#i feel like a huge part of all my fears on this claim is all the bullshit i had to go through last time

[holder-culture-is]

Newly diagnosed trauma holder culture and recently only learning you have a system and not knowing what all these terms mean after years of everything being thrown at the wall to see what stuck with doctors. What is an Endo? Why is Traumagenic (me or us) a term? Are diction alters real or not? And why can't I know my alters the way others seem to define them as separate people? I'm all blurry all the time. It's so overwhelming learning all this stuff. Is it a bad thing to still mostly use singular pronouns when referring to ourselves even though I've been told there are about 12 distinct personalities? Is 12 a lot? It feels like a lot. What about the fear of being called a chronic liar? Am I bsing if I only just came to a name for my system?

(Can I be called 🦌🦇 sys anon?)

Woah okay ‼️ you’ve probably found answers to this by now cause this has been sitting in the inbox so long, but let’s take it one step at a time ^^

What is an Endo?: Endogenic systems (or endos for short!) are systems that claim to be formed by something other than trauma . Many traumagens don’t believe in endo systems, including us, but I don’t wanna tell you what to believe ‼️ do your own research on endo systems and plurality (cause I think there’s a difference ?? Idk‼️)

Why is Traumagenic a term?: has a lot to do with those that claim to be endos being more common‼️ it was created as a way to differentiate , but if you (like us) don’t believe in endos, there’s really no reason to use it . You still can , though ‼️ not here to police you ^^

Are [f]iction alters real or not?: I’m 90% sure you meant fiction and not diction , so I’ll go with this one . What you’re talking about are fictional introjects , also called fictives or fictites ‼️ And in that case, yes ‼️ They are real :3 introjection is a normal human process, but with the compartmentalization that CDDs cause , it takes that to the extreme with introjects ‼️ Fictives specifically can form if the media is a major player in a system’s life , and the brain believes an alter with the traits of a certain character could help the specific situation ^^

Why can’t I know my alters the way others seem to define them as separate people?: For starters, recognizing alters as alters instead of fully separate people is actually really good for healing ‼️ (NOTE: if you see your alters as separate people, that’s not inherently a bad thing ‼️ the fact is though , they aren’t . I’m not going to tell you what terms to use for your system , and you’re within your right to refer to alters as different people ‼️ I’m just stating a fact :>) and about knowing your alters , that comes with time . We’re still trying to figure out all of us ^^

Is it a bad thing to refer to ourselves with singular pronouns?: No ‼️ that’s your choice , and whatever makes you most comfortable is the correct option :> we use plural pronouns because that’s more comfortable , but using singular is just as valid ^^

Is 12 a lot?: That really depends ^^ your brain needed 12 separate alters to survive your trauma , so by that logic it’s not ‼️ and even if it was , that’s not a bad thing ^w^ take your time with your system :3

What about the fear of being called a chronic liar?: Denial is a huge part of CDDs ‼️ they’re meant to be covert, so discovering them is usually very difficult . And remember , you and your psychologists a know your experiences the best . Listen to your doctors , and evaluate your own experiences . If you aren’t a system , there’s no shame ‼️

Am I bsing if I only just came to a name for my system? Nope ‼️ you aren’t even required to have a system name , it’s just something a lot of us do :3 and if you mean just figuring out your experiences had a name , you wouldn’t be in that case either ^^ Either way , you aren’t bsing anon :3

Whew, this was a long one ‼️ hope you’re doing better now , anon ! Ik this took a while to get to :<

[wewindondowntheroad]

I'm so close to escaping insurance claim hell, I can almost taste it

[watchyourbuck]

The thing about Tommy is that he’s very pretty. Everything about him is intoxicatingly attractive, and no matter where they go, people follow. Men, particularly.

Buck isn’t necessarily the jealous type. He’s had his fair share of protecting ex girlfriends from creeps and dudes who won’t back off, but this is different. This feels like a constant, extremely symptomatic migraine.

Of course girls throw themselves at him, but the mere fact that they have no chance makes it less angering. It’s the studs, and the twinks, and the huge men who put their hands on his man. That cup his ass almost as a greeting gesture. That play with his hair, and whisper in his ear.

And Tommy isn’t stupid. He knows he’s being flirted with, but since he could never have eyes for anyone who isn’t Buck, he doesn’t see the need to be rude. So he keeps it at ‘No, thank you’’s, and polite, refusing smiles. And yes, that’s yet another one of the qualities Buck loves about him. Because he doesn’t like violence. But then again, it fires up the unwavering possessiveness brewing in the pit of his stomach.

So Buck’s gotten creative. Now that they’re officially a couple, and go out on dates every weekend — to different places, if he might add —, he’s had to get handy with the way he lets people know Tommy’s his.

He orders with him at the bar, makes sure to say ‘my boyfriend’ and strategically places his hands on parts of Tommy’s body that would get him punched if they weren’t together. It works, for the most part.

But there’s always that one guy who can’t take a hint.

“You’re like a Greek god,” he whispers and Buck rolls his eyes. “Greek gods shouldn’t be alone.”

It’s a twenty-something year old dude that looks like he’s missing a college class. He’s wearing a tank top and eyeliner and he’s about a second away from earning himself all of Buck’s un-contained rage.

“I’m not alone,” Tommy says, pointing at him, and god bless his heart. “This is my partner.”

Buck bends forward a bit to wave enthusiastically, but it comes out bitchy. He’s almost sorry but then the guy barely acknowledges him, putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and rubbing circles on the exposed skin. Tommy’s hand tightens on his hip, keeping him still.

“You know, I’m very flexible,” the guy says and Buck is currently making a deal with god to grant him patience. “I could show you just how much.”

“Oh, you’re not showing him anything,” Buck barks, right from over Tommy’s head. If he has to get on his tippy toes to do that, well, the other guy doesn’t have to know.

“Evan,” Tommy warns, but it’s endearing, it carries no threat. He turns his head to the kid and tilts it. “You should find a guy who’s interested. I’m not.”

Buck absolutely preens, a cocky smirk settling on his face. He’s about to claim victory when he notices the guy’s demeanor doesn’t change, and he actually steps closer. “That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing, daddy.”

Nope. A surge of something primal and almost maniac courses through his body, and before Tommy can do anything about it, Buck’s rounding him and taking the guy’s wrist and squeezing it. He’s shorter than Tommy but significantly bigger than this kid, so he towers over him easily. “Take your hands off him if you want to keep them.”

The kid’s face contorts in fear. “What’s your problem, dude!”

Buck laughs, his only point of connection to reality being Tommy’s hand on his belt loops, holding him in place. “My problem,” he says, his voice deeper, “is that you can’t seem to take no for an answer. He’s told you he’s not alone. So, back off before I make you.”

His eyes shift from Buck’s to Tommy’s, who Buck can only guess has a soft but unreadable expression on his face. When the kid isn’t defended by Tommy, he snags his hand back, scoffs and takes off.

Buck watches him until he loses him to the crowd, then lets out a big breath, closing his eyes momentarily. He turns to Tommy, expecting to find judgy or at least annoyed eyes. He doesn’t.

“Not that I wanna encourage you,” Tommy says, sitting on a stool to pull Buck closer, right between his legs. “But that was really hot.”

Buck huffs out a laugh but it’s vaguely one. “I’m just— he wouldn’t stop touching you. You’re, ugh, you’re—!”

Tommy tilts his head, chasing after Buck’s gaze when he looks to the side. “You can say it.”

Buck bites his lip and stares. How could he not, after all. “You’re mine,” de declares, definitive and on the verge of angry. “And I don’t like men touching what’s mine.”

And he knows. There’s a fine line between sexy possessive and psychopathically controlling, and he’s walking it like a rope between two buildings, but the look on Tommy’s face and the unmistakable sight of the front of his pants growing tighter doesn’t help him get off the high horse. “We can always make a scene,” Tommy shrugs, getting up again and cornering Buck against the bar.

Buck’s eyes darken, even through the pain on his tailbone. His arms surge forward to wrap around Tommy’s neck and bring him down. And if they do make a scene, if they do make out messily and desperately for everyone to see, then it’s truly not his problem what they think. As long as they know who Tommy belongs to.

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Less 📱☕️

Alexia Russo x reader

warning : fluffy 💭💗

summary :

You meet your online girlfriend "Less", only to discover she's secretly Alessia Russo, the famous footballer.

You sat in the café, sipping your drink, glancing nervously at the clock. Today was the day you were finally meeting her, the girl you had been talking to for months. She went by the name "Less" online, and you had hit it off from the start. It felt like you could talk to her about anything, and she had this charm that was impossible to resist.

But there was one thing that always nagged at you: Less never sent many personal photos. Sure, you had seen a few selfies here and there, but they were always casual, nothing overly revealing of her life. She claimed to be a private person, which you respected. After all, she made you feel safe enough to open up, and that was all that mattered, right?

You stared out the window, lost in thought when you heard the café door open. You turned instinctively, and your heart nearly stopped. Walking in was someone you never expected to see in a place like this.

Alessia Russo

You recognized her immediately. She was one of the brightest stars in women’s football, and you had seen her play countless times. But what was she doing here?

Before you could process the situation, she looked right at you, her eyes lighting up. She smiled, a smile you knew all too well. Your heart skipped a beat, confusion flooding your mind as Alessia Russo, the Alessia Russo, made her way toward your table.

“Y/N?” she asked softly, her voice familiar yet completely shocking.

You blinked, struggling to connect the dots. “Less?”

She grinned sheepishly, her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. “Surprise.”

You sat there, speechless, your brain trying to catch up with what was happening. Less, the girl you had been talking to for months, your online girlfriend, the one who you thought was just a regular person, was Alessia Russo, one of the biggest football stars in the world.

“I... I don’t understand,” you stammered, your thoughts a jumbled mess. “You’re... you’re Alessia Russo?”

She shifted on her feet, a hint of nervousness in her expression. “Yeah, I know. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want you to see me as... well, as ‘Alessia Russo the footballer,’ you know? I wanted you to get to know me.”

You stared at her, still processing the fact that the Alessia Russo was standing in front of you, the girl you’d grown close to, the one you’d shared so many personal moments with. And now, she was telling you she had been hiding this huge part of her life.

“I wanted to meet you like this, in person, so I could explain,” Alessia continued, sitting down across from you. “I’ve never done this before. I didn’t want my job or my career to change the way we talked.”

You could see the sincerity in her eyes, and it was hard to stay mad if you were even mad at all. Mostly, you were just shocked.

“So, all this time, you were hiding this?” you asked quietly, trying to make sense of it.

She nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, I just didn’t want it to affect the way you saw me. I love football, but I wanted you to get to know Alessia, not ‘Russo.’”

You sat there, staring down at your coffee, feeling a mixture of emotions. It was hard to be angry, because in a way, you understood. Being Alessia Russo meant she had the world’s eyes on her. She didn’t get to live like a normal person most of the time, and she probably feared that once people knew who she was, everything changed.

“I get it, I think,” you said after a long pause. “It’s just... a lot to process. I didn’t think I’d be meeting a famous footballer today.”

Alessia chuckled softly, looking relieved that you weren’t storming off. “I’m still the same person you’ve been talking to for months, though. I still care about you the same way, and nothing’s changed in that department.”

You met her eyes, despite the shock, this was still the girl you had fallen for. The person who had made you laugh on long nights, who had listened when you needed to vent, who had shared parts of herself with you. That hadn’t changed.

“So... you’re not just some random girl who likes football,” you said, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

She laughed, her shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, I guess not. I was going to tell you. I just wasn’t sure how.”

You leaned back in your chair, still processing everything but feeling a lot less overwhelmed. “It’s a bit crazy, but I guess I can’t be mad. You’re still my Less.”

Alessia’s smile grew wider, the tension finally easing between you two. “Exactly. And I’m really glad you came today. I’ve been wanting to see you in person for so long.”

Despite the whirlwind of emotions, you couldn’t help but smile back. “I’ve been wanting to see you too. Even if you did leave out one tiny detail.”

She laughed, looking at you with that soft, affectionate gaze you had come to know through your video calls. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You shook your head, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders. “You better. But... I think I can forgive you, Alessia or should I still call you Less?”

“Call me Less” she said, reaching across the table to take your hand.

You squeezed her hand, feeling the warmth of her touch, and smiled softly.

[kissoulie]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒

𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ 🫧

— NSFW, MDNI. being in love with soul ♡

warnings: not proofread, odd amount of minecraft references, implied that they met underage but all physical activity happens when both are adults, idol!soul, gender neutral for the most part

nsfw: fem-body in mind but can be read as gn (imo) mild voyeurism, some roughness, overall pretty tame

a/n: i wrote this while doing a harry potter marathon so it's not the best 😭 might make it a series tbh, one movie = one being in love with [piwon]. joking, mostly. work has been ass this week ngl and i work again tmrw buttttttt i will be able to dedicate at least 5hrs to delusion after i pick up some conditioner 🫶 who knows maybe i'll lock in and get it done by the 1st (i probably won't)

1. first meetings

soul is the type of person who would be your friend first. one of your very best friends, actually. if you aren't childhood friends, you would be someone he met by chance. at a store, cafe, a park. no matter what, you would be the one to approach him. striking up a conversation about an interest you both share. soul would take a liking to you immediately, opening up gradually, meeting you as often as his schedule allows. he would eventually have to introduce you to the members, and start bringing you over to the dorm. he's getting recognized. going out was becoming a chore for both of you. besides, you've been friends for a while, it's only natural the next step is hanging out in each other's personal space.

after years of your bond, soul finds both of you in his bed after a long day of practice. he wasn't sure what was up wirh you. normally, you wouldn't insist on seeing him after practice. you knew he was tired. for an hour, you'd been clinging to him, head tucked into the crook of his neck. he didn't need words from you. yet, anyways. he just needed to know you're okay. "my treasure," he whispers, "what's wrong?"

your fingers tighten their hold on his shirt. those soft eyes of his, they melt you. "i just had a bad day."

mhmmmm. soul's hand finds itself pressed against your lower back, pulling you onto his lap with ease. "what else?"

"i love you, that's what else." you see soul's expression twitch ever so slightly, brows furrowing before he evens his gaze with your teary one, "i love you too."

2. commitment

life with soul is bliss. he's an extremely attentive lover. he already knows you inside out, and like everyone you change; he changes with you. he blossoms with you. soul loves you so much, he becomes the best version of himself. he doesn't even mean to. all he knows is that you know perfectly how to soothe his fears, how to celebrate with him, how to make him feel loved. he will never ask for more. he's the kind of boyfriend who brings you things that remind him of you. he makes a minecraft realm just for the two of you, where he fills up a whole book telling you how he loves you more than he's afraid of losing you.

soul has a possessive side to him. he rarely shows it around you, but sometimes you notice. when jongseob is making you laugh just a little too hard. or when you're alone with him in their shared room. if he could, sometimes soul thinks he would bite down on you and claim you forever. but then your eyes light up when you see him. you're encasing him in a hug so tight, so intimate, he forgets all about the possessiveness he felt.

date ideas are split evenly between the two of you. whether it's a movie marathon, a quick little errand turned exploring all the shops, a nice dinner date, playing video games for hours on end... you two come up with your own ideas of fun, and share them. but he never ever lets you pay. he will hold your hand so you can't get your card. trying to pay with cash? he's already tapped his card. oh you tried to be sneaky and pay for dinner by giving the server your card? he gave the hostess his the second you walked in. seriously. he's not huge on princess treatment, or gender roles, but he firmly believes you shouldn't have to pay for anything. except in minecraft. he will go halfsies with you when trading with villagers.

2. intimacy

always, always, always is touching you in some way. holding hands, arms wrapped around you, hand on your side. he is casually touching you no matter where you are. while he used to be shy about kissing you around the members, he'll kiss your forehead, cheek, and nose around them. kissing your lips is saved for when you two are alone because...

every kiss turns into a makeout session. no matter how innocent. you'll give him a soft peck, and before you know it his tongue is slipping past your lips, licking against your own. honestly, he doesn't even always wait until you're completely alone. jongseob does have noise cancelling headphones on, at least.

speaking of jongseob: your lovely boyfriend always seems to be more passionate with you when he's in the bed just across from you two. it's that possessiveness he hides from you. he wants to bite you so hard you bleed, so no one will ever look at you again. but he doesn't want to hurt you. so instead he settles for stretching you open with his fingers while his best friend is in the room. you would think he'd be quiet and leave him out of it, but his dirty talk makes it seem like he wants you to moan a little too loud. "quiet, baby. unless you want him to hear? want him to see how good i ruin you? how i pleasure you? you know he can't see you cum, baby, that's only for me to see."

but aside from that little fantasy of his. no matter how rough soul is with you, he's always making love to you. even when he's thrusting into you so hard the bed is shaking and your knees are pressed up next to your chest, he's still looking at you with his puppy eyes, making you feel so good. and if he finishes too early, you bet he's using his mouth to finish you off, even if it means eating some of his own cum. usually he's ready to go again by the time you cum anyways. he has endless stamina.

taglist: @tkooooop, @haolovre ♡

[travelling-wanderer]

・﹒・ two roads

Summary: After your father racked up a huge bounty on him from being the leader of a crime gang, you finally got the courage to kill him. However, the Ghoul arrives intending to kill him unaware the man was already dead. He gives you two options- let him have the bounty and he'll offer you protection if you come with him, or be alone and at risk for other unsavory people to hunt you down.

Warnings: 18+, suggestive content, death, blood, coercion, flirty Cooper

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x GN!reader

Notes: H! I am now in the Fallout fandom thanks to the show. My only experience with Fallout was the mobile game Fallout Shelter lmfao played that on and off since 2017. Started a new vault tho! I got some show characters including The Ghoul >:)

Blood dripped down the knife as you stared at his lifeless corpse, your form hunched over, breathing heavy, eyes wide and frenzied, hair sticking up all over the place, staring down at the body as the red liquid stained and soaked into the floor beneath him.

You finally did it.

He wasn't a good father, but your mother helped curb his less savory habits. Well, she was gone now.

You only stayed with him out of obligation, but as the days wore on, so did he. He was born and raised up here, however your mother was a genuine Vault Dweller who left her vault and made a new life up here.

Including dating your father.

He started a small gang purely to find the people that had killed her, and ended up becoming one of the fiercest crime gang leaders in California. There was a high bounty on him and he was always on alert. Not around you though.

It was an easy stab to the heart.

You had never killed anyone before though- but your dad was the one who had raised you to protect yourself.

How ironic.

But you weren't a killer. You weren't used to being able to take someone's life with your own hands.

Things change.

You still could have sworn time stopped as you didn't move, still staring at the corpse. Should you feel bad? Guilty? Regret? Maybe. But you didn't. He wasn't a perfect father, you couldn't care less.

You didn't know how much time had passed before you heard the creaking of the front door open and steps on the floor. Whipping your body to face the source with the still bloody knife at the ready, the thing that walked through the door wasn't what you expected.

"Well now, it seems like I was too slow this time, usually I ain't" You heard of him, who didn't? He was a cowboy, ghoul bounty hunter- and the best in the country. You just didn't think he would ever cross your path despite your parents being involved with people like him. He was more a myth to you.

"Not much of a talker, eh? You his child I assume?" Still in shock over everything, you gave him a small nod as you must still look frenzied. He chuckled as he walked closer, yet you didn't move one inch, even as he gently grabbed your wrist that was holding the knife and tossed it onto the floor, plucking it from your hand with ease. You just watched as he smirked.

"Your first kill is always the roughest, don't worry though- you'll get used to it"

"Don't kill me" You meant to sound louder, firmer, it just came out as a whisper, a plea. Shaky, you watched as he just chuckled at your weakness. You may have just killed someone, but that didn't mean you didn't feel trauma from it.

"I ain't gonna kill ya, but I am claiming that bounty. Runnin' low on caps, I'm sure ya understand" A small part of you felt a bit calmer from his voice, you liked it in a very special way, but the survival part of your brain was stronger than the hormonal part, so you couldn't fully take it. You were still in shock after killing your father, after all.

"But- but I need those caps more" His eyebrow raised as he took you in, looking up and down, and it made you shiver in a way that wasn't out of fear.

"Oh really now? How about this-" He released you, causing you to stumble back a few steps and cradle your thankfully uninjured wrist.

"You let me have the bounty and I'll protect ya, meaning- you come with me" You narrowed your eyes at the last part. Protect you?

"Against what? Against who?" He was silent, telling you that it was something you certainly weren't dumb enough not to realize. After some time, it finally hit you"

"My dad's men..."

"Are not gonna be too happy to see their leader gone, killed by his only child nonetheless" The realization made your blood freeze, chills ran up your spine as you knew exactly who would go after you first and exactly how he would kill you.

"I can survive...I'll find a way" You were lying to yourself as there was no way you could live against your father's gang, but you didn't want to be protected by a stranger- who was a ghoul not to mention.

"Ok then" He stood right in front of you and leaned down- face only inches away- and put his mouth right next to your ear. Yet again, you shivered at his closeness, tingles going down your spine and at the same time, you could sense that something changed within him then.

"Don't come crying for me when you're bleeding out shot up like a shooting range" He whispered before slightly nipping at your ear and slowly pulling away, gauging your reaction. Heat consumed your entire face as you now felt the signs of arousal present in your body. Staring at him, you felt the overwhelming sense of attraction start to fester. Fuck- was he genuinely into you, playing some twisted game just to fuck with you, or trying to further manipulate you?

"I get a cut, seventy percent" Your voice was so shaky, between the arousal and the fact that he knew exactly what buttons to push, you couldn't believe you were going along with this. With him. But his face lit up at your inference of agreeing to let him protect you.

"Fifty" You then got right up to his ear, just like what he did.

"Sixty and final offer"

Hook.

"Or else I'll take my chances"

Line.

You bit his ear, giving it a small lick before pulling away.

Sinker.

His breath hitched as he looked at you with eyes full of nothing but lust and curiosity. He then suddenly grabbed your shoulders and slammed you against the closest wall, his lips ghosting yours. Your heart was hammering out of your chest as you waited in bated breaths, arousal spiking your sex.

"Come. With. Me" He was firm, but not angry. He was more...pent up, growing frustrated with you throwing back what he was giving you. You could tell he was hard without looking down.

"Something tells me there's a specific reason you want to protect me, isn't there, Ghoul?" Despite only knowing each other for less than ten minutes, you already felt comforted in his hold, and you both knew how to get under the other's skin.

The attraction was- self assured- mutual and instant.

Neither of you could or would deny it, just never admit it directly.

Instead, it would linger in the air, charged like lightening.

"And if so?" Now that the earlier tension was gone, you could fully take in all forms of him, including his accent. That accent was old, very old, so old that had to of been from pre-war. Nobody spoke like he did.

Nobody.

"I'll pack my things" Pushing him away, you walk towards your bedroom to gather a bag when you passed by your father's body and stopped.

"By the way- what part of him did they want?"

"The head"

"Go ahead, just please cover it. I...I don't want to see it" Shaking your head to rid you of that thought, you let him do...that as you ignored the sounds of mutilation as you put your best and favorites into a backpack. You were very selective about what you brought, since you know would forever be moving around. Going out into the main room again, you were surprised at what you saw, or rather, lack of. Instead of just covering the head up in some makeshift bag, he draped a curtain he ripped off from one of the rods and laid it over his body.

"Thought you didn't want to see it again at all. Now let's go, we're wasting daylight" The ball of fabric that was now connected to his belt swayed back and forth as he exited through the front door, stopping right before he walked onto the sand after he realized that you haven't moved.

"You comin'?"

[maxwell-grant]

do you have any favorite batman henchmen?

I put a lot of stock into how a Batman work tackles the resident henchmen and assistants and organization surrounding any specific Batrogue and how those intersect with each other so yes, absolutely I have Bat-henchman opinions, and favorites per villain. I'm gonna about pick about one or two among my favorites and name a few honorable mentions, with one exception and that's Rhino, Scarface's muscle. I know he's sort of a package deal with Mugsy, and Mugsy's pretty good too, but Rhino's the one I love.

I have a huge amount of fondness for Rhino and Rhino specifically because of his showing in "Read my Lips", as one of my favorite musical pieces for the series is the leitmotif that plays specifically for Rhino's moments in the opening heist and his brawl with Batman in the climax, and frankly he earns a top spot for me solely on the basis that he has his own theme and it's a banger on top of that. Scarface is exactly the kind of Bat-villain you want funny stereotypical cartoon gangsters attached to, and the big dumb grunt archetype is always more fun when paired with a proportionally much smaller partner or boss. And in Rhino's case, not only is he a titanically strong wall of muscle taking orders from a hand-held puppet dressed like a gangster, but cowering in fear when said puppet gets angry at him and relieved when reminded that he's too stupid to betray da boss. They made a lot with very little out of a bit character and it makes me love the episode so much more, and again, he has his own theme song and it opens the episode even, pretty hard to top that.

Penguin: My favorite overall has usually been Lark, specifically the version of her that was introduced in Tony Daniel's run. Like with Rhino and Scarface, the tiny funny-looking Oswald Cobblepot having a tall, intimidating lady chaffeur following him around makes for good contrast, and although I didn't like "Bullies" much at all, I really liked that scene of them being on friendly terms with each other, how much Penguin trusts her with his life and what he does. I like she is not abiding by any kind of formal dress code, like everyone else who tends to work at the Lounge, she's got almost like a punk thing that really contrasts with Oswald's own outfits and I always liked that, her individuality.

A more recent favorite would be Lili Kwan from Penguin: One Bad Day, someone who is far more marginalized than Oswald, and someone who was marginalized and pushed aside BY Oswald, but who joins up with him because he is the best lesser evil she is going to get and because they have enough in common that he can relate to her and respect her and ensure she is respected, but she pointedly does not mince words around him and does not entertain Oswald's delusions and self-loathing. She kinda demands Oswald to be the better class of criminal he paints himself as, to learn from his mistakes and earn having her by his side because "a king can't have illusions", and that's an incredibly interesting dynamic to me, this person with a vision of what Penguin and his empire should be like and in a position to have Penguin listen to her about it, not just muscle by his side but a voice in his ear pushing him to get his head in the game, be someone who deserves the loyalty he has from the underprivileged and the outcasts he claims to be a part of.

Honorable mentions would be the Red Triangle Gang from Batman Returns. I don't think they would really belong in any other version of the Penguin, and I have some very mixed feelings on Returns still, but I like the history they have with this Oswald and I like them in the movie proper, my favorite is the Poodle Lady for no real reason. I would also name the Kabuki Twins from The Batman cartoon, and Mr Decondor from The Batman Audio Adventures.

