#the first one feeds on souls of it's victims

[xxcringeizdead666xx]

oh god no wtf why do they look like that?! I swear, they look inbread!

Obsessed w how the new furbies look like they've finally began to succumb to their decades of unethical breeding practices

[michanvalentine]

One thing I absolutely love about Astarion’s redemption arc is the complexity of his relationship with the figure of the hero.

Astarion is a vampire, a monster, and also a victim (as well as, in a way, a perpetrator, due to his forced obedience to Cazador). He is the first person in desperate need of a hero to save him and the last person suited for the role of a hero.

He prayed to every god for salvation, even for death, and even that was denied to him. He resents heroes and the powerful, and when confronted with the idea that both have a duty to protect the weak, he scornfully responds that no, they’ve done a terrible job—that in 200 years, no one saved him from torture, and that it was the mind flayers, other monsters, who finally freed him. And that, in reality, the powerful only use their strength to bend others to their will and serve their own selfish interests. It’s in this same conversation that Astarion declares his desire to be better than Cazador—stronger, more powerful—though the player likely meant kinder, more noble.

Yet, despite everything he says, despite his disapproval of every heroic action taken in Act 1, Astarion is irreversibly drawn to the figure of the hero. First and foremost, he seeks their protection, though still through the warped lens of his past under Cazador’s cruel talons. Secondly, he is extremely sensitive to kindness, understanding, acceptance—to being treated like a person, just as a true hero would treat him.

And then, this is something I particularly noticed while playing as Karlach—Astarion is fascinated by Wyll, who is, in many ways, the quintessential hero of the party. He even admits that if he had to choose one of them to feed on, it would be Wyll, because he is sweet and righteous, just. Which is a contradiction, because the very traits that draw Astarion to him are the same ones that make him want to drain him dry. Love and hate, all in one.

With this in mind, even the conversation after meeting Aurelia and Leon takes on a deeper meaning. The player sees something in Astarion, but he still refuses to recognize it, to admit it, and rightfully says he can’t be what we see in him—a good person, a righteous, understanding, even heroic figure. And yet, the player sees through him…

And it’s breathtaking when, during the ritual, just before stabbing Cazador, Astarion says those very same words: "You're right. I can be better than him." But this time, he doesn’t mean stronger or more powerful. No, this time, he means it exactly as it was first presented to him and so bitterly rejected. And he means it with all his heart.

And in doing so, in freeing all his siblings and all the poor souls imprisoned there, Astarion commits a truly heroic act. He does for others what he once desperately hoped for himself, what he prayed for—becoming the hero he needed. Because at the same time, he is freeing himself—from his chains, from his narrow worldview that saw everything in terms of power and dominance. For the first time, he is free to live outside of the path that someone else forced upon him.

And that’s exactly why, in my opinion, the next morning, it’s right to tell him that yes, we were the heroes who stood by his side, but we only gave him a push. Because, in the end, he saved himself.

He is the hero he had been waiting for centuries!

And that thought makes my heart race! ❤️

[ellieputellas]

the bird | epilogue

tags: future!Alexia, future!reader, post-graduation setting

taglist: @alexiaputellasera @sapphicdarlingx @profoundcoffeepeanut @therealgbaby @batllexreina @my-favorite-sign-blog @wosowriter23 @groovyblazeturtle @violetromanova

‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ chapter one 🕊 chapter two 🕊 epilogue

It had been over three years since you last saw Alexia.

After that last day in Sister Philomena’s office, Alexia was expelled. There were several, baseless rumors about what happened to her but all you knew for sure was that she was kicked out of the school that same day and you’ve never heard anything about her again. It was as if she disappeared as quickly as she appeared in your life.

Your fate, however, had been different. You remained at the school, subjected to endless, one-on-one sessions with the sisters. They called it “guidance,” but it felt more like indoctrination — a relentless effort to force-feed the beliefs they so piously upheld. 

But it wasn’t the sermons or the pray-overs that wore you down, though; it was the pity.

The word had spread through the school that Alexia had kidnapped you and assaulted you. It didn’t hurt that they painted you as a victim but it pained you deeply that the love of your life was painted as a villain, a spawn of the devil.

What’s worse was that you couldn’t do anything but nod politely at those who offered their condolences and looked at you pitifully since there was always a hovering sister or another praepostor that would snitch on you to Sister Philomena if you said anything in defense of Alexia. 

Ingrid and Maria were your only allies in all of it. 

The sisters had always trusted Ingrid; she was practically the second choice for the ideal student after you. They favored you for your quiet humility, a stark contrast to Ingrid's bubbly, energetic demeanor, which never quite suited the older sister’s preferences.

But now, it seemed the tides had shifted. They lost confidence in you and Ingrid had earned their trust, perhaps even more than you ever had.  You didn’t mind, though. You no longer cared about the sisters' opinions and being placed under Ingrid’s wing was something you actually appreciated. When the nuns assigned her to pray the rosary with you every night or do a novena – tasks any other praepostor, including your past self, would have dutifully obeyed – Ingrid had her own way of doing things. Instead of complying, Ingrid and you would simply chat, vent, or play games. You probably would have gone insane without her.

And even though you weren’t particularly close to Maria at first with your interactions mostly limited to the times you both hung out with Ingrid or Alexia, she gradually became a central figure in your life. She was in the same year level as you, so she often ended up sitting beside you in class. Her presence became invaluable during those tough days when you were too depressed to function. Maria would quietly help you catch up on homework, offering her support without judgment. Over time, she became your best friend.

The couple practically held you up and prevented you from slipping into insanity. They understood what you were going through – possibly, the only people in that school who could have. And, naturally, the three of you became inseparable, which the nuns loved because they thought they set a good example for you. Little did they know, they too were both raging homosexuals.

When you and Maria graduated together, Ingrid practically bawled her eyes out. Aside from missing the two of you, she also would have to be stuck in that hellhole for another year all alone. 

Once you left school, life was anything but smooth. You lied to your parents, telling them you were embarking on a religious outreach mission to “help the poor lost souls in third-world countries” in an effort to make spiritual amends for your past transgressions. Maria didn’t just agree to help; she took it even further, asking help from her cousins and friends to make fake admission letters, websites, and notices to sell the story. As soon as they agreed, you were practically out of the house, never to return again.

You wanted to try and find Alexia as soon as you left your house but it became difficult to even find the time to do so.

You and Maria moved to the city, living in a small crappy apartment that cost way too much. You scraped by together taking on odd jobs. Maria was lucky to play for a small football club and also, often did tattooing gigs at the nearby tattoo shop for extra funds. On the other hand, you worked two jobs: a Spanish tutor in the morning and a receptionist at the tattoo shop where Maria worked on weekends. You both worked to the bone for an entire year, incredibly exhausted with no time for yourselves. But as grueling as it was, life in the city still felt freer than the rigid confines of the boarding school. For the first time, you could live authentically.

After a year, Ingrid graduated and finally joined you, moving into the tiny apartment that somehow became even smaller with the three of you crammed inside. Though, on a positive note, Ingrid immediately got picked up by a football club, and with her salary, it was easier to pay the rent and bills. This meant that you could have more time for yourselves. Ingrid and Maria even managed to save up enough for a vacation back in her hometown in Norway. And, for you, it meant that you had extra breathing room. You were finally able to drop your tutoring job, affording you the time to search for work that actually interested you.

You had a day off from the tattoo shop and something about that day made you want to explore the city. Restless and eager for something different, you decided to wander, letting the streets guide your steps without a clear destination in mind. That’s when you stumbled upon a jewelry store tucked into a quiet corner.

As you browsed, the store’s owner emerged from the backroom, greeting you warmly. She had a whimsical energy and an easy charm. Her warm aura made conversation feel natural, but it was more than just her personality pulling you in. Your curiosity about the intricate details of jewelry-making seemed to spark something in her, too. The exchange felt natural with the two of you vibing instantly.

And then, as if by chance – or fate – she mentioned it. “You seem like the perfect fit for an apprentice,” she said, beaming at you. “It’s a paid apprenticeship and if you do well enough, I’ll keep you as a permanent employee to help out with designing and jewelry-making.”

You agreed in a heartbeat. It was quite the commute from where you lived but it was worth it. The apprenticeship not only paid decently but it also helped you develop your skills in just weeks. You started off with stamping out rings and engraving jewelry. After a while, you were forging your own sample jewelry from your own designs; most of which you got to keep. You even made a ring for Ingrid and Mapi for their anniversary. 

Soon, your boss entrusted you more with doing tasks for the store. Currently, you were tasked with engraving and the polishing of certain pieces.

“Darling,” she said, her voice laced with a playful energy. “I’ve got a simple job for you now.”

You looked up from your sketchbook, where you were drafting ideas for her upcoming collection. “Oh, another engraving?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips.

She shook her head, the twinkle in her eye betraying the importance of the task. “Just a repair. A broken chain.”

You raised an eyebrow curiously. “Since when did we do repairs?” you asked, a hint of surprise in your voice. 

“Well, we don’t,” she admitted, hesitating just a moment before she continued. “But the girl who came in… she’s part of my favorite football team. I couldn’t say no, obviously.”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “A footballer?” You were amused by her star-struck enthusiasm. 

She nodded, the gold chain in her hand catching the light as she passed it to you. “And she has excellent taste in jewelry, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes fell on the piece. The golden bird pendant was unmistakable. It was the same one that had once hung around your own neck, now broken at the same link as this one before you and abandoned in your drawer for months. You stashed it away and never looked at it after it broke; it felt like a sign that any hope you’d held onto was gone.

Yet, even if you haven’t seen it in a while, you practically memorized each contour and edge of that necklace… and you were certain that this was hers.

“Oh,” you whispered, your voice wavering as you tried to keep the sting of tears at bay. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, and your heartbeat quickened. “Do you remember her name?”

You already knew the answer – there was no way that someone else could have this very necklace – but you just had to be sure.

“Yes,” she said, a knowing smile forming. “Alexia Putellas.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It’s been a while since you’ve kept up with Alexia; the last you heard was that she signed for FC Barcelona. At times, you wanted to go to a game, see her again, and maybe reconnect. But… you were scared.

The last time you saw her was in that office after you explicitly said that you didn’t love her. 

As you touched the necklace, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest as tears continued to fill your eyes. You surreptitiously wiped your tears. “Uh, when did she say she needed it?”

“Well, she said she can come back for it in the morning,” your boss responded as she sat in front of you. “I can introduce you if you want. You’re single, right?”

You chuckled. “Well, yeah…”

She beamed. “Oh, you should definitely meet her so that when you date, I can get all the free tickets to the Barcelona games.” She teased, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “You totally look like you’d be her type.” 

You shrugged, tucking a hair behind your ear. “I don’t know about that.”

“Hmm, a pretty girl like you? You can get any football star you want.” Your boss teased. “Anyway, I trust you can fix this up.”

You nodded, looking down again at the necklace. 

Fixing the necklace took you mere minutes but for hours, until the shop’s closing, you couldn’t move on from how it found its way to you. When you came home, you took your own necklace out of the drawer, looking at it under the dim light of your tiny room. 

Do you want to see her tomorrow? What if she hated you? What if she never wanted to see you again? 

For the past two years, you’ve thought about all the scenarios that could possibly happen once you finally met her again. On more than one occasion, you’d fantasize about seeing her, rushing to your door, and bringing you flowers. When you were in the grocery, sometimes you’d ridiculously dream up a corny scenario like reaching for the same can of sardines. Sometimes, it would be sweet like that.

But oftentimes, you thought about how badly it could play out. She could shout at you for breaking your heart. She could say she's in a relationship with someone better than you, less broken. She could even ignore you, pretend nothing happened and honestly, it felt like that would be the worst possible scenario. Even worse than seeing her in love with anyone else.

You barely slept that night, touching your own necklace the entire time.

The next day, you reported to work earlier, deciding to patch up your own necklace. You looked at the two of them side-by-side, nearly identical, with yours being just a bit more detailed and polished than Alexia's.

You don’t know what came over you but when it was time to package it up. Instead of putting her necklace in the small box, you put your own, taking her necklace instead and wearing it on your neck, tucking it under your blouse.

If this is the last time I see her… and she never wants to see me again, at least I can keep this piece of her for myself.

“Good morning, darling!” Your boss chirped as she entered the backroom of the store, bringing you a cup of coffee. “I see you’ve packed up the necklace for Alexia.”

She took the box from you, opening it up and looking inside. She tilted her head slightly. “Huh,” she paused, examining the necklace closely. “Is it just me or did it get prettier?”

You cleared your throat. “Uh, I just cleaned it up, removed all the build-up on it.”

She nodded, buying into your story. “Oh, that’s great! Well, she did say she was coming over soon so I’m glad you got it done before then.” She smiled. “Good job.”

She paused before walking over to you to fluff up your hair. “And put on some lipstick,” she added, jokingly. “You wanna look your prettiest when she comes. Mama needs next season's tickets.”

You gave her a weak smile back, feeling nerves kick in. In just a few hours, you were going to see her again… maybe. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see her… or if you were even ready to.

You hid in the backroom for a while, pretending to sketch more designs to propose for the next collection. 

But all you could think about was her.

The bell above the store’s door rang as it opened. Alexia walked in, clad in a blazer and blonde hair still damp from her shower.

It was her off day from training but she still had a long day of work ahead of her – meetings with her agent, sorting out contracts, all the boring stuff that came with her new life as a famous football player.

After she was kicked out of the school, she decided to head back immediately to her parents, not even bothering to give her grandparents a chance to trap her. She took the train back to her hometown and walked into her parent’s home, much to their surprise. She told her family all about her experience – the homophobia, the prejudice, her terrible experience in boarding school. Even if her parents were more than willing to take her back under their wing, she knew she had to figure out a way to lighten their load. The last thing she wanted to be was a burden. Most importantly, she wanted to be her own woman.

She lived under her grandparents most of her life, with them dictating what she should believe in and do. When she moved to a boarding school, it was merely a change in scenery—the control remained, just in a different form. Now, all she wanted was to live for herself. She craved the freedom to make her own decisions, to follow her own desires without the constant weight of judgment or unsolicited guidance.

For once, she yearned to carve out a life that was truly her own.

She began trying out for local football camps. With her skills, it wasn’t long before she was recruited by a local team. Soon, with her performance in the small team, news made it out that there was a new hidden star player.

