#plague tw

[greywoodrpg]

𝕕𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕖. 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕕

he appears as though he was born forty years ago but is actually four hundred and sixty, he is a vampire who lives in mystic grove as an out of the attic antique shop owner. he looks an awful lot like henry cavill.

"the present life of man, O king, seems to me, like to the swift flight of a sparrow through the room wherein you sit at supper in winter.”

tw: plague, infancy death, death, attack, murder, gambling

It was 1563 and a tumultuous era of protestant reformation and the worst episode of the London plague during the sixteenth century, leading up to the transition from the Tudor to the Stuart period. This was when Duncan was born, to a well-off family where he was a single child of a mother that was at that time considered well past her prime, a miracle after too many miscarriages and infancy deaths. Perhaps this was exactly what had saved the Creed’s family name and fortune from falling into the hands of many distant cousins and removed relatives standing in line to benefit from a sonless death of its influential patriarch. Moving out of the crowded, unsanitary London of the time and into the rural area seemed to have done Lady Creed good, the fresh air, nature and being away from poorly maintained and unclean streets resulted in good news everyone stopped praying for a long time ago. This saved the family, the marriage between Duncan’s parents and their family inheritance, though not for long.

The first time fate showed signs of being as capricious as the sea was when Duncan’s father passed away. Needing to travel often into the city for work, the household feared for Mr. Creed’s safety and well-being yet, quite surprisingly so, this wasn’t what had ended the man’s life. It was a vice that had ultimately been the cause of his demise. Stabbed multiple times and left to bleed out on the grimy cobblestone over a gambling debt squabble, Mr. Creed’s body had joined the numerous corpses waiting to be disposed of properly so as to not encourage the terrible epidemic plaguing the city. Retrieval for a proper funeral had been quite an ordeal for the young Duncan, who’d just barely turned sixteen yet was not only already considered a man but also had to take over what was then a lucrative trade business.

While Duncan was still dealing with his first tragedy, he had many difficult choices to make. As much as they loved each other, Duncan and his father were too different for Duncan to keep a pristine loving memory of him intact. Unlike Creed Sr, Duncan had been a born businessman, investing his following years into restoring what his father had gambled away, realizing just how close his parent was to completely ruining them. He married early and unlike his mother, he’d been blessed with seven healthy children who’d all but one reached old age. He not only managed to not let everything fall completely apart, but he had the family business thrive and the Creeds kept their old money replenished by new income and their social status.

But remember how fate can be capricious? Duncan’s second tragedy should have been his last because it was his own death. Out late and away from home but not for vice like his father had been years ago, he was intercepted by a strange assailant who’d drained him dry of his lifeblood after having dragged him into one of the many closed theatres, abandoned as a measure against the plague. It was 1603, Queen Elizabeth the First had died and Duncan was forty years old and now, as the conductor of his demise had told him before he walked into the sun the very next morning, a vampire, inheriting the strange creature’s legacy and bloodline as was custom for his kind once they were sick of knowing they could live their cursed lives forever if they chose so.

Duncan received only as many instructions and lessons that would help him navigate his new life as a single night of conversation and listening could give him. This one bizarre night painted in a blur of pain, shock and confusion would be his only guidance through the following months of navigating the intricacies of the life of a nocturnal blood drinker, made abundant and plentiful by the many dying of the terrible bubonic plague. More would be found out later when Duncan would discover everything the creature had left as an inheritance to his progeny. Though Duncan would use these benefits, estates, riches and ways of keeping, maintaining and passing them down to himself one human lifetime after another in the future, he would not exactly follow his sire’s every single ideology and tradition, although he’d found volumes upon volumes of written word on various topics relating to the existence of vampires observed, noted down and studied in detail by the one who’d made him.