Joker: I gotta go with Bob the Goon, the Number One Guy. He is not even called Bob the Goon in the movie, he's just become so emblematic a figure for goons everywhere that he earns that name, Bob the Goon. See, I actually don't think the Joker should employ clowns in his gang, I think if you have more than one clown going around doing crimes, then they're not that special individually, I don't see the Joker surrounding himself with people who look or act even half as outlandish as himself, and that’s part of why Bob works for me, this comically ordinary schlub grunt who nevertheless endears himself to our sympathies for putting up with the Joker, being endlessly loyal to Napier before and after his accident. We like him in no small part because the Joker clearly likes this guy as much as he's capable of liking anyone on the planet, which is why it actually lands when the Joker guns him down just to vent. Rest in peace Bob, an example to low-lives everywhere.

If I had to name another favorite, and one I think works better on a reocurring basis, it would be Charlie Charleyhorse, from The Batman Audio Adventures. Charleyhorse has the mannerisms of a smooth-talking wise guy and is the guy who handles the day-to-day businesses of the Joker, sweet-talking recruits and negotiating deals and convincing rookies to eat poison and even hosting his broadcasts, and in contrast to the other villain sidekicks in the show who provide comedic contrast he is this very efficient, very charming and dangerous man, fully cognizant of the cruelty he's assisting and the man he works for. To me he feels like a very organic way of establishing how much more dangerous the Joker is compared to the other villains, that he runs his disorganized crime with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, that behind all the chaos and mayhem there is an unfathomably brilliant mind at work and a smart, affable businessman to act as a conduit between that mind and the city, as if the Joker plucked the ghost of Jack Napier from his soul and found a sweet deal that lets them both happily exist.

Honorable mentions would be Prank, from The Batman cartoon. I think Joker gunning for his own Robin is an idea with legs (Harley never really counted in that regard), I really liked his design, a perfect combination of Robin aesthetics with a clown/jester motif, and I thought he had one of the more interesting set-ups for a "Joker corrupts people into extensions of him" story, definitely one of the better Joker episodes in that show. Other honorable mentions would be Jackanapes and Captain Clown from TAS, because the Joker getting unreasonably attached to a horrible giant clown android is a pretty funny concept to me.

Riddler: God, what a perfect character Miss Tuesday is. Pairing up the self-obsessed artist of crime with the harshest critic of all, the disinterested judgemental teenager, is such a perfect combo and it does so much to breathe new life into a very classic take on Riddler. The fact that she regularly stays in touch and coordinates stuff with other villain interns is amazing and part of the incredible worldbuilding The Batman Audio Adventures has in general. Miss Tuesday is this physical embodiment of ennui to deflate his cartwheeling histerics, manifesting every bit of self-awareness that the Riddler completely ignores, annoying him just as much as he annoys everyone else (her included).

It's punctuated by her being casually murderous to an extent that even surprises him, and the fact that she is just as smart as he is, so by the standards he lives his life by, he can't brush her off as another small-minded knuckle-dragging ignoramus like he does with everyone else, no, he can't tell himself that she simply doesn't understand what he is doing. She does understand him, she is just not that impressed by him, and Eddie will simply have to roll with the barbs and work harder if he is to prove himself. She is the closest The Riddler has to a conscience and thus her job is not to push him towards any kind of moral self-improvement or an approach to his work that doesn't involve murder and terrorism, but to dunk cold water on his head and call him cringe when he gets in too deep or for doing this instead of, like, making money off this crap or something.

The other candidate would be the Riddler's Followers from The Batman. They're not a concept I think would work for a more traditional version of The Riddler, but God they work SO well for that movie and that version of him, marking Eddie Nigma's transition from malajusted murderer into not just a supervillain with a city-destroying plot, not just the rise of supervillains as a thing Gotham is gonna have to deal with forever, but as a sickness aimed at the heart of the city, and a sickness that Batman is indirectly responsible for and that he must owe up to. I really like how The Riddler: Year One elaborates on them with "He doesn't trust people. But numbers never lie." His "henchmen" are numbers, numbers on a screen he never has to actually interact with, but can still send on to be proxies of him, embodiments of how much bigger this is than anything Batman could have imagined it being.

Honorable mentions would be the classic duo of Query and Echo, and much like Bob, we gotta bring up his henchgirl Molly from the Batman 66 pilot two-parter, who tragically died by falling into the Batcave's nuclear reactor. "What a way to go-go".

Two-Face: It's common for Two-Face to have twin sets of named thugs but I can't say any of them have ever been particularly memorable to me, but one that does stick out to me is Benny from Long Shadows. I'm of the opinion that if any Batman villain should be establishing a working relationship with a henchman/assistant, if any Batman villain really needs to be depicted putting in the work as far as convincing people to work for him, it should be Two-Face, the former widely-beloved District Attorney/politician turned crimelord who somehow stays a dominant player in the Gotham underworld despite everything stacked against him (his face, his reputation, his past being public record, the coin-based decisions, etc). I think Two-Face needs to be some degree of charismatic and conversational and convincing, he's someone with more tangential history in this world than the other villains and should be willing and able to engage with people at any level, even if, and especially if, he's going to betray or save them at the flip of a coin, and the closest anyone's ever come to capturing that for me has been Benny, this guy who's willing to question Two-Face's decisions and is smart and sensible and generally pleasant enough that Two-Face lets him do it (with some limits, of course) and lets him in on what he's planning. Being drawn by Mark Bagley, who can convey a lot of expression and personality on any character, is definitely a bonus.

Scarecrow: Not so much of a henchmen since this was technically a villain team-up, but Scream Queen as she was featured in that Brave and the Bold segment has literally nothing in common with comics Scream Queen as debuted in Scare Tactics to the point she is a new character in every way. I like comics Scream Queen quite a lot, and I wouldn't want her to be any kind of underling to Scarecrow, but BATB Scream Queen is a very cool design and concept and in general I think Scarecrow could stand to have some cool and inventive henchmen, I wouldn't be opposed to seeing BATB Scream Queen turn up again so long as she had a different name. I'm also extremely partial to the Strawmen and the idea of him employing former students and offering them teaching exercises mid-crime.

Bane: There's really only one form of Bane henchmen that matter and it's Bird, Zombie and Trogg, the Fabulous Five to his Doc Savage (I always felt like there could be two more members to actually make them five, I know it doesn't have to be an exact reference but). I like them as they are in regular canon but my favorite depiction of them so far has been in the Batman 66 comic by Jeff Parker, which retrofits Bane to fit the 66 aesthetic and tone by further emphasizing his lucha motif, and having his Fabulous Three all dress up in distinct masks of their own referencing existing iconic luchadore characters.

Black Mask: I think the False Face Society is one of the more interesting parts of Black Mask's concept and it really doesn't come up enough, and when it does it gets folded into just being a name for his gangster lackeys instead of the weird cult aspect it acquired when it was folded into his character, I'd like to see that stuff get folded back in.

Hugo Strange: Honestly I love all of Hugo's varied forms of henchmen over the years, all of them have their place in the grand tapestry of his designs (I'm not too big on Sanjay from Batman and the Monster Men, there is stuff to like about their dynamic but I don't think the pulp racial manservant is a thing deserving of the charming throwback treatment). The gangsters from his debut, the androids/mannequins, Night Scourge, the TYGER guards/troopers from Arkham City, the mind-controlled villains and inmates from his Deathstroke arc, and of course the Monster Men. I do prefer the horrific body horror kaijus from Night of the Monster Men, but I also like the mutated giants, especially when they dress up in oversized trenchcoats and slouch hats.

There are a few others but I'm lastly gonna say Mr.Freeze and his polar bears Notchka and Shaka, from Batman and Mr.Freeze: Subzero. I'm not opposed to Mr.Freeze having regular henchmen, or even ice-themed henchmen like in Batman and Robin, there are ways to have it make sense, but the polar bears I think have this sort of almost innocent fairytale logic to them that just fits Mr.Freeze and his imagery a lot better, abstract guardians of the concept of the arctic that Mr.Freeze claims dominion over. Even at their most benign, you can't extricate human henchmen from the inherent brutality of their profession, but when it's trained animals defending a master, it's easier to find innocence and sympathy, traits that fit well with Mr.Freeze. If there's anything in that movie I remember, it's the bittersweet ending where they walk off into a blizzard together, his sole two companions into this new life he's cursed with.

Does it really make any sense for Mr.Freeze's established skillset and character for him to have a duo of trained polar bears on call to do crimes with, the way Penguin and Catwoman have their own trained animals? No. Is it corny? Arguably yes. Do I think it's cool? Is it a cool image? Very much so, and when it comes to Batman, that tends to be the final word in things.

[soulprompts]

THE SURPRISING HERO ( A PROMPT LIST! )

hello my beloveds!!! an absolutely incredible nonnie sent in a request for prompts based on the idea of someone becoming a vital part of saving the world through unanticipated events, and i hope i managed to achieve what they wanted in this list! basically i got a tonne of inspiration from comic book movies and the more fantastical vibes of high fantasy franchises, and i was going to make these more amusing, but i think there's something so hard-hitting about the concept of being thrust into greatness and heroism when you feel you aren't ready for it! anyway! enjoy, and as always: DO NOT ADD TO OR EDIT THIS LIST, AND DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN!

FROM THE UNEXPECTED HERO:

“ i’m not supposed to be here. i’m not like the rest of you; i’m not special, or blessed, or gifted. i’m just… me. “

“ you’ve got to be joking! i can’t save the world! i’m just an ordinary person! “

“ it’s funny. all these years, i’ve wanted so badly to see the world. now… i think i’ve never wanted anything so much as to go back home. “

“ so that’s it, then? i’m just supposed to sacrifice everything to save the world, all because some ancient prophecy says so? “

“ i still can’t quite believe we were doing laundry yesterday. now our biggest chore is traveling across the world to save it. “

“ i miss home. i miss how safe and boring and fine it all was. i never would’ve wanted adventures if i thought they’d be as scary and dangerous as this. “

“ they’re right to be angry, you know. everyone has a purpose here; i’m only joining you all because of some insane twist of fate. “

“ surprised? don’t worry, so was i. i don’t think it’s a normal occurrence for people like me to be part of massive quests like this. “

“ look. i’m not the chosen one, alright? i don’t want any part in any prophecy or ancient dictation. i just want to live an ordinary, safe, boring life. “

“ you think i don’t acknowledge what’s happening?! every mistake i make has costs, and those costs are often the lives of innocent people! “

“ you know, last year my idea of a grand adventure was going up the mountains for a picnic with my friends. funny how fast things change, isn’t it? “

“ i’m not a hero! i don’t know how to fight! heroes are special and unique and trained, and i’m none of those things. “

“ everyone looks at me like i’ve got the answers, but i don’t. i was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. “

“ you ever stop to question the solidity of this prophecy? because if the wording is that vague that it could name me as the savior of the world, then maybe we ought to revise it. “

“ this is stupid! putting the fate of the universe on some million-year-old prophecy! “

“ i’m not what you think i am. i’m not a hero. i’m sorry, i know you want me to be one, but… i’m just not. “

“ so you’re telling me, because i happened to overhear some weird out of context conversation, that the safety of the world relies entirely on me? “

“ don’t you see how daft this whole thing is?! i’ve got to save the world now because i happened to take a wrong turn on my way home! “

“ why can’t i just give you guys what i found, and you can go and rescue the world yourselves? “

“ i want to clarify that i’m not a coward. okay? i’m not running away from this. but i’m not exactly save-the-world material. so thank you for the opportunity, but… i think i’ll stay at home. “

TO THE UNEXPECTED HERO:

“ i get it, you know. it’s a huge responsibility for someone who’s only just realized what’s at stake. “

“ the others think i’m utterly mad for even considering you for this task. but the fact is, you’re the only person i genuinely believe to be capable of fixing this mess. “

“ would you like to know the mark of a true hero? it’s courage. not an absence of fear, not an ignorance of it, but rather, the choice to persevere in spite of it. you’re still here. that makes you one of the bravest people on the planet. “

“ don’t let anyone else tell you what you are and aren’t capable of. everything happens for a reason, and it wasn’t dumb luck that put you in our path. “

“ i don’t believe in prophecies, personally. i think the universe is far too chaotic for them to survive thousands of years. but i do believe that you being here is not a coincidence. “

“ fate only accounts for part of what happens in our lives. the rest of it is all choices. and despite how scared and inexperienced you are… you’ve chosen to stay. that tells me an awful lot about you. “

“ how selfish can you be?! running away from this destiny, this task! the world will fall into darkness if you don’t step up, and here you are, hiding from your fate like a coward! “

“ you need to learn to ignore the opinions of others if you’re going to stand a chance at doing this. this is the cost of being a hero. people will judge, not based on truth, but on a limited perspective. “

“ don’t be stupid. we’re not special or talented either; i was trained from childhood, i can fight men twice my size, but that’s not the mark of a hero. “

“ if you like, i could teach you how to fight? you may find it useful. even if it’s just to comfort yourself against these ridiculous self-doubts. “

“ heroes aren’t always massive muscle types. the inventor of new defense measures against attacks, or someone who discovered a cure for a disease, or perhaps someone clever enough to use new fuel sources in the winter… heroism isn’t always found in warzones, you know. “

“ fine. don’t do it for the fate of the world. do it for your family. your friends. do it for the ones you’ll return to once we settle this for good. save this world, not for the world itself, but for the ones you love, so that they may live on. “

“ you should know some things. most people, if you somehow perform outside of the very specific expectations they have for you, will be very quick and harsh in their judgment. it’s not something one can avoid. but you can learn to rise above those critics. remember. they don’t know the real you. “

" fear is normal. okay? we all fear things. the real killer is when you try to fight that fear. you're no lesser a hero for fearing things. expect it. accept it. embrace it. and once it's with you, work with it to fight even more. "

" you keep saying you're not a hero. tell me. what exactly is it that you believe a hero to be? "

" people make the error of assuming heroes to be golden, flawless, immaculate in both thought and strategy. it's never the case. heroes are the most flawed of all. that's what makes us admire them so. "

[vashtijoy]

what is the link between Akechi and the story of Robin Hood?

