#theme: tv series

[thecutestgrotto]

hi hi! i love your dividers, they're so cute! would you mind making jujutsu kaisen themed dividers please?

Anon I’m a huge JJK fan, I’ll happily make these and spend way too much time on them because I ended up with too many ideas at once 😌🩵🌸

Jujutsu Kaisen

[muppetfreak]

Mr. Riordan, it is truly a pleasure getting to experience your second draft.

[molinaesque]

"What are you?" "Oh, I'm you, sweetie. You just... give it a little time."

[mingjoes]

@asiandramanet event 10: scenery @asiandramanet august bingo: free choice

[aroaceleovaldez]

yknow i was gonna make a post about how happy I was to see the show acknowledge adhd/dyslexia/learning disability stuff and the way they handled and showed Percy's experience with that system, and how it influenced his reactions to things. But i'm honestly glad I didn't because WOW the show completely ditched all of that immediately. There was set-up for a really interesting arc about the demigods = neurodivergence metaphor and "You are singular" (pun off of "half-blood"/"demigod" and a very direct rejection of the "puzzle" metaphor for things like autism) and a very quick acknowledgement in like episode 2 of an off-hand "oh yeah all demigods are like that (adhd/dyslexic)" and then. nothing. absolutely nothing.

heck, they even changed the design of the zoo van (in the books very explicitly a black van with white text, which Percy notes specifically because white-on-black text is more dyslexia-friendly) which is a personal affront to me because That's My Dyslexia-Friendly Van, How Dare You.

i know some people have argued that maybe Annabeth pausing in the store was supposed to be her having a dyslexia moment, but if it was then we would have gotten the Dyslexia Effect™ on the text (and dont tell me they didn't have the budget for it cause HAVE YOU SEEN THEIR BUDGET FOR THE SHOW? They clearly haven't been using all of that). It's almost definitely supposed to show that Annabeth hasn't been in mortal spaces in a very long time and is, yknow, a kid, being indecisive of which snacks to buy.

i have said it before and i'll say it again: the core of PJO is disability. You can never remove that, or else it is no longer PJO. The heart of the series will always be a story made for an ADHD/dyslexic kid to help them learn about and be interested in mythology, and if you stray from that it's going to be very noticeable very fast. Almost every character in PJO has a learning disability. The entire series is framed as a way to introduce kids to mythology in a fun way and emphasize those themes of mythology being important even in modern day with how it still affects our lives, to ask you to look at what lessons we can still learn from these myths and how they apply to modern lives, and that you can be a hero not despite your disability, but alongside it. That is the core of PJO, always and forever. And the show failed that.

[chaoswithmusic]

Lin-Manuel Miranda is in my fucking walls.

I could be watching a show about a greedy duck and "oh what is this familiarly awkward high voice?" IT'S LIN FUCKING MANUEL.

I'm watching this super cool cop show and "oh poor Amy her brother sounds slightly pretentious" DAVID SANTIAGO IS LIN-MANUEL FUCKING MIRANDA.

This well beloved book of a lot of people's childhood based off Greek mythology is getting turned into a show "lemme check the cast of the gods in this show, I kinda like Hermes he seems like a fun god-" IT'S LIN-MANUEL MIRANDA BITCH.

[polydeuces]

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚎: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯 ; Dexter Morgan x Fem! Reader (Cult Leader)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ; You linger in Dexter Morgan’s shadows, close enough to feel the darkness he hides so well. You know his secrets, his rituals, the thrill he keeps hidden from the world. Silently, you wait for that perfect moment to step into his path—so he can finally see that he’s been hunted all along.

𝔠𝔴 / 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 ; (688words) mentions of cults, stalking, potential violence, intrusive thoughts, and elements of psychological tension.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

He was supposed to be the predator.

You’d watched him for a year now, the man who walked through the world with an all too familiar blend of invisibility and quiet command. Dexter Morgan, a blood–spatter analyst by day and something far more dangerous by night. But those were his surface-level disguises. You’d begun to peel back the layers, unraveling the nuances of a man who navigated life in the shadows, just as you have for so many years now.

It started innocently enough—fleeting moments when you’d caught sight of him on the crowded Miami streets, merging into the sea of faces like he belonged there. But you knew better. You knew what it was to wear masks, to walk amoung people undetected, unseen and unnoticed. There was something about him, the way he looked at the world, made him all the more intriguing.

So you watched. Carefully, hidden, with a patience you’d honed over years of practice, you observed him as he slipped out of his office at night, slightly tense in his gaze, focused, distant, as if he were listening to something only he could hear. Often times, you’d follow him to the places he frequented; his home, abandoned warehouses, places where the thin line between light and darkness blurred. You learned his routines, the way he’d pull his signature black gloves onto his hands, the way his eyes would sweep across the streets with a meticulous attention to detail before stepping into his own hidden rituals.

It fascinated you.. his dance, this performance between worlds. His life was a careful balance of precision and secrecy. And then there were his victims. You’d seen him work, watched from the edges as he sized up those he deemed worthy enough. You hadn’t intervened— after all, it wasn’t about them. It was about him. You needed to understand his purpose, what drove him and what rulebook or code tethered him to this life.

