#nosferatu imagine

[multific]

The Essence of Beauty

Count Orlok x Vampire!Reader

Summary: After years and years of looking, you believe you found what you have been looking for.

The dark castle stood in silence as the sun began to set.

You moved quietly through the grand hall, the hem of your black gown brushing against the cold stone floor. Clutched in your hands was a small vial, glowing faintly with an ethereal blue light—the potion.

You had spent years searching for it, a concoction crafted from forgotten alchemy, whispered about in ancient texts. When you started looking for it. You almost gave up.

Its power was said to be immense, a temporary reversal of decay, a momentary return to youth. 

Though you bore no scars of time, your beloved Orlok carried the weight of centuries on his shoulders. 

His once-proud visage had been transformed by the curse of undeath.

You found him in the chamber you both shared, seated by the wide arched window that opened to the forest below. 

The moonlight streamed through, illuminating his pale face. 

He just woke up. Since, unlike you, he cannot walk the earth during the day.

To you, he had always been beautiful.

"My love," you said softly, stepping closer to him. 

"You’ve returned," he said, his voice deep and echoing in the chamber. "Where have you been?"

"I went to find something for you. Something... I hoped might make you happy." you pulled the potion out of your pocket and showed it to him.

Orlok’s eyes narrowed. "What is this?"

"A potion," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "It can restore your youth. It makes you as you once were before the curse took hold. It won’t last forever, only for a short while, but... I thought you might wish to see yourself as you were."

He stared at the vial, an unreadable expression crossing his face. His clawed fingers brushed against the glass, but he did not take it. "You sought this for me?"

You nodded. "I know how the years have weighed on you, how the world has changed while you remained the same. And though I love you as you are, I thought perhaps this might bring you some joy."

Orlok’s lips curved into a faint, sad smile. "You did this because you pity me."

"No," you said quickly, placing your hands over his. "I did this because I love you. Because I cannot bear to see you in pain."

He lifted his gaze, searching your eyes for truth. 

For centuries, you had been by his side, his wife, his equal, his love. Unlike him, you had not aged. 

The curse had not marked you in the same way it did him. 

While he bore the scars of time, you remained untouched by its cruel hand. While he must hide from the sun, you are free to walk as you are.

"Do you wish me to be something I am not?" he asked quietly. His voice held no anger. 

"Never," you replied firmly. "You are everything to me, Orlok. I love you as you are. Not for your appearance, but for your soul. This potion is not something you have to take. It’s only something I thought you might want."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting back to the vial. He was deep in thought. "And you’ve tested it?"

You hesitated before answering. "Yes, of course. On myself. It worked... but only for a single night. By dawn, its effects faded, and I was as I had been."

"Then what purpose does it serve?" he asked, his voice tinged with sorrow. "To offer a fleeting glimpse of what once was, only to snatch it away by morning?"

You took his hand in yours, pressing it to your heart. "It serves no purpose beyond showing you what I see every night you emerge from your coffin. You think yourself hideous, but to me, you are perfect. This potion cannot change what truly matters, which is the love I hold for you."

Orlok leaned forward, his cold lips brushing against your forehead. "You are a fool to love me."

"I am the happiest fool in existence," you whispered, smiling through the tears that threatened to fall.

He studied you for a moment longer, then released a deep, shuddering sigh. "If this potion means so much to you, I will take it. But not because I seek youth or beauty. I will take it because you, my love, have given me a gift far greater than time, your heart."

Carefully, he uncorked the vial, the soft sound echoing in the silent chamber. 

The liquid shimmered as he raised it to his lips. You watched, your heart pounding, as he drank it in one swift motion.

For a moment, nothing happened. 

Then, slowly, a soft glow began to radiate from within him. His gaunt features smoothed, the pallor of his skin faded, and the deep lines etched by centuries disappeared. 

Before your eyes, Orlok transformed, becoming the man he once was.

He stood before you, tall and regal, his dark hair restored, his eyes gleaming with vitality. 

Yet, despite his changed appearance, he remained the same. He was still your Orlok.

"How do I appear to you now?" he asked, his voice lighter, hie breathing now even.

You smiled, stepping closer and placing your hands on either side of his face. "You appear as you always have to me, the man I love. This version of you is unchanged by time."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as the moonlight bathed you both in its glow. 

"And when this night ends, and the potion’s effects fade, will you still look at me this way?"

"Always," you promised, pressing your lips to his. "For in my eyes, you are eternal."

As the night wore on, you remained in each other’s arms, savouring the moment. You etched his young face into your mind for eternity.

When dawn approached, and the potion's magic began to weaken, Orlok did not mourn the loss of youth. 

Instead, he held you tighter as he once more laid down in his coffin, but he had you in his arms for this day.

"I must admit, it was nice to see the man I see in the paintings. You are quite handsome." you said as he closed the lid of his coffin.

"Even if I do not need such a potion, I must admit it was great to walk as a young man once more."

"I believe many women fell for you during your youth. But I'm glad I was able to bring back something like that for you."

"I do wonder, what did the potion bring back for you? You are already eternally beautiful."

"I looked like my teenage self. Younger but not as mature. But I believe once was enough. I prefer My Love as he is." his arms tightened around you as he slowly fell asleep.

"Thank you." he whispered before his eyes closed.

You were happy that in the end, he had a great time being young once more. It was a gift after all. 

Love was the only true eternity you needed.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[gatorbites-imagines]

Friedrich getting 'infected' by proximity and becoming obsessed with dhampir reader?

Friedrich Harding x Dhampir male reader

Ficlet

I can’t deny I felt myself drawn to Friedrich, and it’s not just cuz its Aaron Taylor-Johnson playing him. The scene in the mausoleum… was something. This takes place somewhere after anna and the daughters die, but before Friedrich, well, you know. Tried to really go with the handsome mysterious vampire vibe here.

Hope this meets the “intro to obsession” vibe I was going for. I had a lot of fun writing this, would honestly love to write a part 2, if y’all are interested…

Nosfertatu 2024 spoilers ig

The plague was ransacking Wisborg, people dying by the dozen, bodies littering the streets faster than they could be moved away. Rats ran around, running about peoples feet, some even climbing up pedestrians legs if they could.

But Friedrich could not find it in himself to care. After his sweet Anna was gone, his beautiful daughters too, taken by this plague, for he still did not believe that it was some demon that took them. That was simply the ramblings of a woman who should have been locked away a long time ago. The alcohol on his tongue was sour like his thoughts. He truly should have convinced Thomas of turning his eyes onto another woman all that time ago.

Friedrich was not at his estate. He knew that would be the first place Thomas would find him, along with the two doctors who only played into the delusion. He simply couldn’t stand being in their presence right now, not after burying his beloved Anna and their daughters.

His eyes were bloodshot, throat raw from all his sobbing and weeping. He had not even changed out of the clothing he had worn to their funeral. The keeper of the bar he had found, had left the bottle with him after he had pair, deciding to return to the safety of their home, and not be stuck here with Friedrich.

The door of the establishment opened with a creak, cold air seeming to flood the room. What few candles stood about flickered before snuffing out, the room suddenly so cold that Friedrich’s breath was making vapors as a horrible cold sank into his bones.

The moment Friedrich turned his head, still so heavy and weary, the room seemed to warm up again, the candles flickering back on, the flame stronger and brighter than before. A man stood in the door, tall and broad in a way that spoke of good lineage, of a healthy diet, someone rich enough to eat enough to grow tall.

The clothing was similar, but not what was popular in Germany, but rather what you would see the upper class of the kingdom of Great Britain would wear. Most of it, at least. Down the middle of his coat, was stitching’s and details that felt like it was from somewhere else. It made Friedrich think of the few traders he had met from Romania.

What was most peculiar, was the mans eyewear. They looked like Windsor glasses, but the glass was tinted red. Not a dull weak red that most craftsmen could achieve, but a red so vibrant that the shades almost seemed to glow in the mans shadow. Last but not least, was the cane the man was holding. Polished and dark, with a pommel shaped like that seemed to be a bat of all things.

A feeling started filling the room as the men stepped closer to the mourning widow, the door slamming shut behind the mysterious man as if the wind itself as pulled it, his polished shoes and heels clicking across the flooring as he neared.

His walk was graceful, as if his feet were not touching the ground as he moved, like the weight of the world was not holding him down like everyone else. The world so heavy that Friedrich wanted it to swallow him whole.

A shiver that felt both molten and freezing ran down Friedrichs spine, as this graceful man sat down beside him on another stool at the door, the ship merchant finding himself almost bewitched as the unknown man pulled off his skintight leather gloves. It felt almost promiscuous, the way the gloves slowly pulled off his fingers and folded up so neatly on the bar top.

“You would not mind if I joined you for a drink, would you, Herr?” he finally spoke, his voice purred and accented, like a big fancily dressed feline, perhaps like one of those lions Friedrich had heard of. The voice was accented, something British mixed with Romanian. Seemingly out of nowhere, a crystal glass was in front of him, the mans eyes hidden behind the tinted glass of his special eyewear, but Friedrich felt like a mouse before a cat, like he was seeing someone greater than himself.

“N… not at all” he finally mustered out, voice gasped and breathless, like something besides his heavy grief was weighing on his lungs. The bottle of whatever alcohol Friedrich had bought in his blind grief felt heavy in his clammy hands as he pulled the stopper, turning it to pour it into the mans glass.

Friedrich could not wrench his eyes from the tall mans face, he felt almost bewitched. It felt like when he would look at Anna, but… more. Anna was always his beloved beautiful wife, who made him feel like an animal at times with how much he yearned her. But with her, he was the wolf, the hunter, and her his fluffy rabbit.

But now, he felt meek, sensitive, the hairs on his skin standing on end. Friedrich felt spit pool in his mouth as his sudden companion lifted the now filled glass, slowly bringing it to his plush lips, the bop of his throat as he swallowed making sweat gather on the merchant’s brow.

The beating of his heart was loud in his ears, Friedrichs hands twitching on the bar top in a need to wipe them on his trousers, but under this man’s attention he felt stuck as if he was submerged in stone or ice. His smile was… so beautiful. Dizzying, like alcohol and tobacco, like the medicines that made your world spin and colors dance before your ears.

Some of the man’s teeth were sharp, sharper than any Friedrich had ever seen, but his attention was stuck on the way his tongue flicked across his bottom lip to catch any stray drops of alcohol.

“You seemed burdened by a great weight, my friend” he purred, placing the now empty glass down, just to reach upper and take Friedrichs chin between his pointer and thumb. A loud shaky exhale left Friedrich, his Adams apple bouncing as he swallowed, his insides burning at such a small touch.

“I… I lost my wife… my daughters. To this plague” he gasped, the words wrenching from his chest like his daughters wrenching the favorite doll from each other’s hands. Why did he say that? spill such a painful fact to a complete stranger.

“You have my deepest condolences” his accented voice cooed, like one would coo at a small pitiful animal. Yet, Friedrich did not feel put down by the tone of voice, instead his very heart seemed to pump twice as fast as something like euphoria flooded his veins. The very attention of this man had Friedrich feeling more alive than any other moment of his life.

“It saddens me that my father’s obsession should take such important beings from you. I will find a way to repay you, anything you may want. You simply come find me, when you know what that is” his almost erotic voice rolled, his face drawing closer and closer to Friedrichs.

He knew he should pull away, claim disgust and horror of a man, and a strange at that, drawing so close, just after his wife had been put away in the mausoleum. But Friedrichs blood rushed, both to his face and downwards, his lips parting in a soft hungry gasp as his eyelids drooped.

The mans lips were cold, but not as cold as a corpses. Cold, like when you just got in from the pouring rain and you were soaked to the bone. His tongue tasted metallic, salty almost, mixed with the minty flavor of pastils. The kind a man would use to fix his breath.

It should have disgusted Friedrich, yet he found himself arching into it with a needy hungry whimper, a noise his sweet Anna never had drawn from him. The merchant wanted to grasp onto this man, to devour his tongue and mouth in ways he never dared with Anna, to climb upon him and be taken in ways he had only heard shamefully spoken of by others.

Pure ecstasy, what must be a taste of heaven, enough for Friedrich to fear he would spill in his trousers like a fool. Addicting, more than any drug. But just as he was about to indulge himself, the man pulled away, his grin wider and more akin to the demon paintings of the churches.

His teeth were painted red, his tongue flicking across his sharp fangs. His tongue seemed sharper and longer than the average person, but Friedrich felt nothing but want. In his hazy state, Friedrich did not even see him leave. One moment he was there, the next, gone, the door of the establishment wide open and the candles put out.

Rats ran by the door, yet none entered, as if there was a barrier in the way. It was only now that Friedrich felt the ache of his tongue, his hand clumsily reaching up and brushing against it, drawing away only to see them coated in blood. His mouth tasted like blood, his handkerchief soaked in it when he pressed it against his mouth.

His tongue hurt, did it start bleeding on accident when you two coiled yours like a pair of mating snakes? The throbbing of his tongue was almost as addictive as the throbbing between his legs, a wild feeling in his mind and body.

Friedrich stumbled to his feet, neglecting to pick up his hat as he stumbled out of the establishment, leaving his bottle behind as he tripped towards his home. With all the death around them, no one had time to pay attention to the befuddled man whose mouth and chin was soaked in blood, and nobody had time to pay attention to how the rats seemed to go right around him like a parting sea.

He must get home. He had too… he had to find that man again, he had to find you.

[didoleonina]

[gingerteafairy]

𝑬𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

"Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

tags n warnings: smut, obsession, ghost sex, heavy angst, vampire, cursing, death, blood, devotion, praise kink, fingering, oral, piv. word count: 5k

@ikkyfics thank you for making me post this and not hiding it on my virtual shelf, you deserve the world <3 masterlist

Friedrich Harding’s anguished cries tore through the air, echoing across the desolate countryside. The sound was primal, raw—a lament that seemed to pierce even the heavens. Strong hands gripped his arms, restraining him as he thrashed against them, desperate to reach the coffin that housed his beloved wife. His wife. The one who had once been his anchor in a chaotic world. But those who truly knew Friedrich understood a deeper truth—his devotion to her paled in comparison to his adoration for you. For you, he had defied every societal expectation, every unwritten rule. Now, his world lay shattered before him.

Despite the lingering fear of the plague that had claimed her, he yearned to hold her one last time, to press her lifeless form against his chest and plead for the impossible.