It all came so fast – scouts from all sorts of big clubs came over, offering her things beyond her imagination. When Barcelona came forward with a deal she couldn’t refuse, she knew her dream was finally within reach. Signing with the team wasn’t just about fulfilling her lifelong ambition, it was a chance to give back to her parents and help secure a better future for them. She knew her life would change drastically after that.

And it did. Within merely months, everything changed.

She was suddenly a big name with people all over the country coming to watch her play for one of the biggest teams in the world. It was amazing and exhilarating. She was living out her biggest fantasy.

And yet, during the rare times when she had a break and life was quiet, all she could think about was you.

Even with all she had accomplished, she felt a gnawing emptiness... feeling like she could never be completely and utterly happy. The cheers of the crowd, the support of the fans, the acclaim, not even all the trophies — they could never fill the gaping hole you had left in her life.

On that day when you said you didn’t love her anymore, her heart practically hollowed itself. She knew you were saying it to appease the nuns but it still hurt to hear you say it, for it to come from your mouth.

She repeated to herself that you didn’t mean it and that you loved her just as she loved you. She reminded herself that the circumstances were impossible, that you had no choice. But as the months dragged on and she knew you had left school, her confidence in that hope began to waver. When a year passed without a single word from you, her heart broke all over again. Maybe you had meant it.

Still, she waited. Another year passed. Ingrid had sent her a sweet message after news got out that she would play for FC Barcelona. Maria reached out a couple times too, asking Alexia if she wanted to catch up and go out for drinks.

But from you? Nothing. Not a single word.

And on the second anniversary of the last day she saw you, the chain of her necklace broke. 

She was at a celebratory party for Barcelona’s latest league championship; everyone was laughing and enjoying the win yet her thoughts drifted far away when she felt that gold chain slide down her neck, a chain broken for no apparent reason.

She was supposed to be having fun, basking in the victory, but all she could think about was you. That necklace, fragile and worn, was the only tangible thing she had left of you.

And now, it was broken.

​​“You good?” Irene’s voice broke through her thoughts. Alexia looked up to see her teammate watching her with concern as she put a hand on Alexia’s shoulder

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Alexia muttered, but the sadness in her eyes betrayed her. Irene frowned, her worry deepening as she slid onto the seat beside her and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, what’s going on?” 

Alexia let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head as she held up the broken necklace. “This… was from my ex. It’s the only thing I have left of her,” she explained in a low voice. “And now it’s broken. I can’t help but feel like… maybe it’s a sign. A sign that I need to move on.”

Irene rubbed comforting circles on Alexia’s back. “Ale, it’s not a sign,” she said gently. “It’s just a chain. They break all the time. But didn’t you say she ghosted you? Maybe it is time to move on.”

Alexia hummed in response, not fully convinced. She’d never told anyone the full story, choosing instead to let her teammates believe a half-truth — that her ex had disappeared from her life without explanation. It wasn’t entirely wrong, but it wasn’t the whole picture either.

“Yeah, but…” She hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about her. I don’t think I’ll ever really move on.”

Irene nodded. “Wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

Alexia hummed, seriously considering it despite the hesitation. Moping around and being depressed didn't help her at all, just made her a bummer to be around. So, she figured it wouldn't hurt to try.

After agreeing, Irene set Alexia up with a good friend of hers, Olga. 

Olga was beautiful, funny, and talented, and their connection felt easy. Alexia liked her. Actually, Alexia liked her a lot. For the first time in years, she laughed freely, and Olga’s presence brought a sense of joy she hadn’t realized she was missing. She stored the necklace away, shoving it to the back of her cabinet, hoping to bury the memories along with it.

But despite Olga's warmth and the happiness she brought, there was a quiet emptiness that lingered in Alexia. It wasn't overwhelming, just a nagging feeling that something was missing. The space you had left inside her was still there, faint but persistent, no matter how much she tried to move on.

“Babe,” Olga called out from Alexia's bedroom on one of their date nights while Alexia rummaged through a pile of unfolded laundry. “Can I borrow your hoop earrings? I left mine at my place.”

“Yeah, sure,” Alexia replied, distracted as she searched for her silk shirt. Finally, she fished it out of the pile before heading back to her bedroom to put it on in front of her wardrobe mirror. "Did you find the earrings already?"

Olga hummed. "No... I found your silver ones but I wanna borrow the chunky gold ones..." Her voice trailed off as she continued to rummage. Alexia chuckled, fixing her shirt before sitting down on her bed to put on her shoes.

Moments later, Olga loudly gasped. “Oh my god, babe, can I borrow this too? It’s so pretty — oh wait, never mind," her voice dropped in disappointment. "It’s broken. Aw... this would have looked so cute on me."

Alexia looked up sharply, her heart stopping when she saw Olga holding the bird necklace. Panic filled in her chest as she practically ran across the room, snatching it from Olga’s hands. She cradled the delicate charm in her palm, her breathing stilted.

“Alexia, what’s wrong?” Olga asked with an alarmed tone.

Alexia didn’t answer immediately. She stared at the necklace, a wave of emotions crashing over her. Every distraction she had used to patch the wound you left in her heart – a new girl, football, work – all proved to be temporary fixes at that moment. She felt as though the bandaid had peeled off, the stitches had come undone and she was back to feeling that gaping wound in her chest.

“Alexia?” Olga’s voice was tentative.

“I can’t do this,” Alexia whispered, her voice cracking. "I can't do this anymore."

“What?” Olga asked, stepping closer. “What are you talking about?”

“Please,” Alexia said, her gaze still fixed on the necklace. “Just leave. Just go.”

“Alexia—”

“Go!” she repeated, her voice firmer but trembling.

Olga hesitated but eventually left, leaving Alexia alone with the broken necklace in her hand. The memories, the pain, the love she thought she could suppress — it all came rushing back, overwhelming her.

At that moment, Alexia realized that no matter how much time passed, no matter how many distractions she filled her life with, the wound you left behind couldn’t be patched up or healed. It wasn’t a scar. It was still a raw, open wound that seemed to have no cure.

Alexia felt guilty for driving away Olga, someone who obviously cared about her and someone she actually liked. But Alexia didn’t want to lead her to believe that Alexia could love her completely… not while you were still haunting her. 

How could she give her heart to someone when it was no longer hers to give, when you still owned every piece of it?

As her fingers brushed the broken chain, Alexia considered messaging Ingrid or Maria — just a quick text, something casual, to ask about you. Were you happy? Do you still live with them in Barcelona? Or had you moved on completely, finding someone else to love? Did you still think of her?

Suddenly, she was filled with thoughts of you. It ranged from memories of the two of you from school to her own concocted daydreams of where you were now. Were you finally working on jewelry? Have you fallen in love with someone else? She was full of questions.

She shook her head, forcing herself back to the present. She could leave all of those thoughts for later. For now, she had to get this necklace repaired. To her, it wasn’t just any necklace; it was the only piece of you she had to keep for herself.

The very next day, she stopped by the nearest jewelry shop, just a block away from her house, and asked for a repair.

And that’s how she ended up there now – in the shop where you worked, just feet away from you as you nervously waited in the backroom.

“I’m here to pick up my necklace,” you heard the voice and even if it had been years, you knew it was her. A flutter in your stomach formed. “I dropped it off yesterday. Here's the receipt, if you need it.”

“Oh, of course, my jeweler had it finished yesterday,” you heard your boss say. You looked over through the doorway to the main shop and saw her looking at you as if calling you over. You caught a glimpse of Alexia's hair and sleeve. You bit your lip and hesitated, feeling anxiety take over you, freezing you on the spot.

Alexia opened the box and looked at the necklace. She furrowed her eyebrows. “Huh,” she murmured, exhaling softly. She held the charm closer, her fingers brushing it as her expression shifted to confusion. “I… I don’t think this is mine.”

Your boss blinked curiously at her. “Oh? I’m quite certain it’s yours.” She insisted with a nod. “Your necklace was the only one we repaired… and we don’t really have anything like that necklace.”

Alexia nodded but continued to stare at it. She knew it intimately — every curve, every flaw. She had stared at it for countless nights, held onto it as if it tethered her to something she couldn’t let go of.

And this wasn’t that necklace.

“Uh, I’m sure it isn’t mine,” Alexia hummed. “Or did you do something different? Did someone make a change to it?”

“My apprentice did say she cleaned it up? But she didn’t do anything else…” your boss hummed. “Let me call her. She can explain and sort this out.”

Alexia nodded, watching your boss disappear into the backroom. She sighed, frustration flickering in her chest. While the necklace looked more polished and even more detailed, it wasn’t the one she brought in. It was different; it wasn’t the one you put around her neck that day and certainly not the one she stared at all those sleepless nights. She wasn’t the type to complain about services but this time, she might have to. The necklace was special to her.

Her thumb brushed over the charm as memories flooded back — the day she bought the matching necklace for you, the one she gave you with a more polished design.

Her breath hitched, her thoughts spiraling as she slowly realized

“Hi, Alexia.” 

The familiar voice pulled her back to the present. She looked up, and for a moment, she thought she might be dreaming. There you were, standing cautiously with your hands clasped together.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your palms clammy as you locked eyes with her. It had been years, but there was no mistaking those warm hazel eyes. She looked different now — older, more put-together — but she was still unmistakably Alexia.

Alexia blinked at you, hands still grasping the necklace. You offered her a hesitant, almost nervous smile as you stepped out from behind the doorway and moved closer to the counter. “Is there… is there a problem with the necklace?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

Alexia chuckled, glancing down before meeting your gaze again. “No… no problem at all.” Her lips curved into a small, trembling smile, her heart thrumming as warmth spread through her chest. 

You chuckled softly, though a couple of tears began to well up despite your best efforts to hold them back. Quickly, you swiped them away, shaking your head as if to brush off the emotion. But before you could fully recover, her hand reached out, gentle and familiar, wiping away a tear that slipped down your cheek.

Even after all these years apart, in that moment, she just… knew.

Her gaze locked with yours, steady yet filled with unspoken emotion. You furrowed your brows, feeling the sting of more tears threatening to fall. You tried to lighten the moment with another soft laugh, but the tears came anyway, betraying you. Her hand remained on your cheek, her touch grounding you as she rubbed her thumb against the smooth of your cheek.

You chuckled shakily and smiled, wiping your tears and stepping away to gather composure. “I… I’m sorry,” you blubbered, your voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

You looked back to her hazel eyes, seeing that they too had glazed over. She shook her head. “It’s okay… it’s okay, monjita.” She smiled at you with the nickname slipping out naturally as if those years never passed at all. “Why don’t we start over?”

You nodded, using your fingertips to wipe her tears as you exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay…” you nodded. You smiled faintly, a quiet steadiness settling in. “Let’s start over. You start.”

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in that quiet space. Alexia’s eyes dropped briefly to her necklace — now hanging around your neck — and she smiled.

“Hey…” she started. “I like your necklace.”

You shook your head, remembering your lame pick-up line from that day in the library. “Yeah?’ You said as you looked at your own necklace which was now propped on the box set on the glass counter, between the two of you. “Yours isn’t so bad either.”

Alexia laughed warmly, her laugh blending into yours, and when your eyes met again, you felt something shift. You were finally ready to spread your wings and soar.

You were free.

a/n: i hope the ending is satisfying for you guys!! i struggled finishing this, mostly because i was scared of not making a satisfactory ending. but also because... i didn't want it to end yet! this is my longest fanfic to date with around 50k words total... and i really got attached with the characters and the story lol. (also i only proofread this once because i fear that if i do any more, i would nitpick endlessly and never post it)

anyway, thank you again for all the support for the bird — whether it be a reblog, a like, or a long message! all are appreciated. i would, of course, love to hear your thoughts. requests are still close for now but i'd still love to talk to you guys so please send an ask! they often make my day <3 anyway ily all!

chapter index

[morgue-friends]

happy new year!!!

would you be able to write a part two of maidens token where the reader attempts an escape and arrives at her village to see count or lol and her slaughtered village people

"A Maiden's Darkness" | Count Orlok x Female! Reader

Warnings: 18+, Count Orlok is his own warning, reader definitely has stock holm syndrome, death is mentioned, minor side character death, gore, sexual tension, dub-con, blood kink, marking, possessiveness, angst, hair pulling, penis in vagina sex, oral sex (M receiving), rough sex, you can't fix him so don't try sorry.

"If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness -" Your head hung low in shame, you were ailing with guilt and remorse. You had submitted to death, not once but twice. If there was a god, he'd never forgive the sins you've committed. No matter how many verses of the holy Bible you recited, there would be no salvation for you. You were tempted by the devil, and you conceded, you willed it.

Last night after he had left you, spared you even, to feed from the village and hide before the sun could rise he had unexpectedly returned to you instead. When he arrived you were still lying on the bed draped over with the blood-stained blanket and tears falling from your eyes. You looked over at him and gasped, his claws and mouth dripped with a deep red hue that foretold acts of violence. That same red color followed along the fur of his attire and led you to believe there had been more than one victim with the sheer amount. The stench of iron flooded your nose and you gagged, if you had eaten more than bread that night you probably would have heaved it all up on the bed below you.

Your stomach turned when the thought crossed your mind that it could be the blood of a child he was drenched in. It was revolting, disgusting, and still when he approached the bed you spread your legs for him like an eager whore. He disrobed and you two embraced each other that night once more, you submitted to death once more. The silver locket necklace he had stolen from you dropped to the floor along with his garments. You could remember vividly the way you laid there for him compliantly, moaning and mewling amongst the sounds of his skin against yours. Your thighs were held apart with each of his hands while his hips pounded you downward into the mattress. After he was satisfied he abandoned you once more, retreating to wherever it is he'd go during the day.

The sun sat high and bright in the sky and yet you could still feel his cold hands ghosting over your skin. Here you were now, sitting solemn and praying to a god that would never help you. If your mother were to see you right now she'd shake her head and tell you that you had gotten yourself into this situation and needed to get yourself out. So that's just what you'd do, the longer you stayed here the more you felt like you were losing your mind. His shadow was consuming your innocence and maybe even your soul. He may not have been manipulating you but it didn't feel reasonable for your body to respond the way it did to his. He carried a stench of death everywhere he went and when disrobed looked even more like a corpse than what you expected him to.

After getting dressed and eating the fresh apples he left you on the dining table for breakfast, you began plotting. If you weren't going to plot your escape from the castle then your mind would wander and think only of him, as if you were obsessed. To be fair all you've done these past two weeks is think of him. Where would he go after he fed from you? What was his first name? Why did he avoid coming out during the day? There were a hundred other questions you could ask yourself but you wouldn't get an answer to any of them. Anything he told you about himself was very vague or probably not even true.