*pulls on my green British person hat and grabs a bow*

I'm not a huge expert on Persona links but they do tend to be a bit tenuous; Akechi's Robin Hood is no more like the legendary Robin Hood than Loki is like Loki or Arsene is like Lupin. That said:

Robin Hood is a thief, of course. Chalk that one up in the "Akechi is a Phantom Thief" column;

Robin Hood is a master of disguise, like both Akechi's other personas;

Robin Hood is often depicted as being of noble birth and having been unjustly dispossessed—Akechi's "prince" regalia is often interpreted that way, as a claim on a denied birthright;

Wikipedia defines "a Robin Hood" as "a heroic outlaw or a rebel against tyranny", which, well;

He's most known for having robbed from the rich to give to the poor, and I don't quite get that one. Akechi himself could be "the poor", but "robbed from the rich to give to himself" lacks a certain cachet.

The most notable thing about Robin Hood, to me, is that Superman motif that contrasts with Hereward's Batman motif, with Loki in the middle as the second awakening—hero to villain to antihero. Because, even if he awakened to both Robin and Loki at the same time, it's like Protect and Endure—there must still have been an order.

We see it during his third awakening to Hereward—the historical figure Robin Hood was allegedly based on. Hereward resembles Robin Hood, and Robin is on the left—which makes him the first awakening. Even if it maybe didn't work the same as the others we saw.

But yeah, one argument in favour of Akechi awakening to both Robin Hood and Loki at the same time is that Akechi did not randomly awaken. Like Joker, Akechi was awakened—to serve a purpose, to be Yaldabaoth's agent spreading fear among the masses.

That makes it very hard for me to picture Akechi starting out as a good guy, as the hero he dreamed of being. Akechi was chosen for his role because he was already full of hate—because he was the sort who, given power, would inevitably twist it to a bad end that he was already fixated on. Akechi is already the kid with the perfect outward image who's twisted and broken on the inside; he essentially tells us in the engine room that he lived his whole life that way. I have a feeling he was already becoming like that when his mother was alive.

The thing is, there's no reason that kid can't still believe in justice; of course he does. He believes in it the way people who've been hurt by religion often still believe in God. He believes in it as something that should exist, but doesn't; as an ideal, with the hate that's the flip side of love and belief. There are no heroes. Nobody will save him. Friends and family aren't real; love and trust are lies people tell themselves, tricks used to manipulate you. The system isn't on his side; no matter what he does, the world just finds new ways to hurt him, and what can he do about it?

And that guy he can't stop thinking about, who symbolises all of this injustice, whose shadow Akechi has lived in for so long? As well wish for the moon as hope to get back at him.

Except, one day, he finds the app on his phone. He goes from being bitter and powerless to having power, to having choices, to being able to hurt others like he's been hurt. But that part of him that aspired to justice, to being a hero, never really goes away. He does his utmost to give his life for it.

[sillyromance]

...He picked me up.

Just a minute ago, it was a fight: loud screams, screeching of metal upon metal, dead people, scents of sweat and blood flooding the ground underneath my boots. Now, it's just me and him; he is so huge, a death battle below is nothing but an amusing bunch of shouting tiniest punching each other for no reason.

Many years ago, he left to serve a kingdom opposing mine. I knew him... Very well. But we have changed. He isn't my old friend any more as well as I'm not an immature student of Royal academy.

I don't know who ordered him to come here. I have no idea how he found me in that mess. But there is no doubt why I'm on his palm now. My fate is clear: he is a giant, and I'm a human. I'm significantly weaker; my sword is a toy which won't do him any harm. As if I intended to... Anyway, I throw the blade away - then look back in his blue eyes gazing at me softly, almost like they did before his deception.

No words are said. Feeling tears swelling at the corners of my eyes, I hold away sobs, but continue to stare right in his face, showing that I don't fear what's coming next. He moves his thumb and rubs my wet cheek as if trying to reassure me. I don't protest. It's... comforting to be remembered. To be reminded that our bond still costs something.

Afterwards, he lifts me closer to his mouth, opens it slightly - and gently puts me inside, shutting his jaws behind my feet, leaving me in compete darkness. His tongue springs beneath me, saliva pools in immediately, soaking my clothes and hair as I lie limp, allowing my devourer to do anything he pleases with me.

I cry silently. I have already accepted my end.

At my surprise, he doesn't savour me for long. He is exceptionally careful with my vulnerable body; perhaps, it's because he tastes blood running from a wound in my shoulder. Merciful, as always... I'm grateful for him taking me from hell down below; at least, there will be no nasty smells and yelling soldiers when I die.

His lips part one last time - I see a glimpse of sky and the sun flickering gloriously at my smeared face. I look at it, peace settling in my chest.

Goodbye...

I tap the muscle, announcing that I'm ready.

And he listens - I feel as gravity gradually shifts beneath me. I slide into the pharynx - he swallows loudly, forever separating me from the outside world. Just a little quivering lump travelling down his powerful throat and disappearing without a trace in his broad chest as if I have never existed.

I slowly sink further, further into dark, soothing warmth. I hear his heart beating beside me, his huge lungs filtrating air as he inhales and exhales - signs of a great life all around my minuscule frame. Something I will be a part of very soon as a ship becomes a part of the ocean which claimed it.

The esophagus contracts, squeezing a pained whimper out of me - I'm pushed in a spacious chamber which greets me with an audible growl.

I don't know if I should feel anything as I tuck myself into the velvet folds. Acids make my skin itch a little, but it doesn't take long for the sensation to turn into pleasant numbness. It's pitch black, hot, humid. And soft. My lids lower against my will; exhaustion and blood loss are determined to knock me out. I know - if I fall asleep, I won't wake up. But it's OK. I'm tired. He is with me. His belly gurgles softly, digestion process ready to rage on; his hand wonders around his abdomen - I feel it touching my back, then it presses harder at me and doesn't ever go away.

Only he will ever know what happened to me. I'm not even visible out there - and though it should be terrifying, I'm happy that no one will come to save me.

He won't leave me alone again...

I smile. Then, allow my eyes finally close and succumb at the mercy of his stomach....

........

- Hey.

I blink, lifting on my elbow. The room is enormous; every item or piece of furniture is at least fifteen times bigger than me. Meanwhile, my bed is just the right size for a tiny. In fact, it is a cute fruit basket full of cushions. I want to pull away a heavy piece of fabric given me instead of a normal blanked - but hiss and give up on this plan immediately, blind and deaf from pain: the cut on my shoulder burns, convulsing, as if it was on fire.

Only once I catch my breath and the fog covering my vision clears a little, I notice familiar forget-me-not eyes twinkling kindly from above.

- Ugh... W-what happened?

The giant smiles.

- Your injury needs good treatment. I saw you on the buttle field and decided to take care of your crazy head before someone else did. It appears I was just in time.

I huff, falling back at the pillow dramatically.

- Very funny. Actually, I thought you was about to make me your food.

He raises a brow, then frowns - it looks like I have offended him.

- One more word - and I'm eating you for real.

I giggle. Next few minutes pass in silence as I watch him preparing a tiny bondage for my wounded arm. His large fingers move so accurately - it seems impossible, considering how big he is. When he finally turns to me, I let him wrap his work around the stinging area. Healing extract bites sensitive flesh aka crocodile, but I don't pay attention to it, smirking softly at my friend's focused expression as he tends me gingerly.

- That's why I love you. - I murmur.

He says nothing. Just smirks back - and gives me a kiss in the forehead.

[sailorrhansol]

One in the Grave | 01

❀ Pairing: Vampire!Vernon x Dhampir!Reader (f) 

❀ Summary: Immortal problems require immortal solutions, but you never expected the unlikely help from a vampire lord and the destruction that might come with it. 

❀ Series Word Count: 8,143

❀ Genre: Supernatural, Dystopian,

❀ Type: Unlikely allies to lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Chapter Warnings: My baby girl has PTSD!!! Very much forgetting where she is sometimes and thinking she’s back in The Bad Place, mentions of past torture and abuse (recalls someone breaking her bones over and over), mentions of mind control/compulsion, mentions of murder, gross ass vampires being killed grossly and sometimes the word choice is icky like did I need to use the word sinew? No but I did. A lot of references to Trauma and Being Traumatized, Jeonghan is funny but also diabolical about said Trauma, lots of blood because this is a vampire fic, fight scenes that idk if they make sense, mentions of disease, like hints of mentions of there being like DiRtY bLoOd classism what else… reader hates herself and it’s Saur Obvious. Reader sort of has an accidental terminator setting when she gets too into fighting and goes Sicko Mode and punches through a vampires chest to rip its heart out idk thats kind graphic

❀ A/N: This chapter took me forever to write because I re-wrote sections so many times, but I'm finally happy with where I ended up. I deviated from my outline almost immediately, but this beginning to this story feels more natural than the original! I am so excited to be writing this and to take you on a very dramatic journey through this vampiric, dystopian world.

A/N 2: Huge thank you to the best beta team a girlie can ask for in @daechwitatamic and @eoieopda because without them, so much of this would not make sense.

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

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I need not fear the dark. I need not fear the pain. In the dark, I was made. In pain, I become anew. I am the Grim. 

Darkness seeps from the damp walls next to you. The air is foul and wet, leaving a sour taste on your tongue, nearly cloying the back of your throat. There’s no part of the Undercity that isn’t dripping with rot. It clings to your boots as you slip through the tunnels, settling on your skin as you turn a corner.

Water drips in several of the tunnels. You can hear the soft splash as the drops hit the puddles, the only sound in the deep dark. You frown - you know you’re not alone. The underground paths leading to the heart of the Undercity might seem empty, but they are never what they appear to be.

On instinct, you take a left. Even in the dark, you can see the general lay of the land, a complex network of abandoned, vampire-made passageways under the city of Black Harbor. The tunnels go farther than the city walls, stretching beneath the human districts in the Tombstones and ending at random stop points in the Wilds. 

Another left and you’ll be heading east toward the coast. Even the old vampires would lose their way in the tunnels - everything looks and smells the same. You’re not one of them, though, and you’ve learned these tunnels by heart. Could navigate them even without your sharp vision. 

A wet step catches your attention. You stop and crouch low, looking ahead. Dark shapes blend together. Even with enhanced vision, you can only see so far in the Undercity, the general darkness blending together. 

But you can hear. 

Another wet step catches your ears. You close your eyes and focus on the sounds. The steady drip drip drip of the pipes brackets the sound of a soft hissing - not hissing. Sniffing. Scenting.

Without wind in the Undercity, you don’t have to worry about the breeze carrying your scent. Still, the things lurking in the dark, especially recently, are better at smelling the difference between what’s alive and what’s dead. You straddle the line between, but you’re alive enough. 

Slowly, your hand reaches up behind your back, grasping the leather handle of your blade. The scenting stops and you hear a soft grinding sound, like teeth gnashing, followed by slow steps. You pull your blade out the rest of the way, twisting it in your hand and taking a slow, deep breath. 

The steps stop for a moment - and then something is running, the wet slap deafening in the silence of the tunnels. You poise yourself, leaning a little forward, ready to throw your weight into your strike. You’ll need to be fast.

Out of the darkness, a loping humanoid shape appears. The Rabid looks more or less human from a distance, but as it gets closer, you see everything wrong with it: crimson eyes as a result of broken blood vessels, bulging veins as a result of swelling before the host died, rows of serrated teeth, and twitching, dislocated limbs.

Nothing about a Rabid is human. Nothing about a Rabid is really a vampire, either. Though they’re a vampire species, they lack the fundamental ability for cognitive function, and are thus only driven by the need to feed insatiably. 

Human-shaped but twisted by post-mortem metamorphosis, whatever person they used to be before Red Fever infected them and killed them is gone. In the place of what used to be a person is a genderless cryptid with muscular, half-rotted bodies and nails like talons. They’re more bedtime story monsters than they are anything else, and you’re running around their home in the dark. 

The feral hunger works in your favor. The Rabid misses on its first swing as you duck, throwing your weight into your thrust as you plunge the sword through the creature’s abdomen. It screams, striking at you again but you’re already moving, keeping your momentum going as you pull the weapon with you, the sucking sound of the blade pulling from its stomach sickening. 

It isn’t the worst sound you’ve heard, and you don’t let it stop you as you spin on your heel, slicing wickedly at the Rabid’s head. It ducks, though, sensing the attack as it scrambles away from you, curling inward as it bleeds from the middle. The wound won’t kill it, but making them bleed is key.

Blood is imperative to a Rabid’s strength. The more blood they’ve ingested recently, the stronger they are. Severing limbs and damaging the heart that pumps blood through the system - or removing it entirely - is important. 

The creature turns to face you again. You spin the blade, point it toward the Rabid and take a wide stance, one foot forward and one foot backward with your weight centered on the back foot. Any other foe with a thinking, calculating sense would try to assess. The Rabid does not, driving forward again with a snarl, jaw extending beyond a normal human’s with the intention to bite down wherever it can. 