You began to study his life beyond the night as well, picking up pieces of Dexter Morgan, the man, the father, the blood-spatter analyst, the widower, the mask. You’d slip into his world unnoticed, lingering at places he went during the day; you listened to his colleagues, his sister and the casual comments that painted a picture of someone, friendly, yet distant, the “nice guy” who kept to himself.

You learned his patterns, his preferences, even the small, old habits he indulged in when he thought no one was watching. You uncovered the Dexter he showed to the world, the façade that kept his true nature hidden.

But you could see it—the subtle tension in his jaw, the guarded look in his eyes that surfaced when someone got too close, the small tells of a hidden life. The knowledge inside you—the kind of intimacy that was both exhilarating and forbidden—you knew him in a way no one else did, knew him not by the lies he told, but by the silence he kept.

So, you kept waiting, biding your time. You wanted him to know that he been seen, that he wasn’t as invisible as he thought. You wanted him to understand that he was no longer the only one who lived by a code of shadows. You watched him for countless nights—slipping in and out of his world like a phantom, leaving a sense of unease that you knew would begin to gnaw at him.

Until finally, one night, you decided it was time.

do not repost/duplicate on other sites. © polydeuces 2024.

note; i have a taglist open for updates on this story—just let me know if you’d like your name added !

important; please keep in mind that the dexter character is not my own original creation; it’s inspired by the work of the creators behind the tv show.

[pandorascripts]

unknowingly yours

warnings: dark themes, stalking, possessiveness, obsession, gore, murder, biting, jealousy, and im probably forgetting something too. (you’re responsible for ur own media consumption buddy)

pairing: dark!wednesday addams x vampire!fem!reader

(all characters aged up to 18)

notes: this was written on a whim at like 1am, and I’ve just now completed it. it’s kinda rushed and half-assed. enjoy :)

————

Gomez had tried to warn his daughter what it meant to be an Addams. What it meant to be so deeply in love with someone, that’d you do anything for them. You’d murder, abandon your morales, just to get one more taste of them. Wednesday had repeatedly shoved him off, claiming it would never happen, but it did. The moment Wednesday laid eyes on you, she could feel the obsession turning dark, horrific. She reveled in it. 

Wednesday loved the thrill of sneaking into your dorm, watching you whilst slept. She loved sitting in the back of her class, watching you do anything and everything. Every time your shoulders raised, taking a breath, Wednesday could praise you for it. She never understood what her father meant, until people got too touchy. After countless victims, it Yoko became the newest.

Wednesday sat in the back of the cafeteria, watching you chat with your friends. Yoko slung her arm over you shoulder, and Wednesday felt the can in her hand crack. She tried calming breaths, something her father taught her. They didn’t work. She shook with rage, the can splitting in half with her might and slicing her palm clean. She didn’t care though, all that mattered now was Yoko, who was now leaning into your ear, whispering something.

 Wednesday took in another shaky breath, how dare she touch what was hers. Wednesday decided she would show that vampire not to mess with her territory, and you, you were in trouble. You were hers, and it’s just about time you started acting like it. 

She watched with rapt attention as you leaned back, giggling. You lightly slapped Yoko on the shoulder, blushing deeply and scolding her. Wednesday stood up, food untouched, and walked over to your table. 

She bumped into the wood, her tray flying upwards and landing in Yoko’s lap. 

“The hell, dude?” Yoko yelled, her hands in the air, away from the mess. 

You rushed into action, picking up bits of food with a napkin. 

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it, Yoko. Calm down.”

Wednesday stared at you. Oh, you were so kind, beautifully unaware, and completely vulnerable. Wednesday filled with glee at the mere thought of ruining you. 

“Yes, precisely.” Wednesday nodded to you, her eyes never leaving yours. 

You smiled at her. “See you in botany, Wednesday?”

She nodded stiffly once again, her insides doing summersaults. You were so sweet, deliciously so. Wednesday walked away, her tray still on Yoko’s lap. That bloodsucker could deal with it, after all, it was only part of Wednesday’s much needed apology. She’d get the rest tonight, when Yoko was begging her for mercy. Her lips nearly twitched at the thought. 

Wednesday walked back up to her dorm, still having fifteen minutes until botany with you. She set her bag down on her dark bed, the empty side of the room creaking. She was so pleased she didn’t have a roommate, that’d make this next part harder. Wednesday leaned under her bed, pulling out a huge poster board. She raced back to the door, double checking its lock, and set it up. 

Her fingers traced over the red strings and pins delicately, stopping at a photo of you. You were laying down, enjoying the sun, your eyes closed and wearing your uniform. She remembered that day like yesterday, it was the first time you’d two had spoken. She only fell deeper. 

Wednesday strolled down to the lake, watching as the lily pads drifted slowly. Canoes splashed across the water, people yelling and cheering. 

“Hey! You mind if I sit here?”

Wednesday looked up, ready to dismember who ever decided to ruin her quiet. Her eyes laid on yours and, oh, Wednesday could’ve fainted. You were beautiful, an ethereal smile plastered on your face, eyes deep and true. It only solidified Wednesday’s desire for you. 

“No, not at all.”

Wednesday scooted to the left, offering you more room against the tree. 

You muttered a thank you. 

“So, why are you all out here alone?”

Wednesday sighed, your voice was so pleasing, and it was bending her to your will even more so. 