You wasted an hour of daytime stumbling around the castle looking for anything that may help you with getting out, but every room was empty of usefulness and filled with standard furniture covered with cobwebs and dust. Weirdly enough you found the baggage that you had brought with you along with your paint supplies hidden behind a tall wooden cabinet. Why he hid your items was beyond you, but the clean dress, undergarments, and shoes were appreciated. You then returned to your bucket of drinking water and tried your hardest to wash off the thick layers of dried blood so they wouldn't soil your new clean dress. When he fed from you he was messy, often rubbing his face into your chest and smearing it around which made you feel repulsive. There were no mirrors anywhere in the castle so you weren't aware of how good of a job you did but it would have to do.

The heavy metal door of the castle opened slowly and flakes of snow began to nest on your shivering frame. The blood loss would make you more susceptible to dying from the cold but it seemed to be a better way out than succumbing to the darkness under the thumb of your captor. The hounds that seemed to accompany him everywhere slowly congregated around you while you trudged through the snow up to the gated entrance. As you exited none of the dogs attacked you, they just panted and stared at you in silence, there was no barking or growling to try to scare you back into the castle.

Nonetheless, their silence and unwillingness to follow you out felt like a bad omen. Like they were quietly telling you that if you leave this castle he will kill you. You weren't sure how far the village he fed from was but there was a glimmer of hope in your mind that you'd make it there and depart by sundown. The snow made your journey take agonizingly longer than expected, every crunch of snow under your heeled boots only seemed to make your travels much slower.

The clacking sound of a horse's heels through the snow caught your attention and you followed the noise closely. There were two women sitting on the horse, you had met them both when you briefly passed by the village on your way to the castle. This was your chance, you had your doubts about your escape and survival chances but seeing them again gave you hope. You ran up to the slowly trotting horse and the steed stood up on it's two legs and cried out as if you had spooked it. "Stop! Stop I say!" The woman towards the head of the horse ran her hands over its face and that seemed to calm the animal but it still eyed you with unease.

"She has the smell of death on her." Before you could ask for help a feeling of anger washed over you. These two women knew you were heading to that castle two weeks ago and didn't even bother to tell you what you were getting yourself into. "She is probably a vengeful spirit, the vampyre does not keep his whores for this long." The older woman made the sign of the cross with her fingers as if she was blessing herself for just seeing you and the two continued off on their horse finishing their conversation in Romanian. You'd cry but these past few days have absolved you of all the tears you had left to release.

Disgust. Disgust was what you felt about yourself, the Count, the castle, the villagers just everything. The sun began to set and your heart sank in your chest, a part of you wanted to keep walking until you arrived at the village and found somewhere vacant to hide. While another part of you wanted you to turn around and walk back to the castle, sit at that dining table, and greet your lover with a smile. After contemplating what to do you let out a scream of frustration and continued toward the village. If the horse was walking slowly in this area that meant that they had to be close to their home.

The sun had officially set by the time you arrived in the center of the village. There were houses and homes around you, all with drawn curtains but you could see the glow of candles inside which let you know everyone was inside their homes and they'd most likely never open the door to what they thought was a 'vengeful spirit'. Each door was covered in garlic and a variety of crosses and bible pages. The more homes you past the darker the sky became and you had this frightening feeling that death would soon be coming for you, that it was already searching for you and knew you had gone missing.

On the far end of the village was what you believed to be a church, there were no candles inside and the windows were not covered by curtains. You turned the knob and the door opened with a creak and revealed a room full of chairs, benches books, and whatever else the moonlight decided to show you. After closing the door behind you and taking a few steps forward you almost slipped on something somewhat sticky and overtly soft on the floor. You couldn't see very well what you were stepping on but the stench of death gave you a vivid impression. That had to have been pieces of an animal or a human even, as the familiar scent of true death you had become accustomed to was far too unique to be this.

That devil - your devil, had the stench of death but mixed with something far more abnormally comforting. It reminded you of your childhood days when you'd play alone in the small damp cave that resided behind your home back in America. The smell of that cave, the smell of pinecones in a forest, and pure decay were the smells you identified him by. Suddenly several books fell off of the shelf behind you and you almost fled until you saw the cause of the loud mess. "Oh dear god in heaven." Right before you was a man sitting in the darkest corner of the church.

He had to be at least a few years older than you, once your eyes had become adjusted to the darkness you could see him somewhat better. "You're still alive?" His Romanian accent was thick but at least he spoke English to you, the surprise in his tone sent you reeling. "No thanks to you or anyone else in this damned village, you're all SICK! Sick for letting me journey to that monster." And at last, the tears you believed to be depleted soon fell from your eyes. You had every right to be upset, to feel as though you were betrayed. "Iartă-mă, forgive me, I will explain but did he release you?"

"Explain first and I'll tell you." You were stern enough to get the point across that you weren't letting up. The man's expression harshened a bit before it relaxed. He grabbed what looked to be a bottle of gin off of the pedestal next to him and took a swig before looking up at you. "My name is Mihai, I asked to be here to protect the others, the vampyre will feed off me-" It all began to make sense, he was a willing sacrificial lamb which was why the church seemed to be so unprotected, and dark. You felt a pang in your stomach remembering that this was supposed to be a holy church. Consecrated ground that would protect against all evil and yet evil still invaded like a sickening plague.

"- Feeding it is better than letting it feed itself, yes or no?" You declined to answer that question as you put your back against the wall and dropped to sit on the floor. Feeling like an idiot you let your head hit the hard surface behind you, looking up at the unlit chandelier dangling from the ceiling. That's why the dogs let you leave this morning and why you were seemingly able to find your baggage. He knew there would be nowhere for you to go, the villagers too succumbed to his darkness and would never assist you. The one structure in the entire village you could enter freely and it was his feeding ground.

He wanted you here, wanted you to see that this was the kind of power he had over others and it was making you nauseatingly sick. You stumbled to your feet and turned to look at Mihai who was currently downing his bottle of gin again, he had no idea of the fate that awaited him. The Count would draw out his death and turn what was supposed to be quick feeding into a lesson for you to learn. If you had never left the castle this man would never endure the torture that lay ahead of him.

"Mihai I'm sor-" The flickering of candles interrupted you. The crucifixes that were placed upon the walls slowly turned upside down and the Mother Mary statue you were standing next to began to bleed from its eyes. "He is coming." As you said the words your hands began to tremble and shake. Even without the dramatic display of power, the rise of goosebumps on your skin and the tremble of your frame told you how his shadow drew near. The door of the church opened up with a slam as snow flurries began to enter the church with the gust of wind.

The flurries landed on the floor sticking to the bloodstained wood, there were small clumps of whoever he had decided to feast on the night prior now illuminated by the candles. Your eye twitched miserably as that had been what you almost slipped on earlier. Suddenly at the frame of the door, a tall imposing figure with glowing white eyes appeared, its eyes were directed at you solely and neglected the presence of Mihai. As he stepped into the church your gaze averted to the floor, you didn't have to look at him to see his disappointment.

His stare carried nonexistent daggers that pierced their way through your body and soul. His deep ragged breathing echoed through the room and silenced all other noises the further he walked in. The door slammed itself behind him and it made your heart leap a small yelp escaped your mouth. You kept your gaze on the floor and he closed the distance between the two of you to the point where all you could see was the fur of his cape below in your vision. A clawed hand shot up and grabbed the lower half of your face and forced you to look up at him as he towered over you. "You will watch and if you dare look away then it will be you instead."

"Yes, my Lord." You answered mindlessly, knowing that your life at the moment was being held teetering on the edge of a dangerous cliff, and any foolish movement would send you tumbling downward. In your situation, that dangerous cliff happened to be your lover. He didn't release his hold on your face while his dark eyes stared intensely into yours, the gaze was so intense your eyes strained from the lack of blinking. You feared that if you took the chance to blink he'd snap your neck then and there for disobeying further. Thankfully his gaze was averted when Mihai purposely dropped his now empty glass bottle onto the planked floor of the church.

You took that much-needed blink and his hand was no longer painfully cupping your face but he now had it around the neck of the villager. Mihai's face became a deep purple as he was lifted against the wall, and as soon as his chest became eye level with the harbinger of death, his heart was latched onto and he began to be drained. Watching this happen before you showed you how much this creature held back when he'd feed from you. The way he siphoned blood from Mihai was nothing like what he'd do to you.

Him being a messy eater wasn't news to you but the sure brutality of the pressure he exerted against the man's ribs was so excessive you heard a sickening crunching noise as it sounded like they had fractured under duress. It was pure savagery displayed in front of you but you didn't dare look away. You watched as he had instructed you to while the life dissipated from Mihai's eyes. The blood from the villager's body flowed so much that it began to speckle the floor below them. When the body of the sacrifice finally dropped to the floor of the church and what now looked like a rabid beast corrected his posture and turned in your direction, you knew it was your turn.

"What kind of host would I be if I didn't indulge my guest in a little- how do you say it in English? Entertainment." Your face twisted in disgust at his mockery, you liked it better when he barely spoke to you. The more conversations the two of you had the more you realized he had a sadistic sense of humor. "Did you enjoy your trip today? I hope you found whatever it is you were searching for." As he took one step forward you took two steps back, not wanting to deal with whatever wrath or 'mercy' he wanted to give you.

The blood continued to drip from his mouth and your thighs involuntarily trembled. You mouthed a 'no' as you realized what was going on with you. For your body to react like this at such a scene brought back those feelings of guilt and shame you had this morning. You'd make the false accusation that he was manipulating you into this but both of you would know that was a complete lie.

His bloodied hand grabbed a hold of your hair and brought you to your knees. "If you were to kill me right now I would not need to blame you as I have disobeyed! I don't deserve your forgiveness but I will still ask for it." His grip on your hair painfully tightened and there was only a little bit more pressure needed before he'd be ripping the strands straight from your scalp. "You leave my castle, fraternize with a human man, and ask for my forgiveness?!"

His booming voice reverberated off the walls of the church and made the flames of the candles dance violently upon the wax sticks they sat on making you feel much smaller than you were and as you sunk into yourself like a scolded child. His furred cape flared in front of you angrily as he turned and walked away from you. This man was livid with rage before you and it only made you fear him more, you pondered why you even thought it was a good idea to flee the castle, to begin with.

"I'm sorry my Lord!" Before you could stand up to continue to beg for forgiveness and your life, a clawed finger pointed downward at the floor indicating for you to stay down at the level you were. "You will crawl to me..." You didn't need to be told twice by him so you put your hands on the cold wooden floor, lowered your back, and slowly crawled to him. When you reached him your fingers grabbed a hold of his furred cloak and you looked up at him with pleading wide eyes. The scent of your growing arousal made his nostrils flare and you could see there was an internal war going on within his mind about what he was going to do with you.

It was a demeaning idea but your fingers crept under his heavy cloak and you found the button latch to his trousers. He allowed you to remove his flaccid length and the heavy sack resting beneath it. You should have been utterly disturbed by how grotesque he was but you breathed a small moan while grabbing a hold of his cock. The longer you held him the harder he seemed to grow. Fully invested in what you were doing your hand tightened around him slightly and gave a few slow strokes of his shaft. The way his foreskin pulled backward and forward along the bulbous head of his cock was intoxicating and it was now you too who was breathing heavily.

As much as would have liked to deny it, there was a deeper connection than either of you would have expected to bloom. It wasn't just sexual it was disturbingly spiritual as if you'd never be truly free of him the same way he'd never be truly free of you. You had driven yourself mad about succumbing to his darkness but it wasn't just his at play, it was yours too. The longer you stayed with him the faster your mind began to unveil the depraved and dark thoughts that you kept at bay to keep yourself sane.

This mutual infatuation dared to ruin the both of you and you came to terms with being quite alright with that. It didn't take long before he fully hardened under your grasp and you gave his weeping slit a long and desperate lick. Your eyes never left his predatory ones as you coaxed the head of his erection past your lips. You sucked your cheeks in as your head began to bob up and down his cock. His entire length would never fit in your mouth so you kept your hand stroking at his base while your mouth worked on the half of him that it could please.

The fingers of your free hand found themselves in between your legs and sliding down your undergarments so you could spread apart your slit. You were unbearably wet with need as your walls clenched around nothing. Two of your fingers rubbed desperate circles around your clit until you were a panting mess and whining with his cock in your mouth. Your lover - your darkness, kept his composure and looked down at you with intrigue. His angry glare from earlier had softened but not enough to make you feel safer.

He grabbed a hold of your head and pulled you away from his shaft and his tip left your lips with a wet pop. You didn't stop stroking him at his base while his sharply pointed nails descended from your head and stopped at the side of your neck. One of his nails pierced your skin and drew a short line across your tender flesh. The pain was agonizing but you knew if you stopped he'd simply claw you deeper.

"That mark is for talking back to me and out of turn on the first day we met." You didn't have to look down to know that fresh blood dripped from your wound and further downward into your dress. His nail came into contact with your flesh again and you felt the carving of another short line. "This mark is for spending countless nights crying because you wanted to go home." He gave you a shorter moment of recovery before the pointed claw dug into your skin again.

"And that one would be for refusing the first few meals I would leave for you..." He wasn't smiling but his eyes held a sadistic gleam to them, he was hurting you and he found it amusing as usual. Your hand loosened around his shaft momentarily while the stinging sensation of your wounds began to cause your eyes to water. You shut your eyes entirely as another line was carved into your neck. "Once more for running away from my home. You have four now. If you ever gain a fifth that will be your final night with me."

When you opened your eyes his hand was freshly slicked with blood and now pressed to his lips so that he may taste you. To taste the life that he deemed so endearing to keep around him. Watching him do that made your slit weep with arousal even more. Before you could take him back into your mouth he stopped you and instructed you to turn around with a wave of his finger and you obeyed. You sunk back onto your hands and knees knowing what he was implying but it still surprised you when dropped down behind you and your dress was lifted above your hips.

You gasped when the head of his cock prodded at your folds before he thrust forward and entered you. When your body became flush with his, your hips rocked against him begging him to move. Even your walls pleaded with him dearly every time you felt yourself clench miserably around him. His length pulled away from you before sinking back in with a hiss from him as he started up a feral pace. Your body jerked forward every time his hips met with yours followed by a moan from your lips. With every thrust his sack would slap against your swollen clit and that made you whimper even more.

