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twistedtummies2 · 6 months

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Top 15 Skeleton Characters

Happy Dia de los Muertos, everybody! Anybody who knows about the Day of the Dead knows it is really a celebration of life…and they also know that a major part of this holiday’s iconography is the imagery of skeletons and skulls. The human skeleton, in fact, is quite the ubiquitous visual: skeletons unsettle many people, on a fundamental level. Everybody has one, but if you’re actually SEEING one, that’s not a good sign: bones are the last vestiges of something long dead, and so there is always this automatic gut reaction of perturbation that comes with them. Of course, there’s also a recognition that life was present, which can, in its own odd way, be heartwarming. Skeleton characters - or even characters who are simply skulls or have skull faces - are thus a major part of many fictional worlds. They can be used to mock death, or celebrate life, or they can be used to represent fear and destruction. Regardless, they are always interesting to see, as commonplace as some may claim them to be. So, I decided, if today is a day about celebrating life through the imagery of death, it was only fitting to do something to celebrate the many characters who, effectively, do the same thing, one way or another. Now, I’m only going to be counting ACTUAL skeletal characters here, so to speak; characters like the Phantom of the Opera, Red Skull from Marvel, or Skull Face from “Metal Gear Solid V,” will not count. They evoke the imagery of a skull, but they’re really just deformed human beings, not actual collections of living bones. Also, I won’t be counting gatherings of skeletons (with one exception), such as the various skeleton-themed enemies you’ll find in video games, or the famous Harryhausen skeletons from “Jason and the Argonauts.” They aren’t really “characters” so much as “creatures,” so I don’t think they fit the bill. With that said, let’s waste no more time! Here are my Top 15 Skeleton Characters!

15. Skelly, from I Spy: Spooky Mansion.

Here’s a more obscure option to start things off. How many of you had I Spy books or played the I Spy PC games when you were younger? I know I did. This picture-puzzle series could be surprisingly challenging, and I was always fascinated by the way they organized the photos in the books, not to mention the animation in the PC titles. “Spooky Mansion” was always my favorite game and book, mostly because…well…I like Spooky Mansions! (Even did a list about them, go and take a look at that, tis the season.) Skelly was essentially our Tour Guide for the game: a mischievous but not malicious skeleton who loved to play games with people and spook them silly. She traps us inside her haunted house and challenges us to find various pieces of a puzzle in order to escape; none of this is done with evil intent, she simply wants to play! I always found Skelly a wonderful mix of creepy and sweet, almost like an Addams Family character; that’s always a great blend.

14. Skeleton King, from Super Robot Monkey Team Hyper Force GO!

Imagine Skeletor on a REALLY bad day. That would basically be this monstrosity in a nutshell. The main antagonist of this (incredibly weirdly named) superhero series, the Skeleton King was once a good-hearted scientist, who wished to help the world; it was he who created the titular Monkey Team. However, things changed when the man began to study the dark forces of the Netherworld; assured in his safety from them, he later paid the price of his hubris, as the dark spirits were released, and ending up possessing and corrupting the scientist, body and soul. He thus became the Skeleton King: a cyborganic ghoul who plots to destroy the entire universe. The King was a deliciously creepy villain, and much of his menace can be owed to his voice actor: none other than the Joker himself, Mark Hamill. Honestly, if that name alone doesn’t interest you in this character right away from the start, there’s not much more I can say that will convince you to give him a look.

13. Sir Daniel Fortesque, from MediEvil.

Sir Daniel is a tragically comic case: for ages after his death, this knight was hailed as a hero, believed to have been a mythical and powerful figure who died nobly for a righteous cause. In truth, he was a bungling coward who was killed in the very first seconds of battle, and never really did anything grand at all; somewhere along the line, the facts of his life got all twisted up. When the evil he once fought (or, at least, wanted to fight) rears its ugly head again many years later, Sir Daniel Fortesque is brought back from the grave to do battle once more...but, of course, not being a hero at all, he now has to prove himself. “MediEvil” becomes a typical quest of an unlikely hero; someone trying to live up to the reputation he garnered over time, trying to earn respect from those who know the truth. It’s a classic kind of setup, only enhanced by the unique, Tim-Burton-esque visual styling of the game…not to mention Sir Daniel’s absolutely hilarious running cycle. I guess he went to the Ministry of Silly Walks before his demise.