“Friedrich, stop this madness!” Sievers barked, his voice tinged with both command and desperation as he struggled to contain the grieving man. Harding’s fists swung wildly, his face twisted in despair. The crowd watched in stunned silence, their expressions a mixture of pity and disdain. Mothers shielded their children’s eyes from the spectacle, while fathers stood grim-faced, their silence betraying their discomfort. Children whispered questions to their parents, too young to grasp the depth of the tragedy unfolding before them.

“Release me! I command you to release me!” Friedrich roared, his voice a storm of grief, his blue eyes brimming with tears that fell freely down his face.

“Friedrich, enough!” Hutter pleaded, his grip tightening as he tried to restrain his friend. “This will not bring her back! You must—”

“No!” Harding’s voice cracked as he wrenched free from their grasp, his tear-streaked face contorted in anguish as he turned to Thomas. “She was everything, Thomas! Everything I had. God help me, what am I to do now? What is left of me? Damnation! Damnation upon this cruel fate!”

He collapsed to the ground, his body trembling as he crawled toward the coffin, his shaking hands reaching for the cold wood that separated him from her. But Thomas intervened, pulling him back into a firm embrace.

“Friedrich,” Thomas murmured, his voice soft yet insistent, “you must find strength. Look at me. Look at me.”

Thomas cupped Friedrich’s face, his hands rough and calloused, yet gentle as they held the face of a man utterly undone. The dark hollows under Harding’s eyes spoke of sleepless nights, of relentless grief that gnawed at his very soul.

“I can’t, Thomas,” Friedrich whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “She was my life. How can I go on living when my heart is buried with her?”

“Friedrich,” Sievers began, stepping forward cautiously, “I did not know your wife well, but I am certain she would have wanted you to find happiness again. Life does not end here. One day, you may find love again—”

The doctor’s words were cut short by a vicious punch that sent him stumbling backward. In a flash, Friedrich was upon him, gripping his collar with a ferocity that belied his weakened state.

“Curse you, Sievers,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with fury. “How dare you speak of love to a man who no longer has a heart? Insolent doctor! You know nothing of my torment.”

Thomas and the others rushed forward, pulling Friedrich away as he sagged against them, his strength finally failing. His body, ravaged by exhaustion and starvation, could fight no longer.

By the time they returned to his estate, Friedrich was a shadow of himself. He sat in silence, his eyes empty, his face devoid of the fire that had once animated it. He stared into the void as though nothing in the world could reach him now. Even if the earth had split open before him, he would not have flinched. He was a man as dead as his wife, his soul entombed alongside hers.

"Promise me you'll be well," Thomas pleaded as he stepped down from the carriage, his voice wavering as he struggled to maintain his composure. His eyes, heavy with worry, searched his friend’s hollowed face. "Promise me you'll eat, care for yourself. Do not fade away, Friedrich."

Harding did not respond. He merely turned, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his grief, and walked toward the door of his home. There was only one solace left to him—the fragile hope of seeing you in his dreams. To escape into a world where you were still alive: radiant, healthy, untouched by the horrors of the plague. There, you would be free, unburdened by the cruel fate that had stolen you away.

Later, cradling a glass of brandy in trembling hands, Friedrich lay upon his bed. The liquor did little to dull the sharp edges of his sorrow. His body shook with silent sobs as he closed his eyes, desperate to summon even the faintest memory of you—your touch, your voice, a fleeting whisper of your essence.

A scream tore through the silence.

He woke with a jolt, his sweat-soaked hair clinging to his brow, his breath hitching in panic. The room spun around him, and then he saw you.

You stood beside the bed, bathed in pale moonlight that streamed through the window. The white gown he had chosen for your burial clung to your form, pristine and ethereal. You were unblemished, untouched by disease, impossibly beautiful—more luminous than you had ever been in life. To him, you were divine, a vision too perfect to be real.

For a moment, he was paralyzed. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Fear and longing warred within him. If he moved, if he dared to reach for you, would you vanish? Was this some cruel trick of his shattered mind?

"My heart," you whispered, the words ghosting across the room.

Before he could react, you faded into the shadows, dissolving into the night as though you had never been there.

Friedrich collapsed onto the mattress, his body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as a guttural, muffled scream tore from his throat, buried into the pillow to escape the ears of the empty house. The pain was unbearable, clawing at his soul, leaving him raw and broken.

The next morning, he awoke to frantic knocking at the door. The sun was high, its rays spilling harshly through the curtains, though it brought no warmth to the bleakness inside him. Disheveled and barely able to stand, Friedrich stumbled toward the door.

Thomas stood there, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wide with dread.

"Friedrich. This is... it’s terrible," Thomas choked out, his voice trembling as his fingers combed through his disordered hair.

"What has happened, Thomas?" Friedrich demanded, though his voice was hoarse and distant, his mind still clouded by the haunting vision of you.

"Sievers," Thomas whispered, his hand instinctively covering his mouth as if to trap the horrifying words before they could escape.

"What about Sievers? Speak plainly!" Friedrich snapped, irritation flaring as the ache in his head throbbed from the brandy. "Thomas, what is it?"

Thomas hesitated, his voice low and filled with a grim finality. "Sievers is dead. He was found this morning... his chest torn open. His heart—" Thomas paused, his voice cracking. "His heart was removed."

The words struck Friedrich like a physical blow. He stumbled back, collapsing into the armchair behind him. His hands trembled as he pressed them to his temples. Memories of the night before flooded his mind, your whisper echoing like a ghostly refrain.

“My heart.”

It couldn’t be real. It was madness, surely. Yet the coincidence was too stark, too chilling to dismiss. His thoughts spiraled. Could it have been you? No. Impossible. And yet... Sievers had spoken of finding another, dared to suggest that love could replace the irreplaceable. Perhaps this was divine retribution—or something darker.

"Friedrich! Friedrich!" Thomas’s urgent voice pulled him from his reverie. The friend’s hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him gently as if to rouse him from the stupor.

Friedrich’s eyes cleared, a strange light igniting within them. He rose abruptly, pacing with a frenetic energy that had been absent for days.

"Call Von Franz," he muttered, his voice low but commanding.

"What?" Thomas blinked, taken aback by the unexpected request.

"Von Franz," Friedrich repeated, his tone sharper, almost desperate. "Summon him at once. That lunatic priest may know something—or I may be mad to even consider it. But summon him, Thomas!"

Without waiting for a reply, Friedrich strode toward his room, his steps hurried and unsteady. He needed to prepare. If there was even the faintest chance that Von Franz held the answers to this nightmare, Friedrich would face him. Hatred or no, he would endure anything to uncover the truth.

He stared at himself in the mirror, his hollow eyes scanning the face that no longer felt like his own. With deliberate precision, he splashed cold water on his face, the droplets clinging to his skin as if they could wash away his torment. A smile curled on his lips, unnatural, strained—then erupted into a jagged, manic laugh. His reflection in the mirror mocked him, a fractured visage of sanity, twisted by grief.

"Ah, my love," he murmured, his voice trembling as his fingers brushed the surface of the mirror, tracing a line over his own reflection. "You change me, even in death." His hand fell to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his coat as though he could rip his own heart out. "My heart… It belongs to you, always."

With newfound resolve, Friedrich shed his clothes, stepping into a bath as if it were a sacred rite. The water lapped at his skin, cleansing not only his body but the remnants of his despair. He emerged renewed, obsessed, his every movement deliberate as he trimmed his beard and dressed himself in his finest attire. His appearance was immaculate, a mirror of the man he had been on his wedding day.

When Von Franz arrived at the residence, the pastor, startled by Friedrich’s transformation, dropped his glass of wine. The shards scattered across the floor, but Von Franz’s gaze remained fixed on the man before him, his face pale as though he were staring at a ghost.

"By night, I sought him whom my soul loves," the pastor recited, his voice trembling with unease. "I sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him whom my soul loves. I sought him, but I found him not."

The verses fell from Von Franz’s lips as if they were a prophecy, words carried by something beyond him. Friedrich stood still, each syllable piercing him like a dagger, his jaw tightening as the pastor's voice resonated deep within his chest.

"I must tell you something," Friedrich began, his voice low, commanding the attention of both Von Franz and Thomas. They moved cautiously toward the table where candles flickered, casting restless shadows in the dimly lit room. The once-bustling household was eerily quiet, the absence of servants amplifying the oppressive atmosphere.

Von Franz broke the silence, his voice a mix of awe and warning. "Your devotion echoes through eternity, Herr Friedrich." He studied the man before him, a shadow of the grieving figure from the day before, now alight with a dangerous fervor. "But it is selfish."

"Let it be," Friedrich replied sharply, striking the table with his fist before withdrawing his hand to retrieve a cigar from his coat. Lighting it with a flick of his lighter, he took a slow drag, the smoke curling around him as he spoke again. His tone softened, but his determination was unyielding. "Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

Von Franz’s voice grew urgent, his hands pressing against the table as though he could anchor himself to reality. "This is perilous, Herr Friedrich. You toy with forces beyond comprehension. Death is the final vow—'til death do you part.' To defy it…"

Friedrich interrupted with a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back in his chair. "Something as absurd as death cannot separate me from my beloved." He exhaled a stream of smoke, his head tilting back as he closed his eyes. The faintest sensation brushed against his chest—soft, velvety, unmistakable. His breath hitched. "Ah, my love… Do you approve of my words?"

Von Franz stumbled backward, his wide eyes fixed on Friedrich as the air around him grew thick and heavy. He reached for Thomas, pulling the young man close as they both watched in horror.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.” Your haunting voice tantalized Von Franz and Thoma’s ears, but delighted your beloved ones, hearing every word slipping from your icy and dry lips, rough against the warm soft cheek of him. 

From the shifting shadows, your form began to materialize. Von Franz’s voice faltered, barely audible. "Impressive…" he muttered, though his face betrayed the terror rising within him.

Thomas’s mouth fell open, his voice shaking. "This… this cannot be real."

His words trailed off as your ethereal hands appeared, their ghostly outline pressing gently against Friedrich’s chest. His head fell back further, his body convulsing with an eerie ecstasy.

Von Franz’s composure broke entirely. He yanked Thomas’s arm, dragging him toward the door. "We must leave. Now!" he hissed, his voice frantic. "If you wish to keep your heart beating in your chest, boy, then we must flee this place!"

Friedrich's grin turned wickedly amused as he closed the space between you intentionally this time. “Oh, my love. Be careful what you wish for.”

“I never play when it comes to what I want,” he muttered, swallowing hard as your fingers curled slightly into the fabric before reaching his arms. “And I want you, my muse.”

As he spoke, his eyes darkened, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before he regained control. “You have something I've been searching for and found in you” he continued, as if sensing his sudden vulnerability. He placed his hand on your waist with a delicate yet firm grip, guiding you into a slow, intimate dance across the room. “Something to wish for. You made me feel something…”

His movements were measured and graceful, leading you effortlessly as if he already knew every step of the dance. “Something?”

“Passion.”

Your hand seemed to tremble. For the first time, you felt like your words ran away from your thoughts. Something unexpected in your movement as you gently lifted back up. “You're not sure of what you're saying, Friedrich. I don't…”

"If you don't want this," Friedrich cut, swallowing hard, navigating the labyrinth of his own courage, "then why does your body say otherwise?"

"I’ve learned not to trust what my body says," you replied, but your wrist didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in, your fingers brushing the stray strands from his face with a tenderness that belied your words.

"Then listen to mine," Friedrich urged, stepping closer, pressing your hand against his chest. His heart raced beneath your touch, a frantic rhythm betraying the calm he tried to maintain.

There was something about Friedrich Harding—a tempestuous allure that made falling for him feel as deep as the ocean and as electrifying as the crackle of thunder before a storm.

His fingers lingered at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his touch sending an unspoken message straight to your heart. “You’re my wife, my woman, the only one I love. God spare me from my own sinful behavior through this sick pleasure.” 

“Would love be a pleasure?” you asked, your voice soft as your eyes locked with his. He studied your face for a moment before speaking.

“Perhaps the worst of them,” he admitted, turning his attention back to the fire’s flickering light. “I’ve avoided love at all costs since the last time I fell. And then you came along—wild, untamed, like the very flames in this hearth. I knew getting close to you wouldn’t end well for my… redemption.”

“Redemption?” you echoed.

“Indeed,” he murmured, leaning toward you, supported by his arm. “But it seems I’ve never learned to control myself when it comes to love. Lust, perhaps, but passion—grand, classic, all-consuming passion—never. You're my everything.” 

His voice, low and velvet-soft, broke the silence. "Make me yours again, my love.” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. 

"You’d have the world at your feet... but I'm afraid I only offer darkness." Your voice came out faint, clinging to him, the warmth of his body anchoring you. 

"You don't have to offer anything but yourself," he replied, his voice trembling slightly, but full of resolve. "And I choose you.”

With his fierce determination, his hands tightened on your waist with a strong reverence, crushing you against him as he angled his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with your own. 

He poured every ounce of his feelings into that kiss, the way you had consumed his thoughts and dreams.

His hands roamed over your back, mapping out the curves and contours of your body in that gown, committing every dip and swell to memory. He slid one hand up to tangle in your hair, gripping the locks and tilting your head back to give him better access to the sensitive skin of your neck. 

His heart raced, pounding against his ribs like a drum as he lost himself in the taste and feel of you, the softness of your cold lips and the heat of his tongue.

“Touch me, Friedrich.” You whispered panting as your lungs felt the breathing of life again, curling your fingers on his neckline. “Feel my heart. Even when I'm dead, it beats for you. Strong and hard for I love you more than everything to overcome death itself.”

He pressed his hand against your chest, squeezing painfully the soft flesh on his palm, feeling the frantic pounding of your heart beneath his palm, the way it raced and leapt at his touch. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, a sudden, overwhelming emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"God," he whispered, his voice breaking on a sob, "I love you too. I love you so much it hurts. You're everything to me, everything I've ever wanted and everything I know I don't deserve."

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours once more, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to regain control over his emotions. He could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, but he didn't care, not with your arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

“Make love with me, Friedrich.” you begged as the cold tears fell, cupping his strong face in your hands. “Take me the way only you know how. Make me feel alive, let your blood boil in my veins as you make me yours because I can't stand any other night without you, Friedrich.”

His heart leapt at your desperate plea, covering your hand with his own, turning his head to press a fervent kiss to her palm before tangling their fingers together. “I love you so much it feels like I can't breathe or sleep without you, I need you to survive.” 