Instead, the first years Duncan had spent in hiding, repulsed by the way he was now, hiding in that same closed and barred away theatre whose extended shadows provided refuge between audience seats, balcony booths and backstage rooms. He might’ve wasted away years there if concern for his family who likely had no news of him for all this time had not drawn him out, making him undertake the journey back to their countryside manor where he found his widow had never remarried and was struggling with sons away, daughters unmarried and cousins looking to scavenge their wealth like vultures again. It started as leaving little clues to his wife - finding proof of others’ treachery and scheming and leaving it on her bedside table before sneaking away into the night again, rearranging the items in their home to point things out that would give her bright new ideas on what to do, supplying books she didn’t even know they owned that could educate her and give her clever mind more information on how to run the family business, whom to contact for help, how to fend for herself. Until she’d caught him doing it, which was unsurprising and only a matter of time.

And what was even more surprising was that she accepted his story and everything that he was now. Yet the final conclusion was that it would not be wise for him to reemerge as he was now after years of absence. So, Duncan remained in the shadows but by his wife’s side, saving the family’s status yet again with co-joined forces until yet another tragedy which was an expected yet nevertheless a painful one struck - he’d outlived his wife, and eventually his children too, of which only two perhaps doubted that their mother had a benefactor much too kind to them to be a mere stranger. Yet Duncan’s ties to his family would not end there and he would continue to watch over his line as it spread out into many roots and branches, whether they stayed where they originated from or moved elsewhere, making his presence known to only rare few.

When things with the family were calm and steady, Duncan would travel, the advancements of humankind and technology making this more possible and easier with each passing century. He knew Europe like the back of his hand, been to the New World and the far East. If there was a descendant that needed to be followed up on in whichever remote part of the world for whatever reasons they’d ended up there, Duncan would follow, checking in periodically over the span of years, depending how settled and happy they seemed. The happier they were, the less likely was Duncan to hover near. However those who had been down on their luck would perhaps experience an unexpected turn of events not possible to be explained except by maybe having a guardian angel watching over them. Or a devil bringing bad luck.

Duncan had been a resident of Greywood before but had, at one point, moved away to one of his many travels, leaving for what was now over forty years - a blink of an eye for an immortal with centuries behind him. Now it was time to return to it, reclaim the piece of property he’d left unattended where he took in lost or discarded things faded by time, use or neglect. He polishes and restores them to their former glory as much as possible and occasionally finds a brilliant, priceless gem underneath. Most he donates, if their worth is of any cultural value. Others, less legendary, he keeps in his small antique shop he was in the process of reopening upon his arrival, once again filling it with beautiful, intricate things with stories to tell and history to unravel. If you ever pass by ‘Out of the Attic’ antique store in Greywood, go right in. The ‘closed’ sign is always on just because the owner forgets to flip it.

“what power did he attain when settling in greywood?”

Duncan’s Greywood-acquired power is that his ability of not going into frenzied bloodlust even if he goes without drinking blood for long gets enhanced to a point where he does not feel hunger for blood or anything at all really but he still must drink it in order not to slip into the so-called ‘stone sleep’. Can be inconvenient as he has to actively remind himself to feed. Aside from other usual consequences of starving, the longer he remains unfed, the paler his hair and eyes become until they turn almost completely white

penned by... sandra

[shadowsandkingdom]

were god damn creatures of darkness but the shadowfell literally was not always completely lightless. is the feywild completely darkless? NO! IT'S NOT!!!!! Because of our sensitivity to light that the Light (noticec the CAPITALIZATION) was able to flourish here and LITERALLY DECIMATE OUR POPULATION! FUCK!

i was the only fuckin person who could stop it because of this stupid fucking absorb power bullshit that i didnt want and still dont want and i still dilly dallied and wasted my fuckin time because i hoped maybe it would sort itself out and i wouldnt have to step into every fucking problem i come across. FUCK!

- Felicity

[anna-scribbles]

adrien tell ur mom to leave me alone !

[potato-lord-but-not]

heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I

[teshiee]

this is what i did instead of studying for the past two days. magnificent innit

[starrynightsatthecafe]

The dark place is slowly creeping back towards my direction. An unwelcome but expected sight in this complete pandemonium that is my life.

[nobie]

codywan teamwork w/ obis distressed hair all in one scene?? and im supposed to be normal about it?!?!