12. Bob, from The Dresden Files.

So far, I’ve only finished the first six books of “The Dresden Files,” but it’s already a favorite series of mine. (Also, if you’re only familiar with the TV series…that doesn’t count here, since their version of Bob is rather different.) The series details the many adventures of “consulting wizard,” Harry Dresden, and blends elements of noir-style detective mystery storytelling with doses of dark fantasy and Gothic horror. One of my favorite characters is undeniably Bob: an eccentric ghost who inhabits a skull in Harry’s home. Bob is intended to be a sort of living encyclopedia for Harry to consult when on a case; he has been around for centuries, and helped many wizards in his time, making him an extremely valuable source of information. However, Bob is also…well…freaking hilarious. He’s always got his mind in the gutter, and he’s always filled with snark and a ready-to-whip-out insult or quip, leading to some pretty funny dialogue any time he’s featured. Generally, whenever Harry consults Bob, that’s when things are about to get truly serious…but it’s hard to remember that past all the pure, glorious silliness he provides. The only reason Bob doesn’t rank higher is that he is literally JUST a skull, and on top of that, the skull probably isn’t even his own: it’s just his way of communicating with Dresden in the world of the living, sort of like a crystal ball or other conduit of knowledge. Still, I feel he counts enough.

11. Captain Bones, from Crashbox.

Made for HBO, this series was one of my favorite shows EVER when I was a kid. “Crashbox” was a show that really went outside the box with how an educational program could also be entertaining! It used various styles of animation in numerous scenarios and skits to showcase all kinds of different skills. Basic stuff like math, history, sciences, social studies, and so on were featured, but you’d also have things that challenged your critical thinking or problem solving skills, with puzzles and riddles that weren’t necessarily things you’d be taught at school, but were still important things to learn. It was all done with this irreverent tone; the series was utterly bonkers, so it was always a joy to watch even as it taught you all the skills it tried to push. Captain Bones was one of the most frequent skits in the series, and also one of my favorites. “The Incredibly Dead Captain Bones” was a skeletal ghost pirate cursed to Sail the Seven Seas for an eternity. “And I’ll tell ya,” the Captain would sigh, “I’m a Bored Stiff.” (Har Har.) To keep himself from dying of boredom (…presumably a second time…), the old pirate would use his own bones to create math and picture puzzles, which the viewer would be challenged to try and figure out before he showed them the answer. What made Captain Bones hilarious…were his insults. This guy was the KING of Insult Comedy, able to come up with all kinds of incredible, colorful phrases without ever getting dirty or lewd, given the fact this WAS made for kids. If you don’t agree…“THEN YER NOT FIT TO WALK THE DECK OF ME GHOST SHIP, ye crustacean-sucking, knock-kneed, squid-faced, plank-walking sack of soiled, sea-salted, unwashed fish buckets of barnacles for brains!”

10. Lord Ainz, from Overlord.

I haven’t seen a whole lot of “Overlord” yet, which is the primary reason Ainz only BARELY crosses the threshold into the Top 10. Trust me, if I’d seen more, he’d probably be WAY higher. “Overlord” is a classic Isekai anime series: the plot focus on a young man who ends up zapped into a video game world, which he had once been a player of. He finds that he has been transformed into the character he created: a hyper-powerful dark skeleton warlord, known as Ainz Ooal Gown (or “Lord Ainz” for short). The interesting thing about this isekai is the way Ainz is played, and how he evolves over the course of the series; as time goes on, he loses more and more of his humanity, as his personality, morality, and ethical viewpoints start to merge and become less like his own back on Earth, and more like those of the character he created. This leads to a lot of gray area in the morality of Ainz, as he seeks to conquer the world - the typical goal of many a great dark lord - but has surprisingly understandable motivations for doing so. From what I’ve seen so far, the series is quite interesting, and Ainz is an equally interesting character…but I’ve only scratched the surface of this show, so I don’t think it’s fair to give him TOO high a rank JUST yet. But still, Top 10 ain't bad, right?