“I’ve decided to observe the Poe Cup. Thought it’d be amusing when they sink and fall. What about you, bellissima?

The Italian caught you by surprise, you were rusty, not really remembering most of it, so you shoved the nickname aside. 

“Figured I’d get away from all the yelling. It’s more peaceful down here. I’m glad you’ve found my spot though.”

“Your spot?” Wednesday questioned, her hands itching to hold yours and never let it go. 

“Yes, it’s been mine for a bit. Glad to share it though, been getting a bit lonely.”

Wednesday felt the Italian bubbling up, her father warned her about this too. She’d want to call you names, anything to give you a temporary mark as hers. She swallowed it though, choosing to instead ask you question with no flirtation. 

“Lonely? You don’t have someone?”

You chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Wednesday wished she could’ve done it for you, she truly believed it was a crime that you’d do it yourself. A goddess like you shouldn’t waste precious time. 

“No— I— No, I don’t. You?”

Wednesday shook her head. “I’ll have them soon.” 

You smiled. “Do I know them?”

“You’re very familiar.”

You chuckled again. “What are they like?”

“They’re beautiful, out of the world so, and they make me crazy.”

You cracked a huge smile. “That’s cute. Sounds like you adore them.”

“Più di quanto tu possa sapere, mia amata.”

“I’m afraid my Italians a bit rusty. What’d you say?”

“Nothing of importance. No need to fret.”

Wednesday sighed. She traced her board again, documents and other people plastered up on there. Gently, she flipped it over, the backside littered with more photos. Everyone who was a threat. 

She traced the X’s over their eyes, a wicked smile covering her face. Wednesday uncapped a red sharpie, drawing slow, deep X’s over Yoko’s eyes.

“Non ci disturberà più, amore mio,” she sighed. 

Wednesday ordered Thing to put the board back under again. She marched off to her drawer, unlocking a secret section. Carefully, she pulled it out. 

“Which one, Thing? The mace, my machete? Or should we do it in style? After all, we are aiming to impress her.”

Her fingers grazed over her arsenal of weapons. 

“Let’s go old fashioned, hm?” She asked, pulling out a wooden stake. “Yoko’s barely even a threat.”

Wednesday set the oak down on her bed, taking out garlic spray before locking it back up. She slipped on a black pair of medical gloves, releasing them so they smacked painfully against her skin. Wednesday sighed in contempt. 

“Thing, put on a glove. Nevermore’s already worried about their students. They keep disappearing don’t they?”

He tapped in agreement. 

“What. A. Pity.”

She waited until dark, skipping her class, deciding to get more items like flashlights and garlic bombs to neutralize Yoko. Wednesday knew you wouldn’t be there, she always knew what you were doing. The psychic flipped open her pocket watch. 

Two A.M, perfect time to strike. 

Wednesday crept out of Ophelia Hall, traveling in the shadows until she reached Persephone’s Wing. Crouching down under room two-hundred and forty-three, Wednesday pulled the pin on the garlic grenade and rolled it under the door. It exploded silently, a jagged choking noise filling the room. Wednesday tossed another one, slipping out her crowbar and cracking the door open. 

The anger from earlier surged through her as Wednesday marched inwards, she closed the door behind her. Knowing the lock was broken, she slid Yoko’s desk against the wooden frame. 

Yoko choked out pleas, desperate to justify herself for an unknown crime. Wednesday looked up, inhaling deeply as she soaked in Yoko’s cries. The vampire continued crying, bloody tears streaking down her face as she choked. 

Wednesday looked to her. Oh, it was exquisite. Yoko’s skin was burned and sores opened up, her neck straining for air, only to be poisoned a second later. 

“Useless, bloodsucker,” Wednesday spat, stomping on Yoko’s stomach. A sharp crack echoed and Wednesday was delighted to hear a rib brake. 

She crouched drown, driving the stake a mere inch from Yoko’s heart. 

“You do not touch what is mine,” she spat again, her stake driving into her repeatedly, missing by an inch. 

“I don’t—“ Yoko gasped, hoping to save herself. 

“LIAR!” Wednesday shouted, diving the stake into her stomach and twisting it. 

Blood gurgled out of Yoko’s mouth, her back arching upwards. 

Wednesday leaned down into Yoko’s ear, stabbing her once again near her heart. 

“She is mine. You are beneath her.” Pure venom erupted from Wednesday. 

She cracked the stake up, driving it into Yoko’s heart. Wednesday panted, leaning back on her knees. She watched with glee as Yoko’s body disintegrated, burning into ash. At least vampires were easy to kill. 

Wednesday picked up her stake. Tilting her neck to the left, she heard it pop and repeated the action. 

“Thing, get the broom.”

Thing shuffled forward, the tall broom too much for him. Wednesday took it, sweeping the vampire remains.

“Nothing like a good murder, hm, Thing?”

He tapped, some ash flying up. 

“Get out of her, I don’t wish for you to smell like garlic and cheap perfume.”

She tossed the bloody gloves into the trash bag, and replaced them with a new set. Wednesday set the broom down, pulling a record player out of her bag. She gently set it aside, shuffling through her travel collection until she reached Debussy: Cello Sonata in D Minor. She put the record on, breathing in heavily as it rang through her ears. 

Wednesday held the garbage bag, filling it with Yoko’s ashes. She wiped her sweaty forehead, dust sticking to it. 