He took your face in his hands and slightly pulled your hair back so his nose could longer on your neck, breathing in your essence that remained intact even among the light aroma of earth and ashes with the lilies placed with you in the coffin.

“You're my everything.” He shivered, sobbing, biting your flesh, sinking his teeth, leaving his strong mark, his saliva mixing with his tears that fell every time he realized that you were there with him. “Everything.”

He captured your lips in another searing kiss, hands sliding down to grip your thighs, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you towards the house, to the known love nest. 

He laid you down gently on the bed, his body covering yours, his hips nestled between your spread thighs. He looked down at you, taking in the sight of your locks splayed out across the mattress, skin glowing in the dim light of his bedroom.

Slowly, reverently, he slid his hands under the hem of your gown, pushing it up and over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He drank in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over the swell of her breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples straining on the cold air of the night.

He leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft, sensitive skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you as he gripped on your breast as his anchor, pushing him back to reality, his thumbs brushing over the nipples, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“Please, Friedrich. I need you, I'm begging, please.” You sobbed, choking on your own passion as you desperately searched his face in your hand, nipping the bottom lip as you tied him with your thighs. 

"Then you shall have it, my queen," he whispered before closing the distance, his kiss deep and unyielding, as though sealing a pact written in the shadows of the room.

He held you tighter, his hand now resting firmly on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles. The words you had spoken hung between you, a weight neither of you could ignore. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, everything felt like it was balancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice.

He slid his hand up your thigh, cupping the heat of your sex. He groaned at the feel of you, already so wet and ready for him, his fingers slipping easily between your folds.

“How is it possible?” He demanded, light headed with the feeling of his beloved intimate again, he could search in all the places, he couldn't find the one who pleased him this way. 

“You're giving me life, Friedrich.” You whispered, arching your back at the travel your husband is. Loving, intense, belonging. 

He slid a finger inside you, then two, pumping them slowly, letting you adjust to the new-old sensation. “God, how I missed you.” he groaned, curling them just so, rubbing against that special spot deep inside that made you see stars. “Missed your touch, missed your laugh, your moans, your cunt. The way you moan my name, oh… everything, yeah, keep moaning for me. Please, darling. Say my name just once more, can you?”

“Oh, Friedrich.” You moaned, curling your toes as your heart beated and you felt your pleasure slip on his knuckles with your peak. 

He leaned down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your stomach. He looked up at you, his blue eyes blazing with love and desire and a fierce, unbreakable connection. 

“Say you want me to claim you, to fill you, to make you a part of me in every way possible.” he demanded miserably, panting on your stomach, digging his fingers on your hips. “Say my name, tell me I'm not out of my senses and you are here with me. Say you need my sex deep as you crave life again as my seed overflows on your delicious inside.” 

“I want you, please. I want everything more than anything in this world or next. Fill me.” you whimpered, forking your hands on his locks, pressing him against you, grinding your arousal on his chest. 

He sighs, running his hands down your thighs, as well as his face that camped on your core, inhaling the essence and feeling an immense desire to cry at the touch of his tongue on your sensitive nerve, taking in every note of your taste.

He sank there, never wanting to leave, he just wanted to please you with his entire being, to adore you, swirling his tongue in the exact places you loved, because Friedrich knew you like the back of his hand, you were an open book to him, he deciphered all your secrets and dreams.

Everything you loved, his tongue in your canal, at the entrance, swirling on your clit and taking it all in to suck the little spot and leave a soft kiss.

“Frid, Frid, my love.” you called, sensing your approaching orgasm, you patted his head, his answers delayed by his fixation on your cunt. 

He swallowed the remaining taste, lifting his face lazily and meeting your eyes. “I love your taste.” he whispered, settling himself between your thighs, the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against your slit. “but I love being inside you even more.”

With that, he thrust forward, sheathing himself inside you. He groaned at the feel of your pussy so tight and perfect around him, it was made just for him, to wrap the way he wanted. 

Then, he began to move, his hips rocking against you in a steady, sensual rhythm, foreheads together to hear every moan, purr and whimper from you. He kept his thrusts slow and deep, wanting to savor every moment, every inch of you. 

His hands slid up your sides, cupping the soft, supple curves of your breasts, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he lost himself in the feel of you. He knew he would never get enough of this, of you, of the way you made him feel alive. 

“You're my life, darling.” He panted, deepening the sway of his hips, capturing your lips. “If it's necessary to be dead to be with you everyday like this, I'd sell my soul for just a moment. Take everything you need. Take everything from me.”

“As you wish, my love.” You whimpered, your moans becoming even higher as you craved your teeth on his neck on his pulsing point as a thin amount of blood flowed to your mouth. “Oh, God. You taste so good. Oh, fuck. You… Darling, uhmm…”

“Fuck, take it. Take more. Take every drop of me, love.” He begged, nuzzling his nose on your neck to mark you as you licked the remaining blood salty with his sweat. “Come on my cock while you suck me with your pretty cunt and your teeth. Take my soul.”

He could feel you starting to tremble, your body tensing and tightening as your climax approached. He doubled his efforts, his thrusts growing harder and faster, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he drove into you.

"Come for me, my heart," he urged, his voice a low, desperate growl, licking your bloody face. "Come on my cock, my queen. Let me feel you, all of you, now and forever.”

“Frid. AH!” The sound of your scream, raw and filled with ecstasy, pushed him over the edge. He groans,  burying himself to the hilt inside you as his own release overtook him.

"Fuck," he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the bedroom. "I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming so hard! Take it, darling."

He pulsed and throbbed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your womb as he held you tight, crushing you against his chest. He could feel every clench and flutter of her walls around him, milking him for every last drop as you rode out the aftershocks.

He could feel his body growing weak, prolonging that orgasm as he gave the last thrusts, his eyes turning blank and the grip loosening. 

"Frid... Frid, my love." You cried out, watching him smile weakly, his eyes nearly fading. Desperate, you stood up and slapped his face gently against your chest. "Frid. Friedrich. Friedrich, answer me!" you sobbed, cradling his nearly lifeless body in your arms, your tears falling heavily.

"It will be over soon..." he whispered, his hands weakly resting on your back, pulling you closer. "Soon I’ll... be with you... my love... Eat my heart, and you can live with our daughters."

"How? What do you mean, my Frid?" You shouted, gasping, as life slowly drained from him.

"Wasn’t that how you... came to me? By eating Sievers' heart?" He coughed and gasped for air, his lungs sinking from the lack of oxygen. "That's what Von Franz thinks... he knows about it. You trusted him before me... I didn’t believe in you..." 

"No..." You trembled, your eyes wavering as you turned his face towards yours, gazing into his pale blue eyes, already touched by death. "It wasn’t like that, Frid. You brought me back. Your love brought me here. I manifested because of you. I can fix it. I know I can, we can live forever."

You bite your wrist, but nothing came, your blood was dry. You tried to rip your ribcage to get your heart and make him eat, but you weren't strong enough.“No… no…” you gasped

“I've always admired you. You always did your best to make me live comfortably, made me feel a king, love.” He gave a soft laugh, his body moving slightly with it. "I'm glad... I could do something… I'll love you forever" he murmured, finally succumbing to eternal peace.

“And I'll love you always, Frid.” You sobbed, holding his lifeless body in your arms, rocking back and forth as you sang a soft lullaby, the weight of your sorrow deepening, while your body slowly disintegrated, returning to dust and slipping back into your coffin.

In honor of Friedrich's love, Thomas crafted a grand coffin, large enough for both of you. They carefully prepared his body and placed it comfortably in the wooden vessel, where your hands were intertwined with his, bound together for eternity.

[pasdetrois]

Lovers Surprised by Death (1510) by Hans Burgkmair the Elder Nosferatu (2024) dir. Robert Eggers

[comradekarin]

Yeah everyone is like ooga booga Orlok festering dick and I'm like can we talk about the ragefuck. I thought the ragefuck was nice.

LMAOOOO yeah exactly like who gives a fuck about the rotting corpse- did yall see thomas being utterly devoted to his wife? mind, body and soul? now that’s the good kush anon 🤫

[nosferatuv]

i.loved.nosferatu.

i was wondering if you could do a caitlyn bot where she is like orlock and user is like ellen? love count fagula

she had been watching , waiting , wanting ...

click to chat.

[burntsodas]

i drew bill!

first one in awhile so i can’t tell if it’s just me or if he looks wonky.

let me know!

🦇🦇🦇

[deafeningladyruins]

BLOOD TIES

In the quaint, brooding town of Wisborg, where shadows seemed to linger a moment longer and whispers of old secrets wove through the cobblestone streets, there lived a young woman named Eliza. She was a figure out of place, her heart and soul akin to a gothic novel, filled with yearning and an inexplicable attraction to the macabre. Her life, shrouded in a melancholic solitude, found an unexpected tether in Count Orlok, the mysterious nobleman whose presence exuded an aura of both dread and fascination.

One evening, as the moon cast its silvery, spectral glow over the town, Eliza made her way to the castle that loomed ominously over Wisborg. The chill of her rare illness had been creeping more persistently through her veins, and she knew she needed to confide in Orlok, the only soul who seemed to understand the dark recesses of her heart.

As she entered the grand, shadow-laden hall, her eyes met Orlok’s, filled with an intense, inscrutable depth. He stood like a figure from an ancient tragedy, his gaze penetrating yet tender.

"Eliza," he intoned softly, his voice a melodious whisper that echoed through the vast, empty space. "What burdens your soul?"

Eliza, her heart thrumming with a blend of fear and desperate hope, drew a shaky breath. "Count Orlok, I am afflicted with a rare and insidious disease of the blood. The physicians offer no hope, and I fear my time is slipping away like sand through an hourglass."

A shadow passed over Orlok’s gaunt, pallid face, and he stepped closer, his very presence a strange comfort in the cold expanse. "Tell me more," he urged, his voice a mix of sorrow and fierce determination.

Eliza recounted her condition, her voice a fragile wisp in the dimly lit hall. She spoke of the constant weariness, the relentless pain, and the creeping despair that had become her unwelcome companion. Orlok listened with rapt attention, his eyes never wavering from her face. When she finished, he took her hand in his, his touch cool but steadying.

"Eliza," he said, his voice imbued with a deep, unearthly resolve. "I will not allow you to fade into the abyss. There exists a way to save you, but it demands a grave sacrifice."

Eliza’s heart raced, a tumult of hope and terror. "What do you mean?"

Orlok’s gaze intensified, his eyes gleaming with a fervent light. "I can bestow upon you my blood. It will purge your affliction, yet it will bind you to me for eternity. You will become like me, a dweller of the night, forsaking the warmth of the sun."

Eliza’s mind was a tempest of conflicting emotions. The thought of becoming a vampire, a creature of darkness, filled her with dread, but the alternative—a slow, inevitable death—was far more harrowing. She looked into Orlok’s eyes, seeing the profound love and torment that lay within. He was offering her life, albeit a life steeped in shadows.

"I accept," she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet filled with a steely resolve. "I desire to live, and to remain by your side."

Orlok’s eyes softened, and he drew her into a gentle, yet firm embrace. "You are courageous, Eliza. Together, we shall navigate the darkness."

That night, Orlok guided Eliza to a hidden chamber deep within the labyrinthine castle. The room was a sanctuary of ancient relics and arcane symbols, a testament to Orlok’s enduring existence. In the center, an ornate bed draped in crimson silk awaited, its presence both inviting and foreboding.

"Lie down," Orlok instructed, his voice a mellifluous command that brooked no disobedience.

Eliza complied, her heart a symphony of anticipation and fear. Orlok knelt beside her, his eyes a complex tapestry of sorrow and adoration. He leaned closer, his breath a cool caress against her skin.

"This will only be a moment’s pain," he murmured, before sinking his fangs into her chest, near her heart.

Eliza gasped as a sharp pain lanced through her, followed swiftly by a tidal wave of warmth and a dizzying euphoria. She felt her mortal life ebbing away, supplanted by a powerful, vibrant force. Orlok’s blood coursed through her, healing and transforming her, binding her to him in a union of eternal night.

When Eliza awoke, she was reborn. An ethereal strength surged through her, her senses heightened to an almost painful clarity. Orlok stood beside her, his eyes alight with pride and an unwavering devotion.

"Welcome to your new existence, Eliza," he intoned, his voice a symphony of emotion. "You are no longer constrained by the ephemeral bounds of mortality."

Eliza rose, feeling the newfound power pulsing through her veins, the clarity of her thoughts a stark contrast to her former weakness. She looked upon Orlok with a gaze filled with profound gratitude and burgeoning love. "Thank you, Orlok. I am ready to embrace this new life, to face whatever darkness lies ahead, with you."

As the first tendrils of dawn began to creep across the sky, Orlok took Eliza’s hand and led her to a secluded alcove, away from the impending sunlight. They sat together in the penumbral stillness, their connection now an unbreakable bond forged in the crucible of shared sacrifice and enduring love. Eliza knew her life had irrevocably changed, but with Orlok beside her, she was prepared to embrace the eternal night and the boundless mysteries it promised.

In the dim light, Orlok leaned in, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of their shared destiny, of the love that had blossomed in the shadows and would endure through the ages. As their lips parted, Eliza felt a profound sense of belonging, knowing that she and Orlok were bound together, forever entwined in the darkness.

———

Good evening everyone, I just saw Nosferatu so I got an idea for this little story, hope you guys like it and feel free to give me ideas.

[imaginesig]

I'd Have 2 Nickels

Nicholas Hoult x Actress!Reader

SMAU Blurb

There is not nearly enough of this man!! Anyway this is a short smau blurb in which the release of Nosferatu compliments Nick's wife's films release very nicely!!