9. Bonejangles, from Corpse Bride.

There’s really not a whole lot to say about this guy, I just really love him. Though a fairly small part on the whole, Bonejangles is arguably one of the most recognizable characters in the Tim Burton animated picture “Corpse Bride.” A hollow skeleton with a single eyeball, which he rolls back and forth between his sockets, this limber, jazzy fellow appears to be pretty close to the titular character, Emily - the ghost of a bride-to-be who died mysteriously. It is he who tells the story of the Corpse Bride to our protagonist, Victor Van Dort, via the song “Remains of the Day,” easily the best song in the film’s soundtrack. While his time onscreen is small, he makes an immediate impression, and Danny Elfman’s gravelly, raspy vocals only add to the clattering, rambunctious skeleton’s fun personality. In short, Bonejangles is proof that big characters can come in small packages.

8. The Horned King, from The Black Cauldron.

This movie was HATED when it came out - notoriously, “The Black Cauldron” lost to the CARE BEARS when it premiered. (I wish I was joking about that.) However, over time, the movie has garnered something of a cult following, mostly for its dark and often rather brutal atmosphere (which is still rather pale compared to the Lloyd Alexander novels the film is loosely based upon). One thing almost everybody loves about the film is the villain: the lich-like Horned King, voiced impeccably by John Hurt. A cross between the character of the same name from the first book, “The Book of Three,” and the evil Lord Arawn, the main antagonist of the series, Disney’s incarnation of the character is easily one of the most mysterious and frightening of their animated baddies. Essentially a living corpse (who has horns growing out of his head, for some reason), the Horned King is a powerful sorcerer who wishes to destroy all of mankind. (Why? Probably because he’s tired of everyone around him having noses.) To this end, he and his goblin-like assistant, Creeper, seek out Hen-Wen, a pig who somehow has gained oracular abilities, allowing her to find the hiding place of the titular Black Cauldron. The Cauldron is an ancient piece of crockery possessed by the spirit of a long-dead king, which can create an army of living dead brutes, “The Cauldron Born.” In the end, the King is thwarted by Taran, a young farm boy who has been thrust into a quest to stop him, and is sucked into the Cauldron itself. In arguably the goriest death scene in a Disney movie, the King is stripped of his soul, and his FLESH (what little he has), as his life force is sucked into the Cauldron’s hellish depths, before EXPLODING in a flash of light and dust. A fittingly gruesome end for this bony fiend.

7. Arc, from Skeleton Knight in Another World.

Much like Overlord, this is another fantasy isekai anime series, in which the main character is transformed into a character they played in a video game. And, just like then, said main character is an extremely powerful skelly-dude. HOWEVER, that’s about where the similarities between this show and “Overlord” stop. In “Skeleton Knight in Another World,” Arc is not a villain who plays the hero of his own story…but instead just a hero, period. In fact, a big part of the series is that he worries about people seeing his true bone face, as he knows the sight of a giant living skeleton will probably be seen as a bad sign by many. Arc is a wonderfully fun protagonist: like many characters in this sort of scenario, he is equal parts bold and admirably strong…and sort of a total dork. The human life he left behind clashes constantly with the uber-heroic facade he tries to put on (complete with a bold and daring laugh, which is absolutely glorious), leading to a great deal of humor. While Ainz is probably the more popular character between these two, I’ve actually finished all of “Skeleton Knight” (at least with what’s available thus far), and I generally prefer Arc a little bit more, based on what I’ve seen. Therefore, he gets higher marks on the list. Also, on a side note…the theme song to this show is absolutely freaking GLORIOUS, seriously, go take a listen to it.