“Thing, clean up the rest.”

She walked away, browsing the vampire’s trinkets. Wednesday paced to her jewelry box, flicking through the accessories. She gasped, a beautiful black skull ring, sat buried under hideous silver and gold necklaces. Wednesday gently pulled it out, holding it in her fingers. 

Now this would make a lovely gift for you. See, Wednesday had a ritual, she’d kill your suitors, fake their leave and give you a gift from their collections. You’d yet to notice, considering all the beautiful gifts she gave were deemed ugly by the owner. For Rowan, she gave you a blood red ring, he probably received it from a family member, for Davina, it was a simple black hair clip. The others were less important, but she remembered them nonetheless. Whether it was a pining fool from across the room, or someone that had written you a love letter, only to scrap it moments later, Wednesday wouldn’t stand for that. The only person you should be with, is her, she was the only one who could treat you right. No one else understood you the way she did. Wednesday wasn’t going to let people stop her from achieving you. 

Her next plan was set in action when you knocked on the door.

“Yoko, I thought we talked about this. I don’t gotta key, you cant lock the door,” you whined. “I’m so tired, please let me in.”

Wednesday frowned. Were there nights she didn’t let you in? She stood behind the door, opening it. 

You walked through, glancing at Yoko’s bed. 

“Yoko?” You called out, shuffling forward. You took note of the odd cello music. Classical was definitely not one of Yoko’s genres. 

You closed the door, and Wednesday smashed a grenade in your face. Unfortunately, you weren’t like other vampires. Garlic wouldn’t affect you, but she knew vervain would.

You hissed, eyes burning. “Who’s there?” You cried out, the pain only getting worse. You tumbled down to the floor. 

Wednesday crouched down to your level, cupping your jaw. You breathed heavily, still not understanding what was happening. 

“Non mi diverto nel tuo dolore. Mi dispiace molto, ma deve essere fatto, amore mio,” Wednesday whispered. 

You whimpered, only one person spoke to you in Italian. 

“What did you do with Yoko?” You cried, rejecting her hand. 

Wednesday seethed. She knew you’d be upset, but couldn’t you see? This was for you. All of it. 

“I killed that useless bimbo. I had to.”

A sob racked through you, your eyes still clamped shut. You scrambled back again, hitting Yoko’s bed.

“You didn’t have to,” you cried, hugging your knees. 

Wednesday walked over to you. She lifted your head up, wincing at the damage. Your eyes were bright red, bubbling and oozing. 

“Mio cuore,” Wednesday whispered. She straightened your legs, sitting down on your thighs. Gently, she brushed back your hair, trying to remove it from your tear-soaked cheeks. 

You continued crying, wishing she’d just go away, but she wouldn’t. You hated yourself because in some twisted, screwed up way, Wednesdays sweet nothings calmed you down. She was a murderer, she killed Yoko ruthlessly, and vervained you, so why did you feel for her? 

“La mia amata, this is going to cause you pain, okay? It’s going to be alright though.”

Wednesday kissed your forehead, raking her hand through your hair. Then, her hand pulled back and tied something around your wrist. 

You screamed out in pain, only to be muffled. She had restrained your hands with vervain-soaked cloth, and tied another one around your mouth.

Your eyes darted open and you lurched forward. The restraints burned your mouth and wrists. Wednesday cupped your face again, placing delicate kisses on your head. 

She shushed you softly, one of her hands supporting your neck as you sobbed. Your breathing became labored and you could only focus on the pain. Your hands felt numb, wrists burning and screaming for release.

Every breath you took scorched your nose and seared your tongue. Your eyes clamped shut, the tears only increasing.

Wednesday hushed you once again, asking you questions. They all just faded away, the pain drowning them out. She leaned in close to your ear. 

“It’s okay. Breathe.” 

You followed her instructions, her words grounding you. The pain trickled into the background, and you let her voice guide you. 

“Good girl,” she husked out. 

You took in another breath with her, shaking. 

“That’s it.” 

Your eyes flickered open, meeting her dark face. You wondered how she could see when the lights were off, but you shoved that aside. You focused on her touch, her breaths, her weight on your thighs. You breathed in deeply again.

“I don’t want to tie up your legs.”

You stiffened, the last thing you wanted right now was more vervain coursing through your veins. Wednesday quickly hushed you. 

“I’m not going to, but you must promise me something.”

You nodded.

“Do not, under any circumstance, run away from me. I’ve waited too long for this moment.” Her voice faded into a whisper as her sentence closed, and you shivered. 

“Do you agree to my terms?”

You nodded your head. 

“Good,” she whispered. 

Slowly Wednesday got off you. The cold enveloped you, and you greedily missed her warmth. You were sick, you thought. This psycho murdered your friend, and here you were, pining. Disgusting. 

You breathed in again, the vervain killing you every time. 

You were too wrapped up in your head, that you hadn’t even notice Wednesday packing up some of your belongings. 

Your eyes darted around the room, her dark figuring jumping all over the place. You wanted to ask her what she was doing, but the sizzling in your mouth wasn’t worth it. 

You breathed in shakily, gaining courage. You chomped downwards, your hands spreading apart, and an involuntary scream racked through you. Wednesday rushed over to you, trying to figure out what you were doing. You clamped your mouth down again, and tried to pull the restraints off. 