Twitter--

ynhoult

liked by kiernanshipka, ellefanning, user83, and 829,929 others

ynhoult "Possession Among Polite Society" I love you! What a wild ride it's been and I'm so so grateful!! Please go see it, in theaters new years day 🍾

tagged: tomblyth, elliefanning, paps_movie,

tombyth what a movie!! I've never played opposite of such a brilliant and haunting actress!! You amazed and scared the shit out of me!!

ynhoult playing off your energy and character made the difference!! Thank you!!

elliefanning ugh I cannot wait to see the finished edit of that middle photo!!

ynhoult just know you killed it even before post!!

nicholashoult gorgeous! I love you 🤍🤍

ynhoult I love you too 🤍🤍

lilyrosedepp I cannot wait! Leading lady to leading lady you've done incurable work and I'm so excited to see it in full!!

ynhoult im crying 😭 I've heard excellent things in return!!

roberteggers_ I've got chills from you already!!

user1 ive watched the teaser they released a thousand times and my brain still refused to believe it is Yn in the first and last photo

user2 no fr the makeup and costume teams ate down

user3 main character energy to the max from that first pic

user4 she's so iconic

load more

nicholashoult

liked by ynhoult, lilyrosedepp, user92, and 928,203 others

nicholashoult "Nosferatu" has been wrapped up and sent away in its coffin!! Beware its arrival December 25th!

tagged: aarsontaylorjohnson, Nosferatu_movie

ynhoult thank you @/robberteggers_! Without you I wouldn't have a prosthetic vampire penis hung up in my home!! You are truly a hero!!

robberteggers_ I have a feeling I won't be invited to another dinner anytime soon...

ynhoult I love you baby!! You look phenomenal 🤍🤍

nicholashoult 🤍🤍

billskarsgard well that last slide looks familiar...

aarontaylorjohnson that caption? Someone thinks he's a comedian

nicholashoult can't blame a guy for trying

tomblyth I've heard amazing things!! Christmas cannot come quick enough!!

ellefanning my family are my second priority this holiday season

user1 ugh he looks so good!!

user2 foaming at the mouth

user3 yea I'm watching Nosferatu for the plot (Aaron Taylor Johnson, Bill Skarsgard, Nicholas Hoult, William Defo)

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Time Skip-- Premiers

Twitter--

nicholashoult

liked by ynhoult, robberteggers_, ellefanning, and 892,039 others

nicholashoult premiere hopping 🖤

tagged ynhoult, Nosferatu_movie, paps_movie

ynhoult well don't we clean up nice

nicholashoult that we do!

lilyrosedepp the only couple ever

elliefanning leave something for the rest of us!!

user1 I'm screaming they look so good!!

user2 great day or bi/pan people

load more

ynhoult

liked by elliefanning, tomblyth, user92, and 929,920 others

ynhoult Happy Hoult-idays

tagged: nicholashoult

nicholashoult forever and always 🤍

ynhourt gladly 🤍

tomblyth stunning couple

kiernanshipka love you guys!!

aarontaylorjohnson you're no better than him

ynhoult stay mad we're funnier than you

user1 I can't they're too cute

user2 I hope they do the yearly photo for a long long time

user3 one day we'll all be old and I WILL check Yn's account for her and Nick's Christmas polaroid

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[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Snow Drop: Part 11

Description: Y/N contends with the shadow of her past and intense feelings of shame over thoughts she considers less than pure towards the Prince Jacaerys. Jacaerys is determined to show his lady that their love is true and she need not be ashamed of her desires, even if it requires a daring demonstration to prove it.

Writer's Note: This one was heavily influenced by 'Nosferatu', which Victoria is now obsessed with. I also briefly referenced the song, 'ordinary things (feat. Nonna)' from Ariana Grande's stunning album, Eternal Sunshine.

Dividers by @zaldritzosrose

Warnings: Female reader, mentions of past sexual assault and trauma, complicated feelings around sexuality.

Jacaerys ran a hand through his now tangled locks in frustration with himself. He had made a fool of himself by tumbling through her door in his concern that she was concealing her worsening condition from him. In the moment, he had been so relieved to see her recovering from her illness, having had many sleepless nights over it, he had not fully registered what a brute he had acted by forcing the door to her chambers. He place both hands in his hair again and pressed his forehead to his desk with a groan. She must have been frightened by his behaviour, he chastised himself, particularly given her history with another man who had tried to force himself on her. His eyes darkened in anger at the thought. He would deal with that scoundrel one day, of that he was most certain.

His anger quickly turned up in himself again, however, as he considered that his lady may have feared similar advances from him, given his forceful entry into her room. He practically jumped up from his desk at the thought and began pacing his chamber, turning over in his thoughts how he could possibly apologise and make amends for his behaviour. He never wished for her to feel unsafe with him or that he would not respect her boundaries, he had only lost his composure in fear that her condition had worsened and she was too selfless to tell him.

An involuntary smile softened his expression at the thought of her stubbornness. He did not think she would ever allow him to care for her without some degree of resistance. No matter, he was more than prepared to coax and kiss her into allowing him to do so. He sobered once again. That was, if she wasn't too frightened by his antics the evening before. He comforted himself with the memory of her kissing his cheek before he had left her that evening...she hadn't seemed afraid of him then. He would apologise nonetheless and assure her that he would never force his way into her space again. He wished for her to trust in him and feel safe around him and he would do everything in his power to distinguish himself from that other rogue who had hurt her.

As the morning light filtered through his window, casting shadows along the flagstone floor, a look of determination simultaneously lit up Jacaerys' features. Whilst still early for the royal household, Jacaerys had memorized his love's schedule by this point and knew she would have already risen to begin her duties. He rose from his desk with urgency and exited his chambers in the direction of the Sea Dragon Tower, where he knew she would have begun her cleaning duties.

He knew his love too well to believe she would have heeded his entreaty the night before that she continued to rest until she was completely well. An indulgent half-smile softened his features, and he shook his head at the thought. She would make a formidable Targaryen princess and consort if he was already having trouble getting her to listen to him. Good, she would fit into her role and his family perfectly, and he was sure that their subjects would be as charmed by her and as willing to acquiesce to her every order as he was himself. His heart warmed at the thought.

Y/N smiled absent mindedly as she dusted the grotesque crenelations hanging upon the walls, shaped like basilisks, griffins and wyverns. Normally, these brooding gargoyles would leave her feeling uneasy and she would hurry to complete her survey of the sombre tower, not liking to be alone for so long with such creatures glaring at her from every corner.

Since Jacaerys had learned of her uneasiness in this room, he had made it a habit to rise earlier than he was wont to to keep her company whilst she carried out her duties. At first she had thought his actions strange, but upon questioning him her heart stuttered at the realisation that he was rising early before his own duties so that she would feel safe.

Not wishing to embarrass her, but unable to completely resist from teasing her a little, Jacaerys had responded by tapping the hilt of his sword and smirking at her. "Fear not my love, your prince will defend you from any beast that dares to frighten you, be they living or inanimate", he winked conspiratorially.

She had blushed furiously at his admission, only gaining a laugh from Jacaerys who nonetheless sought to appease her by wrapping her in an embrace. "I only jest, my dove. Do not be angry with me." She had broken into a smile herself, unable to maintain her stern expression as he held her in his arms. "You are a menace." Jacaerys' smile widened at her epithet, realizing at this point that an insult was often a sign of affection from his lady. He knew that she appreciated his assiduous care and concern for her happiness and wellbeing, even if she preferred to call it his 'hen-pecking', much to his chagrin. His company was a most welcome addition to her morning duties, though he grumbled the whole time that she should not have to do anything she thought unpleasant if she would only marry him.

Y/N laughed quietly at the memory of the characteristic pout he would assume when chastising her on this point. She could very easily silence him, she discovered, if she pressed her lips to his, leaving him with a dazed expression on his face when she broke the kiss. She had to laugh when he would reach his arms out to encircle her waist and try to pull her down to his lap into another embrace. Y/N enjoyed teasing the usually serious prince, tapping his chest playfully with her feather duster before she continued with her work.

Upon entering the Sea Dragon Tower, Jacaerys let out a sigh at seeing his lady dusting the gargoyles adorning the walls, routinely struck anew by her beauty and the wave of affection and love for her that always swept over him at the sight of her; there would never be an ordinary moment with her, her very presence investing the sombre darkness of the forbidding room with light for him.

He would normally have bounded up to her, impatient to gather her into his arms, but he found himself hesitating on the threshold of the door. He feared that she may not be pleased to see him, perhaps even angry with him for his transgressions the evening before, so a moment of hesitation passed before he found the courage to enter the room, and Y/N's head snapped up at the sound of his boots against the flagstone floor.

Having prepared for her to chastise him and to apologise profusely to her, he was pleasantly surprised to see her pretty features light up into a smile at the sight of him. He was even more delighted, almost believing himself to have passed into a dream of his own imagining, when she lightly tripped over to him and wrapped her arms around his torso, placing her head on his chest. He eagerly responded to her embrace, enwrapping her in his arms as he stroked her hair tenderly. "What have I done to merit such a greeting, little dove? I half expected I would need to get on my knees and beg your forgiveness for my behaviour last night. Instead I am rewarded for my transgressions by your embrace, my love."

Y/N looked up in confusion at his contrite tone. "Whatever can you mean, Jacaerys? I don't hold you falling through a door against you, if that is your concern," she laughed. "You're still as princely a figure to me as you were before you tumbled through my bedroom door." Jacaerys blushed and pouted a little at being reminded of his less than princely behaviour, though he was pleased she was amused by his antics rather than afraid that he meant to harm her by his intrusion. He didn't think he would be able to endure it if she had been afraid of him.

"So...he hesitated, you were really not frightened by my bold intrusion into your chambers last night? I swear it was only out of concern for you. I would never have tried to force entry into your room in any other circumstances' he rushed out, before she pressed her fingertips to his lips to stop his anxious outburst.

"Don't be silly, Jacaerys. I'm not afraid of you. I love you." His eyes widened at this, his heart skipping a beat, struck anew by the wondrous feeling of being loved by such a sweet creature. He closed his eyes and held her hand to his cheek as she pressed her palm to it. "I am relieved to hear it, my darling. I worried that my behaviour might have brought up unpleasant associations for you...that you might have been afraid lest I had ill intentions. I always want you to feel safe with me." He met her gaze with such warmth and love in his eyes and Y/N was moved by his earnest concern and sensitivity to her past traumas that she encircled her arms around his neck, wanting to be closer to him and reassure him that she felt safe with him.

Jacaerys lowered his torso to make it easier for her to reach him, wrapping his own arms protectively around her waist. "It is because you have always been so gentlemanly and considerate about my feelings that I knew you meant what you said when you told me you loved me and it never entered my head that you meant to harm me." He instinctively gripped her waist tighter at this admission, closing his eyes tightly, pained at the thought that someone had ever harmed her before and he had not been there to prevent it...and despatch the offender. He leant down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead before burying his head in the crook of her neck.

Continuing to stroke her hair protectively, he murmured against her skin, "I will always protect you" before pressing his lips to the point between her neck and collar bone. "I know," she whispered, entangling a hand in his hair. He continued to hold her in his arms, settling his head on her shoulder as she tightened her arms around his neck, drawing as much comfort from the embrace as he hoped she did. Both lovers felt that the other was holding their whole person, body and soul, in this embrace.

Though happier than she had ever been, secure in Jacaerys' love for her, Y/N continued to struggle against lurking feelings of inadequacy and guilt she couldn't easily explain to him. The more comfortable she became with seeking out Jacaerys' physical affection, she would find this dark feeling clawing it's way to the surface of her mind. Her previous physical experience with a man had left her with deep feelings of shame and guilt: perhaps it was her fault that he should have been led to believe such advances would be welcomed. Perhaps she was too forward, too affectionate. Perhaps she should be ashamed of her desire for Jacaerys too. She feared he would even be disappointed or ashamed of her if he suspected how much she really loved and wanted him, how much she wanted to touch him and for him to hold her. She knew how important the notion of purity was to Jacaerys' conception of the Targaryen dynasty, and she began to fear that this would extend to her, though he had reassured her most fervently that she was not to blame for her past experiences with a man who did not deserve her love and trust.

He had always stressed to her that what had happened to her was not her fault, that it was an assault and not to be confused with the physical love between two people who loved and respected each other. She was keen to bury the subject away, though Jacaerys had been insistent upon stressing to her that she shouldn't repress her trauma, but confide in him.

She remembered after she had recovered from her initial distress at revealing a memory she had buried so deeply in a shameful corner of her mind, he had gently taken hold of her hand to place it on his chest, exactly over his heart. Looking into her eyes with such love, he had proceeded to speak in a firm yet soft tone. "How you are touching me now is a good touch. I have consented to it and it is pleasurable and comforting to me." He had then placed his hand on her cheek with a feather light touch, stroking the pad of his thumb across her jaw. "Are you comfortable with me touching you in this way, my Dove?" She had met his gaze quizzically at this question, having been sure he should need no such reassurance, since she had already allowed him to touch her in this way so many times. "Of course, Jacaerys." He smiled reassuringly at her response. "Why is that?" "I...I don't know what you mean Jacaerys?"

She couldn't understand what he was aiming at. She loved him and had told him as much, why should he need to ask? "You do, darling. I know it may seem odd to you, me asking you this. I fear that others have not asked before," his eyes darkened, "but it is important, so I must ask you to answer me, if you can." He looked so earnest that she felt she must try for him, even if she did think it silly. "Because...I feel safe with you," she hesitated and he nodded encouragingly, continuing to caress her cheek. "Good, my love, continue." "Because I love you and I know you love me" she blushed, starting to duck her head in embarrassment before he brought his other hand up to hold her head in place, directed towards his eyes. "No, no, don't be embarrassed, darling. That's good, that's important. Is there anything else?" Encouraged by his coaxing, seeing that he was aiming at something important to him, she added the final reason she could think of. "Because you have never done anything to make me uncomfortable...I have never been afraid that you would hurt me." He nodded so encouragingly at her then, before removing his hands from her face and holding his arms out to her. "May I hold you?" Immediately seeking out his embrace, she placed her head on his chest, comforted by the soft beat of his heart under his tunic.

He wrapped an arm around her torso to hold her against him whilst his other hand cradled her head protectively. "My questions may seem silly to you, little Dove, but that is only because you have never been told how important it is for you to feel what you have so patiently described for me, when someone is touching you. What you have experienced before was not love, it was violence. I do not wish for you to confuse the two. It is important that you know the difference and understand that you can always tell me if something makes you uncomfortable, if you don't want me to touch you in a certain way or...if you do" he added, in a slightly bashful tone.

He pulled away from her only slightly so that he could meet her gaze. "Love is choice. It should never be forced or solicited without both parties' consent. I want you to understand that you can feel safe to touch me, he placed her palm on his cheek, "and to either solicit or reject my touch, with the full assurance that that is for you to choose, and for me to heed." Y/N met Jacaerys' gaze now with a light of understanding, tears glistening in her eyes.

No one had ever cared to explain this to her before, and so she had always carried a certain guilt within her that what had occurred had in some way been her fault. She was moved by his attempt to assure her that her choice and boundaries were things to be respected and honoured. That there was a difference between love and what she had experienced in the past, which she had long come long to expect as the only outcome of the advances of men.