Your cunt was so greedy for his touch just to be able to take all of him like this when he'd just started. The pain of the lines he had drawn on your skin was soon forgotten about and forgiven with how pleasurable it felt when he split you open like this. It wasn't just the physical pleasure affecting you, you were also getting off on the power that he had over you, how little effort it would take for him to kill you right here while buried within your wet heat.

In between your moans and whimpers, you'd hear him grunt in approval from behind you. What was completely unexpected and took you by surprise was when his hand found its way back into your hair and he forced your head to the side so he could claim your mouth in a kiss. This level of affection was new to you but it soon became welcomed as well when his tongue slipped into your mouth. Blood, whether it was yours or Mihai's lingered in his mouth which intimately transferred over to yours and you greedily accepted it during the kiss.

With his cold tongue exploring the cavern of your mouth he only pounded you harder from behind which made your back arch further for him. You took one of your hands off the floor and started vigorously rubbing your clit in circles desperate for your approaching climax. When that peak reached you and your walls spasmed furiously around his cock you moaned loudly against his mouth and the overstimulation made you remove your hand and squeeze your legs tightly shut but his fervent thrusts continued.

His mouth left yours and your head was pushed down roughly onto the floor while he continued taking you from behind. Your legs began to tremble and your body wanted to inch far away from him but he held you firmly in place making you take everything he gave you and more. The increase in pace made your lower belly tighten as you came for him again around him. Your eyes rolled back and your hips buckled against him while you cried out with your release.

The thrusting stopped abruptly and he pushed so deeply inside you that it was painful. The tip of his cock began to twitch against your cervix and several ropes of his release shot into you. Your needy walls were milking him of his seed, making him fill you up like this. He left you feeling so full and satiated as the deed you'd both have done was nothing short of passionate He pulled out and you were flipped over onto your back so that he could lick the dried and congealed blood from the wounds he left on your neck. Your eyes grew heavy-lidded and you just laid there and let him salivate all over your neck and chest as much as he pleased.

You didn't remember closing your eyes and falling asleep until you woke up in the guest bedroom of the castle. You were light-headed from your ordeal last night and you nearly fell off the bed when you turned to see what looked like a stone grey box in the middle of the room. The more you stared at it the more you could make out its morbidly beautiful details and carvings. For some reason, it started to look more like a coffin maybe even a sarcophagus than a box or container as you thought it was. It looked expensive and ancient and you had no intentions of touching it unless you'd like to receive your fifth and final mark this evening.

Images of last night as memories came back to haunt you and a familiar ache between your thighs threatened your composure. With that ache, you felt an undeniable soreness, and inklings of pain that flooded the left side of your neck. Before you were able to exit the room the sound of stone sliding against stone made you stop and look at the now-opened grey sarcophagus with wide eyes as a clawed hand reached out from the darkness within it. Suddenly you were ready to succumb to it all over again.

[inupibaldspot]

Even 12 years laters,your soul was in a color of kindness.

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : purely self indulgent which I wrote when I was drunk so— some stuffs are funky

Gojo first met you when you where four.

He was five years old at that time too and was being escorted by a maid to go to the clan head meeting; he assumes you were also part of a clan brought by elders.

Normally, the white haired boy never really cared for other people. Why should he? He is the chosen one. He has the limitless technique plus the six eyes of the Gojo clan. He was the closest thing to God at this age. But today it was different.

He watched you turn your head around and stare at him, he could vividly remember the way your eyes shone with amazement either for something as superficial like his white hair or the fact he was recognized as The ‘Gojo Satoru.’

But after that amazement, you smiled. You smiled at him so bright, with the evening glow of sunlights made you so—so ethereal. Your smile was childish and that’s why it was simply pure; the white haired kid’s eyes silhouetted with the sunlight shone with surprise for he found you beautiful in ways he couldn’t describe.

Gojo looks away— he beat himself for looking away as that made him look standoffish. When he looks back, you were staring at him confused for why he didn’t greet you back.

The maid beside you turns and says something, as you nod and then walk away. Was it weird for Gojo to wish you would simply turn to him and introduce yourself? For years to come, he prayed that he’d love to hear your name; for your soul was in a color of kindness.

That chance came in twelve years later when he was a second year of his Jujutsu Tech. Him and his friends, Geto and Shoko wanted to meet the new first years. There is Nanami Kento, had a huge stick up his ass but that it self made him to be forever victim to Gojo’s pranks. Next was Haibara Yū, a bright eyed kid but Gojo found him to be a bit too— energetic for his taste.

And then you. I didn’t really need to describe Nanami and Haibara first because the first and only person he saw ever since he entered the first year’s classroom was you. Simply you. You sitting on the chair smiling bashfully at them. At him.

Ever since, every day. Without fail would rush to your side. At first you were confused as that is not the Gojo you remembered l; the one you saw and described to you by others were not this.

Nevertheless it warmed you up like a cool evening sun.

Gojo released quite early was you were kind, the type that would help others despite of her time , the type who would help every elderly by the street, the type who would feed strays and yada-yada-flowers and rainbows.

But that led to another realization. Had you truly different been treated differently?

Gojo's body tensed up. Any comfortable vibe he had felt before vanishing in an instant. He had known very well that you were a kind-hearted human being. Welcoming and warm. That made you so interesting. Your soul was so calm and simple and nice.

And even though he had observed you so closely before he wasn't able to recall any moment anymore where your own feelings had been obvious. You didn't stutter around boys.

You didn't blush. You didn't hesitate in a way which could be trailed back to her personal feelings.

Were you treating him like everyone else after all?

“Gojo?”

Your voice brought him back to sense, you were blinking curious, leaned close—so close.”what’s wrong?”

“Bring out your hand.” He smiles, as you did without question. “Guess the word I’m writing on your hand.” He smiles when the warmth from your hand soothe his nervous heartbeat.

“Eh—I’m not good at kanji!”

“That’s just too bad—!”

From then when ever Gojo feels anxious of everything—everything in this world he would play this game, with your fingers and her palm because his focus on you was more gravitating rather than that as you were simply too calming.

Geto felt slightly hesitant when he saw the type of Gojo he would become when he was by your side, he was a tad abit careless as if all of his six eyes were simply focused on you, he would be a tad bit kinder to the point Nanami gets the ick.

Where as Shoko had a blast!

She would make way towards you, give kisses on your cheeks gushing on how cute you were, wrapping her arms around you as she then sends a condescending look towards Gojo who was literally drowning in jealousy.

Shoko and you got close early on and more so because you two were the only two girls in those years. To the point where even a shy person like you was influenced to sneaking into a party with Shoko.

“Please don’t mess with my hair curler, Gojo.” You say as you look into the mirror, fixing your earring and from the corner of your eyes you could see Gojo holding up a lick of his hair into the hot iron.

Gojo peers over and immediately regrets it, you were in a short dress and high heel, hair curled so—cutely and boy, your face.

He looks away.

No, too cute.

He thought as he lets down the curling iron. Shoko peers out as she lets out a puff of smoke before passing it to Geto, who takes the cigarette in his hands. “Don’t tell me you want to come Gojo.” Shoko says. “I want a girls night.”

Gojo remember almost comically crying into his pillows as Geto nags him on ‘how woman don’t like clingy guys.’ He decides to forget Shoko and join you guys anyways.

He remembers being strangled by Shoko while you him a nervous smile trying to diffuse the situation.

Your nervous smile which made the world freeze to him, Geto sighs at the love sick look his white haired friend was giving you, who seemed so obvious to.

But don’t you remember when I said you were kind. You were kind like to help the cornered kid, the type who would volunteer to be with the loner kid, the type that picked Geto Suguru’s side.

Gojo sighs when when remembers Shoko saying you said something along the lines of ‘I don’t want Geto to be lonely along the path he takes…’

How stupid!

Gojo Satoru where ever he went would go around town mentally keeping sense of any cursed energy which could relay you back to him.

He meets you again though.

12 years later, while him and now—principle Yaga were walking along the hallways they sense a breach in security. He rushes over to first, see his once best-friend Geto Suguru by his current first year Okkotsu Yuta and secondly, you. Your eyes we’re nervously flying around before it lands on him and once again he was yours; Geto scoffs at the sight of Gojo’s expression when he was looking at you. He was almost worried that if you said ‘let’s join Geto’ with a plea—se, he just might. You just had that effect on Gojo.

But too bad, Geto was here to request war upon the Jujutsu Tech. On the 24 December, Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.

Gojo rushes through curses as he makes his way towards you; and when he does, he feels as if he can’t breath. “Can you come back…?” He takes a step closer.

You smile nervously,shaking your head as you watch him take another step closer to you, you felt his hands reach out and cup your face. His face was so close to yours, you could feel the warmth radiate off him in the cold winter air. “Don’t kill me for doing this.” You we’re reminded that you guys were enemies and in a battlefield.

His face was closer now, his blue—beautiful blue eyes were slightly closed. You breath out. “I can’t kill you through your ‘Limitless’ Satoru…”

“Say it again.”

“Huh…?”

“My name. Satoru…”

You breath out. “Satoru…” The name you accidentally let out, felt so right.

“Fuck… say it a million time more, love.” Gojo laughs, slightly hoarse. “My limitless is never activated when I’m with you…”

before you realize his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, as you hands were tentatively placed on his chest, as his hand trails along to your waist you parts your lips for him, sighs in his mouth, and that small sound of pleasure drives him crazy, floods his body with heat and desire so intense the strongest sorcerer can hardly stand.

Your are pulled away from him, when a darker and tall man goes by. “Miguel!” Gojo listened to you say.

“I need you to focus.” The man says smiling, before he takes a stance to fight Gojo. And to Miguel credit, he does fend off Gojo well, so— well that he was ‘recruited’ by him.

The day ends with Gojo losing two of his best friends in different ways. Geto would be gone, into the afterlife ended by his own hands.

But you?

Where were you? Would he meet you again 12 years later? Love?

[simpjaes]

personally im a munch sunghoon TRUTHER so the concept of incubus sunghoon that loooves eating pussy makes me insane... like he doesnt even need to fuck or anything he gets his energy from muff diving. just a thought

warning: traditional incubus, non-con/dub-con, somnophilia, breeding kink, pregnancy.

trad!incubus sunghoon, where you wake up one night drenched in more than just sweat.

Sticky and messy, your body throbbing as if you've been touched awake. As if...you're still being touched. It's not painful, but it's uncanny how searing the feeling between your legs is. You can feel the tensing of something against you, the flicking of your swollen clit by nothing more than a barely visible shadow until--Oh, is that...a man?

You squint hard, your legs trying to close but being met with something blocking the movement. You rub your eyes as you try to make out the image of who, or what has woken you up this way.

A stranger, one you've never seen in your life but still you somehow fall into that darkened and piercing gaze as he...licks between your legs with his eyes flicking upwards toward you.

Sunghoon, a notorious incubus who visits women at night when he deems fit, name never mentioned or even known to anyone of the earthly plane but- always a welcome entity with or without realizing it's reality and not so much a dream.

In his experience, many incubus demons tend to be quite unpleasant to look at, which is why he does this. The form of a man, one so beautiful no woman would fight or panic. They'd give in, over and over again, until he sucks the soul straight out of them along with that sweet slick and he's allowed to embed an evil little offspring.

Sunghoon grew bored of the forceful acts after the first four hundred centuries. He likes it when a woman of earth yearns for him. To the point he's even given up the immediate fucks for hours of foreplay. His body reacts the same as it does when he's fucking a woman senseless as it does when he's got his mouth on the sweetest spot.

You're one of these women to him. This is the first time he's ever been rough enough to wake you of your slumber. Typically, his visits end in a nice little too-wet dream for his objects of desire. Sometimes, he wakes them on purpose. Other times, he wakes them entirely without intention.

He just...couldn't help it when it came to you. Time and time again he's paid visits here, slurping up every ounce of your sleepy desire until he's forced to leave upon the rising sun. Always satisfied with the act of releasing his demonic cum without so much as using his cock. Just his mouth, it's all he fucking needs.

And Oh, to feed his sons and daughters to you, to create little witchlings and devil boys from the very flesh of you for doing this to him.

He'd stare for hours at your sleeping form, drooling and tasting every tiny bit of your skin before devouring you from the center. Sliding his tongue so deep, so hot inside of you. When you sleep, you respond well.

Tonight though, as you stir, you respond even better. To the point of searing your fingertips trying to grab hold of his hair as if you want more.

"More?" Sunghoon speaks for the first time in centuries to a so-called victim, his voice deep, rumbled, and echoing off of the night against your window.

You feel the voice hit you right in the clit, followed by a sharp nibble against it before a...forked tongue fondles its way back inside of you.

You whimper and nod, thrusting up against the solid-formed shadow of a handsome devil.

More is what you want.

And more is what you'll get.

More than you'd have ever expected. More than you can handle. More, more, fucking more.

Until you're waking up in the morning, well-rested yet trembling from your intense "dream."

Only, it isn't long until your body swells. Plump, searing feelings in your belly.

[annabelle--cane]

one of my pet passions for s4 is trying to figure out the exact timeline of when jon forced statements out of people, and I can never be quite sure whether the first one was between 123-124 or 124-125.

points in favor of the former: in 123 he mentions being two days out of a coma and already feeling tired, so presumably he hadn't properly fed yet and was not firing on all cylinders, meaning he would be Humgry. also, he'd probably need to go shopping to replace what got lost in the flesh attack fairly quickly after getting back, leading him to come into contact with the unfortunate cleaner. that would also make sense with what he says in 124 about simon fairchild being "an evil man tormenting and killing simply for his own pleasure, and to feed the power that sustains him," it sounds like he's projecting a bit.

points in favor of the latter: he ends 124 with that very cold conversation with martin, and having his last potential avenue for warm human contact so decisively cut off is probably as good a motive as any for going out and soul-sucking someone. it isn't until 125 that he says he finally feels "focused and ready," and his musings about the slaughter and free will are clearly pointed, particularly this bit:

I’m not sure what scares me more: the idea that deep down, everyone is in complete control of their actions, that everything is, on some level, intentional; or that ultimately we don’t have any control of ourselves at all, and the rest is just… rationalization

but that doesn't necessarily mean he took his first victim directly before this, it might have been a little while. my main point against this theory is that he takes another victim directly after melanie gets him with the scalpel, and that just seems super quick between feedings, like maybe two days, which feels like a Lot.

thoughts?

[yanoverload]

Yandere Incubus

I hope the company he is named after doesn't sue me LOL

I wuv him very much ok

Supernatural beings have always been in touch with humanity, but the meetings were so sparse many didn't even believe it.

That is until recently. Supernatural entities started to get in contact with the people out of nowhere, and no one can comprehend why.