Spinning to the side, your sword arm follows your momentum, coming down hard on the back of the Rabid’s neck. You hear the crack of bone as it cuts, your sword carving easily. The head separates from the rest of the body, thudding against the wet floor of the tunnel. 

There’s no time to worry about burning the body yet. More hisses slither up the tunnel and the wet slap of feet rushing toward you is warning enough that other Rabids have been alerted. 

That’s fine. You step away from the slain beast and face the source of the noise, taking your stance again, muscles coiled, heart pounding as your blood rushes. You feel the adrenaline mount, hitting your system like a high, pulse throbbing, focus narrowing.  

Kill. Kill. 

The impulse is fleeting, there and gone again. You grimace and swallow down the instinct to fall into a blind rage. Using bloodlust to fuel your fighting is a side effect of how you’ve been conditioned and taught - one you’re trying to get rid of. It might make you fight better, but it’s hard to escape the undercurrent of the frenzy once you let it pull you under. 

They charge, hissing and snarling as they go. There is nothing planned or in sync about their attack. Rabids may sometimes linger near one another or nest together, but there’s no pack mentality, no strategy to the way they move. It makes it easy to take them down, but easy to get overwhelmed if there are too many.

Three isn’t bad. You cut through them with concise, sharp movements. Fighting Rabids isn’t like fighting sentient creatures. It’s not a dance, but there is a chopping rhythm to it, a hack and step that feels like a pattern as you go. 

Step step slash. Step step stab. Step step duck. Step step slash. 

When it’s done, sweat beads at the back of your neck. Silence falls in the damp passageways of the Undercity. You stand, hardly winded with your sword dripping in ichor, looking down both of the hallways that bracket you on either side. 

Nothing else comes. 

You flick your sword hand, freeing it from some of the gore before digging into one of your pockets, fishing out a small bottle and cloth. Carefully you uncap the bottle and tilt your blade point down, pommel near your face. You squeeze liquid out over the metal, hearing the hiss as the antiseptic eats at the foul blood on the weapon before stoppering and putting it back in your pocket. 

With delicacy, you wipe the cloth on the flat of the blade, cleaning it. Sheathing the blade, you reach into another pocket, pulling out a small tablet of firestarter. You snap it in half and toss it onto the pile of bodies, flames catching immediately. 

The sudden light makes your vision flash white for just a moment before it adjusts. The darkness hovers at the edge of the light like a hungry, creeping thing. In the firelight, you see the dispatched bodies of the dead, once victims to the virus that killed them and turned them into the mindless, frenzied creatures that lurk in the Undercity tunnels and the Wilds. 

Not even the rats come down here. At least, the uninfected ones don’t. Even a rat makes a good meal for the feral creatures of the Undercity. 

There was a time when you would have fed on the rats in the Undercity. A time you were so hungry, you gave into your primal instincts. A time when you were so hungry for love and approval from your master that you would do - and did - anything for it. Giving into bloodlust when fighting and becoming a mindless tool was easy, back then. 

Fresh air greets you as you climb the rusty, iron ladder to the surface. It’s cold outside, autumn wind stinging the sweat on the back of your neck when you finally pull yourself out of the hole and flip the heavy, metal lid over one of many entrances to the Undercity. 

An empty quad of an abandoned school surrounds you, crumbling brick buildings empty save for rotted furniture and dust, walls blown in and cracked from some skirmish during The Fall. The schoolyard grass is overgrown, brushing against your hips as you begin your routine, movements down to a science. 

First, you pull the bottle of antiseptic out of your pocket and clean your hands before pulling out cleaning supplies from your pack. Then, you pull off all your clothes, cool air making the hair on your arms stand on end. The cold gets worse when you begin to wipe your skin with sticky antiseptic pads, tossing them into a pile on the ground as you go. 

The routine is robotic. Disinfect. Take off your clothes. Disinfect. Put on new clothes. Disinfect. Put old clothes in a bio-safe bag to clean them later and burn the wipes. 

Getting the virus isn’t likely for you, but you never take the chance, especially living in the human districts on the outskirts of the city. Red Fever hasn’t plagued the mortal population in a few years, but a single outbreak could make the community collapse.

And the vampires in the city wouldn’t help. They never do, even as those living under their jurisdiction get picked off by Rabids, vampires undermining the law, and other things lurking in the ruins just outside of Black Harbor. 

No blood tax, no protection.

The sentiment makes you grit your teeth as you watch the antiseptic wipes turn to flames, then to embers, then to ashes. You can smell the fumes fade with the wind, along with the sound of a soft footfall. 

You wheel around, unsheathing the weapon at your feet as you spin, pointing the tip of your blade at the figure behind you. Jeonghan seems unphased, looking down the sharp edge of the sword with a lopsided grin. 

“Sloppy, little sister.”

“Oh fuck you.” Your muscles unclench and you spin the weapon, sheathing it. Jeonghan’s hands are in his pockets, eyes twinkling as he watches you. “What do you want?” 

“I can’t check up on you?”

“Not usually, no.”

Jeonghan doesn’t check up on you. At least, not in the way you imagine normal siblings might. Jeonghan isn’t a normal sibling, though. He’s hardly a sibling at all - you share a bloodsire, not a biological parent. Blood kin would be a more apt term for the familial bond between you.

Still, when you think back on your life, Jeonghan has always been there. Fills the corners of your memories as a steady hand, a vicious thorn in your side, a confidant, an enemy, a rival.

“You like visiting the Undercity these days. Perhaps I, too, am nostalgic.” 

“I don’t visit for nostalgia,” you snap. You strap the sword belt across your chest, the weight against your back a great comfort. “Don’t goad me.” 

Jeonghan looks the same as he always has in the last hundred or some odd years. He’d stopped aging - as most dhampirs do - sometime in his thirties. His round, youthful face, and gentle eyes hide the demon within. Hundreds have fallen prey to Jeonghan’s saccharine smile and false, gentle disposition. 

Wolf in lamb’s clothing. 

“You’re no fun. Junhui is so much nicer to me when I visit.”

“Jun is nice to everyone.” 

“Maybe you should take notes. Your neighbors might like you more.” You pause, looking at him with narrowed eyes. His grin spreads. “You think I don’t know where you live?” 

“What do you want?” 

“I need your assistance.” 

“Doubt it.”

“Not everyone is a monster-slaying machine like you are. Some of us actually take the time to enjoy our freedom.”

Freedom. 

A word you don’t quite understand. You might have gotten rid of the master holding your leash, but her influence is still heavy enough to control everything you do, even now. Freedom doesn’t exist for someone like you. Not really. You’re shackled by your inability to make your own choices, and the only things you’re good at are the things Lilith made you learn. 

I need not fear the dark. I need not fear the pain. In the dark, I was made. In pain, I become anew. I am the Grim. 

Most of your life has been spent in the service of killing your blood mother’s enemies, helping her carve her empire out in the world left over from the destruction of humankind. You’d also helped defeat her, but the absolution of ridding the world of her is not nearly enough to wipe out the long list of foul deeds to your name.

“You don’t have to help me.” Jeonghan’s voice brings you out of your thoughts. “However, I do not like the idea of going into a Rabid nest alone.”

“You want my help with a Rabid nest? Why?”

“There’s something inside of the building that a client needs. Some Rabids happen to have made it a home.”

You study him. He’s dressed in all-black dress pants and a black button-up, an equally black blazer thrown on over it. Jeonghan looks the part of casual elegance, a fine piece of art that is out of place in the middle of the abandoned bones of what was once a school, you think.

“Why me?”

“I need a weapon.” His mouth quirks. “Plus, I like you.”

“No, you don’t.” 

“I do! You’re my favorite sister.” 

“I’m the only sister you have that’s still alive.”

He holds up a finger to present his counterargument. “I killed our last sister but I haven’t killed you. If that’s not favoritism, what is?” 

You walk past him, heading toward Black Harbor. “I want half of whatever you’re being paid.”

“Thirty percent.” 

“Thirty-five.”

“Deal.”

Jeonghan catches up to you easily, hands still tucked into his pockets in that casual way of his. His hair is a little longer than you remember, tucked behind his ears as he smiles, happy to have you onboard for whatever it is he’s roped you into. 

It isn’t the first time he’s sought you out for assistance - especially for killing - and you know it won’t be the last. Of all your blood kin, Jeonghan is the one who keeps in contact with you the most. Junhui might be sweet and fond of you, as is his way, but you’re too volatile for him, made to be loved at a distance. 

None of your siblings love you, though. You don’t think any of the children of Lilith have the ability to love. It was bred out of you early and punished if it tried to crawl back in. Even loyalty to anyone but your master in the Undercity was punished. 

Neither of you asks how the other is. Jeonghan won’t answer you honestly and you suspect he knows exactly how you’ve been. The not-so-retired spymaster has a network of little spiders in his web, scrambling back and forth to feed him information on any number of people. 

You wonder if this is what freedom means to him. After living his entire life in the service of your shared sire, Jeonghan seems to have mastered his destiny, using the skills he was taught to climb the ranks among the vampires of Black Harbor and sit pretty. Still, in a way, he’s reverted to old habits just like you have, buying and selling secrets to keep himself safe like he did in the old days.

Maybe freedom is an illusion. 

The blasted landscape around you doesn’t change as you walk eastward. Nameless buildings and road structures spread out in either direction. Cracked, broken, and decayed is an apt description for most things outside of the city, especially the closer you get to the Wild. 

You turn northeast, heading toward the bridge that leads into Black Harbor. It’s roughly an hour's walk directly into the city from the abandoned schoolyard where you entered the Undercity. It isn’t the only entrance to the underground network, nor is it the closest, but it’s the most reliable and you don’t have to worry about anyone sneaking up on you.

Unless they’re a former resident themself, which are in rare numbers. 

“Where is this Rabid nest?” you ask as the night deepens. The cool air kisses the back of your neck and lifts strands of Jeonghan’s inky hair. Above, the moon is swollen and momentarily hidden behind thick clouds. 

“The old museum right outside the West End.” 

You glance sideways at him. “That museum was an epicenter of outbreaks. No wonder there’s a nest.” 

“Good thing we’re immune then, hmm?”

“We’re not immune, Jeonghan. Resistant and immune aren’t the same thing.” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “I survived the disease for two hundred years in the Undercity. And you have your nice little disinfectant wipes, don’t you?” Jeonghan pauses and looks you up and down, pointing at the ashes of your burnt pile. “Why do you do that, by the way? To protect that fragile little human community you live in?”

Yes, you want to say. Instead, you say nothing at all. Jeonghan might be half-human like you, but he has little empathy for them in general, unlike you. He tends to align himself with whoever he benefits the most from, and the humans have certainly never been in a position to help him out. 

Not that they would. Most humans don’t assign a difference between vampires and dhampir. Your human neighbors might tolerate your presence, but it’s just that - tolerance. As soon as they feel threatened by you, they’ll hire someone to try and kill you, as is the way in the Tombstones.  

Jeonghan scoffs. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sentiment.”

“Rather auspicious for you, wouldn’t you say brother?” 

He grins but doesn’t respond, tilting his head up toward the sky. 

Gravel crunches beneath your feet. You keep a sweeping gaze on the quiet world around you. Crickets quiet as you pass, waiting until you’re out of range before taking up their song again. When the clouds move away from the moon, the world turns grey. 

Nothing disturbs the two of you on your walk. You spot a feral pack of cats with sharp eyes watching from the long grass. You can sense them assessing you, deciding if you’re prey or predator. They remain in their clutch of darkness. Predator, then. 

Jeonghan doesn’t strike up a conversation again as you walk. Instead of trying to get him to divulge details, you go through what you know about the old museum near the West End. It was a hot spot for breakouts early on during The Fall, and after Black Harbor became a city-state, it remained an issue under the jurisdiction of the Chwe family for years. 

A center of resources, it had been targeted early on as humans tried to build communities and safeholds in a rapidly apocalyptic world. The museum has the space to house the  resources, and protection that people brought to form a community, turning it into a quarantine zone at the very start of The Fall. Any building large enough to house a community center had people flocking to build safe zones, eager to recommission the square footage and walls into quarantined housing and living centers.

And they fell just as quickly. 

Disease has no consideration for isolation, though. Particularly one as contagious and debilitating as Red Fever. In most cases, people killed themselves once they realized they had the fever. Suffering through the hemorrhaging and the madness wasn’t worth the small chance of turning into a vampire post-death, and carriers were too dangerous to be kept alive anyway. Accusations of sickness were as deadly as catching the virus itself. 

The museum still remained a problem even after the collapse of its original community. Humans like to stick to what they know, rebuilding on old ground and trying to salvage what was left before them. Perhaps the human communities there could have flourished if the guard in the West End did anything to keep the Rabids and the rogue bands of vampires from decimating them, but anything outside of the official city limits of Black Harbor was only under the jurisdiction of the Chwe family, not the protection.

Those who wanted to be saved had to pay the blood tax, and most people weren’t even eligible for the blood tax, as picky as the vampires were with their qualifications and standards for clean, safe blood. 

Salt tinged the air as you approached the official demarcation line of the Tombstones. It wasn’t an official name, but there was no point in giving it a real name - it was expendable ground, as far as Lord Chwe and his family were concerned. 

Old, rusted piles of metal were pushed to the edges of the pavement to make way for the few operational vehicles that dared to travel outside of the city, creating the illusion that the road was lined by dead, decayed beetles. 