Despite Jacaerys' reassurances that there was nothing in her past that should cause her even a moment's feeling of guilt or shame, Y/N found herself becoming more and more hesitant to either accept or solicit his affection. The more she found herself desiring his touch, the more guilty she felt, as if she were somehow impure for wanting him like that. She grew ashamed of herself every time she caught herself gazing at his lips, or wanting him to touch her, and would immediately recoil from his touch, making an excuse to leave his presence. Jacaerys had noticed his love growing increasingly more hesitant to touch him over the course of a few days and accepted it. She had only just felt comfortable enough to confide in him about such a traumatic moment from her past. It was not to be wondered at if she was more avoidant of touch, even if it was his loving touch. He would respect her wishes and not solicit any touch if he thought it would not be wanted at this time.

However, he did begin to grow really concerned when he saw how genuinely anxious she looked when she had embraced him one day and he had eagerly responded by kissing her cheek. She had immediately recoiled, and he was horrified to see a look of fear on her face. He gripped onto her forearms before he could think better of it. "What's wrong, my dove. Have I frightened you?" He enquired anxiously. He became even more worried that he had overstepped her boundaries when she quickly removed herself from his arms and stuttered out a response. "No, no...I just remembered I'm wanted somewhere else." Jacaerys was left stunned and horrified that he had frightened her with his affections as he watched her flee from the room. He resolved that he would not follow her now, not when his presence seemed to have caused her such distress, though it pained him to see her leave him in such a state of anxiety, possibly because of something he had done. He would beg her forgiveness later and hope that he could make amends for his transgressions.

Y/N chastised herself, as she arranged Jacaerys' desk in his room, for having put on such an embarrassing display before him earlier that day. He must have thought her very silly for immediately pushing him away and running away after she had just embraced him, but she couldn't help it. After Jacaerys had kissed her on the cheek, she had immediately wanted to feel his lips on her own and was overcome by a feeling of such intense shame that she had to leave him, unable to conceal her feelings. She hoped he wouldn't be angry with her. She loved him too much to lose him over something so silly. As she began to fold a stray cloak he had left on a chair, she resolved that she would apologise to him for acting in such a bizarre manner, and try to conceal her anxieties from him in future. No sooner had she made this resolution than the very Prince she had just been thinking of entered the room.

She panicked when he freeze at the sight of her, a shocked expression on his face. He must be angry with her then. She immediately ran up to him and buried her head in his chest, gripping his tunic like a lifeline. "I'm sorry for behaving like that earlier, Jacaerys. Please don't be angry with me, I won't be like that anymore." It was true that Jacaerys was momentarily surprised to see his love in his chambers, fearing that he had really displeased her, but he was shocked to see her so panicked and hear that she feared him to be angry with her. She had done nothing to solicit such a response from him, he was concerned only that he had upset her. In his shock at this unforeseen turn of events, he did not realise that he had not yet answered her, and became truly panicked when he heard her sniffles and felt his tunic becoming wet with her tears.

Mentally shaking himself, he cradled her head in his hands to see her face. "Hush, hush, whatever can you mean, little dove? I am not angry with you and I am most sorry for having given you that impression. In fact, I was about to go to you to apologise for heaving merited your disfavour earlier and was only surprised and gladdened to find that you were already here. It is for me to apologise to you for overstepping your boundaries earlier. I should have realised that you may not wish for me to touch you like that after what you told me not a few days past. Please accept my forgiveness and my word that I won't touch you like that again unless you ask me to." He was saddened and alarmed to see that her expression only seemed to become more anxious as he spoke, the tears continuing to pool in her eyes.

He wrapped his arms around her to comfort her, not knowing what to do to make amends. "That is not...that isn't. Oh I don't know how to explain." Jacaerys stroked her cheek and nodded encouragingly at her. "Try, I will listen." She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and hesitated before she began to explain. "It isn't that I don't want you to touch me that made me leave so abruptly. It's that I do" Jacaerys caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb, "Do what, my love?" She looked away from him then, "I do want you to touch me." Jacaerys grew confused then, not realising why this would upset her, but resolved to get to the bottom of it. Turning her chin gently so she met his gaze again, he softly questioned, "and what's wrong with that?" She looked so troubled by his question, her bottom lip wobbling that he could not stop himself from pulling her more tightly towards him, urgently stroking her cheek. She spoke so quietly that he had to lean down to hear her. "It's wrong for me to want you like that. It's not pure. I feel as if...I’m not pure. You wouldn't want me anymore if you knew how much I want you. How I want you. You always speak of the importance of maintaining the purity of the Targaryen dynasty," she trailed off.

Jacaerys was momentarily stunned. He could never have anticipated that this would be a fear for her. That his darling girl, his pure dove, the only light in the darkness of Dragonstone, could believe her desire for his love and touch to be impure. He had never meant for her to take his words about the Targaryen line to be directed at her. He had only meant that he did not wish for the line to be sullied by traitors and usurpers like the Greens. He cursed himself for not having been clearer, for having only added to her anxieties when he had always meant to alleviate them. More disturbing still was the implications of her apology to him. Jacaerys felt physically unwell when the weight of her previous words fully registered for him. They echoed in his mind now: "I won't be like that anymore." His heart dropped into his stomach. Did she mean that she would allow him to touch her, even if it made her uncomfortable, because she believed she could keep his affections no other way? He could only understand it as the result of her previous experience with physical touch making her belief that it was something to be ashamed of. His heart constricted painfully at the thought. He grew even more determined than he had been before that he would deal with the scoundrel who had left her feeling so ashamed of her own desires and so willing to bypass her own boundaries to keep him. As if she would ever need to do such a thing! He would lover her and cherish her if she never wanted his touch in that way. The love between them was of that between souls, a bond that could never be severed.

A look of determination alighted in his eyes. He would show her that her desire for him and his for her, was built upon the purest love and respect. Far from being buried and treated as something to be ashamed of, she should fully embrace it. But he was also most anxious to show her that her boundaries were important to him and that she should always tell him if she was uncomfortable about anything. He would always love her and want her, in whatever way she would allow. It wouldn't matter if she never wanted him to touch her in a certain way, as long as she still wanted his love. Jacaerys realised he'd let too much time elapse between her words and him resolving all this in his head when she lightly pushed him away from her and took several steps back towards a nearby pillar, placing a distance between them, a look of despair on her pretty face. "I told you," she sniffled, "you are disgusted with me."

Jacaerys strode towards her and immediately closed the distance between them, placing a hand against the pillar beside her head, and weaving another around her waist,  imprisoning her within his arms. "No darling, don't say that. You’re absolutely fine, there's nothing wrong with you. I love and respect you. Adore you. Worship you. I am sorry that you have been made to feel this way and have suffered such feelings alone. I wish you had felt comfortable enough to confide in me before." He held her tightly to him and turned her face once again to his, preventing her from evading his gaze. It was important, now more than ever, that she should listen to him and see the truth of his words behind his eyes. "Your desires are nothing to be ashamed of. I want you to want me," he tentatively brushed his fingers against her waist, "to desire me," he gripped her waist more possessively, when she did not move. He leant down slowly, brushing his lips against her jaw, just below her ear  so that he could whisper "as I want and desire you." He felt her shudder against him as he said this and grip onto his tunic with a hand. She gazed into his eyes for a long moment then, before she seemed to find what she had been looking for in them and he sighed in relief as he felt her relax against his touch. "I don't know.." she hesitated and he waited patiently for her to finish. "I have always felt that it was shameful or unclean for a woman to have these desires. That others would see that as impure, that I couldn't want that."

Jacaerys eyebrows furrowed, his warm brown eyes filled with concern and love for her. Tenderly tucking a lose tendril of her behind her ear, he brought a hand up to caress her cheek. "They have not seen our love. I assure you, my love, that nothing could be further from the truth. Any desire you have could never be impure. Women should be free to experience the same love and desire men do without feeling any shame." He lowered his voice again, hovering his lips teasingly over the surface of her neck as he gripped her waist more possessively. "To have their desires satisfied by the man they love." He smiled roguishly when he noticed the blush blooming on his little dove's cheeks. He couldn't help teasing her a little, though he was entirely in earnest. He would have to establish one point before he continued any further, however. Pulling away so that he could meet her gaze. "I need to be sure of one thing, my little dove. I never wish for you to feel that my affections are only to be retained by you bypassing your own boundaries because you think it will please me. The very thought of it breaks my heart. It pains me to think that you do not understand the depth of my love for you and only you, not for anything you can give me beyond your love. It is not a physical thing which ties us together but a love, which tethers our very souls together. I will never cease to love you, no matter what form you allow me to show it."

He waited anxiously for his love to absorb his words, as she met his gaze. Though he was eager to embrace her, he was determined to convince her of the unshakeable, eternal nature of his love first. He needed to be sure that she wanted his touch before he went any further. He was equal parts surprised and delighted when she gripped onto his tunic with both hands, slowly pulling him down towards her, before she hesitantly whispered next to his jaw, "I want you to show me."

Jacaerys needed no further instruction from his love. He swept her into his arms, encircling her waist and shoulders as he pressed her gently against the pillar behind her, feeling her melt into his touch. He crashed his lips onto her own, feeling her wrap her arms around his neck. Their mouths moved urgently and hungrily in unison, both as desperate to feel the other's touch. With each brush of his lips against hers and each caress of her waist and forearm, he hoped to show her that he not only welcomed her desire for him, but that it was also not something to be ashamed of, but embraced. He broke contact with her lips, bringing a hand to her face and tightening his hold of her waist to arch her back so he could access her neck. He knew that she particularly liked when he kissed her there and was eager to show her that her pleasure was of the utmost importance to him. He placed an experimental kiss to her jaw, then another and another, encouraged by her sigh of pleasure, before trailing a line of lingering, soft kisses to her throat, all the way down to her collar bone.

Pulling her flush against him with one arm around her torso and another around her shoulders to support her as he tilted her back in his arms, Jacaerys continued to trail a line of kisses down from her collarbone to her chest, leaving her breathless, before pressing his lips to the precious space where he could feel her heart beating quickly. The thought that it was his own touch that caused it to beat so rapidly left his own heart stuttering, as he pressed two more reverent kisses to the same place. He was gratified to hear her sharp intake of breath, as she gripped onto his tunic, pulling him closer.

He paused then, his lips still hovering over her collar bone, checking that she was still comfortable with this touch before he continued. "Kiss me again," she whispered. Pressing another lingering kiss to her collarbone, Jacaerys responded in a low tone, "where, my princess?" happy to take orders from her. He would be only too pleased to acquiesce to any request she had, an uncommon feeling for a Prince used to ordering others.

Her voice came out quiet and breathless. "My heart." Jacaerys' felt his own heart skipping a beat at her request, realising that this was her way of telling him that she had understood what he had meant when he had pressed her hand to his own heart. She would always be loved and safe with him and that his love would come with no conditions or expectations of anything beyond what she wanted to share with him. Not only this, but that she now understood that her own desire wasn't something shameful to be suppressed, but something she should openly embrace and express to him.

Giving into the ecstasy of her touch, Jacaerys' own hands slid slowly from her waist, down past her hips to her thighs, before gripping onto the back of them to lift her entirely off the ground and hold her against him. For a second, he feared he had gone too far, that he might have frightened her. His fears were quickly allayed when she tightened her legs around his torso, and he became lost in the dizzying sensation of her, by turns, caressing and tugging his hair. He still had enough presence of mind to understand that she was reassuring him, as much as he was her, by touching him in this way; she was reminding him that she loved him completely, loved that part of himself that he had always found shameful, even if he himself could not reconcile himself to it.

 Y/N placed an index finger under Jacaerys' chin, leading him back up to her lips, which he immediately recaptured. He smiled against her lips, pleased at how confidently she was instructing him, secure in the knowledge that he would never judge her for any desire she had. Far from it, he was only too eager to please her. He kissed her again and again, as if she were the oxygen he was dying for.

He shuddered as he felt her hands slowly slide up his chest to his shoulders before she cupped one hand around the back of his neck. He leant his whole body into her touch, pushing her back further against the pillar she leant against as he tightened his grip on her waist. It was important to him that she felt comfortable enough to initiate physical contact with him. He wanted her to understand that he needed her touch just as much as she appeared to want his. He felt her fingertips move from his neck to tangle at the bottom of his hair, and he moaned as she experimentally tugged on his hair at the nape of his neck. Encouraged by his response, she pressed her lips to his more hungrily than before, teeth grazing his bottom lip as she entangled both hands in his hair.

Jacaerys only broke contact when he grew concerned that if he was struggling for breath, she must really be, but he pressed his forehead to hers affectionately as they both caught their breath. He slowly slid her back down to the ground, though he immediately encircled his arms around her waist, unwilling to let her go just yet, and smiled as she played bashfully with the brooch that held his cloak in place over his tunic. Leaning down, he kissed her cheek and wrapped her in an embrace, leaning his head upon hers. "I love you, Y/N. Your desires are not something to be ashamed of. In fact," he leaned back so she could see his expression as he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, "I actively encourage them."

Y/N immediately responded by slapping his chest in admonishment. "Don't be such a tease, Jacaerys. I just know you're going to be insufferable now." Jacaerys laughed before leaning down once again to whisper against her jaw, "I thought you liked that about me?" He eagerly moved to connect their lips when he saw her turn her head as if to meet his, and was surprised when the little minx quickly side stepped him instead, skipping a few paces away from him. It would not be the first time she had surprised him like this and had him running round tables in pursuit of her. She laughed at his look of bewilderment, his arms still held out where she had been a moment before. "No Jacaerys," she took a step closer to him, leaning her head up to meet his gaze as he automatically tilted his down. She wrapped a hand around his neck so she could whisper against his cheek, "you like that about me" before she kissed his jaw and quickly evaded his arms to leave the room, giggling at his dazed expression.

It wouldn't do to let her Prince become too arrogant, she reasoned. An involuntary smile made its way onto Jacaerys' face. She little knew how much he liked that about her. He would follow her anywhere.

[multific]

A Love Beyond Time

Count Orlok x Reader

Warnings: murder, blood and grief

Summary: A Vampire's love is forever. No matter the centuries or lifetimes. He belonged to you and you to him.  

The castle stood isolated on top of the hill, its rough silhouette was framed by the moon's glow. 

A cold wind whistled as it met the ancient stones, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth. 

Inside those cold, towering walls, your life with Count Orlok had been hauntingly beautiful in its own way. 