The only ones that anticipated this were those in the path of sorcery and witchcraft. Humans that forgot what makes them human for the path of energy harvesting and spells.

Witches have always had good relations with the unknown, which give them the title of evil, or demonic. When it was the contrary. Witches keep them at bay to protect those not of the path.

One example is succubus and incubus. When one is brought to life, their first meal is recommended to be with a witch, a human that can withstand their soul draining. The witch teaches them everything they need to know to go their merry way, and if push comes to shove, help the demon again so no human has to die. A commensalism of sorts.

You were one of those witches. However, you seem to be in a bit of a predicament.

The first incubus you ever helped seemed normal, and went their way after the deed was done, only to return to your house a few days later.

And again, and again, and again.

The books never taught you what to do about this situation. These types of demons were very independent apart from their feeding necessities, so why keep coming back just to keep staring at you? Weirdo.

You thought of exorcising him before, asking a more experient witch what to do but....

"Master, have this! It's from my latest vict- I mean human! I stole  got this watch from them! Can you make me your familiar now?~"

Is that a gold watch full of diamonds around it?!!!

Well.... You suppose he can stay a bit longer.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Some more facts about him! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You decided to call him Ramune, because he always seemed to hunt the drink from your fridge. You can shake the bottle and he will show up from miles away just like you would a cat.

His blood is a dark purple, almost black.

He has a few tattoos in his body, including a womb tattoo. They light up in the dark.

Wears girl clothes all the time.

Obsessed with anything grape flavoured. Only human food he eats.

Asks you to do his braids when he comes by.

Has a pear like body. All hips and ass, almost no boob.

His ears can twitch, along with his wings and tail.

You saw his nails cut through metal once. You still have nightmares of what he could do if he decided to scratch your back in your....intimate moments.

Really wants to be your familiar, even though demons cannot be a witch's familiar.

An utter and complete brat.

The tag on his choker has your preferred title (Sir, Mistress, Daddy, Mommy, etc)

Gives you gifts from his victims. He's very popular with the rich it seems.

Height: 168 cm (5’6 feet)

Would make a porn account if you ask. Or even a dark web one to do....you know.

He fake tans and has bikini marks... Yup.

[venxomi]

Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun Chapter 121 Analysis - Dehumanization & Sacrifice

The chapter starts by confirming what was already expected from the end of chapter 120- That Kou and Sousuke's corpses are within the well. A heavy air sets in, as Teru is despaired and Nene is in disbelief.

However, as I previously predicted, "It" is not just going to let them off when they're all right next to the well.

His innocent act is betrayed by his slight grin when he asks what they're doing in a place like this, indicating exactly what I predicted earlier. However, his act is also betrayed by the stench of blood, which is immediately picked up by Teru, who attacks him in pure rage. Unlike his previous encounters with Hanako, his hits are emotionally charged.

Teru's dehumanization

The entire scene of Teru unleashing his wrath upon him unfolds, with Nene, Akane and Aoi witnessing in utter shock (with Akane even attempting to protect Nene and Aoi from the appalling sights) how he's slashed and cut non-lethally with blood spraying everywhere on purpose (and only decapitating him at the very end). It's important to note that on the surface, Amane looks completely human. So not only is this a completely gruesome scene for those unaccustomed to violence, like Nene, as seen how the background noise is filled with Nene's shrieks, a completely valid reaction to such sights, this can also be interpreted as a showcase of Teru's dehumanization. It is also a dehumanization of Amane.

It's not the first time Teru attempted to exorcise Hanako, or Amane in this scenario, but it is the first time he does it out of pure hatred towards him. Up until now, it was more out of disgust towards supernaturals, his duty to exterminate them, and generally a disgust towards Hanako himself generated by his mindset and history.

He generally dehumanizes supernaturals, who can be just as morally complicated as humans with the same intense feelings, thoughts and desires. Amane in this scenario is no different- Teru dehumanizes him: "You're dressing yourself up in human skin", "Did you pretend to be human?"

It's easy for Teru to dehumanize supernaturals- It gives him the justification to exterminate them. It's exactly this dehumanization of others that dehumanizes himself: He's only capable of harming supernaturals by dehumanizing them, it's how he does his job. But where can the line be drawn? At what point does he cease being "human" himself, considering his own cruelty he's capable of?

Amane's dehumanization

As we know from chapter 120, Amane, like Kou, is a victim of the Red House, a trapped soul who is unable to disobey. But Amane's different from Kou. Kou was glad he didn't have to suffer the same fate as Amane, that he didn't have to kill like Amane did.

Amane talks of how he had to sacrifice even his own family, and as the Tsukasa we saw was only a small child, it's likely that Amane was forced by the Red House from a similar age. Amane and Tsukasa's positions are now reversed, but worse.

Having to kill his own family, his own little brother he loved so much, and then being forced into killing countless other people for "It" desensitized him completely.

Something so cruel as taking an innocent person's life is normalized. It's now a normal, forgettable occurence to him as a result of overexposure to cruelty and suffering. Teru does not have to dehumanize Amane anymore, as he was already long dehumanized by the pit god- He adopted a stance where he can't see meaning in anything anymore.

People die here. In his eyes, it's a general truth with no meaning behind it. It's just how things are. The House, or "It", seems to be nothing more than a being that lives to eat. Trapped souls are meant to bring in prey, then Amane, assigned as the Feeder, is the one with the obligation to hunt and feed the House with it. His own family was no exception. Such is the tragic fate of an imprisoned soul.

Considering the manner of speech, it would seem that this god's possession isn't "possession" in its truest meaning, a different entity controlling the host- but more like a parasite that dictates the mindset and goals of the victim. This would explain Tsukasa's behavior in a more clear manner. The victim is still themselves to an extent, but "corrupted" and forced to comply with the parasite's views, whims and demands.

The happiness he talked about in earlier chapters is something he knows isn't real, but is forced to believe it is. Despite him never finding happiness, he has to claim that he and every person he killed found it. It is beyond his control, and it's as if he gave up after decades of imprisonment and coercion.

The Sacrifice

It isn't really hard to miss, but Akane was caught by Amane.

Aoi bought time for Nene to get the tentacle off him, but his leg is already affected. Aoi asks Akane to get away, but Akane is unable to at this time- He's dragging his leg and he's limping. Running away with Nene is impossible and he would just drag her down with him.

As a result, he considered that it's a more sensible choice for him to send Nene ahead with his clock and the Yorishiro and stay behind with Aoi, who is fending off Amane and buying time, and Teru, who was knocked down by him.

Akane did not believe in his own survival, otherwise he wouldn't have given Nene such important items and shouting at her to get going without them- And this is set in with Akane convincing her to go on ahead with him later apologizing after she told him to come after her.

Aoi was truly the mvp during all this, as she managed to buy this much time for Nene to get away. However, it is understandable that she couldn't fight forever, and luckily, she's unharmed. But Akane isn't.

Akane taking the sword was his hope that the one other person that's unharmed can escape, as he knew he's done for. But seeing Aoi's determination, he understood and gave up on the idea. All three of them will likely lose their lives.

He's unable to run and he's infected by the curse that is able to possess him. So if anything, his death shouldn't be in vain and he should do something to help before it's too late. Of course, he would survive if he is able to defeat "It", but that is so highly unlikely you might as well cross it off the list.

The last thing we see of them is Teru (judging by the bracelet on the wrist) saving Nene at the last second, hitting the entire house with lightning. This solidifies Aoi being the mvp this chapter, since it would seem she succeeded in waking Teru up. However, their fates are now unknown.

Conclusions

Nene is under immense stress and pressure. Not only did she witness horrifying events that definitely traumatized her, everyone's lives now depend on her.

If she does not succeed in bringing back the previous timeline, everyone will have died and suffered for nothing and they would never return. She no longer has someone to support and help her. There's no Kou, there's no Akane, there's no Aoi, there's no Teru, and there's no Hanako for her to call for help. She's now by herself. She has to save everyone alone.

This chapter perfectly set up Aoi, Akane and Teru's deaths perfectly, yet whether they're alive or not remains unknown. This, combined with Akane's assertion that "It" can follow them to the school and now knowing about the big clock that can govern time, it's entirely possible we might see them again as nothing but "It"'s puppets used to give Nene a false sense of security to make her fail.

I wrote this at 1 am I hope I didn't burn the kitchen. good night

[vandme12]

headcanons of ronin w/ a reader that wasn’t a cannibal before the slaughterhouse but is now?

(sorry if it’s confusing!)

Ronin x Cannibal!Reader Headcanons

From Morbid Curiosity to Full-Blown Appetite: At first, you told yourself it was just morbid curiosity—the same impulse that made you stick around Ronin in the first place. But the Slaughterhouse changes people. It breaks you down, piece by piece, and rebuilds you into something darker, something raw. The first time you tasted flesh, it wasn’t because you were starving—it was because Ronin offered it to you like a communion. And you wanted to be closer to him.

His Greatest Corruption Project: Ronin’s obsessed with how far you’ve fallen. The moment you take that first bite, he knows he’s got you—heart, body, and soul. It’s intimate in a way nothing else could be. He calls you his “perfect little sinner,” voice all syrup and rot, because nothing delights him more than watching you bloom into the monster he always knew you could be.

The Devil Feeds His Angel: He starts preparing "meals" for you like some kind of twisted chef. Carefully slicing flesh from his victims, seasoning it just the way you like—because of course he knows. He’s a romantic like that. Sometimes he makes a whole event of it, sitting you on his lap, feeding you slivers of human meat with blood-slick fingers, murmuring how pretty you look eating what he killed for you.

Shared Secrets, Shared Sins: The fact that no one else knows—no one else can know—binds you two tighter. Every bite is a secret between you and him, a deeper entanglement. And the thrill of it? Knowing that you’d never have done this for anyone else. But for Ronin? For your devil? You’d eat the whole world if he asked you to.

Sweet Tooth for the Wicked: Ronin loves to tease you about your new "diet." Whenever he drags you along on a kill, he’ll lean over the fresh corpse, knife in hand, and whisper, “Think this one’s your type, baby? Or do ya want somethin’ sweeter?” He’s always trying to find out which cuts you like best—thigh meat, heart muscle, tender strips of flesh. And when you tell him? He’s the most devoted little butcher.

Flesh and Affection, Twisted Together: For Ronin, it’s not just about the violence—it’s about the intimacy. The more you eat, the more he feels like you understand him. You’re not just watching from the sidelines anymore; you’re part of the chaos. And nothing drives him crazier than knowing you’re willing to cross every line just to stay by his side.

Kisses Taste Sweeter After Blood: You never knew how much you'd like the taste until Ronin kissed you after a kill—slow, deep, blood between your teeth. It’s become a ritual now. He always kisses you right after you’ve fed, tasting the sin on your tongue like a blessing. And if you bite his lip hard enough to draw blood? He just laughs, pulling you closer.

The Devil’s Favorite: He brags about you constantly in the Slaughterhouse. No one else could have tempted you down this path but him, and he’s so smug about it. “Look at my little angel,” he purrs, dripping pride as he watches you work on a fresh kill. “Ain’t she beautiful, boys? Made her myself.”

A Hunger That Never Dies: You’re not the same person you were when you first met him. There’s a new ache inside you—hunger, maybe, or just a need for him. Either way, it’s never fully satisfied. And Ronin loves you best when you’re ravenous. “Ain’t no goin’ back now, sweetheart,” he croons, brushing his bloodstained fingers against your lips. “But I’ll always keep you fed.”

[kitasgloves]

Follow You

tracklist

— ♬ "I'll be your gravity, you'll be my oxygen"

— ♬ Chuuya Nakahara x Reader, SFW, gender-neutral reader, depictions of stalking, violence, and obsessive behavior, abandonment issues, Chuuya being deranged when he's in love, 3.5k words, no beta

— ♬ NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE NOR ROMANTISIZE WHAT IS DEPICTED IN THIS STORY. EVERYTHING IS A WORK OF FICTION. READER'S DESCRETION IS ADVISED.

There's this hollow feeling that swallows one's whole consciousness like a black hole. It's greedy as it feeds on your light and energy. It leaves you empty, like a void. And to feel that void grow within you as it devours all the remnants of your being, it's a painful tragedy. Nakahara Chuuya felt that void in him widen from time to time. That void was born when he lost those who were close to his heart. By then, he learned how to surround his heart with walls. But there's always something unexpected that would tear those walls down and pierce through his heart.

Chuuya struggled with finding his humanity. As much as his mind reminds him that he is human, his soul isn't convinced. As he grew older and learned how unjust the world is, that void slowly ate away the remainder of his 'humanity'. Chuuya still believed there was an uncontrollable monster in him, a monster that claws at the remnants of his control until it takes over him completely. No matter how many good deeds he performed, it would not erase the feeling. And Chuuya has already accepted long ago that he wasn't a good person, and he's not going to waste his life trying to be one.

What does make one human? Was it your anatomy? Emotions? Consciousness? Or Purpose? The answer seemed to be one of the secrets of the universe. Chuuya doesn't ponder about what the answer will be. He's content where he is now, after all, he's been through a lot. Being an executive in the Port Mafia pays a lot and he can afford the luxury he wants. He has bursts of anger out of nowhere but he's getting the hang of controlling it. He has matured greatly but he knows he has so much to learn.

It was a domino effect when you stepped into Chuuya's life. One look, one smile, and everything came crumbling down. He regretted saving your life at first. You just happened to be an unsuspecting victim caught in a conflict between the Port Mafia and another group. You were caught in the gunfire at a restaurant, and you could've lost your life if it weren't for the gravity manipulator. He shielded you from the bullets and from witnessing the rest of the violence. Chuuya won effortlessly against his enemies while leaving a trail of destruction. But instead of focusing on the bloody disaster the man has left, your eyes glimmered at him.

"Thank you!"

You reached to clasp his hands and smile gratefully at him. Chuuya snarled at you as he snatched his hands back. He scoffed at the idea of you thinking he saved you out of the goodness of his heart. He only did that because you were getting in his way! But somehow, he couldn't look away from your glimmering gaze on him. You were abundant of life and he's sure that you weren't exposed to violence on a daily, unlike him. A tiny part of him wanted to keep it that way, you were just an innocent civilian. He may not be a good man, but he's not a cruel person to inflict his brutality on you.

It began with curiosity. Chuuya looked into your background. You worked at that restaurant, a minimum wage job. You lived alone in a humble apartment. From the looks of it, you were comfortable. Anyone who hasn't suffered so much like him would be content with your lifestyle. You seemed comfortable with your life, something Chuuya was a bit envious of. He can scowl and scoff all he wants but there's nothing he can do about it.