[cosmicdreamgrl]

shine dream smile 💜 [ 𝖼𝗋: 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽 ]

[thatsbelievable]

[fraternum-momentum]

llllll,,,,,,,,lllllllll,,,,lllaios,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

[rosie-dear-rosie]

Literally can’t stop thinking about about how Butcher’s going to handle it when he returns to the boys and finds out what happened to Hughie (both in terms of Tek-Knight and his dad) and how fucking devastated he’ll be that he wasn’t there to help, to protect his canary. After dealing with the powerless feeling of seeing his wife assaulted by a supe for years then to have it happen again to Hughie, someone he’s always felt obligated to protect. Blaming himself, thinking about how Hughie wouldn’t be in this mess, wouldn’t have had to euthanize his own father, if Butcher hadn’t dragged him into this in the first place.

Meanwhile Hughie couldn’t care less about what Butcher could or couldn’t have done. All he cares about is the fact that Butcher is with him now.

[nomsfaultau]

guys if they have Christmas in the Dream SMP, did they have to nail Jesus on the cross three times, once for every canon life?

[secretlifeoflyss]

currently thinking about the way death’s at my door is staged: TW for brief implied su*c*de attempt/s*lf-h*rm

Pony starts the song while sitting at the top of the church with the knife he just used to cut his hair still in his hands. Pony’s tired and he’s been holed up in that church with nothing but his swirling thoughts to keep him company while Johnny is out getting them more supplies. He starts singing about how death follows him, how he’s a danger to those around him, looking back at himself in the reflection of the switchblade.

Unbeknownst to him, Johnny’s returned with water and has been silently listening. And at that line, finally makes his presence known.

“That’s crazy talk Ponyboy” he says. And Ponyboy comes down to meet him on the next floor down. Pony argues about how he’s cursed and Johnny should “move on” and is “better off without [him]”.

Johnny has heard this before. He’s heard himself say those things before and hearing them coming from Ponyboy is scary. Especially when he sees the way the knife in Pony’s hand trembles, the way his eyes refuse to look at Johnny’s, solely focused on the white knuckle grip he has on the blade.

Johnny has mentioned wanting to disappear to his best friend before and was always met with warmth and love from Ponyboy, assurance that he still wants Johnny around. So that’s what he provides for Ponyboy in this moment. He comes closer, making Ponyboy hear him when he says “the reason i’m living is you,” which finally gets Ponyboy’s attention away from the knife.

And in the way someone would approach a dog with something between its teeth that it shouldn’t have, he holds out his hand. He lets Pony make the choice to give the knife back to him. It’s a reach that conveys Johnny’s worry for what Pony might have done with that blade if he hadn’t come earlier. It’s his relief when Pony gives it back and they close their hands around it in their promise to never leave the other alone.

And they smile because they know that while the world seems scary and dark, they’ll always be there for each other. Urging each other to go on even when things look bleak. And it’s with that comfort that they finally let themselves go to sleep for the night.

[konigsblog]

cw: kidnapping, non-con elements.🩸

sigh, all i'm thinking about is kidnapper-könig live streaming his assault on you. :(

it's not always him pinning you down and having his way with you, sometimes he'll keep the camera live recording you in your little dog cage, watching you sob pathetically and miserably, looking into the camera with glossy eyes and a frown.

he'll record him spoonfeeding you too - forcing you to sit obediently on his large lap, whilst your wrists and ankles are tied with rope, pushing the spoon into your mouth and slapping you when you begin rejecting his home cooked food through depression.

he loves getting your hopes up, allowing you to wander around the house curiously with the door cracked a little bit open, before dragging you back down by the collar around your neck, shaming you for thinking about leaving and escaping his ‘love’...

kidnapper-könig rants about his infatuation with you to krueger, telling him about your misbehaviour, and the reason you're forced to act like a dog and clean his boots on all fours. perhaps he'll allow krueger to have some fun with you, showing off all the skills you've learnt from being with könig; dragging your tongue up and down his shaft and sucking on his heavy balls.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was in medieval England and instead of the Black Death everyone kept getting Gonorrhea so in the history books they called it “London’s Cheeks: The Clappening”.

[likesummerrainn]

All Out 09.06.24 // Collision 01.18.25