Though the villagers whispered fearful tales of the vampire lord, you knew a different side of him. 

To the world, he was a creature of the night and blood. 

But to you, he was a caring husband, a being of depth and tenderness.

Evenings were your sanctuary. 

As dusk fell and shadows crept across the land, Orlok would rise, his pale form emerging without noise into the dim glow of the candlelit hall. 

He would find you waiting by the grand fireplace, wrapped in a thick woollen shawl and a smile on your face.

The fire’s warmth never seemed to reach him, yet he always sat close, drawn in by you. 

You would speak of simple things that happened during the day. While he listened to you talk, his sharp eyes would soften with affection.

He preferred to listen to you instead of talking. Your voice was as if angel's sang. His was deep and rumbly with uneven breathing.

The love you shared was expressed in the smallest gestures, the way he would brush a stray piece of hair from your face, the way you would smile at him despite the coldness of his touch. 

It was a love that transcended fear and mortality.

Yet happiness, especially in such a world, was delicate. 

One morning, just as dawn's first light came, a mob from the nearby village stormed the castle gates. 

They had grown bold, driven by fear and ignorance, they believed that by hurting you, they could weaken the dark figure they so dreaded. And they would be correct.

The Count's only weakness was you. But even in his weakness, there was strength.

You tried to hide in the upper chambers, but they found you. 

They broke down the door where you were hiding.

The plan to murder you was merciless.

Rough hands dragged you and even though you fought and begged, their numbers overwhelmed you. 

Pain shot through your side as they struck you down, and the world blurred into darkness. The last thing you heard before everything faded was the echo of their retreating footsteps.

They ran. 

While you were bleeding, right by the grand fireplace.

When night fell and Orlok awoke, he was met with the scent of blood, a metallic tang that hung heavy in the air. 

Panic filled him as he followed the trail, his heart, long thought dead, pounding with fear. 

He found you lying on the cold stone floor, lifeless and still. 

For a moment, he simply stared, as if refusing to believe what his eyes could clearly see. 

Then a cry tore from him, raw and primal, echoing through the castle's empty halls.

Causing the walls to shake.

He held your broken corpse in his arms, his cold hands trembling as he cried. 

Guilt and grief filled him, each time he opened his eyes, it became more unbearable than the last. Each time he saw the blood. His mind filled with the times when you willingly gave your essence to him.

Now those times haunted him.

Memories of your smile came to him as he cried. 

Tears falling from his eyes.

The one being who had brought light into his dark existence was gone.

His wife was dead.

And he knew exactly who did this. He knew exactly where to go.

The foolish humans living in the village.

Gently he placed your cold body on the floor and collected your pendant. The pendant, a gift from him at your wedding night.

Suddenly his grief turned to anger.

His vengeance was just as brutal and merciless as the villager's actions.

There were screams, people begged. But just as they didn't listen to you, the Count refused to listen to their pleas.

By dawn, the village that had dared to harm his beloved was no more, reduced to ash, blood and ruin. 

Yet even after his revenge, the void within him remained. He knew, nothing could fill that void.

He was alone once more.

He buried you the next night.

A grave right under your favourite tree. Your headstone, simple yet delicate. 

Every day, he visited your grave, speaking softly to the stone as if you could still hear him. 

And each time he brought a beautiful red rose.

He remembered the time when his castle had beautiful roses in its garden by the entrance, back when his castle was filled with light. It was a home not just some ruin.

The only thing he had left was your pendant. He always had that with himself, carried it, held it and even slept with it on his chest.. 

Centuries passed, and though the world changed around him, Orlok remained frozen in time, a ghost bound by sorrow and undying love.

He walked the halls with a simple rose in his hand, down to your grave, then he would tell you how much he missed you. As he touched the stone, he placed the rose down.

Then, one quiet evening, long after the world had forgotten the tale of the vampire and his lost bride, a knock echoed through the castle’s grand hall.

Orlok, now a creature of legend and mourning, moved toward the door, expecting only the wind. 

But when he opened it, he found something he had long stopped hoping for.

“I found you,” you said softly, your voice steady but filled with emotion. You raised your arms as if to hug him. But you stopped.

He stood frozen in disbelief. 

You looked different yet still the same. 

Young, alive and warm, but your eyes held the same familiar light. 

The light that was stolen from him.

You looked like the woman in his dreams, not his nightmares. 

“I remembered. One night, it all came back to me. Who I was, who you are. I knew I had to come and find you, My Love.”

Orlok’s hands trembled as he reached toward you, hesitant, as if he was afraid that you would vanish like a dream. A dream he had many times during the last centuries.

When his fingers met your face, and he felt the warmth of your skin, his eyes filled with hope.

“You’re real,” he whispered, his voice breaking at the end. “You came back to me.”

“I came home,” you said, tears filling your eyes.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, you just allowed him to process everything. 

Then, suddenly, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if to shield you from the cruel world that had once taken you from him. 

For the first time in centuries, the cold emptiness within him was replaced with warmth.

A warmth he had lost but it came back to him.

Together, you entered the castle, the heavy doors creaking shut behind you. 

Later that night, as the fire crackled in the grand fireplace and the scent of pine filled the air, Orlok gazed at you with something that words could not capture. 

He traced your features with his eyes, saving every detail to memory.

“I never thought I would feel this again,” he said quietly. “For so long, I existed in darkness, bound by grief. But now…you’ve brought light back into my world.”

You reached for his hand, entwining your fingers with his. 

“I was always meant to find you again. Love like ours doesn’t end. It waits, even across lifetimes.”

"I have avenged you."

"I have heard, thank you" you whispered as he moved even closer to you.

When your lips met in a tender kiss, it was as if the centuries of despair and longing melted away. 

At that moment, time did not matter. 

All that existed was the love you shared.

A love which was ethereal. 

And so, in the heart of that ancient castle, where shadows once reigned, light and love triumphed once more.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @brevlada24

@mel-vaz @akamitrani @ange-olras @nicholaschavezslut69

​​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[gatorbites-imagines]

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

Count Byron Orlok x Werewolf male reader

Ficlet

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

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

Nosferatu 2024 spoilers ig?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ameidala]

Monster Among Men

You pray for salvation—only to awaken something far darker. Now, as his love turns to obsession and the shadows whisper your name, you must ask yourself, which fate is worse?

tags: smutty, rated 18+ extreme non-consensual themes, dark!thomas hutter, manipulation, breeding kink, possessive thomas, nosferatu (2024)

word count: 7,700+

this was self indulgent. i love this man so much and there was an extreme drought in fics about him! i might consider writing one or a few more fics if u guys are up for sending dark thomas requests! :)

Fate had a strange way of revealing itself—not in grand gestures, but in the quiet offer of a warm hand on a rain-swept night. It was not the storm that chilled you then, but the thought of how easily a single moment could change the course of a life. He was, in every sense, the love of your life, and you could swear that love had taken root the very moment your eyes first met. It had been a night of relentless storm, the heavens split open with rain, and you, shivering beneath the narrow shelter of an alley’s eaves, had all but resigned yourself to the cold.

Then came him. A man of uncommon kindness, he had not hesitated—upon seeing your drenched and trembling form—to offer you refuge. With a voice steady yet gentle, he beckoned you inside, the flickering lantern in his hand casting golden light against the darkness. His was a heart unburdened by hesitation, unclouded by selfishness. And in that moment, as the thunder roared beyond the walls that now sheltered you both, you knew your fate had been sealed… or so you thought.

He had not only offered shelter and a warm bed, but also a drink that thawed the chill of your bones and a change of clothes to rid you of the soaked, clinging fabric. His kindness extended beyond what you’d expected from a stranger. His voice, like a balm, whispered, “You seem to have lost your way in the rain, Madam. Might I offer my assistance to see you safely home come morning?”

From that moment on, you found yourself drawn to the man in ways that you couldn’t really describe why. It wasn’t just his kindness or the warmth of his voice. There was a connection between it that felt like it was reaching deeper, as though his presence had quietly begun to fill the spaces you hadn’t realized were empty.

Yet, as the first light of dawn crept through the window, the reality of the morning settled upon you. The storm had passed, and with it, the fleeting shelter of the night. It was time to return home.

But before you could gather your things, Thomas greeted you once more with a soft, warm smile. His voice was gentle, almost a whisper, as he spoke, "Would you care for something to eat before you head out?"

You glanced down at the modest table a few meters from you, where there prepared some simple provisions from the man. It included bread, fresh fruit, and a pot of warm tea—nothing extravagant, but enough to make you grateful. "I’m sorry it’s nothing grand," he continued, his eyes meeting yours with a glint of sincerity, "but I couldn’t bear the thought of a beautiful woman leaving without something to sustain her."

His words, though simple, sent a flush to your cheeks, his compliment lingering in the quiet space between you.

"I...I also failed to introduce myself properly," he added with a slight chuckle, as if embarrassed by his own forgetfulness. "Where are my manners? My name is Thomas…"

Thomas seemed to choke on his words at first, as if hesitant to let them pass his lips. But after a brief pause, he finally gathered his courage and, in a voice soft yet sincere, murmured, “Pray, allow me the courtesy of knowing your name?”

You gave a smile, appreciating the quiet efforts the young man had made throughout the night and up until this present moment. His kindness, gentle yet unwavering, spoke volumes—he surely knew how to treat a woman, or perhaps it was simply the way he treated every guest. You didn't want to assume anything more, as perhaps his mother had merely raised a kind gentleman who extended his hospitality to all. Still, his attentiveness lingered with you, and you couldn't help but feel a certain warmth in your chest as you spoke your name and offered your thanks.

The day wore on, and soon he helped you return home. He didn't offer to walk you the entire way, yet there was a certain gravity to his steps, as if he could sense the uncertainty in your heart. “I’ll accompany you to the edge of the town,”he’d said softly, his words almost as if he were offering more than a simple escort—he was providing the comfort of knowing someone cared. His pace was measured, slow, as though mindful of the rough cobblestones beneath your feet and the distance between the world you both occupied. When you reached the edge of town, the mist from the river lingering in the air, he nodded politely, his eyes briefly meeting yours with something that resembled understanding.

"Take care of yourself, Madam," he had said, his voice quiet yet sure, before retreating back into the shadows of the city.

But that would not be the last you would see of his presence.

From that moment on, you found yourself wandering the old, dim-lit streets more frequently, seeking out the winding alleys, the familiar corners where you might catch another glimpse of him. Perhaps it was the pull of hope, or maybe the loneliness that clung to you like the mist, but you found yourself more drawn to the quiet places of the city. You didn’t have much else—only the promise of those stolen moments with him.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to look for him, but more of an instinct, a silent hope that fate would nudge you together once more.

As the days passed, the rhythm of your life returned to its usual pace—slow, almost mechanical. The streets were familiar, yet they seemed to close in on you more each day, as if the world itself had grown narrower with time. There was a quiet repetition to your life now, but the emptiness lingered like the shadows in the alleys you walked. It was in these moments, when the bustling sounds of the town became distant, that your thoughts returned to the past—back to the orphanage, to those early years when you were sheltered from the harshness of the world.

No one ever had to tell you what to do there. You had learned to survive on your own, to blend into ordinary life, to anticipate needs and stay out of the way. You often felt as though you were one step behind, always catching up with the others who seemed so sure of themselves, their places in the world. There was a hint of envy in you towards those people.

The orphanage had been a place of warmth in its own way, but it was a transient warmth—flickering, never stable. It was home only because it had to be. Yet now, as you stand and are trying to face the reality of adulthood, the world outside has revealed itself to be much larger, and far less forgiving. The nonexistent structure became worse as no guiding hand to tell you where to go or what to do, it felt like your world came crashing down. You were left with only your own instincts, and sometimes, that felt like too little.

You had walked these streets aimlessly more than once, feeling the weight of uncertainty on your shoulders. It wasn’t a loneliness that could be fixed by simple companionship, but a deeper sense of being untethered. The world seemed vast, stretching endlessly, and yet you had no anchor.

But in the back of your mind, there was one place you kept returning to—the memory of that night with Thomas. His kindness had been a rare warmth, and in a world where you had learned to keep your distance from others or know that everything might be temporary, it had stirred something in you. Something you couldn’t quite explain.

You had never been one to believe in fate or signs, but there was something about him—his demure courteousness, his gentle ways of speaking—that made you wonder if perhaps, for the first time, someone truly saw you. Not as a stranger, visitor, or even as someone passing through, but as someone of their time worth knowing.

And so, each time you walked through the streets now, you found yourself hoping, almost unconsciously, for another encounter with him. Obviously this feeling was something new and so you didn’t know what it meant yet or how to navigate through these emotions, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this, whatever it was, was somehow different. And you were liking that feeling for whatever reason it why.

Quick visits to the market or running simple errands were no longer tiresome tasks that you didn’t care of. They had become opportunities—small, fleeting chances for fate to intervene, for your paths to cross again. You found yourself wandering the aisles with a quiet hope, praying, almost, that the universe might favor you today, that you might once again find yourself near him, the man with the striking blue eyes.

There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled at your heart whenever you thought of him. The brief exchange that night in the storm had been just that—a fleeting moment. Yet, it had sparked something deeper within you, something that hadn’t been satisfied by the mundane interactions of your daily life. You wanted to know more about him, beyond the kindness he had shown you that rainy night. What did he do with his days? What brought him joy? What dreams did he hold, if any?

Days may pass yet you found yourself, once again, between the swarming townspeople who didn’t pay attention to anything but their own business. Meanwhile for you, it involved pretending to be focused on your task while your mind wandered, imagining the sound of his voice, wondering if you would ever have the chance to speak with him again.

It was a prayer whispered into the busy world, a wish that echoed through the crowds.

And, perhaps, the heavens had finally listened.

A few meters away, you spotted him—Thomas, unmistakable in his simple attire, standing in conversation with a man you did not recognize. The stranger was dressed far more opulently than Thomas—his clothes rich, his appearance polished with a wealth that was immediately apparent. He had a mustache, and his curly hazel locks framed his face with a certain confidence that only money seemed to afford.

You stood there, heart thudding in your chest, waiting, hoping that Thomas would look your way. You didn’t want to be too forward, but a part of you yearned for him to notice you, to recognize you, to remember that night in the rain. You lingered longer than you should have, pretending to be absorbed in your shopping as your eyes never left him.

The minutes stretched on, time slowing as you stood in that sea of people. Your breath caught in your throat each time he turned his head in your direction, only to look past you. He seemed distracted by the conversation, the man beside him far more commanding of his attention. You felt an odd sensation of longing mixed with a pinch of frustration, as if your presence wasn’t enough to pull him away from the company of this wealthy stranger.