The gravity manipulator squinted his eyes and observed more about you. From what he gathered; you looked average. There was nothing out of place. He found out about the places you frequent, where you went to college and even the hometown you grew up in. He felt invested in finding out about your interests. Dare he says, he's impressed with your taste. It may not show in your appearance, but you had an elegant taste. Whether in music, food, or clothing, Chuuya found himself approving of it. 

He may have intentionally followed you when he wasn't busy and noticed you were shopping for wine. Chuuya can't help but gasp silently at how exquisite your choice of wine was. You were looking at underrated but delectable brands of wine, seemingly conflicted on which to buy. The Mafioso watched you look at one of the price tags and staggered back at how much it cost. He can understand that that brand of wine was way above your budget, but he can feel his chest tighten at your deflated figure walking away without purchasing the bottle of wine.

You noticed a small package delicately wrapped in red ribbon on your front door. You raised a brow and reluctantly brought the package inside. Suspicion filled you since you weren't expecting to receive any packages today. But as you unwrapped the ribbon and saw what was inside, your jaw drops. It was that expensive-ass wine you were eyeing earlier! You couldn't believe your eyes as you inspected the bottle. There was a tiny note attached to it.

Enjoy it while it lasts, sweetheart - C

You admit that the message left you both flushed but more suspicious. You took out one of your wine glasses and did a taste test. Your tastebuds screamed with delight at how delectable the wine was. Whoever that 'C' person was, they're most likely rich. They could have some sort of motive to send you this wine. Nonetheless, you enjoyed your evening with that heavenly bottle.

Chuuya had no idea what had gotten into him when he began anonymously sending you expensive gifts at your doorstep. That expensive wine was a random act of kindness that happens once in a blue moon. The limited-edition vinyl of your favorite artist was out of boredom. That expensive watch was only to see you smile as you wore it at work. That silk robe, that perfume, and that diamond ring were only an impulsive decision. Chuuya was hastily spending his money on you, and you kept accepting them not knowing who it was from. That was a stupid move from you, but you're lucky it was from him and not from somebody else.

You're beginning to fall for the 'C' person behind all the luxurious gifts that they send every week. You felt properly spoiled as you kept accepting more and more. You can't help it, it's not like you could afford all of those with your paycheck. One evening, you waited again for another gift from your mysterious admirer (if you can call them that). But what you weren't expecting was the guy who saved you from the gunfire weeks ago, waiting for you at your front door, with a bouquet of red roses. 

Chuuya gulped as he sweats in his expensive tailored suit, he takes in your bewildered gaze on him. He blushed as red as the bouquet before thrusting it towards you.

"...Were you the one sending me those gifts?"

"Yeah..."

"Oh"

You blinked and stared down at the roses. You looked up at Chuuya and gave him a sweet smile before walking over to him.

"That's so sweet of you, but why?"

"I—I was only curious and...and you had good taste"

"Okay. So, what's your name?"

"Nakahara Chuuya"

"I'm [Surname] [Name], do you want to go inside?"

You asked and Chuuya nodded, almost in a trance. He can't help but feel weak at the knees at how you smile at him. The moment you shut your door the Mafioso couldn't contain himself as he pounced at you, capturing your lips into an intense kiss. That evening ended with his and your clothes scattered all over your bedroom floor.

A relationship bloomed afterward. Chuuya took you out on proper dates and continued to spoil you endlessly. What he thought was only curiosity or boredom became a passion for him. Truthfully, loving Chuuya was difficult from the start. He has a temper and often keeps his guard up, and it took time and effort for you to help him be vulnerable with you. It tugged on your heartstrings to find out that under that tough exterior was someone who was starving for affection.

When Chuuya loved, he loved deeply. When he couldn't express his tenderness to the people who meant a lot to him back then, he did with you. With every waking hour, he'll make sure that you feel loved and that you are aware of it. He'd trace every curve of your body and mark your skin with love bites. He'll give you gifts and smother you with his kisses. Chuuya made it his top priority to make you feel safe and secure. He even convinced you to move into his large house so he could keep an eye on you.

It had something to do with his past, but he couldn't stand the thought of you leaving him. So, the gravity manipulator would follow you around on a daily. To your work, to go out with friends, or even at the grocery store. Chuuya was constantly on your tail without your knowledge. He'd disguise himself in various outfits and behave like a normal civilian to not draw suspicion. He'd smile to himself knowing that you're safe from danger because of him.

However, when you got involved in conflicts, Chuuya would take it upon himself to resolve them. That drunk man who kept flirting with you at the bar? He was found with broken bones in an alleyway. That woman who was rude to you at work? She was arrested for a crime she claimed she didn't commit. And that fucking creep that followed you home one night? He was beaten to death with his face disfigured. The Mafioso made sure everything was taken care of and you're none the wiser.

It became clear to him that you have come to his life to fill that void in him. When you wrap your arms around him and whisper sweet nothings against his ear, it brings his body back to life. It revives that hope in him that he thought he had lost. You have made him feel truly human.

Back then, his head was haunting him, and his heart feels like a ghost. He needs to feel something 'cause he's still so far from home. Chuuya hopes that you'll cross your heart and hope to die, promise him you'll never leave his side. Show him what he can't see when the spark in your eyes is gone. You've got him on your knees, he's your one-man cult. Cross his heart and hope to die, he promises you that he'll never leave your side.

'Cause he's telling you, you're all he needs. He promises you, you're all he sees. He's telling you you're all he needs. He'll never leave. So, you can drag him through hell, if it meant he can hold your hand. He will follow you, 'cause he's under your spell. And you can throw him to the flames. Chuuya will follow you, he will follow you.

Lately, you have been getting this feeling like you were being constantly followed everywhere. You were beginning to feel restless about it. When you expressed this to your boyfriend, he would coo at you and pull you into an embrace as he littered kisses all over your face. It would temporarily soothe you until you get separated from him. You'd carefully travel to work and feel the discomfort grow during your shift at the restaurant. You would try to call Chuuya during your break and he'll reassure you with a few words. You had no idea what Chuuya's occupation was, but you had an assumption that he was constantly busy and paid handsomely.

This discomfort developed into paranoia. You couldn't even tell anybody anymore because you're convinced that you would sound crazy. You had no evidence to link the cause of your paranoia. Your senses are heightened as you begin to notice things that you haven't before. All the people you had bad interactions with either ended up severely injured, arrested, or dead in the news. It sent an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. It seemed like you were the cause of their misfortune.

Chuuya was aware of your growing suspicion as he continued to follow you around. That ugly monster in him kept telling him that you'll abandon him sooner and it disturbs him so much that he starts to follow you even more. There wasn't a moment you weren't alone. He needed to prove that stupid monster wrong and that you wouldn't leave him. There was no way, and he wouldn't allow it. He has you now, and he won't let you leave him like everybody else did. If you did, you'd bring the end of him and the world.

On the way home, you kept a cautious eye out. You looked closely at each person you passed by. You felt like you were growing insane with each minute as you entered a discreet alleyway. All of a sudden, somebody sharply tugged on your bag making you twist your body, and your forehead was met with a gun. You freeze, feeling your body run immediately cold.

"Let go of the bag and I won't shoot, yeah?"

The gruff voice of a man said. Your lip wobbled as you shakily released the bag. But before the man could run off, he was attacked with a kick to the face. You stumbled back with a gasp as you watched in horror when the man was being brutally beaten by a smaller man dressed in a leather jacket with a hood over his head. You were unable to make out the shorter man's features as he punched the man's face to the point of almost disfiguring him. You have never witnessed such a brutal attack before. The man who snatched your bag had the upper hand with the gun but was bested by the other who had no other weapon in him but his fists.

You quivered in the corner with wet eyes as the shorter man finished beating up the bag-snatcher. His fists were bloodied, and you could tell that he was used to violence. Fear floods your heart when he starts to approach you with your bag in his bloody hands. The alleyway was dark, and it didn't provide the proper light for you to see the man's face. You had sunk into your knees, prepared to beg if the man was planning to beat you up too. However, you were taken aback when the man gently took your hand and returned your bag. Stray tears fall down from your lash line as the man immediately reaches his bloody hand to wipe them away, smudging some of the blood on your face by accident.

You recognized his touch, and it made your heartbeat stop. You blinked up at the man and reached out for his face. As you pulled his face closer, it revealed none other than your boyfriend, Chuuya.

"Chuuya?"

"You weren't meant to see that, darling"

He says lowly to you. When you draw your hands back, he swiftly grabs your wrists and pulls you close to him. His hands began to caress your hair and cheek.

"I'm glad you're safe"

"But you...you just beat up that man—"

"He fucking deserved it"

Your boyfriend growled making your lips shut. Realizing that he had startled you, Chuuya sighs and pulls you into an embrace, but it does not bring you any comfort.

"Why...? You didn't have to do that, Chuuya"

"I was trying to keep you safe, [Name]"

"You nearly beat him to death!"

"That's what he gets for messing with you!"

You pulled away from him. You could faintly see the look on his face, and it didn't look like the man who saved you from the gunfight long ago. You took a step back, clutching your bag against your body, and preparing to run. Chuuya's jaw was tight as he stalked closer to you, almost like a wolf.

"Chuuya, stop"

"Please, doll. I need you, come here"

He couldn't comprehend the petrified look in your face. You shook your head as you slowly processed what was happening.

"...Were you the one following me around?"

"I needed to, babe. I need to keep you safe"

"Following me everywhere does not make me feel safe, Chuuya"

"It's for the best! I need you, [Name]. And you need me. I can't..."

He trails off as he corners you against a brick wall. Your breath hitches as he places his hands on each of your sides, trapping you. Chuuya gives you a desperate look.

"I can't exist without you. Please, [Name]. I'll...I'll give you anything you want. I'll be anything you need"

Chuuya pleads with his face inches away from yours. You felt deeply disturbed by his behavior as you craned your neck and turned your face away. Chuuya just wants you to come sink into him and let him breathe you in.

"I'll be your gravity, you'll be my oxygen"

Yes, that's it. He'll be your gravity, keeping grounded here on earth and keeping you safe, keeping you from floating away from him. And you'll be his oxygen, the only thing that he needs to stay alive. But Chuuya can feel it, he's losing you. And it's tearing his heart apart so violently that a raw ache filled his senses. You no longer looked at him with those glimmering eyes. You looked at him as if you saw the monster he desperately kept away from you. He can feel it, the ugly monster in him laughing victoriously, laughing at how he lost another. But Chuuya kept grasping on, hoping you'd see through the darkness and see his good intentions. 

However, the longer the Mafioso gazed at your face, he realized that you had made your decision. Chuuya reluctantly pulls himself away. He could see it, the end of him and the end of the world. The moment you looked at him frightfully and walked out of that alleyway, leaving him alone in the darkness, the void in him grew larger. But he knows his heart is still beating, and longing for you, and you only. He'll never learn to yearn for anybody else. So, dig two graves 'cause when you die, he'll swear that he'll be leaving by your side.

Since that night, you ran to Chuuya's house collected every single one of your belongings, and left without wasting a minute. You've decided to move somewhere else, preferably away from Yokohama. You've quit your job and found a new apartment to live in. It was in another city, and it took a while for you to find a new job. All that mattered was that you were out of Chuuya's reach. You felt at ease at the thought he would never find you at your new home and that you would truly be safe now.

However, Chuuya thinks that things never ended. He never ceased to give up. You've never told him to his face that you and he are over, and he took it as another chance. It's not the end, he thinks. It wasn't a hassle to find you, considering the number of resources and connections he had, he found your new home in no time. Chuuya found out about your new job and your newly discreet lifestyle. He finds it adorable that you're trying to hide from him. It will never be over. Chuuya will follow to the ends of the earth. He will still remain to ensure that you're alive.

So, you can drag him through hell, if it meant he can hold your hand. He will follow you, 'cause he's under your spell. And you can throw him to the flames. Chuuya will follow you, he will follow you.

Adjusting to your new environment and lifestyle wasn't easy, so you were naturally stressed. Juggling with the adjustment and hiding from Chuuya drained your energy. So, when you caught a glimpse of ginger hair on the way to work, you almost doubled over. But you sighed in relief when you realized it was just a harmless stranger. You're convinced that you're just stressed when you thought you saw Chuuya amongst the customers you were serving in your new job, you checked again and were reassured that he wasn't hiding amongst those faces. You really think you could use a break because you bumped into a guy on the way home and he had the same azure eyes as Chuuya, you wanted to apologize to the stranger, but he has vanished.

Little by little, the gravity manipulator slowly inserted himself into your life again. He blended into the crowd as he followed you to work. He pretended to be somebody else as you served him at your job. And he would deliberately make contact with you in inconspicuous ways to satisfy his yearning for you. To Chuuya, he's willing to suffer just to have you again.

You can drag him through hell, if it meant he can hold your hand. He will follow you, 'cause he's under your spell. And you can throw him to the flames. Chuuya will follow you, he will follow you. 

©kitasgloves (do not steal or copy)

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“Nosferatu” (2024) simplified

Robert Eggers is subverting every theme in the “Dracula” novel, and playing with canon and expectations: “My influences are all very clear, and Nosferatu is a remake, after all,” Eggers says, yet he plays with the canon, with expectations and clichés – “hopefully subverting them to do something unexpected”.

Robert Eggers has said a thousand times already this story is a Gothic romance, heavily inspired by “Wuthering Heights”, which he read and re-read while writing the script, and Ellen and Orlok are similar to Cathy and Heathcliff. This Ellen wants this Orlok;

This is a Folk Gothic horror movie: Count Orlok is a strigoi from Balkan folklore; isn’t merely blood he feeds on, it’s souls (that why he drinks heart blood; heart as center of the soul). His lore is Balkan folklore and Dacian mythology. He’s not Vlad the Impaler and he’s a subversion of Count Dracula in many ways. He’s an entirely new character created by Eggers, as are the rest of the characters here.