6. Basically the Entire Cast of “Coco.”

This is the exception to the "no groups of characters" rule I made. I know it’s cheating to include a whole bunch of skeletons, instead of just one, but I felt that, in this case, it was warranted. It’s fitting I’m posting this on the Day of the Dead, because that’s what this film is actually inspired by and based around. This Pixar movie tells the story of a young boy named Miguel, who loves music. However, due to personal tragedy, his family has banned any member from being a musician. Believing his great-grandfather to be a legendary musician, Miguel goes on a quest to rekindle the love of music in his family…and, in the process, ends up in the Land of the Dead, which is populated by a whole world of Dia de los Muertos-inspired skeletons. Ranging from friendly sorts, like the eccentric Hector, and multiple late members of Miguel’s family, to the more villainous Ernesto de la Cruz, choosing just one character to represent an entire film of colorful, whimsical bunches of bones seemed next to impossible. So, yeah, I’m just counting the entire movie here. My list, my choice. So sue me. :P

5. Ghost Rider, from Marvel.

A prominent anti-hero of the Marvel universe, the Ghost Rider has gone through many incarnations. One early interpretation, later re-named the Phantom Rider (big difference, I know), isn’t a skeleton at all, nor a supernatural entity of any kind. Instead, the first Ghost Rider was a Wild Western hero and horseman, who used his ghostly costume and magic tricks to frighten his enemies - think of a cross between the Lone Ranger and Batman. Later interpretations, however, took a different path. The most famous Ghost Rider is Johnny Blaze: a stunt daredevil who was tutored largely by his adoptive father, Crash Simpson. (Good lord, these names sound like video game characters from Nintendo…) When Crash developed an inoperable cancer, a grief-stricken Johnny made a deal with the Devil himself to try and save him. Needless to say, it didn’t go so well. Now, Blaze - and others who would share his curse - must roam the land hunting down evildoers, fighting both mortal and supernatural villainy in an endless quest to avenge the innocent. The Ghost Riders all share common visual elements: fiery skeletal bodies, leather clothes, chain-based weapons, and of course, AWESOME motorcycles to ride upon. Their power over the fires of Hell itself are their primary weapons, however, with a variety of different attacks and powers available to Blaze and his later compatriots in the war to seek out the evil and punish them for their sins...hopefully while avoiding ending up in terrible Nicolas Cage outings. No promises on that one.

4. Sans & Papyrus, from Undertale.

Oh, God, I LOVE Undertale. And more than that, perhaps, I LOOOOVE Sans and Papyrus! The Skeleton Brothers are easily my favorite characters in the game, and the most identifiable for me, in many ways. Sans is, in some ways, Undertale’s equivalent to the Doctor from “Doctor Who”: he is a comedic, laid-back, somewhat eccentric character who uses his unassuming appearance and “dopey” personality as a facade. As many a player quickly learns, Sans is far more powerful, far more DANGEROUS than he looks or seems, able to go from cracking a terrible pun to threatening you with painful death in a split second. If you get on his bad side, “you’re gonna have a bad time.” His brother, Papyrus, on the other hand, is sort of the reverse: at first glance, Papyrus seems like your typical “over-the-top villain.” His signature laugh, twisted design, and sense of self-importance all make him about as fiendish as can be...all he’s missing is a top hat or a moustache to twirl! But it quickly becomes clear that Papyrus is neither as evil, nor as clever, as he likes to seem: in reality, he’s really a rather harmless sort of bony fellow, and would much rather befriend you than murder you with his incredibly elaborate, Wile-E.-Coyote-esque death traps. (Much like with Wile E., the traps never work the way they should.) Dealing with these brothers is a BIG part of figuring out the events of Undertale, and the path your adventure will take in the game. Whether you love them as much as I do or not, I advise you to decide wisely.

3. Skeletor, from He-Man and the Masters of the Universe.

There have been several different takes on Eternia’s greatest villain over the years (my favorite will always be the original, but I do like many, if not all, of the other interpretations out there). No matter which one you look at, Skeletor is a very fun villain, and is easily one of the most iconic skull-faced scoundrels out there. A dark wizard who longs to take over Castle Grayskull, and learn all its secrets for his own evil ends, Skeletor’s evil ranges from cartoonish to truly cruel, depending on which version you look at, but there’s always a wonderful blend of both creepiness and genuine menace that accompanies him. It’s hard to not make references to this guy when looking at other bony characters, and he’s given rise to more memes than you can shake a sorcerer’s scepter at. