, nonetheless. Where Byron devoured human flesh and blood to keep moving, you had persisted on nothing but will for many years, and only devoured when you needed too.

Byron was not the most physically affectionate, you had a feeling he simply couldn’t be. But his possessive nature and yearning for you, spoke of his innermost feelings. His kisses would have made any normal human vomit from the taste of blood, gore, and corpse, but you were no human. Anyone else would have died from being fed on by him, but you lived. Your heart beat and would beat on, for how long you did not know.

Your inhuman blood and flesh, which regenerated like the leaves of a tree, kept Byron fed when the human flesh could not. It wasn’t what he was meant to eat, that much was clear, as you were not human and that was what he needed, but it changed him. He still was death itself, but your wolflike insides made him at least a little more pleasant to look at.

What you two were, was not a married couple, but he was yours and you were his, though he yours more than you his. Being older, stronger, able to go where and when you pleased, made you the more dangerous of you two. The most powerful, but you had no need to use this against him.

Until he bonded with that human, one you would learn was named Ellen who begged for company from anything, anyone. You were tempted to tear Byrons head off his body when you learned of this, having only been gone for two years which was nothing in your shared centuries, and here he went, finding another.

After this betrayal, you left once more, after tearing apart the wolves you had given him as servants. He would not thrive off your gifts and flesh if he could not respect you. It was not that he had bonded with a human girl, but more the dismissal of you and disregard of what you wanted. What if you had wanted a little human plaything as well?

When you returned once more, years later, you observed a man on his way towards Byron Orloks home, which looked as decrepit as you were used too. He was almost adorable, in his modern clothing and satchel bag. So intriguing was he, that you followed him from the shadows in your wolf form, observed as he rested with the locals, saw their execution of a Nosferatu, and how the locals left him behind.

Byron must have felt your presence, as the carriage that picked the human man up had the motif of a wolf on the side. You could feel his magic reach for you, but yours was stronger, and still being mad at him, you turned it away.

Your lover, partner, other being, was enraged, you could tell, when he smelled your interest in this man, Thomas Hutter, but he could not say anything, as he was drawn to this Thomas Hutters wife. Thomas Hutter was tormented and haunted as he slept and was awake in the old castle, he almost passed out when he saw you in your wolf form for the first time.

Maybe it was more that you wanted to make Byron feel what you felt, when he bonded to that girl, and it didn’t hurt that Thomas Hutter was as adorable as a rabbit, with his frightened eyes and heady scent. The lack of sleep drove him mad enough to sleep curled up against your furry side, and your hairy chest when you transformed back into a man.

It was enough to make Byron gnash his teeth and growl, his magic attempting to squeeze the very life out of Thomas only to be blocked by your own. There was no reason for you to stop his plans, you were much too old to involve yourself in such things, but you did make sure Thomas survived long enough to be found by the nun and for him to return to Wisborg.

Your massive paws dragged groves in the first as you followed the scent of Thomas, as Byron you could sense was across the sea where you could not follow without spending unnecessary magic.

Your maw salivated at the sight of Ellen, not from the same desire that Thomas or Byron carried for her which was carnal in the way animals in spring desired, but from a long-forgotten hunger for human flesh. To rip and tear, to destroy and break. You wanted to kill her, for taking your Orlok’s attention, the same hate Byron felt for Thomas, even if your attention was nothing more than a mild interest.

Time would tell, as the first night fell and the rats invaded the city. When Byron would end up tricked by these mortals, you would step in and scold him. He was so young compared to you, centuries compared to your millennia. Punish him, you must, make him weep and beg for your forgiveness for betraying you so. But for now, you would gobble up the corpses of the citizens as they piled up, to satisfy your growing hunger for Ellen and her putrid flesh.

[orbdotexe]

Consider: Trepang2 x I Am Your Beast

[melit0n]

Thought I'd post my second favourite (saving my actual favourite for tomorrow) site that we visited first, aka, The Temple of Poseidon!

Cape Sounion, just this entire place, was so gorgeous. I can't even fully describe it. On the cliffside, overlooking the Aegean Sea, it truly felt like the perfect place for a temple of the God of the Sea.

A repeating thing I found with like, every site I visited (I will sound like a broken record by the end of these posts lmao) is that I was just in utter awe that I was stood by something so old. Like, 700 BC old. So many people came to offer respects and, well, offerings before being off on their trips. Stood where I stood. Looked at the same sea I saw.

And I think that's very, very cool.

[distortsverity]

^ won five badges in a little over a year ( oreburgh, eterna, veilstone, pastoria, hearthome, in that exact order ), but once she set foot in hearthome's contest hall and tried her hand at pkmn coordinating, she was fated to never finish her league challenge. twinleaf really thought one of their own was gonna have a real shot at taking the throne, so yes they were slightly disappointed.

[burningvelvet]

Percy Shelley at the end of a letter to Lord Byron. London, 17 January 1817:

“I have no other news to tell you, my dear Lord Byron, unless you think this is news: that I often talk, and oftener think, of you; and that, though I have not seen you for six months, I still feel the burden of my own insignificance and impotence; as they must ever forbid my interest in your welfare from being put to the proof. Adieu.

Faithfully yours,

P. B. Shelley.”

[oysters-aint-for-me]

if i were a better playwright id write a one-acter in which lord byron and ada lovelace, having been buried next to each other, confront each other as father and daughter in the afterlife

[elishkaacademia]

Oh to get wasted with the Romantic writers in Geneva… that’s it, that’s the post

[uses-for-fics]

Satisfied | Byron Gogol

An: So I might have made Hazel a bit OOC and to that I have to say……so sorry 🙃

YN and Hazel had been inseparable since their freshman year of college, sharing everything from notes, clothes, and dreams. Hazel had this natural light, a brightness that seemed to fill every room, and YN adored her for it. Their bond was solid, unshakeable, even as they entered their senior year, with new opportunities on the horizon.

One crisp October afternoon, they were strolling through campus, Hazel rambling on about her latest scheme, when YN’s gaze caught on a poster tacked to a nearby pole. She stopped in her tracks, eyes scanning the bold letters: Byron Gogol, a rising star in the tech world, was giving a guest lecture that very afternoon. Her heart skipped a beat. She’d heard of him before—his name echoed in nearly every engineering course she took.

Hazel continued a few paces ahead before noticing YN had stopped. "Yo, YN!" she called, her voice teasing. "What’s got you all dazed?"

“Byron Gogol is here,” YN murmured, her voice filled with awe as she turned to her friend.

Hazel raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“He’s a tech genius, Hazel. Founder of one of the most cutting-edge companies out there. We should definitely go to his lecture, it’s happening today!” YN’s eyes were practically gleaming with excitement.

Hazel crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “You can’t be serious. That place is going to be packed with wannabe tech bros drooling over some dude in a blazer. Pass.”

YN pouted. ���Please, Hazel? This could lead to an internship or—who knows—something bigger after graduation. I promise I’ll make it up to you. All the pancakes you can eat at the diner down the street after. Deal?”

Hazel sighed dramatically before relenting, a small smile on her lips. “Fine. But you owe me—big time.”

They arrived just as the lecture began. Hazel fidgeted in her seat near the front, grumbling about having to seem "interested." YN, on the other hand, was transfixed. When Byron took the stage, his passion was palpable, his ideas innovative. During the Q&A, when YN asked a thoughtful question about the ethical implications of his tech, Byron’s eyes lit up. He responded with interest, and as the talk ended, he approached YN directly, thanking her for the question.

“You made an excellent point earlier,” he said warmly, his focus entirely on her. “I’d love to talk more if you’re interested.”

Before YN could respond, Hazel, wide-eyed and grinning, chimed in, “Oh my God, you were amazing up there! I’ve never seen anyone command a stage like that.”

Byron smiled politely at Hazel but quickly turned his attention back to YN, handing her his card. “Let’s set up a time to chat.”

Hazel, oblivious to the spark between them, didn’t notice the shift. “He’s incredible, isn’t he? I think I might be in love,” she whispered once Byron walked away.

YN’s heart sank. Hazel was already smitten, and YN knew her well enough to know what this meant. Torn between the growing connection with Byron and her loyalty to Hazel, YN forced a smile. “Yeah, he seems great.”

In the days that followed, YN reluctantly reached out to Byron, meeting him for coffee to discuss his work. Each meeting drew them closer—conversation flowed from tech to dreams and fears, the connection deepening with every exchange. Hazel was always there, gushing about how she “just knew” Byron was the one, certain that fate had brought them together. YN remained silent, the guilt gnawing at her.

One evening, YN overheard Hazel on the phone. “I can’t stop thinking about him. I know it’s crazy, but I think he likes me too. I’m going to ask him out.”

The words shattered something inside YN. Hazel was so full of hope, so sure of her feelings. YN couldn’t stand the thought of breaking her friend’s heart but deep down, she knew Byron wasn’t thinking about Hazel at all. He only had eyes for her.

In their final meeting, YN and Byron sat across from each other in the quiet corner of a café. Byron leaned forward, his voice soft, his gaze intense. “There’s something special here between us. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, YN.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat. Instead of leaning into the moment, her thoughts flew back to Hazel, who was likely at home, dreaming of a future with Byron. She couldn’t betray her.

“I’m sorry, Byron,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t feel the same way. I think... I may have given you the wrong impression.”

Byron’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What? But—”

“I do enjoy spending time with you, but... just as friends. Hazel really likes you. She’s a better fit for you than I ever could be.”

Byron blinked, stunned. “Hazel?”

YN nodded, forcing the words out past the lump in her throat. “Yeah, she’s perfect for you.”

Byron’s disappointment was clear, but after a moment, he nodded, accepting her words at face value. “If that’s what you think.”

As the weeks passed, YN watched from the sidelines as Hazel and Byron grew closer. Hazel was overjoyed, convinced that Byron had chosen her. Every time she gushed about him, it felt like a knife twisting deeper into YN’s chest.

One evening a couple months later, Hazel burst into their apartment, beaming and holding out her hand to show off a glittering ring. “He proposed!” Hazel squealed, her joy blinding.

YN forced a smile, choking on her congratulations as Hazel hugged her tightly. Hazel didn’t see the silent tears gathering in YN’s eyes.

At the engagement party, YN stood in the shadows, watching Byron and Hazel laugh together, their future laid out before them. She had made her choice—chosen Hazel’s happiness over her own but as she slipped out of the party unnoticed, YN couldn’t shake the heavy ache in her chest.

In the quiet of the night, YN walked alone, the weight of her sacrifice pressing down on her. She had done what she thought was right, but now, with each step away from the life she could’ve had, she wondered if she had made the biggest mistake of her life.

[alchemisland]

Cursing the Oppressors 

Apollo and python  A sporting lord And wielded change and lightning chains Who enjoyed cavorting with human sorts  Despite his wife’s jealous, green-tinged eyes blazing Queenly Athena, shed no fierce tears at your frieze’s fleecing Turn your molten heart freezing and curse the disruptor’s penis Cast shadows where the shoulder-stroking light of Venus lends warm feeling Upon the world’s…

[elegantwoes]

A parallel/anti parallel that just I realized between Jon and Dany is that they are both a result of non consensual sex during the war. In Dany's case, it was outright rape and in Jon's case, it was dubious consent. Dany's reaction to her father is not exactly condemning, it would be interesting to see how Jon reacts to his own father. I believe he won't be fantasizing about people loving him as they did his father, that is for sure.

Since Jon considered for a fleeting moment that Ned may have committed treason just because he has broken his marital vows, it’s more than fair to assume Jon would absolutely despise Rhaegar and feel responsible for so many deaths (including his half-siblings) even if it isn’t his fault.

[polysprachig]

11.04.2024 | outrage and (/at) punctuation and crass editing

Currently writing translator's notes

When it comes to using different editions of classic novels in language and literature classes I am usually quite flexible. One of the benefits of one-on-one is that we can simply read the divergent texts, pursue the topic within reason and move on.

But when a poetic treatise has been gutted of its original context and its typographical origins so altered as to mar the syntactic relations between the very concepts being proposed, the end result is not a mere question of slight discrepancies but a devolution of the highest philosophical and linguistic expressions into complete and utter drivel.

[msmoon-and-the-cyberdemon]

SIDE ORDER SPOILERS!

You know Smollusk would absolutely love the Toni Kensa brand

[starrysupercell]

https://youtu.be/ZvohXmvjA1A?feature=shared

i dont know if this is the song you asked for but here :3

💋

[edge-oftheworld]

surely byron from joshua tree has a fandom. surely it’s not just me

[sortanonymous]

Depending on how this restart with under 60 laps left goes, Penske fans may very well be rueing the name Zane Smith for a while after this.

[thingsamylikes]

You can imagine the studio women, half of whom are probably artists, grabbing paper and going LOOK just let me do it HERE like THAT.

Flynn’s hot, don’t get me wrong, I love me some Fitzherbert, but I’m prooooobably more a Kristoff gal. Gimme a gentle lunk with a heart of gold who loves animals .

i never knew there were men in the room for this, “that was tough” oh man they were not prepared XD