The “possession” are the blood plague victims. Orlok can only “possess” those he feeds on, and traps their souls inside of Nosferatu (alongside his own). This is why Thomas was exorcised but he’s still lost in Orlok’s shadow like the Nuns warn him, he doesn’t listen (Orlok still has influence over him, as we see; not kicking out Ellen of the bed, and Thomas is the one who gets possessed in the “possession scene”);

Ellen and Herr Knock are more similar than you think; Knock is the character who tells the audience what Ellen has been doing in her teenage years (masturbation; Orlok has to be conjured for telepathic/mind communication to happen, via sexual energy). Orlok can only possess those he fed on (Thomas, Anna Harding, Friedrich Harding, etc.). He only “possesses” Ellen at the end;

Ellen is confused about her own power, she’s a unreliable narrator, because she doesn’t have the language to understand it. It’s a character outside of Victorian society which begins to unravel the mystery behind her “sickness”, but she’s comes to the answer on own. At first, Professor Von Franz thinks she’s a victim of spiritual obsession by some daemon (she’s having these “hysterical fits” because a daemon tells her to, a daemon is influencing her behavior because of what he says to her, inside of her head). Ellen doesn’t have the knowledge to understand what Von Franz means, and interprets this as Orlok being a demon possessing her body (“I have felt you crawling like a serpent in my body”). He isn’t because he never drank her blood (soul). She also keeps mixing up her 16th century incarnation with her current one;

Thomas is the character who tells the audience the “true story” in the “possession scene”; he says it’s “impossible” for Ellen and Orlok to have been lovers “then” because he was actually possessed by Orlok, he had access to his soul, he knows what Ellen is talking about can’t possible have happened in her current life/incarnation (because it didn’t; he was only a shadow at her window during her teenage years, and she’s the reincarnation of his wife, she most likely has flashbacks memories of this);

Most scenes are characters talking about opposite things and people dying as a result;

Ellen and Orlok “first night scene” at the Hardings is Ellen accusing him of being a demon possessing her, while he thinks she knows she has been conjuring him this entire time. He also believes she remembers their past life together because of the lilacs;

The “possession scene” between Ellen and Thomas is her talking about her past with Orlok (she unleashed him; lovers), and initiating a communication with the spiritual world because she thinks Orlok will possess her like a demon; Thomas knows this is impossible, truly believes he was the one who unleashed Orlok because he sold him a house in Wisburg and now thinks Orlok is getting to Ellen the same way he did to him when he arrived at Transylvania (nightmares and hallucinations);

The “vengeance” at the ending is Thomas. He’s on a revenge mission against Orlok because he wants to avenge Ellen, the Harding and himself. He blames himself for everything that has happened. Only this is what Orlok wants because he has been influencing Thomas into killing him with a “spike of cold iron” (Thomas-Handsome Roma vampire hunter).

Friedrich and Anna Harding are the mirror pair to Orlok and Ellen. That’s why they are targeted by Orlok. Orlok and 16th century Ellen were like Friedrich and Anna (but Ellen being more sexual);

Ellen’s shame is connected to Victorian views of female sexuality and womanhood as a whole. Orlok doesn’t only represent her repressed sexual desire, but also nature (vs. society/domestic sphere/Thomas) and education/knowledge (enchanter; occultist; worshipper of Zalmoxis, owner of the secrets of life and death, and immortality). Passion isn’t the only thing he has to offer; he represents liberation and power. Everything that was off limits to women in the early 19th century. This story deals with Historical Feminism.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hello! any information relating to zombies? mainly the virus/bacteria/disease itself and any examples from literature about the differences.

Writing Notes: Zombies

Zombie

Undead creature frequently featured in works of horror fiction and film.

While its roots may possibly be traced back to the zombi of the Haitian Vodou religion, the modern fictional zombie was largely developed by the works of American filmmaker George A. Romero.

Zombie Traits

A zombie, according to pop culture and folklore, is usually either a reawakened corpse with a ravenous appetite or someone bitten by another zombie infected with a “zombie virus.”

Zombies are usually portrayed as strong but robotic beings with rotting flesh. Their only mission is to feed. They typically don’t have conversations (although some may grunt a little).

Some Characteristics

Although the word zombie has been applied to different types of creatures, they generally share a few defining characteristics, perhaps most importantly a lack of free will.

Zombies are usually wholly subordinate, either to an outside force, such as a sorcerer, or to an overwhelming desire, such as the need for human flesh or revenge or simply to do violence.

Another important distinction made by some is that a zombie is the animated corpse of a single being, usually a human.

Zombies are frequently depicted as shambling and rotting, although in some instances their bodies may be preserved, especially when magic is involved, and they may sometimes display superhuman characteristics, such as increased strength and speed.

Zombies may be created in a variety of ways.

Early depictions, drawing from Haitian Vodou, often represented witchcraft as a means for reviving corpses. Haitian zombi are said to be created by maleficent priests or sorcerers for the purpose of doing their bidding.

There are 2 potential parts to the Vodou process: first, a zombi astral is created by removing part of a person’s soul. Then this part of the soul may be used for further magic, including the revivification of the person’s corpse, or zombi corps cadavre.

Methods of zombification developed in fiction include radiation exposure and contagion. Especially noteworthy in the latter case is the danger of a so-called “zombie apocalypse,” in which the eventual zombification of the human population through virulence seems inevitable.

Zombies are often depicted as proliferating by killing or infecting others—usually by biting—who then become zombies themselves.

It is generally accepted that the impulse and drive experienced by the walking dead resides in the brain.

Therefore, removing the head or otherwise destroying the brain-body connection will stop them.

Because zombies are in most cases already deceased, it is usually deemed impossible to kill them by conventional methods such as gunshot, poisoning, or stabbing, unless the brain is damaged or destroyed.

In instances where zombification is caused by magic, a zombie may potentially be stopped by the death of its master.

More modern zombie rulebooks often have it so that the zombies are living humans infected with a virus, in which case anything that can kill a human being (blood loss, massive trauma) will kill one of these zombies as well.

Other zombie works obey different rules (the Return of the Living Dead series has it that only fire will kill the zombies), so you can consider those too.

Or, you can try coming up with your own and seeing how well they work.

"The Virus" Trope

Turns people into itself or into entities subservient to itself. The transformation is both mental and physical.

The converted will have unflagging loyalty and be instantly ready to commence villainous actions.

Expect it to try to cause The Plague.

Sometimes overlaps with Virus-Victim Symptoms in cases where the host enters a zombie-like state before being completely consumed.

"Virus-Victim Symptoms" Trope

When a character becomes infected with The Virus or a Viral Transformation, typically thanks to a run-in with a zombie, the victim will take a while to change into their new form.

During that time, they will start exhibiting a lot of the strange behavior and physical changes as a symptom of the transformation. 

Common signs include:

Feeling unwell: The victim may have a headache or feel tired.

Not Himself: Behavior changes, either becoming more aggressive, randy, emotionless or even listless. They may also suddenly change their interests, such as a Bookworm not wanting to read anymore or The Teetotaler suddenly drinking alcohol.

Cravings or changes in appetite: Food preference usually change quite a bit. The character will crave raw meat, human flesh or blood (or braaaaains!), or will inexplicably go vegan, eat only sugar, shovel meals into their mouth with their bare hands like an animal, etc.

Glamour Failure: Reflections fade, growing sinister fangs, getting barked at by an Evil-Detecting Dog, etc.

Aversion to common things: Holy Burns Evil, Weakened by the Light, Weaksauce Weakness, and/or Depleted Phlebotinum Shells will anger, frighten, repel or harm the character.

Changes in appearance: Undeathly Pallor will kick in, Tainted Veins will appear all over the body, they'll show Mind-Control Eyes, teeth, nails, and hair may fall out or grow abundantly in the wrong places.

Injuries: The typical double puncture marks for vampires, slashes for werewolves, and swollen rashes from most other infections.

New friends: Typically, the one who infected the character is now their new BFF, who they will follow around like a puppy. They will encourage the infectee to believe nothing is wrong.

Power Incontinence: They exhibit strange new abilities, typically Does Not Know His Own Strength.

"Technically Living Zombie" Trope

In quite a few modern Zombie Apocalypse series the creator wants to have zombies, but would rather not explicitly invoke the supernatural by having them be actual reanimated corpses.

This generally happens because it's somewhat more scientifically plausible — at least broadly speaking — that a plague turning infected people into crazed cannibals (or slow, lumbering cannibals) could exist in reality than that the dead could rise, so it gets past skeptics' Willing Suspension of Disbelief more easily.

Or, as with many works featuring fast zombies, it may be used to justify why they don't act like the classic image of moaning, slowly shambling undead.

Or perhaps the story simply takes place in a pre-existing setting that doesn't allow for supernatural zombies.

The virus responsible for zombification may be a mutated version of a real-life disease; rabies is popular because it already makes people and animals act, well, rabid, as is mad cow disease (and prion diseases as a whole) because one major avenue of transmission is by eating infected brain tissue.

If the supernatural is involved rather than a virus, but the zombie is living anyway, it's often the result of possession by some nasty entity such as a demon or an Eldritch Abomination.

Since they are living people instead of animate corpses, these zombies are almost always easier to kill than the undead kind.

They may disregard nonfatal (or not-immediately-fatal) wounds, but unless zombification also means becoming tougher, anything that would kill a human will kill them.

It does run into a bit of a problem if you want a true Zombie Apocalypse in which the zombies act like classic zombies only driven by hunger.

It's easy to handwave a supernatural zombie that's a Perpetual-Motion Monster, but living creatures require food, water, and usually rest.

Without those, within a few weeks the original living zombie infectees should be dead (in the permanent sense) as a lack of resources causes their bodies to fail.

This can be worked around if living zombies are The Needless or the story has a short timeframe, in which case it's accepted that the zombies will die out shortly, but they're still an immediate threat to the protagonists.

In fact, this trait can be even integrated in the story by making the zombie plague a man-made biological weapon designed to rapidly turn the population into a mob of frothing monsters that would tear itself apart.

Zombies that retain enough survival instinct to meet their own bodily needs — functioning more like wild animals that simply prioritize human prey — can be a threat for longer, though why they don't eat each other may need to be addressed and they probably don't move in hordes in the same way.

Examples in Literature: Zombie Apocalypse

World War Z by Max Brooks

The Walking Dead, a graphic novel series by Robert Kirkman, Tony Moore, and Charlie Adlard

I Am Legend by Richard Matheson

The Passage by Justin Cronin

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[humming-fly]

North Carolina Relief Masterlist

One of my close friends is currently living in North Carolina and took the time to put together this really nicely organized list of organizations currently taking donations after Hurricane Helene, and I thought it'd be nice to share it on tumblr as well since I know some folks like these kinds of organized lists! All links and descriptions come from her and her experiences with the orgs below. 👍

Foundation

The Community Foundation of WNC - Read no further if you want a catch-all, one stop donation spot for WNC long-term Helene response. CFWNC is a permanent pool of charitable capital for the 18 counties of Western North Carolina including the Qualla Boundary (land of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians). They are an amazing source of consistent support to many WNC nonprofits via grant opportunities. They have financially supported so many of the non-profits I have encountered or worked with. Donate to the cause of your choice via CFWNC (including the Helene response specifically) here.

Food Security, Farm Support & More

Bounty & Soul (Swannanoa Valley, Black Mountain, and Asheville) - decade-old non-profit currently typically focused on health and food insecurity now working in partnership with World Central Kitchen, MANNA, Hearts with Hands, and many others to distribute food, hot meals, and supplies. They are also working to resume purchasing and distributing fresh produce from farmers in WNC who still have crops to harvest and sell. Donate to their disaster relief here.

Annie’s Culinary Garden - I often frequent this small but mighty Black Mountain restaurant, which is closely partnered with Bounty & Soul. Annie’s was already embedded in health and food justice work pre-Helene but the last 2 weeks, Annie and her team have been working around the clock (using a generator to power their restaurant) to provide free vegan, vegetarian, and other diet-specific hot meals to retirement homes, distribution hubs, and also to feed the staff and volunteers at these hubs. This has been a huge need expressed to me by community members because much of the food available at distribution sites is not able to be eaten by those requiring special diets. Donate to their effort here.

Haywood Christian Ministry (Waynesville) - WNC’s largest food pantry has partnered with MANNA (WNC's largest food bank?) and is distributing food on the ground and requesting donations to help with the emergency disaster response. They are also directly purchasing from WNC farms to distribute fresh foods for folks cooking bulk hot meals and for families who can cook at home. For info and to donate, go here. 

Food Connection(Asheville-based) - I first encountered this org at a food waste solutions summit and thought their concept was brilliant. They rescue high-quality, chef-prepared meals and deliver them to neighbors in need (often those who can’t afford to participate regularly in Asheville’s expensive foodie culture). I have since seen them out in Asheville and beyond to rural communities doing exactly what they do best and delivering delicious, no-cost hot meals to Helene victims. Donate to them here.

Foothills Food Hub (McDowell County) - McDowell was hit really hard and this hub is working to source water and shelf-stable goods to distribute. They will continue to feed vulnerable populations and to support farmers with direct purchasing and a reliable market. Requesting monetary donations, which can be made online here.

TRACTOR Food & Farms (Spruce Pine*, Mitchell County) - In another hard-hit county, this hub is also working, much like the Foothills Food Hub, on connecting local farmers with folks in a system of equitable healthy food access in rural communities. Donate to this local food hub here.

*Interesting aside: Spruce Pine and its quartz mines were extremely damaged by flooding and this threatens the global tech industry. This rural town is home to one of the world’s only sources of high-purity quartz. The mines are currently trying to re-open.

MANNA FoodBank (Asheville) - This very large organization is still doing what they do best and distributing food, water, and more, despite having their warehouse/headquarters were destroyed in the flooding along the Swannanoa River. Donate online here.

Farmer Support & Advocacy

Appalachian Sustainable Agriculture Project (ASAP) (WNC) - this wide-reaching farmer advocacy org is currently reestablishing communications with WNC farmers and getting aid to them. They also have healthy food programs that, once operating again, will serve tangentially in the relief effort. I have worked adjacent to this org for the last year and am a dogged cheerleader of them and their work. Donations can be made here.

Center for Environmental Farming Systems (Qualla Boundry and WNC) -  CEFS works closely with the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, NC State, extension services and more to support food and farm initiatives across WNC. I previously worked adjacent to this org and was extremely impressed by their commitment and effectiveness. Donate (ideally to “Friends of CEFS” for more flexible funding) here. 

Tierra Fértil Coop (Hendersonville) - social and economic farmer cooperative formed by a group of Hispanic community members living in Henderson County that grows and provides culturally-specific foods but also has community programs to support the Latinx community in Henderson county. I have attended some of their educational events and have worked adjacent to them. I am ever impressed by their work. Donate to them by emailing tierrafertilcoophv@gmail.com.