“Hey! No, no, no,” she yelled. 

There wasn’t anything Wednesday could do though, she watched as you dropped down. You made yourself pass out from the pain, all so you wouldn’t experience this. Wednesday sighed in annoyance.

She cracked the door open, checking the halls. After seeing no one, she walked back over to you. Wednesday grunted as she picked you up, slinging you over her shoulder. She hated doing this, bodies were so heavy and always a pain to carry. Wednesday decided that she’d get the rest of her stuff later, you were more important. 

Wednesday walked back to her dorm, ducking behind pillars and walls when voices were near. She sighed in relief, placing you on her bed. Wednesday carefully undid your binds, tying them to her bedpost so you couldn’t run. She flinched as the sizzle from your skin filled the silent room. 

Wednesday walked back to Yoko’s room, picking up your stash of belongings that she’d packed for you, returning the room as it was. She packed up her other duffel bag, making sure not forget her record player, and walked out. Thing trailed after her. 

“Lurch has been notified to pick us up?”

Thing tapped. 

“He needs to get her before five. No exceptions.”

He tapped again.

“I don’t care about weather, Thing. He will get here, or he’ll go back in the grave where we discovered him.”

Thing scampered off, racing in front of her. 

She reached her dorm once again and let out a breath of relief. Her bags were all packed, no sign of her existence anywhere. Thing did a good job for once. 

Wednesday flicked out her pocket watch, checking the time. 

3:16, the whole ordeal had lasted roughly an hour. Wednesday frowned, her new lowest not at all pleasing. She walked over to you, kissing you on the forehead softly. Wednesday untied your mouth piece and hoisted you against the head board. 

She unsheathed her pocket knife from her boot and flicked it open. Wednesday shrugged off her plastic gloves, drawing blood over the wound she’d gotten previously. It opened easily, barely even closed, and rubbed it against your lips. The scent of blood had you drooling, waking you up instantly. You growled, looking possessed, and took her hand into your mouth. You fought against your restraints, trying to grab her hand for more. You removed your fangs out of her for a moment, trying to lick them off, and Wednesday retracted her hand. She waived it around, watching as you desperately nipped at it. The veins under your eyes turned a deep purple, blood smeared over your mouth. Your shoulders shook as you pulled at the restraints, trying to get free. The headboard would’ve been completely shattered by now if not for the dose of vervain you’d been hit with. As Wednesday observed your behavior, she realized something, you were a ripper. She moved her hand closer, watching as you shot forward and chomped down. Oh, this was glorious. 

The perfect, sweet, charming goodie-two-shoes, was a killer beast. Wednesday knew she had to be careful with you, but an apart of her desperately wanted to ripped to shreds by your pointy fangs.

Wednesday got off the bed and walked into the bathroom. Your groans and snarls were music to her ears as she poked her skin, drawing more blood to taunt you. She cleaned up her hand, wrapping it in bandage. Wednesday took out a small vial and downed it, grimacing at the taste afterwards. That was for the compulsion. She shook, the taste alone not pleasing. Wednesday would usually hide it in her coffee, the flavor weighing it out, but she was running out of time. 

Thing scampered into the bathroom. 

“He’s here? See, it wasn’t too difficult was it?”

Thing tapped. 

“Keep your distance, she’s hungry. Unfortunately for you, you can’t afford to have a chunk missing.” 

He shivered, scampering off to meet Lurch. 

Wednesday walked back up to you. You were crying once again, whimpering against the headboard. Wednesday went to wipe your tears, her red bandage nearing you. Your expression flipped like a dime, immediately going to ripper mode with the drug-like scent overwhelming you. Wednesday whipped her hand back. 

She was quite curious. You’d been around blood before, whether it was other vampires drinking it, or some kid piercing his skin, you’d never had a problem. So why was it one with her? 

“You need to behave,” Wednesday sighed out. 

You snarled, bloody fangs flashing out at her. 

“I will vervain you. This is your only warning,” she sneered. 

You hissed once again, slumping backwards in defeat. 

Wednesday slowly raised her hand, watching as you shivered with restraint. Your jaw clamped, eyes stuck on red. Your fangs pierced through your gums, and you bit into your own mouth to prevent yourself. Wednesday slowly untied your restrains, quickly tying them behind your back, and shoved you off the bed. She leaned into your ear. 

“I stole your daylight ring whilst you slept. Thing has it now. Your only chance is to come with me, willingly, without causing problems. Do you understand? I willfry you.”

You shuddered, nodding hastily. Wednesday kissed the side of your neck and pushed you forward. The vervain burned your skin, but you trudged through it. You didn’t dare make a sound as you walked, the occasional wince was muffled by biting into your tongue. 

Wednesday whispered praises into your ear as you walked down, your bags already taken care of. 

Wednesday knew this facade had to look real, her parents were under the impression that you’d been dating for awhile. She informed you of this, walking down a flight of stairs. 

“Do not say one word to them, Lurch, or any authorities, understood? Don’t worry about your daylight ring, we only do activities during the night. You’ll fit right in.”

Wednesday undid your restraints, and you gingerly rubbed at them. She raised her hand up to your face, and you looked in surprise at her. 

“My bloods laced with vervain, so you’ll be unable to compel, and vulnerable. It’ll keep you in control, and your ripper side should despise it,” she explained.