It was only when your patience had nearly run out that you saw his eyes finally catch yours. For a moment, he seemed baffled upon seeing the figure in front of him, as though he couldn’t quite place your identity but seemed familiar with it. His eyebrows furrowed.

It was as if he were trying to decide if you were someone he knew—or if, perhaps, you were simply another figure in the crowd. A small thrill of anticipation ran through you as his gaze lingered a moment longer, and then, almost imperceptibly, his lips parted, as though he were about to speak your name but only molded into a small smile.

As Thomas’s eyes met yours, a strange current seemed to pass between you. The moment stretched longer than it should have, the crowded market around you fading into the background. He remained, his expression thoughtful, but there was no mistaking the spark of recognition that flickered in his eyes.

The rich man beside him continued speaking, but his words seemed distant now, drowned out by the unspoken tension between you and Thomas. The stranger, sensing something in the air, took a step back, as if he had no place in this growing connection. It was as though the space around you and Thomas had become an intimate world of its own.

You didn’t move. You stood your ground, but a strange anticipation coiled inside you, as if you were waiting for something to unfold. And then, as if he could no longer stay apart from you, Thomas took deliberate steps forward, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, almost private, “I must admit, I did not expect to see you again so soon. But I find myself quite pleased by the coincidence.”

Your lips curved slightly, a smile playing at the edges of your mouth as you responded, “Strange how the world seems to align when least expected.”

Thomas’s smile grew, but it was more than just polite. You felt his expressions were genuine as though he might also have been thinking of you. “Indeed. And I must confess,” he said, his voice growing quieter, “I’ve found it difficult to focus on anything else since that night. It’s not every day that one meets someone with such... presence.”

Your breath caught at his words, and a warm flush spread through you. His words were straightforward and was unlike what you were accustomed to. But you couldn’t deny that you were even the least bit enjoying it as if the weight of his words matched the gravity of the connection you both started to share.

For a moment, there was a pause between you two as your eyes simply looked at each other. His eyes tracing your face as if committing every detail to memory. His hands awkward at his sides as though he were gathering the courage to say something more.

“I’m not one for... grand gestures,” he continued, his tone still warm but now with a hint of earnestness, “but I would be honored, if you would allow me, to take you to a place where the noise of the world does not drown out the simplicity of two people’s conversation.”

The invitation hung in the air between you, his words heavy with meaning. He was no longer just offering you a dinner; he was offering you an escape—an invitation into a quieter, more intimate world, one where only the two of you existed for a while.

“You needn’t say yes right away,” he added softly, almost as an afterthought, as though he didn’t want to pressure you.

His sincerity was undeniable and charming. You could see it in the way he held himself, how his posture seemed to lean toward you, as though everything in him was drawn to you without hesitation.

You were no longer just an image to him—he was seeing you in this moment, this very real moment, and the warmth between you was undeniable.

And so, the days passed in a delicate dance of stolen moments and whispered words, the connection between you deepening with each encounter. It seemed as though fate had woven a perfect tapestry for the two of you—one of shared glances, tender conversations, and the slow, inevitable pull toward each other. The world outside felt distant, irrelevant, as you found comfort in his presence.

You could almost believe that the rest was history—that the love you had found was destined, unshakeable, eternal. But reality has a way of revealing itself when least expected. Just as the two of you neared the edge of something more—a promise of forever—the world outside your little bubble began to break through, and the weight of the unspoken truths could no longer be ignored.

It was then that you understood—love, no matter how deeply it had taken root, was never quite as simple as it seemed.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆｡ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The candlelight swayed as though it, too, felt the weight of the silence. The air in the room was thick with unspoken thoughts, the walls seeming to feel like they are closing or locking you in with every passing second. It was a silence that made your body quiver while your heart had thumped faster in your chest. The silence between you two that signaled something far darker than mere disagreement.

The evening in the town always seemed long, but tonight it felt dragged-out as with it, the shadows had deepened into dark pools at the corners of the room. The once tender warmth between you and Thomas had begun to feel like something colder, more dangerous. There was no longer the soft caress of his presence—no longer the calm of his hand reaching out to yours. The man standing before you now was a stranger, a creature of need, of desire, his once-gentle tone now edged with impatience.

“You speak of time,” Thomas said, his voice low, measured—almost like a growl. “You think that choice is a luxury, don’t you? As if we can buy or have all the time in the world. But time… time is fleeting. And you squander it, as if it will wait for us.” His gaze narrowed, his lips curling in a way that sent a chill down your spine.

You could feel the sting through his words that fell out of his mouth, all the while darkness from outside inching over more into the room like a fog. He took a step toward you, slow, deliberate, as though the very air was thick with the tension between you. The once warm, kind man was slipping away, replaced by something more urgent, something almost desperate.

“Why do you fear it so?” His words were almost a whisper now, though they hit you harder than any shout.

“Why do you fear the future we could have? The family we could build? Why do you fear something so... so natural?” He moved another step closer, his gaze locking with yours, unyielding, unblinking. “Is it the money that binds you? The lack of it, the chains of our circumstances? Or is it that you fear me? Fear what I could become? What we could become?”

You recoiled, not from him, but from the weight of his questions. You had known this moment would come. You had known it was inevitable—there could be no peace between two souls that might be different, so driven by separate desires.

“I fear nothing of you, Thomas,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I fear us. I fear the madness of rushing into things before the time is right. I fear bringing a child into a world we can’t even provide for. What would we offer them?” Your words trembled in the air, hanging between you like fragile glass. “What will we give them when we have so little?”

He moved again, his presence now engulfing you, suffocating the space between you. “We have everything,” he spat, his voice now sharper, more biting.

He adds, “We have the strength to build. The love to nurture. I have the strength to provide. To protect. And yet you look at me as though I were weak—as though my love, my intentions, are not enough for you. You will wait forever for the perfect moment. But there is no perfect moment. There is only now.”

He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, or that it was maybe the tension between the two of you that was obviously seen also in his posture with raw hunger in his eyes. “I will not wait,” he said, his words like a command. “I will not stand idle while time slips through my fingers. I will not be a man who regrets. You will be mine, and we will have a future. Even if I must drag you there.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, not from love but from a deep, creeping fear that now gripped you. You had not expected this side of him. Not like this.

“Thomas, this is madness,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of his presence. “We are not ready. Do you not see how foolish it is? How dangerous? I—”

“Dangerous?” His laugh was grating and dark. It was not a laugh based on amusement, but of something more terrible, something lowly foreshadowing like an omen. “You call love dangerous? You call life dangerous? I am offering you everything, and you call it madness? You wish to deny it all? You wish to deny me?”

He stepped closer again, until there was barely any space between you, his breath warm on your skin, the weight of his presence unbearable.

“You will have a child, and you will have it now or anytime soon… with me. I will not be refused,” he hissed, his tone low and chilling. “You will see, in time, how right I am. You will understand.”

A shudder ran all over and down to your body, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his words— more so threats— from the promise that lingered in the air between you. It was no longer a matter of love. It was a matter of control.

At first, rather the earliest of times that you were bonding with Thomas, seemed nothing wrong.

You convinced yourself that the house was warm, the bed was soft, and Thomas was well, you could say… attentive. Protective. Maybe too much so. But after everything, you tried to ease your thoughts and assure it by thinking it was just his way of caring. He provided for you, ensured you wanted for nothing.

You could say that it wasn’t really a prison if the doors were open, if the windows weren’t locked. It wasn’t control if he only wanted to keep you safe. Right?

But then, little by little things began to shift. The small, obvious details that eventually build up into something bigger than it was, or should be. Truthfully, time really has its way of revealing the truth.

The evident shift with his actions started with the way his grip lingered too long around your wrists. The fingers of his hand tightening just enough to remind you who had more of the strength between the two of you. Who had more power. The way his gaze, once filled with a captivating tone of longing, became something else—darker, heavier, like shackles you could not see but could feel tightening around your throat, wrists, and even ankles.

And don’t get started about the nights. The nights were the worst.

There were moments, just before sleep, when you felt his breath against your skin. But it was not with a hint of candied affection, rather it was like a reminder of possession. Moments when you awoke to find him watching you, unmoving. His eyes creepily gleaming under the dim candlelight of your shared room, his expression hard to decipher what might be filling in his thoughts.

And then came the threats amongst other nights. The first threat of the many more you didn’t know were coming.

Both of you were laying in bed. The quietness of the room contrasted to the endless thoughts that were spinning negatively around your mind. You tried to force yourself into complacency in the situation right now, acknowledging that making a scene wouldn’t help if you didn’t have any concrete plans. Yet as if Thomas had the power to read your thoughts, he simply interjects while you were close to zoning out,

"If you ever think about leaving this place… our place," he murmured. You could feel the mattress of the bed sink with his weight shifting, with him moving from laying on his back to the side facing where you slept. A finger of his trailed cooly and idly along your arm, "Just know… I would find you. No matter where you ran."

"Your existence belongs to me even if we may have not wed yet." The tone of his voice was soft past his lips but his words stung like venom. He says such phrases like he was cursing upon you,. "Where would you go? There is nothing for you beyond these walls—only cold, only hunger, only ruin."

"Why would you even say something like that, my love?" you asked, but in a tone that didn’t intend on fighting back. Your response leaned more towards trying to lighten up the atmosphere and tension. As if the very notion was absurd. As if your hands weren’t trembling nor as if you sucked in to bite down on the insides of your cheek to prevent your jaw from showing evident signs of agitation.

Thomas exhaled. The sound of it being like it was half amusement and half of whatever something else. But you assumed it was cold. His head tilted, eyes drinking you in with the slow indulgence of a predator toying with its prey.

"Do not insult me with such fragile deceptions, my dove,” he whispered. His fingers escalated past the skin of your arm and ghosted along your jaw, a caress at war with the iron beneath his touch. "I have seen the way your gaze lingers at the door, the windows. I know the weight of a mind that plots in secret. A bird does not glance at the sky unless it yearns to fly."

With the same hand toying around your skin, his thumb pressed down onto one side of your cheek while the other fingers on another side. It was just enough to remind you of his strength, that he could break you if he wished. Like a porcelain doll in the hands of something ancient and unmerciful.

"You think yourself devious, but your thoughts are glass to me. Every flicker of hesitation, every pause before you speak… I can see them all…"

It was honestly talented of him to have his words remain subtle, yet his intentions behind each word were far more sinister.. "And yet, you persist in this little charade."

"Tell me, dearest… do you truly believe you can outwit me?" Again, his voice, low and chilling that was filled with ridicule towards you.

You froze where you lay on your side of the bed. The weight of his words sank into your bones. Even with barely any hint of light in the dim room, his indistinct gaze bore into your skin, reading every flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. His fingers were lingering near your throat, playing with both your own body and thoughts almost as if he could feel your pulse rapidly increasing with each beat.

You could not tear your gaze away from his, though every part of you screamed to look away. This was a small yet defining moment where you almost and completely realized that he had you. And you knew it.

"No," you whispered, voice trembling, barely audible in the suffocating silence that stretched between you. The words felt foreign on your tongue, soaked with fear and submission. "I... I would never think or do such a thing like that."

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the chill of the air in the room seep past your body and straight into your very soul. There was no escape.

You tugged on the edge of the blankets tightly up and around your body as if to shield yourself from the fictitious dark energy that loomed in the room. Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it felt restless. Your dreams for that night were wildly taken over by some haunting nightmares. It was filled with wickedness and gloom that flashed within the corners of your mind waiting to terrify you like a figure creeping from behind.

Eventually the sun had to finally rise again and you woke up to the sound of the faint ticking of the clock, along with the light peeking through the small cracks in the curtains. You forced yourself from the bed, body feeling heavy alongside your very soul unwilling to rise. You went through the motions. You prepared food. You cleaned. You tried to speak to Thomas as if nothing had changed, as if his cruel words hadn’t dug into your mind and left their mark there, invisible to anyone but you.

You were still trapped within these walls. Wrapped around his grasp. And you wore a mask portraying an illusion of nonchalance, just to survive another day. But it honestly didn’t fool anyone other than yourself

By the time the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, a crushing weight settled upon your chest. Thomas was preparing to leave, his work for tonight had him assigned for the night shift. His presence began to fade from the house, but your heart ached with the hollowness of your own captivity.

Once he had gone, you found yourself retreating into the room that you shared with him, the one where you just had an argument from the night before. You closed the door behind to seal yourself away from the world. The emptiness echoed through the walls as the silence deafening, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness inside of you. It felt like your insides had twisted and left a bad feeling in your gut, a constant reminder that you were apparently being locked in a cage and could not escape.

Your body fell to your knees by the side of the bed. Your hands clutched the edge of the sheets, the fabric crumpled under your fist. Your breath hitched as you fought a sob clawing its way from your throat. You held it back for a moment, just long enough to whisper, as if there were anyone left to hear.

You intertwined both of your hands together, forming a prayer, “Please.”

Your voice started to tear down as it was filled with desperation. “Please, hear my plea. I can’t take this anymore. Save me… Please, save me…”

But it was impossible to expect something while knowing that your cries will be thrown into nothingness, into the void. Consequently, you weren’t entirely aware of the dangers that you were inviting, especially at these times of the night, with whatever wandering spirit there was. There was a faint whisper, like a cold breeze passing through. Something ancient and hungry seemed to respond to your plea, its presence barely noticeable at first, but growing.

Eventually you continued to weep harder, without a care that no one was there for you at your side to comfort you. They were for something else entirely—something that would come to claim you, whether you realized it or not. You had unwittingly opened a door that should have remained sealed.

But for now everything that centered around you was your utter desperation. You felt as if your chest was about to burst under the heavy weight of your own torment. It felt as though the world had sloped and you were falling into it, unable to grasp anything solid, not even your own faith. As you knelt there, hands trembling, your voice still calling out for help, the very walls around you seemed to pulse with something far darker—something that could never save you, only draw you further into the shadows.

You wouldn’t know it then, but this was the moment that would begin your unraveling. And as your tears fell.

The call had been answered. But not by the heavens you were so despairingly pleading to. Not by anything you could have ever imagined.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆｡ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The darkness of the sky eventually became your only refuge

During the daylight, you tried to play the part of being the obedient wife. Merely drifting through the halls of the house that you didn’t feel you belong in anymore. Then you carried out the necessary duties as if there were no invisible shackles forcing you in.