Sounds from the city drift over the water and toward you. Lights in the distance glitter over the wall, skyscrapers bright against the dark swath of sky. The dichotomy between visions of human destruction and vampiric ascension always strikes you, the discordant images the perfect depiction of your two worlds.

“Why don’t you visit Jun anymore?” Jeonghan’s question catches you off guard. You tear your eyes away from the shimmering city to look at the dhampir next to you. His hands are still tucked in his pocket, the picture of cool and casual. 

“I don’t think he wants me to.” 

Jeonghan frowns. “That seems unlikely.” 

“I assumed I reminded him too much of ho- of the Undercity.” 

“I still think of it as home too, sometimes.” You don’t answer for a moment, unsure where the conversation is leading. Jeonghan is a storm of unpredictability, his desires changing direction with the wind. “Is it because you feel guilty?” 

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who wants my help.”

“I’m in the business of asking questions, little sister. Consider it the desire to see my siblings happy. One seems dead set on never shedding the victimhood of her past and one is too afraid to tell his siblings he’s lonely out of fear of rejection.” 

You ignore the barb. “Good. Loneliness is temporary. He’s better off without me around.”

He makes a sound of disgust. “You were always such a self-righteous wretch. Spare me the I have done evil and should avoid the world speech.” 

“You asked me!” 

“I thought after fifty years you might be less insufferable!” He shoots back, taking his hands out of his pocket to throw them up. “I should have known better. Now come on, if you’re so hellbent on living your life in permanent apology, you can come kill these Rabids for me.”

“I’m insufferable?” 

Irritation shoots through you as Jeonghan speeds up, ignoring your question. The wind is stronger near the coast, ripping at the end of his blazer and lifting his hair. You scowl behind him, fists clenching and aching to punch him in the back of the head.

Jeonghan thinks everything is so easy. You’ve never known him to feel things as trivial as guilt or empathy, able to rationalize his way out of feeling a modicum of responsibility for anything he does. 

So why do you help him? You always find yourself asking the same question every time he appears with a task or to poke at you. The answer, you think, is simple enough: he’s a constant. He was there when you were born, he was there when you were molded, and he was there when you suffered. 

Suffered together. 

Despite the way Jeonghan trivializes your grief, there are few people left in the world who can relate to you. Junhui shares the same past, but you don’t know how to face him. Don’t know how to look the gentlest of your siblings in the eye without feeling like you’re reminding him of everything he’s suffered.

And Jeonghan’s presence is comforting, in a way. The familiarity makes you feel easy, though dealing with him is anything but. 

You don’t know whether he feels the same sense of attachment to you or not. You’re unsure most days whether he sticks his nose in your business for the brief familiarity of it or because he considers you an asset to his growing power. 

The latter is the most likely. 

Wind scatters leaves across the pavement. Ahead, the museum looms like a skeleton bathed grey in the night. Somewhere, metal groans and creaks as it moves in the breeze. It makes you think of a phantom moaning, a shiver sliding down your spine as Jeonghan walks straight for the doors of the building. 

The doors to the museum are shattered. Glass and gravel crack beneath Jeonghan’s feet as he climbs the steps and stops just beyond the entryway, his hands tucked into his pocket as he cranes his neck upward to assess the full scope of the building. 

You pause next to him. You inhale again. You don’t get much of a scent on anything but the ocean air, but it doesn’t mean there’s not something deep in the guts of the building. 

“Well?” you ask, looking at Jeonghan. “Do you know where in this building you need to look? It’s pretty large.” 

“Hall of Human Life.”

“That’s… ironic.”

His grin is beatific. “Shall we?” 

As someone who frequents a variety of abandoned buildings, you’ve always been of the opinion that all empty buildings have the same dead, empty feel to them. You’ve long thought that none was more or less creepy than the others, but now you know you were decidedly incorrect. 

There is something haunting about the museum. Evidence of human life is everywhere as you pass destroyed exhibits on life and science, but also sections you can tell were made for the communities that tried to set up here. 

Sections of the building had been remade to house living quarters and even what appears to be a botanical section. Untended, the plant life has consumed the west end of the building, mostly weeds and unuseful vines stretching their fingers across cracked tiled and concrete. 

Your swordhand flexes, ready to reach behind your back at a moment’s notice. You don’t hear or smell Rabids, but you come across the evidence of them soon enough - scattered bones and human carcasses, rotted blood stains on the floors and steps as you descend deeper into the darkness of the building. 

It’s hard to discern what any of the exhibits used to be. Time and civilization have erased all but the bones of each, leaving you to guess what they are as you pass. You’re about to ask Jeonghan if he has any idea where the Hall of Human Life is when you smell it.

“Blood,” you murmur, hand going to your blade and pulling it silent from the sheath. “East.” 

He glances at you and sniffs. “I don’t smell anything.” 

“You aren’t a trained bloodhound.” 

You’d trust Jeonghan if he were profiling someone and detailing every part of their life, psychology and desires. His skill has always been of a manipulation and information collecting sort, not the hunting and stick-a-knife-in-someone sort. 

He follows you silently, slipping a deadly throwing star from his sleeve. You raise a brow. “I’m surprised you're armed.”

“I’m always armed, little sister.”

The sound of something snapping catches your attention and you hold out your hand, stopping him. Even he knows to obey you here. You listen and hear the sounds of crunching. Something breaking. Chewing, you realize. It is the sound of bones being snapped and the grind of teeth. 

For a second, you’re not in the museum anymore. You’re in a dark room, the snap of bone sharp and loud against your ears. The sensation is worse than the sound, though. You feel the bolt of sharp, uncontrolled pain shoot through your leg from your thigh to your hip. It is agonizing, stopping you from thinking of anything else but the outrageous pulse of pain. 

Your hand shoots to your thigh, feeling the phantom pressure of the foot as it fractures your femur again, the sneered voice telling you to stop your screaming as it steps down again, broken bone stabbing-

Jeonghan’s voice startles you. “You’re not there.”

Glancing to the side, you see Jeonghan watching you. His expression is unreadable, dark eyes pinning you to the place you stand. You realize your hand is hovering over your leg and you swear you feel the ghost of pain from the break. From the sound of the snap. 

You don’t remember Jeonghan being there for that. Lilith had ordered Silas to break your bones over and over again. To make you used to the pain. To rebreak them when they healed. If you were ever captured and tortured, you needed to know pain. It needed to be an old friend, not something that could break you. 

Then again, you’re sure Jeonghan’s been broken too. All of your siblings have known the torture of Silas, the perfect tool of to train Lilith’s children to develop no fear against pain. 

There’s a flicker of kinship with Jeonghan until he mutters, “Experience trauma on your own time. I need you focused.”

Right. You’re here to help him do a job for money, not because you’re spending time together bonding as blood kin. When you really think about it, little adventures full of violence are the way you two often bond, even when you were under the thumb of Lilith. 

Instead of shooting an insult at him, you creep forward, knees slightly bent and ready to spring. He follows you, a lithe shadow as you slip into the darkness.

Blood permeates the air in the underground level of the museum. At the foot of an unlit staircase, you step into a lobby of sorts. There are multiple metal, double doors leading into a room beyond. Over the doorway is a broken sign with missing letters: all man Li. 

You snort and Jeonghan gives you a questioning look. You point toward the letters with your sword and whisper, “All man lie. All men lie.”

“Poetic. I suppose it was once Hall of Human Life.” You nod. “Rather inconvenient.” 

Here, the sounds of multiple mouths chewing on flesh is louder. Wetter. You grimace and hope that the victims were dead long before they were dragged back to be made a meal of. Most Rabids won’t bring food back to a nest, too hungry and eager to eat right when they kill.

Blood is heavy in the air. Jeonghan’s nose flares and you know he smells it too. The scent is sweet like mulled wine with a hint of underlying fruit. Human. They always smelled sweet to you, something about them fragrant. A flicker of hunger burns through you and then is snuffed out. You don’t need blood and you don’t want it, especially with no way of knowing where it’s been or who it's from. 

Getting infected doesn’t matter to Rabids. They’ve already suffered Red Fever and died, turning into  mindless, feral vampires. To you, making sure you don’t contaminate yourself will be important, no matter how high your tolerance to the disease is. 

Jeonghan taps his wrist as though he’s wearing a watch. You hold out a hand to tell him to be patient. You don’t know how many Rabids are on the other side of the doors, but from the grunting and amount of blood you can smell, you think it’s at least five. Maybe more. 

Freshly fed Rabids will be a bitch to fight. You’ve never been inside the Hall of Human Life, but you don’t like the idea of walking into the nest blind and trying to fight without knowing how much space you have to fight. You also don’t want to fight where they have access to blood when they need it. 

You settle on an idea, though you don’t like it much. 

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” He doesn’t answer, side eyeing you. “I just need to know how long you think it will take once you’re in the room.” 

“I know what I’m looking for.” 

“Great. Go hide in that far corner by the bathrooms.”

He frowns. “Why - what are you doing?” 

Without a second thought, you bring your free hand up to the sword and run your palm across it. You barely feel the sting of the cut, watching as the blood pools in your palm, welling up. 

Silence. 

Jeonghan realizes it too, bolting from the foot of the stairs to the dark corner of the lobby and into the bathrooms just as the sound of hissing rises up behind the doors. You take a step backward, foot on the bottom stair as you watch the door. You need the Rabids to frenzy and hunt you  - you should be able to make it to the main lobby or outside, giving you room to fight and -

They burst through the doors. You turn on your heel and jump, clearing the steps easily. They’re snarling behind you, tripping over themselves as they chase after the scent of live, fresh blood. 

You squeeze your fist as you go, making sure to keep them on your trail while you tear through the museum the way you came. It has the desired effect, working up the monsters into a violent mania as they close in on you. 

Looking over your shoulder to see how many of them isn’t an option. You just keep running, nearing the front of the museum as you take a corner, skidding as you go. The front doors are just ahead, the moonlit world just beyond. You pump your legs harder, tearing over the concrete floor.

Just as you vault over the threshold of the door, something hits you from the side. The force is jarring, your teeth snapping together in an explosion of pain as you hit the ground, sword slipping from your grasp. You barely manage to avoid cracking your head on concrete.

Instinct takes over. You thrust a hand forward, catching the Rabid by the throat as it gnashes its teeth at you. The others are at the door now, screaming and howling like a savage pack of wolves. Even dazed, you find the sense to throw your weight against the creature, rolling over and throwing it off of you.

Your attacker hits the steps but scrambles back toward you. It doesn’t matter. You only need a moment to roll and collect your discarded sword, swiveling on a knee as it lurches at you. Steel connects with flesh and severs the head easily. 

There’s no time to celebrate. You dive from the stairs, careful not to stab yourself in the stomach as another Rabid swings a clawed hand at you. Panting, you get to your feet, turning to face them as you skip backward toward the street. 

Ten Rabids fan out on the steps, but they pause their attack. You grip your sword, waiting for them to keep the feral pursuit. Instead, they seem to be waiting for something, swiveling their heads and looking around. 

You don’t like that. Rabids don’t hunt in packs, despite sometimes sharing a nest, and the image of them all hesitating together in sync is alarming. Worse, you realize they’re starting to make sounds, an intonation deep in their throat that almost reminds you of frogs in the rain during summer. Their heads pivot, looking at you and then looking at one another as they softly call to one another like they’re… talking. 

A chill runs through you. You’ve never seen them talk before, and certainly not before attacking. They should be in a blood frenzy, killing each other to get to you, even. 

One of them lets out the loudest shriek you’ve ever heard, your ears ringing. You nearly drop your sword in surprise. You take several steps back, suddenly unsure of your situation. 

The Rabids begin to slink down the steps. As they do, a figure appears on the roof, its shadow dark against the brightness of the moon. For a split second you think it might be Jeonghan, but then it leaps, flying over the heads of the skulking Rabids to land only a few feet away from you.

“What the fuck are you?” you mutter, pointing your sword at it. 

And it is an it. You have no idea what it is. The creature looks like a Rabid. It has blotchy skin where the fever bursted capillaries and blood red eyes, but it stands straighter than Rabids, eerily still, regarding you - and there’s a crude sword at its hip. 

You’ve never seen them carry weapons before - they shouldn’t know how to use them. They were named Rabids because they lack the function of their frontal and parietal lobes, making them lesser vampires that can only operate on base animal instinct, driven entirely by the vampiric nature to consume. 

Rabids communicating is alien enough, but carrying a sword? You have no idea if it knows how to use the weapon, but when it unsheathes the sword and takes a stance, you can’t help but feel a tiny pulse of doubt. It uses that moment to attack, striking forward stiffly as though to gut you. 

At the same time, the non-intelligent Rabids attack. Cursing, you dodge the stab and run, trying to put distance between you. The leader stalks after you, weapon in hand; its gait smoother than the broken movements typical of the species but not exactly fast. 

One of the non-intelligent ones gives chase to your flight, giving in to bloodlust. You face it and sidestep easily, bring your sword down on the back of its neck as you do. It cleaves cleanly, blood spraying upward. Two more of them lose their grip on logic and follow suit, only to join their slain nestmate on the ground.

The leader snarls angrily - not at you but at the other Rabids. They chatter and skitter back, letting the one with the sword take charge again, flanking it like they’ve been chastised. 

You keep your weapon pointed at the leader. They attack together again. This time, you’re ready for it, meeting your opponent’s blow. The ring of metal echoes and you feel the force of the hit vibrate down your arm. You don’t let it stop your momentum, leaning to plant a hard kick in one of the other’s chests.