You nodded, holding her arm. Shakily, you raised it against your mouth. You fangs ripped through her flesh, and you sighed in relief. Her blood was intoxicating if you ignored the sting of vervain, and your ripper side was going feral. The thought of you biting her neck, her shoulders, anywhere on her had you biting harder. You shook the thoughts from your mind, abruptly tearing her wrist away. You turned your back to her, blinking rapidly and heaving.

“Let me see you,” she whispered. 

You shook your head. Getting wrapped up in your thoughts, you began to spiral, your victims faces flashing in your memories. You curled your hand into a fist, hitting the side of you head hard, trying to get them out. Wednesday’s hands shot up, stopping your hand from striking once again.

You clenched your eyes shut, panicking. Wednesday’s cold hands wrapped around your face, squeezing slightly as she wiped some fallen tears. The pressure lassoed you back to reality, your thoughts swimming into the dark basement of your mind. 

Wednesday lowered your head, choosing to place it on her chest. Her loud heartbeat filled your ears, and your breathing settled. You inhaled deeply, shakily releasing it. 

Her hands slowly started scratching the base of your neck, and she hummed quietly.

You focused on her heart again, hearing it pump steadily. Your ears picked up other noises too, her digestive system slowly working, the acid in her stomach bubbling slightly, and the blood coursing through her veins. The blood moving slowly drowned out her heartbeat, the image of you biting into her jugular filled your thoughts. Your fangs pierced out again, your eyes going darker. Clearing your throat hastily, you blinked rapidly. The whiff of lavender reeled you back to her, Wednesday’s presence returning. You sighed out heavily, leaning most of your weight on Wednesday. 

God, you were so tired. Sometimes the thought of staking yourself seemed better than this, but you knew you couldn’t. You wouldn’t give up. Not until you’d served your sentence. 

“Are you ready to go out to the car?” Wednesday quietly asked. You wouldn’t have picked it up if your senses weren’t heightened.

You nodded slowly, raising your head away from her. You gulped, not meeting her eyes. Wednesday may have been a murderous psycho, but you were a cold hearted ripper. It was hypocritical of you to judge her, especially since Wednesday’s never ripped off a head before. Wallowing in self-loathing, you walked of Nevermore’s doors hand in hand with Wednesday.

[dykealloy]

Fallout spaghetti western trailer

[ampresandian]

The thing that I haven't seen anyone talk about re: Leah as Annabeth that we really need to is that yeah she's not blonde, so she's not giving any anti-"dumb blonde" representation. But "dumb blonde" is not the same stereotype it was in the early/mid-2000s. I grew up blonde, and I was smart, and I was treated that way, minus a handful of "blonde" jokes on like the school playground. There was no societal expectation that I would be treated dumb because of my hair color, not from my teachers or other adults I encountered. We no longer need the blonde Annabeth Chase to help show kids that they can be smart even if they have light hair. Book Annabeth did it, Elle Woods changed the world already, etc etc.

BUT there is just as much stereotype around "Black women are dumb" as there was around "dumb blondes" in the early/mid-2000s (if not more). It's a lot more racially motivated, and it has a lot more knock-on effects than being blonde has for decades. In addition to historic inequality that has led to Black people (esp girls) being denied access to education and able to like afford to pursue things on their own, people treat Black women as dumb. They just do. Just as stereotypical as the "angry Black woman" is that they are not smart, from stigmatism against AAVE to just general racism, internalized or otherwise. Portraying a Black girl as smart is not unheard of, but it's something society needs to see more of. It's something We need to internalize and accept and take into our everyday lives. Annabeth being smart and Black is representation we need, for all the BIPOC little girls and the rest of the world.

Annabeth no longer needs to be blonde. She is just as strong of a character as a Black girl, and still breaking stereotypes and working to improve the social view of girls. Perhaps even more.

Representation has power. Media has power. I think it's really powerful that Rick (et al) can see that power they're wielding, and use it to continue to make a difference that is positive and keeping with the spirit and message of the series as a whole.

[multifandominfj]

Anyone else hyper fixating on the fact that when we first see Marta go through her journey with Fina, her curls are tightly wound and “put together”, but as she slowly started to feel her feelings and accept herself, they became loser and “free”? Or is that just me? 🧁👀

[thecutestgrotto]

OMG I love your muppet dividers!!!! Would it be possible to do a similar Fraggle Rock set? 🩷🩷🩷

Hi anon, sorry for the delay! It was a bit hard to fit them together so I hope these work! The characters are absolutely adorable. 🩵🌸

Fraggle Rock

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Do you find it all right, my dragonfly?

Warnings: downright traumatized adults who need to fucking heal their inner child, reader is also like hl where she's mentally unstable too but at least has a bit of her sanity, not really siblingxsibling, but there is implications, weird/uncomfortable relationships, god mentality, she may not be as bad as hl or sb she still sb's kid, i'm getting a hera and zeus vibe from them honestly, vought should hire a supe therapist or something, finale

Words: 1884

Summary: Years have passed since Soldier Boy's death in Nicaragua. But you and Homelander still suffer the curse of his blood.