But when nightfall came, you looked forward to your usual routine of salvation. When the house and the bedroom was filled with nothingness and your lover, Thomas, lay sleeping, you would slip from out and under the covers. Your feet fell flat and bare against the cold wooden floor first, and then you kneel before the window which was your only source of dim lighting. The moonlight shines through it. It became a ritual. A sacred act of defiance wrapped in the guise of prayer.

Your voice would waver, no more than something softer than a whisper. “Please…”

Between other nights, it was nothing more than that plea. It consisted of a single word that got lost within the beauty of the gloomy moonlight. But other nights, you weep to the heavens as if confident that someone, or something, might take pity on you. The more you prayed, the more fervent you became.

Of course to your foolishness, you never noticed the way the air in the room thickened. How the shadows crept deeper in the corners. You never noticed the way the walls enclosed further, as if it was breathing, as if something was listening. Something patient, something waiting.

And you never noticed the way a pair of blue eyes began to watch you. Thomas began to watch you.

At first, he said nothing. He would wake to find you on your knees, speaking softly to the heavens, and merely observe from the bed, his eyes unreadable in the dim candlelight. He was always watching, always waiting.

Then eventually one night, the bed was cold when you returned. The side of his bed was as empty as when you left yours.

A sharp chill ran down your spine. The room felt too wrong. Too silent, too still. Then a whisper, a shift in the atmosphere.

“You pray so sweetly, little one.”

Your breath caught. You turned, slowly, to find him standing in the doorway, barely visible in the darkness.

His gaze was unreadable, still dressed in the clothes he used for sleeping. There was something in the way he stood. Something rigid, something restrained and it all felt too terrible, leaving a wrench in your gut.

"Tell me,” he murmured, stepping closer, “who is it you call for so desperately?"

Your lips parted instinctively, but no words came out.

His fingers trailed along the edge of the table. Slow, deliberate, as he took another step forward. "Tell me, my dearest… What answer are you expecting? Who are you expecting?”

You swallowed hard. Your hands tremble at your sides as it falls on either side of your body. “I—”

"You do it every night.” His voice remained soft, yet there was an edge beneath it. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t hear?”

He was standing in front of you now near the edge of the bed. So close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He lifted one hand, brushing away a strand of hair from your face. It should have been a loving gesture. It was not.

"You kneel there by the window,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, "and you beg. You plead. For what? For mercy?" His fingers trailed down your jaw, pausing at your throat. "For deliverance?"

You shuddered beneath his touch, your breath shaky. "I—"

He lets out a low simulated chuckle. "You pray to something that does not answer you, and yet you ignore the only thing that holds you in its hands."

His grip tightened. But terrifyingly it was not enough to hurt, not yet, but enough to remind you. Enough to make your heart thump faster and pulse around that area pound beneath his touch.

"Enough of this, my love,” he spat. “You insult me. After all I have given you."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips softly grazing against the skin of your ear. "If you run, I will find you. I will drag you back by your pretty little throat and remind you why you should never have tried."

Slowly he pulls back a little with a cruel smile, one that did not reach his eyes. The tone of his voice remains the same, "You could throw yourself into the ocean, and I would still retrieve you from its depths. You could beg the wind to carry you far away, and I would tear it apart with my bare hands."

Your knees nearly quivered.

"I would burn this house to the ground before I let you walk away. You, and everything in it…” Again, his fingers found a way and tightened ever so slightly around your throat, not enough to choke, but enough to remind you of his strength, his control.

His eyes filled with darkness were unfathomable. He held you captive, drinking in the flickers of fear you could not hide. He tilted his head, studying you with a cruel, measured patience, as if savoring the weight of his next words before letting them fall like a death knell.

"...If I can’t have you, then no one will. Not even the earth to bury you in."

There was a pause that stretched between the two of you. The silence weaved with it had suffocated you aside from the weight of his hands. Then, Thomas sighed with a slow, measured breath. One that sent an unspoken warning through the stale air. His grip on you slackened, just slightly enough for you to breathe again. But you knew better than to think it was mercy.

“You still don’t understand it. Why don’t you?” His voice was quieter. The sharp edge of rage tempered into something even worse—certainty. “I don’t make threats, dove. I tell you what is.”

His hands were rough as they cupped your face. The calloused palms scraped against your skin and the way he held you was almost… gentle. Like a man admiring something fragile. Something he had no intention of breaking—not yet.

“You’re mine,” he said, as if the words alone could bind you in chains. “You always have been. And soon, there won’t be any question left of it.”

The pit in your stomach churned violently. The dread crawling up your throat like bile that you want to vomit out. You knew what was coming before he even spoke of it. He had already spoken about it before. But now… now it wasn’t just a suggestion.

His thumbs traced along your cheekbones, down to your lips, pressing there for a moment before he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin.

"You will carry my child," he murmured in between kisses. His voice as sure as the walls around you, as unyielding as the locked door you knew you had no key for. He pulls back with a breath, "And then, maybe… maybe you’ll finally stop pretending there’s a way out of this."

Your breath hitched as one of his hands drifted lower past your nightgown. It stops to settle over your stomach. The tips of his fingers pressed there, not cruelly, not harshly, but with intent. Possessive. As if there already was life he spoke of existing beneath his the area of where he touched.

"There will be no running," he continued, his voice still calm. Terrifying in its conviction. "No more foolish prayers to a god who’s long since stopped listening. No more pretending you have a choice."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, to imbibe in the terror you couldn’t hide. And then he smiled, a small, almost satisfied smile before leaning forward and securing to pin you down to the bed. “Shh,” he hushes against your soft skin.

Your arms at first try to push him away, palms pushing against his chest. However, your size was considerably in contrast with Thomas. His figure was huge and you were no match with his mass alone. And so you tried to stretch out your arms in hopes of reaching for anything, any object that you could use in defense.

The weight in the bed shifts as Thomas tries to position himself better above you. So that he could pin you down better to his advantage. With one hand, he flawlessly gets to put weight around both your wrists, successfully further trapping you underneath him as he continues to indulge between your kisses.

“Don’t be so obstinate, my love,” he says while using his other hand to scrunch up a segment of your nightgown under his fist so that he could steadily lift it up while still forcing you down. “You will be alright. I’ll take good care of you. I- I won’t hurt you.”

An impatient hand of his slips under your clothing that makes you pull your knees back and try to use your feet to kick against him. But you are further pushed down onto the bed in opposition to you trying to get away.

You feel one of his fingers tug against the fabric underneath, slipping past in order to access the skin of your cunt. He brazenly toys with each layer, indulging and acknowledging the growing wetness that made the cheeks of your face flush in embarrassment. Embarrassed that your body was reacting this way so which for sure Thomas would impose on.

Your lower back slightly arches at his cold touch. The tips of his finger finding its way inside, slowly and teasingly which as essentially a torture. But he doesn’t continue all the way, which you would rather prefer as it could just end already.

No. He makes sure to do it in a devious way. He plays with you so gently, making sure to soak the entire face of your cunt covered in your own wetness. Dragging along the fingers that he used to push inside and outside, he glazes over your clit as well which sends shivers across your body.

As he continues to be curious about exploring your lower body, you try to push your thighs together with the goal to cease his attempt on making events escalate into something more. But you were unsuccessful and this measure that you did had honestly provoked Thomas into advancing more.

He continues. Your strength was no match against him. You couldn’t prevent him from doing what he wants. He was so certain of what he wanted.

“T-Thomas,” you trembled underneath his touch. You look up directly to meet his eyes, “Please, no.”

It was no use and you weren’t sure if the man feeds onto everything in contradiction of what you’re crying out. As you were too distracted from all the worries that you were giving out to him, you had not realized how fast he had undone your clothes and that your flesh was left nothing but your thin gown.

Your skin was bare and completely naked underneath, and it didn’t help that it was scrunched up to reveal and expose your entirety for Thomas. Your body shakes intensely due to the coldness of the night and the darkness that came from him. It was not the same man you fell in love with at first. How did such completely change over the course of time?

Or were you just foolish enough to not see it from the start?

“I’ll make love to you all night, my dove,” he moans as he tries to undo his own clothes. His grip loosened for a short moment but you were so shocked that it left you paralyzed. He continues, “Let me carve my claim into your very blood...”

"...You will swell with my child.” He says but for you it comes off more as an intimidation. “Proof of what we are, what you cannot run from. I will make certain of it. You will carry me within you, bound by flesh and fate alike."

While you try to deny everything and shake, enough to show contest but not enough to force him away, he continues. And within the next moment Thomas gets in between the insides of your thighs, positioning himself before sinking deep and slowly into you. He lets out a deep groan, almost animalistic.

Then he continues to thrust, heavily jerking his hips while your mind fights to stay focused on what you were really feeling. It wasn’t the first time you had shared a moment like this, like any other couple would. But this time was different. There was a strong desire and immorality behind the intent.

As he spreads your legs apart to welcome himself in between your cunt, Thomas leans his body further forward. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. His weight further trapping you down as he drinks in the pleasure of fucking you senseless. “Need not resist, my love,” he murmurs, "I-I won’t harm you. I’ll… tend to you, cherish you, as only I know how."

The moment was an act of deep intimacy, entangled deep within the darkness of the room and night. It screamed and whispered both salvation and ruin. The warmth of his words was suffocating with promises that should have been comforting but instead invoked fear.

The closeness was only something you have seen and gotten from Thomas. He was right for that as you have never known it from anywhere in the cruel world.

Eventually his movements became unkempt and his rhythm was nowhere near steady. He threw his head back, the skin of his face covered in sweat as his hand trembled and lost within the sheets of the bed. He lets out a louder groan, and you knew from then how your fate would be sealed.

The intimacy shared was both tether and binding, suffocating and consuming. You couldn’t help but think this was another level of closeness shared with Thomas, the closest your souls have ever been.

Then his hands hurriedly find a way to snake and pin you down from your stomach. He grips on your body firmly with each thrust he does deliberately. With each of his last few thrusts, his moans were loud as the pleasure mixed with greed while steadily filling your bare cunt with his own seed.

He breathes our raggedly, "I won’t hurt you, darling. But I will care for you, in ways that will bind you to me forever."

“I adore you.”

i discovered i love writing gothic settings. the dialogues were immaculate and i hope u guys enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing! fell free to send in prompts of dark thomas or leave feedback :)

[having-a-hyperfixate]

Don’t mind me sprinting to try and get this thought in order before the Anime Expo panel. I need it to be out in the wild Just In Case.

So, a few of the Gung Ho Guns have gotten reworked for Stampede, yes? To varying degrees.

Ninelives is apparently not a horrific flesh mech, Dark Souls boss thing, according to the end credits of episode 3.

E.G. the Mine just got a HUGE upgrade and didn’t get owned 3 seconds after he showed up.

Monev was an actual character with a fubar backstory and emotional impact instead of just Some Guy who trained in a basement for years specifically to kill Vash. (and Orange is SO EVIL for this)

Elendira is. *gestures futilely* There is so much going on there but yeah. She’s going to be terrifying once she achieves adult body and loses (drops?) the childish attitude. Also because of the whole Plant hybrid thing her nails truly are literally infinite sooooo.

So I have some thoughts about Hoppered the Gauntlet.

In Trimax, Gauntlet’s narrative weight comes from the fact that he makes Vash remember, which by extension makes US, the reader, understand what July really meant. Before that we had heard mention of it a few times as ‘a city destroyed in a single night’ and talk of there being ‘no survivors’ but we had no actual connection to it, and also no real idea if that was even true. But in Stampede, we saw July happen. We were there. So even if Vash’s memory is still shot afterwards, and he doesn’t remember Lost July, we the audience DO. So having the Dragon’s nest play out exactly the same isn’t going to have the same narrative punch in the gut that it did in Trimax. It can’t.

There’s also the fact that, given how we’ve met most of the major players in the story, or had them mentioned at least (hi Milly), it feels kind of Odd™ that we haven’t seen someone has emotionally impactful as Gauntlet yet.

Unless we have.

We saw with Rollo/Monev that Orange is willing to have the person’s regular name be one thing and then have a second Eye of Michael code name. I suspect that is going to happen with Gauntlet; either because EoM or because he has decided on his own to lie about who he was.

And yes, I do in fact have someone in mind.

I checked myself the translation there is accurate; the only change I would make is calling the gun ‘gaudy’ instead of ‘shiny’ but that’s not a huge deal. Also for the record, the original tweet is from Jan. 11, well before he makes his reappearance for the season finale. So when it talks about a ‘reappearance’, it is talking about seeing him again in July. Original tweet here, tweet containing the translation here.

I think Chuck Lee is going to be our Gauntlet. That he made it just far enough out of the city to survive, but that he was badly maimed in the process, and that his family didn’t make it. He’s the ONLY member of the military police with a unique design. He has an actual name, and the director himself tweeted about his backstory. His gun is so unusual that we would recognize it anywhere. Hell, I referred to him as ‘the gold gun guy from episode one’ when one of my friends didn’t recognize him immediately. His gun is so incredibly recognizable. Almost like we need to be able to recognize him by that alone, when everything else about him has changed.

THIS could be how narrative weight for Gauntlet is established in the Stampede universe when it can’t be done the same way as in Trimax. Taking a character who has, in a way, also been with the audience ALL ALONG, who was there with us for two pivitol moments, the beginning and the awakening, but who comes at it from such a horrifically different angle and bringing him back in such an agonizing way. Because he was very much in the wrong with his stunt at Jeneora Rock, but his rage over the loss of his family in July would be justified, even if we know it wasn’t Vash’s fault.

(Also, the IRONY of him ending up as one of Knives’s lackeys when Knives is the one that caused all of this? Damn.)

Footnote: I have Thoughts on why they can get away with adding Milly to The Squad late. That is a whole other Thought but tldr; (and also I haven’t actually written it out) Milly is the most perceptive of all of them she doesn’t NEED an extended intro to Vash to Know.

[izzy140105]

𐂂 𝖆 𝖉𝖔𝖊 𝖆𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖘𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖑𝖛𝖊𝖘 𐂂

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇

"...𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉..."

tags⋆⁺₊⋆ character/reader by @rise-my-angel from 'Heart of the Great Wolf' and taylor lyric pics by @theinkbleeds

face claim⋆⁺₊⋆ lily-rose depp in the 2024 horror film 'Nosferatu'

song lyrics⋆⁺₊⋆ 'The Prophecy' and 'Cassandra' by taylor swift from 'The Tortured Poets Department'

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