Economic Justice & More

Pisgah Legal Services (all over WNC) - these folks do just about everything “life admin” for WNC's most vulnerable populations and have done so for over forty years. They provide pro bono civil legal aid, health insurance enrollment, and more. I have worked adjacent to them over the last year and could not be more impressed by their broad scope of bi-lingual legal work that maintains incredible efficiency and effectiveness. Donate to them here. 

Just Economics (WNC) - JE works on shaping the economic development of WNC in a way that benefits everyone and promotes a sustainable future. I have attended some of their workshops and found them to be powerfully educational. I am also grateful for their political advocacy for living wages for all in WNC. They are not directly working on the Helene response (as far as I know), but the road to recovery is long and their economic justice advocacy will be especially crucial as WNC rebuilds. Donate to JE here. 

BeLoved (Asheville) - Org working on improving the well-being and quality of life for individuals, families, and communities through our focus areas of Home, Health, Equity, and Opportunity. On-the-ground volunteers are currently collecting and distributing a wide array of supplies and BeLoved will continue to play a significant long-term role in housing and more. Donate to BeLoved here.

Health Services & Equity

Blue Ridge Health (WNC) - Blue Ridge Health is a federally qualified health center that is continuing to provide accessible & affordable medical care and mental health care to vulnerable populations (now including Helene victims) with their sites around the region and mobile clinics. Donate here.

Vecinos (WNC) - This rapidly growing org provides direct healthcare services to underserved, uninsured communities with a focus on WNC's farmworkers at their clinics and with mobile clinics on site at farms. Donate to their continuing services here. 

Asheville Buncombe Community Christian Ministry (Asheville based) - The ABCCM helps run and provide shelter in Asheville and is partnered with the Red Cross. Donations help pay for motel and food vouchers for local residents and long-term support for those displaced. A personal aside: ABCCM also has an awesome medical clinic serving uninsured folks and they were the only medical service I could find that would treat a tick born illness that I had when I first arrived in the US from Canada (I did not yet have health insurance). To donate to their Helene response, go here.

Schools & Youth

FernLeaf Community Charter School (Fletcher) - FernLeaf was partially destroyed by Helene (one of the school buildings was entirely lifted off of its foundation then dropped several feet away in a truly remarkable display of the power of water from a small nearby creek). Donate to FernLeaf here. 

United Way of Asheville and Buncombe County - The local United Way typically works on youth/child food security, educational support, and physical and mental health care services. The org is helping with immediate natural disaster response and long-term support for flood victims. Donations can be made online here.

Other

Blue Ridge Public Radio - obviously these NPR folks have been working around the clock to keep people informed in the old-fashioned way, over the airwaves. You can support them here.

[dropitpunk]

when a vampire becomes obsessed with you

male vampire oc x gn reader, hypnosis, blood mentions, he really is obsessed.

he first saw you as a bat, peeking through your window when you were fast asleep and illuminated by the moonlight.

even though your face was just a shadow, he kept staring. over and over, and over. he forgot the reason for his outing was feeding and simply admired your form until his stomach was aching again.

he could taste your blood on his tongue, feel the warmth of it burning his throat, filling his long dead being with your life.

he felt the urge to bang against your window to wake you from your slumber and see your face clearly, to see every vein on your arms, your chest your neck. to hear your heartbeat speeding up, your blood flowing in the river of your mortality.

the vampire craved more, he wanted to know you.

he kept coming back every night, watching you sleep, observing the rise and fall of your chest as your eyes seemed to never open. he wished to build you a casket, to secure you in the same darkness that surrounded him.

you were not so different from him, no less lonely. however, your humanity was undeniable, and everything that made you human was so vivid he felt impotent.

but he could use your humanity for himself.

one night, it poured rain as it never did, the only light keeping your company was the one coming from the fireplace and the few candles scattered around, making it possible for you to discern the words in your book.

you heard three knocks in your window, and you thought you were hallucinating. maybe your imagination was trying to bring your book into reality, playing games on you. but then you heard again, the same three knocks.

your face fell in surprise when you opened the door, gasping in shock as a man stood in front of you. dripping from head to toe, holding his right shoulder with his left hand. his shirt was full of blood, thick and recognizable among the water.

"what happened to you?" you were stuck in place, debating on whether to try contacting a doctor or rushing the man inside.

"i fell in the streets, trying to escape the rain. i hurt my shoulder in a tree, my sight was too blurry in this weather." his voice was melodic and deep, although weakened by his injury. his eyes seemed to look into your soul, into the very core of you.

you couldn't quite make out the color at night, but you would swear his eyes were red. what a nonsense, you cursed yourself.

"please, come in. i fear the storm is getting worse." you would never deny help to anyone who needed it, it went against your principles and learning.

your first mistake, your compassion was infuriating.

he sat on your couch as you fetched supplies to treat his shoulder, touching the book you were previously holding. he smelled you all around him, engulfing him in your sweetness. your voice was perfect, you looked divine, as if the ugliness from the world was unable to stain your beauty.

"how odd, it looks like it's healing already." your smile was shy, as was your touch on his arm. he held his blouse down, looking into your eyes as you examined him. his skin was cold, which wasn't so surprising. it was raining heavy outside.

you could feel your face warm up, blood rushing to your cheeks. his hair was long and soft when it brushed against your fingertips, his lips were full and inviting. he was so close, you felt trapped in a trance.

his skin could be made of porcelain, he was beautiful and haunting.

"how have i longed to look at such perfection." he whispered, tracing your jaw with his long nails.

the vampire was aware of his effect on humans, you were no different. you didn't even question all the blood on his clothes. the victim who scratched his shoulder trying to escape their tragic death for sure left a mark, and would feel great disappointment at how easy you left him in.

your eyes were glazed over, you couldn't speak, his eyes were all you could see, scarlet red and shining under the fire.

it did not take long, the bloodsucking beast thought, putting you under his spell was like with any other mortal. you were his to control, his beautiful pure human.

he sat you down at his side, making your night clothing humid with his own wet trousers. he caressed your face, your heavy breath hitting his skin and making him shiver.

the vampire came closer, smelling you all over, pushing his nose into your hair, holding your body against his as you held no protest, accepting his affections with no reluctance.

"they all taste so bitter. so disposable." he held your hand, bringing it to his icy lips. "but i know you will be different, they are not worthy of the presence of someone like you."

he leaned in, admiring the veins in your neck, the way your hair was raised with goosebumps. "of someone who was not contaminated by mortality, yet is so full of it."

he licked around your ears, watching the way you trembled under his touch, completely paralyzed. "of someone who was touched by the gods, sinless."

the bite was hard and hungry, ripping at your neck with days and more days of adoration from afar. he wanted to empty you of your essence and fill you with his, consume your everything and leave you dry.

the taste was not comparable to anything, he could feel all your thoughts, your feelings and fears on his tongue. it was rich, gushing into his mouth and running down his chin.

at that night, he tainted your for the first time, taking you away from the dishonorable human world.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: It Knows Not How it Sounds [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Title: It Knows Not How it Sounds [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: He's going to kill you--and this is how you react? Curious, curious, curious.

For Horrorfest request:

Vampire! Chrollo could be interesting? He fits the image of a vampire well, with his inclusion of religious imagery, goth aesthetic and his personal search for his self (his “soul“). Perhaps he becomes interested in one of his would-be meals, being attracted to their humanity and their perspective on his vampirism (maybe them seeing it as a curse, not a boon)

Word count: 1565

notes: yandere, vampire, some descriptions of blood, mild wounds, dying; Chrollo is a pretentious asshole even as a vampire

Humans are so very interesting. And so very predictable.

Chrollo Lucilfer knew the first truth at an early age. He has learned the second truth over the years, the decades, and then the centuries. 

For instance, humans always seek comfort. That is certain, whether they are rich or poor, old or young, beautiful or ugly. They want to be held and warm and fed; they want someone to comfort them when they cry; they want to be told that, in the end, things will be alright.

This is true even for the humans that he kills, for so often in their last moments, they cling to him, desperate, wanting him to be their savior even as he is the one draining their blood. 

Therefore, it does not surprise him too terribly when your shaking arm reaches up for his face; when your increasingly exhausted expression takes in the sight of him, eyes wide, looking for kinship or absolution or someone to tell you it will be just fine.

It takes his victims some time to really comprehend what is happening, after all.

It is usually at this point that (if they haven’t already--not everyone is so slow on the uptake) they realize what he is--vampire--and he goes back to lapping at his victim’s blood, enjoying the way their muddled dying thoughts are spiked with a renewed bright acidic terror. 

The taste is not his only reward. There is the entertainment, as well. The thoughts of the dying. 

The thoughts come to him like moving pictures, flashes; not only visuals but sometimes words. Monster. Him, covered in blood. I don’t want to die. Lovers, children, things left unsaid. Mother. This word, so common, most often paired with the foggy memory of a chubby hand held in a larger one.

Your eyes widen after a moment and ah, there it is. Like a clock. “Vampire,” you mouth, lips that were perhaps once rose-red now growing paler, the more he blood he takes from you. 

“Yes,” he breathes, and you make the softest of sounds when he nudges your head back with his hands, giving him access to the open, bruised weeping puncture wounds he’d created earlier. Your blood still flows freely enough, and he laps at the edges before he begins to suck from the wounds. 

He wonders how he must look from your eyes, though he may see it soon enough. His pale skin and dark hair. The fangs jutting from his mouth. The blood on his lips. Even his clothing, silken black with delicate lace. A storybook vampire, he supposes; all that’s missing is the smell of dirt and decay, though that is perhaps a stench better left to his more unhinged colleagues than his own delicate scent of roses and musk; purloined perfume bottles were easy to come by when you could simply kill the ones who set them on varnished bureaus. 

But what pulses through his mind is not pure abject horror at the sight of him or fleeting, terrified thoughts of a life that will be incomplete.

Instead, it’s something that startles him so fiercely that he yanks himself away from your neck:

Pity.

Pity, pity, pity. For him--for him! 

A warm almost sour sensation lingers behind on his teeth, and he licks it away. He has never, in his centuries of killing, been… pitied. 

Your head rolls a little to the side, eyelids drooping, but you gain enough awareness to realize that he’s no longer feeding on you. Your voice is a soft croak when you do speak, words spoken as if you don’t understand why you’re even permitted to say them at all. You should, after all, be dead. 

“Why did you stop?”

He considers you for a moment. He keeps a grip on your shoulders--you might just fall, if he lets go--and makes you face him. Finally, he mirrors your question. But only to satisfy his curiosity, or so he tells himself. 

“Why do you pity me?”

Your eyes widen again, but this time not in the realization of the monster before you. You likely don’t know how he felt your pity. He doesn’t care to explain it to you, either, and after a few moments you furrow your eyebrows.

If he weren’t feeding on you, it might be a cute expression. Perhaps it still is; even lambs to the slaughter can have their charms.

“You’re…” You swallow. “You’re a vampire,” you say. But that usual horror is replaced with something else, something Chrollo wants to stick his finger into and pull out so he can see it more fully. Pity, yes yes, but something more. What is it? And why do you feel it so strongly that he couldn’t stand the shock of it?

When he doesn’t respond, you continue. 

“You have to kill people to survive.”

He snorts. 

“That’s never given me pause before.”

And oh, the way you look at him is absolutely beautiful. Your eyes glisten with tears--not from the pain, surely, but for him?--and your lips, nearly colorless though they are, curl into a pretty pout. 

“But it should, and I’m so sorry it doesn’t.” 

You wince, the shock perhaps ebbing away, letting you feel the pain of your ripped flesh more fully than most of his victims have time to do. But you don’t even press your hands to the wound, and he likes you better for it.

But still. You pity him because he’s a killer? What a waste of the emotion. 

“I have lived for centuries,” he tells you, speaking as if to a child, learning lessons at a father’s knee. “I have seen things your mortal mind could not comprehend. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall, seen civilizations turn to dust.”

He can practically see the cogs in the clock of your mind turning. Perhaps you will be one of those who foolishly asks him for the gift. He has rarely given it, and he wouldn’t give it to you; but he wouldn’t tear you apart for the audacity as he has some others. Your death would be merciful, calm--you’ve earned that. 

But when you speak again, you don’t ask him to make you into a vampire.

“But you must be so lonely.” Your words are sudden, fast. Perhaps you don’t realize you’ve said them until it’s too late to wonder if you’re being too presumptuous, because you stumble over your next words. Or perhaps you’re just that emotional over the thought of him, and wouldn’t that be a delightful novelty?

“Everyone around you dies… your-your family. Friends.” You shake your head, blinking as a few tears finally do drop from your eyes. “You can’t live a normal life… you can’t go out in the sun.” You look up, as if you’re imagining the warm feel of it on your skin.

It’s a sensation he has long since forgotten, but to you it must be as normal as breathing. “I-I can’t imagine how sad that must be. To never be truly warm. To not see the flowers reaching up to the sky or see the grass in the morning, all green and dewy.”

Your arms, no longer trembling, wrap around your chest. 

“I just…” You don’t look at him when you say these last words, but you don’t really need to, do you? Not with the way your voice is choked with emotion, the way tears fall so prettily from your eyes. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you.” 

You are a wonder, truly. Bleeding from the neck, no doubt light headed from blood loss, in the face of a nocturnal creature who moments ago was draining the life from your body… and you apologize to him?

When you live for centuries, you often lose the ability to be surprised. But here is that sensation, now queer, once again. And all because you happened to take an unfortunate shortcut through the park on this night, making yourself easy prey for him to pull into a darkened alley and feast. 

Now, though, he finds his hunger satiated. Or at least satiated until he finds another victim. Someone less worthy to stay alive than yourself, of course. 

After some consideration, he leans backward, and releases his grip on you. His hands ache for the warmth of your skin underneath him, and not for the usual voracious reasons. 

Yet another curiosity to add to his growing list. 

You look at him like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he has. 

“Aren’t you going to kill me?”

Perhaps, if he weren’t who he was, he might feel it too--this feeling of pity. Because you have no idea what he intends to do, and what it will mean for him to keep you alive now. 

You have no sense of the impulsive need that has rooted itself in his brain, a need he hasn’t felt since he was a young fledgling of a vampire. He wants to know you; know what you think and why you think it.

What life has created you so earnestly that you can feel genuine sympathy for a creature like him? Have you known hardship, and it was an impulse to sympathize? Or has your life been so unmarred by difficulty that the pty came easily to you, pure, sweet thing? 

The most important question of all, he thinks, as he pulls you closer to him and shushes the soft sounds you make--

Will you continue to pity him once he has taken you for his own?