🌸Did you get enough love, my little dove 🌸Well you do enough talk, my little hawk. 🌸shall we look at the moon, my little loon

Homelander's eyes pop open, immediately accomodating to the darkness in his room. Even in sleep he caught the subtle noise of the front door to his penthouse suite opening and closing. Normally he would have sprung into action and apprehend whoever dared to break into his home. Only taking him a millisecond to realize who it was, Homelander relaxes back into the mattress.

When he hears you tiptoe your way into his room, he sleepily mutters "Couldn't sleep?"

You don't reply. Simply peeling back the covers of his bed and slipping in next to him. You never imagined how much you'd miss your small home in the middle of nowhere until you moved into Vought Tower with your brother. There was no way you could live by yourself during your last year in high school. Vought wouldn't allow it and neither would Homelander.

Humming at your silence, Homelander shifts to lay on his side to face you. You didn't like how far away your suite was from your brother's. Back at home, he'd been on the other side of the paper-thin wall.

After a moment of quiet, you look up at him through your lashes. "Is it fucked up that I miss him?"

He sadly smiles. "No. I think it's natural. I kinda miss that asshole too."

It was always thought that Soldier Boy was invincible. As indestructible as a cockroach. Stan Edgar was the one to bring you the news from Nicaragua. You simply couldn't believe it as the truth. Soldier Boy killed. You'd sat there in a daze, Homelander to your left as he too stares at the stained carpet under the couch.

Every night since then you'd go to Homelander's room in the dead of night; unable to take how quiet and big it was in your own rooms. Embarrassing at your age that you still needed your big brother's company to sleep.

Homelander was the only person you can seek comfort from. Someone you'd bonded with through trauma.

His blue eyes are so bright in the darkness of his room. Your shade was much more subdued, like Soldier Boy's. Vivid and bold, like a streak of lightening.

"C'mere." He scooches closer to you and wraps his arms around your frame.

All too easily, you accept the security. As long as Homelander was there, you'd be fine.

Years later and it was still the same.

Only now the spotlight was on the both of you and if word ever got out that you shared a bed with your brother, heads would turn and Vought stock would plummet. No one would understand. Everyone would think it utterly disgusting. Not that anything bad happened. You simply couldn't sleep without Homelander being in the same bed as you and vice versa.

Maybe it was odd, but you ceased to care what others thought was normal. It was only Stillwell's private words to you an hour ago. scolding you like you're still that teenager who'd just lost her toxic father. And damnit did her condescending tone still work on you. Why was there a part of you that wanted her praise? Possibly that same teenager who'd grown up without a mother.

"Who cares what they think." Homelander scoffs when you hesitate to go into his suite. He still had his tacky supe suite on, the both of you having come back from a Vought gala event.

Vought's golden children. They sure did love to tote you and your brother out to the public. Everyone ate it up. The most powerful supes in the world. You were legacies after all. Born from the seed of the infamous Soldier Boy who died for his country. There were always Vought events that exploited this fact. It was fucking tiring.

You purse your lips, looking up and down the hall. As you expected though, no one was in sight. A strict rule that no one was to disturb this corridor as it contained the suites of you and the Homelander, the top supes in the entire world. Translucent didn't even dare to peep in on you and Homelander. You always knew he was there. He didn't need any warning. You were even more popular than Payback's twin duo. Both of you having been at the forefront in the creation of Vought's team known as the Seven. The members who would join soon after knew early on not to mess with you and Homelander. You were leagues above any of them. Not only that, but due to your childhoods being not so. . . ideal, both of you had your fair share of mental instabilities.

Try as you may, you were Soldier Boy's daughter. That enough meant you carried his curse. He cursed you with an unhealthy attachment to your brother. You saw how far off he was, having suffered more from Soldier Boy and Vought than you did. Even then you ignored some of the more questionable actions you'd witnessed Homelander commit while on assignments.

Blind loyalty.

"John." You quietly use his birth name to show that you were serious. His smile dampens until his brows fall too. "You know what they're saying."

"What they're saying, or what Edgar told you?"

"Actually your girlfriend told me." Snidely you remark on Homelander's twisted relationship with Madelyn. Seems both of you were to be doomed by unusual relationships.

The muscle below his eye twitches, a note of agitation which only your eyes were capable of catching.

"Regardless, there's truth behind her words. They're lower beings than us, to be sure, but if this gets out it'll be bad press for both of us and Vought." You heave before moving to go back down the hall. "At least. . . for a little bit."

After a moment, Homelander's obnoxious grin returns to his face and he rolls his eyes. He plays along. "Okay. If you say so. But you better not try to crawl into my bed tonight."

You scrunch up your nose before chuckling. "Ah c'mon. That's definitely something you shouldn't be saying to your sister!"

He doesn't attempt to stop you from going back to your suite though you feel his heavy gaze on your back.

As he'd predicted, you indeed came crawling back later that night to curl up against his back. You knew he had a smug smirk on his face, his eyes closed in contentment. Your brother was always aware of your actions before you even knew what you were going to do.

"You're annoying." You mumble.

"I'm not gonna say 'I told you so', but. . ."

You lightly punch him in the ribs but good enough to make him jolt from the abrupt action.

"Don't worry about what others think." You close your eyes to listen to his soothing words, remembering how the two of you would lay under the stars as little kids. A beautiful dream. "We're gods."