A rib cage cracks. You don’t stop. You duck under a claw and parry another attack, always moving, always fluid. You dispose of another Rabid before blocking another sword swing.

With a growl, you push your weight into the block, surging against the lead Rabid. It’s not a good swordsman, and though its reflexes are better than its wild counterparts, you shove the lead Rabid several feet away from you, tripping it up and sending it careening. You can’t take the opportunity to finish it off as the non-intelligent Rabids press in. Thankfully one gets too close and you cut through its neck.

Something zings past your head, hitting one of the remaining creatures in the throat. It cuts through easily, the body and head falling in separate directions. You turn around to see Jeonghan on the stairs, silver shurikens flashing in his hands. 

“Your friend has a sword,” he calls, looking at the intelligent Rabid and pointing. “How did it get a sword?” 

“Let me ask,” you call back. Some of the Rabids slink toward your brother, splitting up to fight both threats. “Hey, where did you get the sword?”

The lead Rabid doesn’t answer. “He didn’t say!” you shout back to Jeonghan over your shoulder. “Should I ask in Lilin or-”

The lead Rabid cuts you off as it attacks, swinging blindingly fast, grunting as it does. It manages to strike your ribcage, sword too dull to pierce skin but you feel the rupture of blinding pain as it breaks your ribs. A wild shriek of rage escapes your throat as you stumble away from it, gasping. 

Breathing hurts, the stabbing ache stunning you for a second. The Rabid seems to be satisfied - if they can feel at all - and it enrages you. Better creatures and fighters have never landed a blow on you, and a thoughtless creature catching you off guard is…

Shameful. 

If this were another time, you’d have been beaten for this kind of embarrassment. Letting a less skilled opponent get the jump on you because you were joking is unacceptable. The shame quickly gives way to anger. Anger gives way to wrath. Your shaking hands still suddenly, and you feel your rage center your focus to a needle-thin point. 

You’re no longer in the middle of the street fighting a nest of Rabids. Now, you’re in the cold undertow of something you try to never let out, that you try to keep buried down deep within you. 

Kill kill kill.

Metal meets metal. You barely remember lifting your sword to attack, slamming your weapon down into the lead Rabid’s sword so hard that the beast makes a sound of surprise, dancing away from you a few feet. You stride toward it, undeterred, a vice grip on your weapon as you stalk forward. 

Kill kill kill.

Another blow sends your opponent's sword flying. You don’t follow through with your weapon. Instead, you punch forward with your free hand, barely feeling the crack of bone against bone. You break through muscle and sinew, feel the scrape of ribs as your fist bursts through the lead Rabid’s chest. 

Its heart only pulses for a moment in your hand, throbbing faster than your own heartbeat. The lead Rabid doesn’t move, body frozen as the source needed to pump its blood is suddenly gone. It dies on your arm, the deadweight pulling your limb down as you slide it off of you. 

Kill kill kill.

You turn and see Jeonghan fighting admirably despite being outnumbered. You prowl toward the Rabids, hissing and drawing the attention of the ones closest to you as you go. 

You hate them. You want to destroy them. You want to win and kill and-

One leaps at you and you cleave downward. It isn’t an elegant swing, but it’s efficient and strong. Blood wets your skin and you swing again, hearing metal meet flesh. A high-pitched whining rings in your ears. You taste ichor in your mouth but you don’t care, sliding to a knee as you cut through the leg of a Rabid. It goes down and you follow through with the neck. 

Kill kill kill. 

You hack through its neck again. And again and again and again.

Suddenly the Rabid isn’t a Rabid. It’s a cherub face with red painted lips and sleepy, green eyes. It’s apple cheekbones and pearly fangs. It’s silky auburn hair and the smell of sugar and vanilla. 

Lilith. 

You hack again and again and again. 

Kill kill kill. 

If you don’t kill her, she’ll own you forever. It has to be permanent, but making it permanent is so hard. Her command to spare her burns through you, liquid hell in your veins as she says your name, over and over and over, trying to grip your thoughts and -

Someone shouts your name. 

The memory fades. You aren’t killing Lilith and you aren’t in the palace of the Undercity. You’re not a scared little dhampir trying to claw her way free from mind control. But you are covered in blood and your thoughts are a little hazy as you look up, dazed. 

Jeonghan stands a few feet away from you. Right. Jeonghan. Jeonghan is here with you and you are helping him retrieve something from a Rabid nest. You’re not there, you are here. Above ground. And Lilith’s dead.

“Get up,” Jeonghan mutters through clenched teeth. For a second, you think he’s disgusted with you. That he’s realized how deep your inability to control your fear and memories goes. Then he flicks his eyes toward the city. “The West End guard is here.” 

When you turn toward the city, shocked, you realize Jeonghan is right. Members of the city guard loyal to the Chwe family step into the ring of carnage, all six of them quiet and poised. The one at the point is tall and broad, dark hair swept neatly out of his tan face, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. You’d think he was handsome if didn’t look like he was going to kill you. 

“Well,” the guard chuckles. “Looks like this Rabid frenzied and killed the rest of them before we got here. That makes this easy.”

It takes a moment for his words to register. To lock in what he means. Rabid. They think you’re a Rabid.

“I’m-” your voice is raw and broken. You heave in air and then gasp when it feels like a knife has slipped between your ribs, remembering they’re broken. You immediately fall into a triage routine, regulating your breathing to ensure none of your breaths are too deep or too often. “Not Rabid.”

The guard at the front unsheathes his sword. It’s beautifully made, and you see the Chwe family crest glint on the hilt. “I know a Rabid when I see one.” 

“Really, Mingyu?” a new voice asks, deep and soft. “Have you ever heard a Rabid speak? Then again, they’re apparently wielding swords.” 

A man steps around the guard - Mingyu - and looks you up and down. He’s made up of midnight - dark hair, darker eyes, dark presence, though his skin is smooth and pale as the moon. His mouth quirks to the side and he tilts his head, watching you with mild interest. A lock of dark hair falls into his eyes.

He’s beautiful. It’s your first thought and you immediately hate him for it. Vampires that look like him know what they look like, and they use it to their full advantage. The Undercity was swimming with ethereal faces and diabolical desires. 

“Dhampirs,” the pretty one muses. “Huh. How fascinating.” 

“A dhampir?” Mingyu asks again, face scrunched up and unsure.

“Use that big nose of yours,” one of the other guards taunts Mingyu. “You can smell the blood.”

“Shut up, Chan. I can’t smell anything but that fucking awful cologne you wear.” 

“My cologne is not awful!”

The pretty vampire glances at his bickering guards and then back to you. “You’ll have to excuse the manners.” His eyes dart to your chest and he looks puzzled. “Your heart is beating too fast for a dhampir. Perhaps you are infected.”  

“She’s broken a fair few of her ribs and her wrist.” You look up in surprise, almost having forgotten Jeognhan was there. He is stone still, face unreadable as his gaze darts back and forth between them all. “She also just killed about eight of those things - bit of an adrenaline junky, this one. I’d like to take her to a blood bank to assist with her healing process, if I may, My Lord.”

He would? How Not-Jeonghan of him. Your realization of him using my lord is delayed, the word choice hitting you as the pretty vampire waves his hand. “We’ve got blood; we can treat her. If you don’t mind, we’d like to ask some questions about… well, this. The offer for treatment is contingent that neither of you are infected, of course.” 

Jeonghan’s expression is tight but he bows his head, posture stiff. “Your timing is auspicious and your kindness a welcome gift. You have our most eternal gratitude. We would be happy to answer questions, Lord Chwe.” 

“Vernon,” the vampire says, gaze flickering back to you and darkening a little. “You can call me Vernon.” 

TAG LIST:

@hipsdofangirl @jacixbliss @chronicfic @jespecially @asyre @todorokiskitten

[oh-shtars]

“This Wish” Rewrite ✨

(RFTS!Au Version)

Hello!! It’s Flicker here again!

I’ve decided to give a shot at rewriting Asha’s “I Want” song and see what I could come up with.

The original song was…okay. It’s not a bad thing to listen to. I personally think the chorus and the instrumental there is really pretty. It just felt weirdly lacking? I’m sure there are many people out there who share the same criticism with me, so I’m not going to go all out on that.

Anyways, back to the thing at hand.

For context:

RFTS!Asha is a servant girl at the castle who’s a dreamer and someone with a huge imagination for what there could be. The thing is, that spark has been buried down after the tragic loss of her father’s life. Now she’s terrified of having her hopes up, in fear of facing that same agony of losing another dream.

While she never lost that daydreaming habit of hers, Asha often finds herself cowering away rather than committing. And this often causes her to go back on some of her promises. She’s frustrated that this stupid flaw of hers is holding her back from reaching out to those she loves.

This is evident when Asha has secretly been noticing that Rosas’ citizens aren’t actually as happy as they claim to be. They’re dull, missing that zest and stuck in a cycle of dissatisfaction. She knows there must be something they’re missing but…what? As the king’s assistant, she’s the only one close to him with a chance to negotiate on what could be done to address this problem.

But it’s the king! He’s snapped at her times before. What if…? But what about the people she loves?

As Asha sings this song, she fights an internal battle within while expressing her frustrations and how she wants to break free from the chains she’s made for herself.

…………….

Isn’t this the place where dreams come true?

Then why does it all feel so way out of place?

If I could show them the life they have embraced,

Open their eyes to their own lies,

Would they question it all like I did?

But when I start, my head says “Sit Down,”

So how could I when I could barely be worth something?

For too long I have withdrawn, and avoided every song,

Now time has gone and now I don’t know where I belong,

So do I look up to the stars above me? Or keep caution at every warning sign?

Should I let the dreams within me rise and soar free?

Or should I pay no heed and stay in line?

Still, I hold this wish,

That they’ll have something more for them than this,

Still, I hold this wish,

That I’ll do something more for them than….this,

Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah

Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah, ah-ah

More than this, (oh-ah-ah-ah)

For many years, I’ve kept my head down low,

Still did what I was told when someone told me ‘No,’

Yet, there’s a part of me who’s just yearning to glow,

A part that’s just longing to know,

It just won’t let me go!

With all these reservations and hesitations, I’m not sure where to even begin,

The risks and failures are daunting but I can’t just lose this fire from deep within,

If I could just be pointed in any given direction on where to go and what to do,

My legs are shaking but my head’s held high,

The way you always taught me to….

So I look up to the stars to guide me,

And pray that they’d send some kind of sign,

I’m sure there will be challenges that find me,

But I want to take them on one at a time,

So I make this wish,

That they’ll have something more for them than this,

So I make this wish,

That I’ll do something more for them than….this,

Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah

Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah, ah-ah

More than this, (oh-ah-ah-ah)

So I make this wish…

That I’ll be something more….for us than…this…..

…….

The last line is meant to end at a sad note as Asha cowers away again, thinking that her wish to the skies has went unheard as per usual. No dramatic or hype instrumental at the end. Maybe a soft and melancholic melody instead?

Phew, my girl’s self esteem really is just: 📉📉📉

Btw, I want to make it clear that I AM NO SONGWRITER. So if the words are all clunky and weird at times, bear with me. 🥲

I don’t claim that this is “perfect” and “proof I could do better than Disney.” It’s just so I could better fit the song into my own version of the story. I might make a few changes along the way but we’ll see. :))

Thanks for Reading 💖

@annymation @gracebethartacc @signed-sapphire @uva124 @emillyverse @chillwildwave @tumblingdownthefoxden @ficsinhistory @your-ne1ghbor @rascalentertainments

[dark-moonlust]

Hi there, this is my first time sending an ask.

I was wondering if could you do a bear hybrid x fem reader. I really love the concept of a bear hybrid but there's not really a lot of stuff on that.

Thank you, your avid reader

Sure thing anon! I hope this is to your liking! 🖤🥂 Happy reading!

Claimed by the Bear Hybrid

Pairing: bear hybrid x f!human reader

Summary: you are strolling the woods when you meet a bear hybrid who claims you as his.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18++!!!, slightly non-con, oral (f!receiving), big 🍆, p in v, lots of 💦.

I've written a second part for this one and you can find it here.

“You’re mine now,” the creature rumbled, deep and commanding. 

You forgot how to breathe, your heart stuttering at the sight of the bear hybrid before you. Standing on his two back feet, the massive hybrid towered over you, making it impossible for you to escape. The creature had the build of a very big and muscled man, but his dark fur, size and strength were unmistakably bear-like. 

Not to mention that between his legs hung the most glorious cock you’d ever seen. It was as thick as your forearms and long, longer than seven inches—with the angry red head leaking moisture. Two heavy, hairy balls hung from between his thighs, throbbing visibly. An involuntary shiver traveled through you, not at all fearful. He grunted and shifted, his nose smelling the air. Then his eyes, they were completely dark, fixed on you with a hunger that brought back the fear inside you.

Oh, how foolish you had been thinking that a stroll in the woods would be harmless. You were alone with an apex predator in his own habitat, and he was about to devour you, oh the irony… the forest was dense and filled with the sounds of nature and the chirping of birds. It was such a beautiful morning, so unlike your fate.  

“Pl—please… I won’t hurt you,” you uttered, terrified out of your wits. “Let me go and—”

“Never!” he rasped powerfully. “You. Are. Mine.”

You barely had time to react before he closed in on you, his huge body dwarfing yours. He was three heads taller than you and that much heavier. A strong hand grasped you as he scooped you up, hanging you over his shoulder. Paralyzed, you shouted and writhed, but no help came as he carried you effortlessly toward his cave. 

Once inside his lair, cool air welcomed you to a bed of soft furs. His eyes never left yours as he climbed on the massive bed beside you, his hands gripping your ankles, strong enough but careful not to bruise you. You couldn’t escape. Tears flew down your cheeks as he ripped your clothes apart, his sharp claws removing every layer until you lay completely exposed before him. 

“Shhhh…” his voice was soothing. “I will not harm you, little human. You are my mate.”

“Nnn…no.” Embarrassed, you crossed your hands in front of your breasts. “This can’t be! We can’t—”

“You are mine,” he repeated stubbornly. “You tremble and leak nectar for me.”

To prove his point, he spread open your legs, exposing the soaked slit of your pussy. Your plump folds glistened with arousal, and you flushed at the sight. You’d refused to accept what your instinct was telling you, but there was no mistaking it now; the hybrid didn’t want to kill you; he wanted to fuck you. And for some strange reason that made you ever wetter, your heart beating frantically.

Your breath hitched when you felt his callused fingers brushing along your chest. You protested, but his strength was great, and he drew your arms apart, exposing your breasts to him. Big hands cradled each breast, thumbs skimming over your nipples until they turned into hard little buds. You whimpered, tears in your eyes, because each stroke felt good, awakening a mix of fear and arousal. You could feel his strength, his raw power, and it both thrilled and scared you. 

“Pretty and soft,” the hybrid muttered as he massaged your mounds and caressed your nipples. “Such roundness.”

It was at that moment that you realized you had arched your back to offer more of yourself to him. He took this chance eagerly and bent down to engulf the entirety of one tit in his mouth. The suction was warm and wet, his tongue rough and textured as it circled your nipple. Lips quivering, you shivered as he stroked and suckled, crying out softly when he alternated to the other mound. 

Strong hands moved to your hips, gripping them firmly as he lowered his head between your thighs. He inhaled your pussy, then breathed over it. You shivered all over, especially when his tongue flicked out, licking up and down your folds before delving inside. You jolted at the electric sensation, long moans escaping you as his rough tongue fucked you with primal thrusts. He ate you out, his growls vibrating against your pussy. Hands gripping the sheets, you rocked against him, hips arching toward his mouth. 

“Such a soft little cunt; it tastes so sweet, better than honey,” he murmured, tongue spearing your pussy. 

“Pl-please,” you whispered, barely able to form the words and unsure of what you were begging for. To stop? To keep going? You were so pleasure-hazed that you had no idea what to do. 

He chuckled. “You’ll get more, mate.”

Hands gripping your ass, he brought you closer to his face, spreading your folds as he continued his sweet torment. His snout caressed your clit and you bucked against him, your moans filling the cave and echoing off the walls. Your orgasm tore through you, strong and blissful, surging from your head to your toes, and despite your violent thrashing, his tongue still drove inside you, devouring every drop of your release.

Head falling back against the bed, you opened your legs obscenely, offering your pussy to him. He licked you fiercely, then your inner thighs, then up your belly and your breasts. You whined when you felt the heavy weight of something warm and leaky against your fluttering cunt. You looked down and gasped; your ankles were hooked over his broad shoulders and he was rubbing his cock against your slit, his thick girth looking inhumanly big in contrast to your small pussy.  

“I’ve waited so long for this moment,” he growled, his hands caressing your inner thighs. “You’re my mate, and I will claim you.”

“Stop— you’re too big—”

But it was too late. A soft hitch of breath left you when he pushed the cockhead inside. It parted your moist pussy lips and drove inside, inch by inch. You whimpered at the stretch, yet his fullness invaded you without discomfort, bottoming out inside you as his balls squeezed against your bum.

You’d done it. You’d taken him. Wow… 

Your thoughts faded when he started moving inside you. Holding your tiny waist in his big hairy hands, he pumped powerfully inside you, watching as his dick spread your lips, then came out covered with your juices. You gripped his arms for dear life, your nails digging into his thick skin. He liked it because he fucked you faster and deeper, each thrust driving you higher and higher. 

“Yes, only my mate can take me,” he growled, his cock making your belly bulge. “I’m going to fill you up, claim you, make you mine.”

The bed creaked from his thrusts, your tits bouncing. He licked them up, suckled them in his mouth as he pounded into you, the plap-plap of skin slapping against skin obscenely wet and lewd. Your cries mingled with his grunts of pleasure, your walls clenching and unclenching around his cock as a second orgasm overwhelmed you. He kept fucking you and followed right after with a feral roar, filling you up with buckets of his cum. He pumped for minutes, over and over, until he had marked you with his seed. 

Breathless and spent, you couldn’t help but collapse into the sheets that smelled like musk and earth. Your body still tingled from the intensity of your union, your legs weak. You couldn’t believe what had happened. You’d heard of many cases of interspecies mating, and now it had happened to you as well. This bear hybrid was your mate. Your soulmate. He’d claimed you, bathed you in his seed. And even if your bond was unusual and fresh, you felt like being truly home.

“You’re mine, all mine,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck, his breath warm against your skin. 

[stillfoodforguys]

There was a new club that opened about a month ago, and tonight was my first time trying it out. I was already drunk after hitting a few bars earlier, so I didn’t really pay attention when I was told to grab one of the various coloured wristbands at the entrance. I just went for a random one and wandered inside.

It was quite a mixture of types of guys here, though I seemed to be attracting the most attention from the bear-ish kind who all had their huge, hairy guts on show. Quite a few men I made eye contact with licked their lips seductively, perhaps to show they were ‘hungry’ for my attention? After a few minutes of having various parts of my body grabbed and squeezed without warning, I ducked into the bathroom to escape for a moment, which is where I finally realised what was going on.

I must have missed it at the entrance, but there was a poster on the wall listing what all the coloured wristbands represented, labelling everyone’s preferences so others could tell at a quick glance. It turned out this was a vore bar, and the one I grabbed had marked me under ‘ORAL PREY - DIGESTION’. Unluckily for me, I’d also just cornered myself by running into a room with only one exit, which was now entirely blocked by a towering, chunky predator who followed me inside.

“Look what we have here, and just as I was starting to feel hungry.” He rubbed his massive, rumbling belly as he walked towards me, quickly grabbing my shoulders to keep me from getting away. My voice was shaking as I tried to explain the mistake I’d made, but from the sinister grin on his face it seemed like he was enjoying my panic. As far as the rules of the club went, I was fair game after picking that wristband, so he knew there was nothing to stop him from feasting on the idiot who’d stumbled into this public feeding ground.

I felt his humid, beer-scented breath hit my face as my head was engulfed by his drooling mouth, his tongue taking quick action to taste it all over. I was paralysed with fear as he gnawed playfully at my neck, gently enough not to hurt me but hard enough for me to worry about getting hurt if I didn’t submit willingly to his hunger. After ripping my shirt off and tossing it to the ground, his hands ran down my body from my chest to my waist, taking the chance to grope my toned body before cramming it down his throat.

Maybe it was the alcoholic fumes rising from his gurgling stomach that were making me even more drunk, but I slowly overcame my fear and started to find pleasure in being eaten. Having my senses cut off while in absolute darkness let me focus on the pleasure of being held tightly by his warm, wet, throbbing insides. On top of that, I experienced even greater pleasure once my pants were removed and his tongue began fondling my balls, teasing out some salty flavour for the predator to enjoy.

Once he was ready to finish his meal, he took a few more gulps to sink my legs down his gullet, holding a hand to his neck so he could feel the bulge made by my feet disappear as they travelled down to his stomach. I curled up inside his cramped tank with fizzling liquid rising all the way up to my neck, feeling the walls around me tighten as his body prepared to claim me.

“See, wasn’t that fun in the end? Now you’re exactly where all delicious young lads like you belong, filling up my belly so it can grow nice and big.”

[smol-and-scared]

G/t Analysis: Gods Among Mice

Before I begin, I want to say two things:

This post is not meant to disparage anyone or question their value as people, all of this is exploration of linguistics, its cultural implications and potential narratives that could arise from them.

It is not a statement of fact or a claim I’m making.

Also… Let’s put aside the “Step on me Goddess” bullshit that has unfortunately plagued much of the g/t community’s DMs (It deserves to be called out, but not what this is about)

I will be using ‘God’ as a gender-neutral term here.

The God-like power of Size💪

Throughout history, Gods have often been depicted as being physically massive. This makes sense, as physical power is the most easily understood form of power. Likewise, a creature's size is one of the most universally recognized sign of one's physical power. So it's a good way to instantly depict the strength of a God. And these depictions have had a weird memetic side effect: The idea that 'massive size' makes a creature 'God-like'.

This does have a bit of psychological merit. If mountain-sized Giants actually existed, (without our arch-nemesis: 🔥the fucking square-cube law🔥) their full size and strength would be so hard for humans to understand that their power is basically arbitrary. At which point it becomes indistinguishable from Godhood. Also, our primitive lizard-brains evolved to fear much larger creatures. And fearing your gods is a major part of many religions.

Because of this there are dozens upon dozens of G/t fics, comics, etc; where the larger party is compared to or (metaphorically) referred to as, a God. In the case of actual giants and characters growing larger, this makes complete sense and is usually well-suited to the narrative.

But in my eternal quest for more angst™ I’ve recently started to question it’s use in Human/tiny stories. It feels kinda… lazy? I mean, not in the context of the story, many fantastic fics do it. But it just feels like it was copied over from the giant fics and never fully questioned or explored.

Okay, but what if: 🤏 smol.

Now obviously, all of this depends on the exact size difference, scenario and world-building of the story. But I still think it applies to a huge amount of fics who play up the Human/tiny size difference as ‘God-like’.

I personally think If a tiny views their resident human as a God-like figure (with all of the fear and awe that entails) …then they are optimistically delusional.

Because Gods are, in most cultures, special.

I have yet to see a fic where the Tiny is struck by the simple and harrowing realization that the humans they view as unstoppable, God-like entities are... in fact, painfully average.

It’s one thing to live in terror of the massive entity that could kill you in an instant. It’s an entirely further step to realize that there are dozens, if not hundreds of them between you and the nearest human-free environment.

And what if the Tiny realizes that their human isn’t even average? Imagine their horror when they realize that the person who is so big and powerful that they can barely even grasp it… is some 4’ 3” (~130cm) little stick? And the average human could snap ‘their human’ in half like a stale fuckin’ Cheeto.

Objectively, the Tiny knew this. They knew that the human they live with was small and weak compared to the others. But they never had an opportunity to actually understand it. And nothing gets that message across like seeing the 'God' of their tiny little world casually picked up and playfully carried on someone’s shoulder.

And It still gets worse...

Depending on the setting, the Tiny may not know or feel connected to any kind of civilization (A borrower colony, a scavenger camp, etc). This is especially true if Tinies are rare and/or oppressed.

And if that Tiny were to realize how average their 'God-like' human was? It would break them in the most pitiful way.

Because that ‘God’ isn’t a god. They’re average. They have a job. They have hobbies and friends. Things that this Tiny could never even dream of having. And that’s normal. That’s expected. They get to live, instead of just survive. Because they’re a person and that’s what people do.

And if their ‘God’ is just a person-

“Then…what does that make me?”

In conclusion:

I believe a character referring to someone as a God/Goddess implies that the speaker is a ‘person’ and they are looking at something greater. It’s ‘Normal’ looking up at ‘Godhood'.

But given the right story, plus a healthy amount of fear and awe. I think many Tinies would start to understand how small they are. And that they’ve been looking up at ‘Normal’ the whole time.

[booksandstuffsthings]

Hakea, Hakea, Hakea. Aahhhhh also indri i fear for your life babe. Mirara wants her unity and is not afraid to kill you to get it while ame is considered dealt with. This ep was too good yall, I feel bad for everyone who is not watching wbn at this point. To start Ame??? Girl why would you lie in the place where lying can be a death sentence. But yeah I love Ame this ep, she is trying to do right by suvi but it's so unfortunate that suvi sees any attack of the citadel as an attack upon herself. Genuinely ame lying was an understandable decision, but the best option would have been to not say anything at all or obfuscate, but I get that eursulon kinda pushed her hand. Ame really is trying to stick by suvi, like her going against tephmet and what they were saying. Like ame is trying. Also tephmet, I get them like being a revolutionary is hard, but don't be mean to ame. What happened to the tolerant left smh.

Suvi, my dearest!!!! Love her. Her breakdown is so deserved and long coming. I feel so bad for her, but the indoctrination is indoctrinating. Like babe, it benefits empire that many parts of it are turned away and don't understand fully what the others are doing. It benefits empire when "bad actors" or fucking unsanctioned individuals to bad shit. Like morrow was a million billion percent picking up what the citadel and the empire were putting down and they are vague about that shit so that they can say ohhhhhnoooo we didn't want that to happen and have plausible deniability but still profit from it. Like it's a huge tower in a desert, the lack of metaphor is screaming at you. Also a quote to remind y'all.

"They plunder, they butcher, they ravish, and call it by the lying name of 'empire'. They make a desert and call it 'peace"

But yeah, the empire's princess suvi maybe isn't in the best place to hear about this. She's so tired, y'all. And like yeah, I can see why. But at the same time it's so easy to claim ignorance and to in fact be ignorant, and that is by design. I think once she thinks through her breakdown a bit more she'll sort of get it but what they are asking her to do is so hard. But it is the right thing to do and I know she will come around.

Eursulon was over it this ep I really can't wait to see his and suvis convo. I felt so bad seeing him retraumatized