Yes. Ichor pumped through your veins. You and Homelander were able to separate your identities from Soldier Boy. He may have started the both of you with his sperm, but you'd forged your own way through blood, sweat and tears.

Incinerators.

Soldier Boy's brutality.

All of it molded you and your brother into the most powerful beings.

"We can do as we please." Homelander turns around under his covers to face toward you. Legs weave together so that you were perfectly configured to his form that latched onto you.

This was how he held you during those long, lonely nights when it was just the two of you in your small house. The nostalgic sound of the rain hitting the windowpane of his bedroom window.

He nuzzles his nose against the soft roundness of your cheek. Your perfume from earlier in the day still clinging to your skin.

This world could take whatever it wanted from him except for you. In the end Homelander plans for it to be just the two of you, the world a pile of ashes around you. Your smile would once again belong only to him. If it came to it, he'd even kill Madelyn if it meant you could remain in his arms.

If he heard a peep out of anyone about you harmlessly cuddling up to him in the middle of the night, he'd tear them apart. Destroy the tower in order to protect you. To protect this.

Did you get enough love, my little dove, why do you cry?

Homelander thinks back to that sweet little girl you once were. Clinging onto your beloved brother's leg for dear life in an attempt to not be swept up in Soldier Boy's darkness.

Such a funny thought to wrap you up in cloth, do you find it alright, my dragon?

Remembers standing next to you as Stan Edgar stood at your front door with several other Vought agents to tell you about Soldier Boy. How there was nothing left of him to even bury. Not a trace physical of him remained on the earth. Only you and Homelander as a testament. A sense of relief washing over both of you and yet. . . a knowledge of doom and the end of your childhood; if you'd ever had a proper one. No matter the mixed feelings you had toward your father, it was a strange thing to now be in a world without him.

Stan Edgar saw to the finishing of your academic studies. He eased his way as your guardian figure while Homelander fell under Madelyn's wing.

Shall we look at the moon my little loon? Why do you cry?

Nights of looking up at the night sky with your brother weren't gone. Just different. The light pollution from the city chased off any chance of seeing stars. The moon refused to be covered though and you could still gaze at it's lonesome fixture above. Your heads pressed together in the same manner you used to do as your sprawled out on a blanket atop of the roof of Vought Tower.

He damned himself for missing the days when it was just you, Homelander, and even Soldier Boy occasionally. Where your backyard bled into the wilderness. Running through the trees while Homelander tried to catch you. Soldier Boy teaching both of you how to shoot a gun, using trees and beer cans as targets. Even picking up a drunken Soldier Boy from the bar at least meant he got to spend more time with you as you accompanied him in Soldier Boy's truck.

Well you do enough talk my little hawk, why do you cry?

You still possessed a scar from your first training day with your dad. Where he gave you a concussion. There were some days where Soldier Boy's training felt more like a punishment as he used you as a punching bag. Never did you cry in front of him. Only in the privacy of the bathroom you and Homelander shared while he cleaned you up. His strong, brave girl.

Homelander brushes back a few stray strands of your dark hair away from your face. You always fell asleep fast when in his arms. You were still that little girl. You always would be to Homelander though he acknowledges you as his equal. He would always be by your side.

After all, you promised to take him to the moon with you.

Thanks for reading!

[dollerinna]

Very late to the conversation abt s4, but as a Noir girlie, I feel like this must be said 😤

(SPOILERS BELOW)

I did NOT like how there was little to no substantial development surrounding Noir this season. Instead, they reduced my mans into a comic relief character, which don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy sometimes, but don’t we already…. cough cough have the deep for that? cough

Like they could’ve done something so much more impactful with the og Noir, but noooOOO kripke just HAD to kill him off, and for what? Just for a few little scattered jokes here and there? Meanwhile this entire season has been an absolute uncoordinated mess???? ((Ik Kripke was planning to kill off Noir since the very beginning, but WHY?? 😭

I can see where they might be heading with a potential showdown between Noir II and Soldier Boy in S5, maybe mirroring the disfigurement of the og Noir or sth? But the way they've been building up to that so far just doesn't feel very compelling or efficient to me personally. it just feels they’ll land another lame “haha” moment for the audience and call it a day when it comes to that point

Impactful story arc? Nope- thrown straight outta the window

and yes I know Noir wasn’t even a primary character to the storyline in the first place, so it’s not like the end of the world or anything. Just take this as a nonsensical rant from a bitter Noir stan 🤠

[cormancatacombs]

A more polished version of what I tried scribbling on a marker board after my partner asked how my day was…

[Image ID: A 3-circle Venn diagram comparing the TV series Haunting Of Bly Manor, Revolutionary Girl Utena, and Fruits Basket (2019).

The overlap between Revolutionary Girl Utena and Fruits Basket reads “shoujo anime.”

The overlap between Haunting Of Bly Manor and Revolutionary Girl Utena reads, “WLW.”

The overlap between Haunting of Bly Manor and Fruits Basket reads “tearjerker.”

The overlap between all 3 reads “breaking supernatural cycles of trauma &/or abuse.”

End of description.]

[iced-american0]

The Edge of Sleep is the first show I’ve watched in YEARS to make me physically sit on the edge of my seat. It’s such a captivating show. I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s the best thing I have seen in years. The storyline is perfect and the acting is amazing. Markiplier you did amazing ♥️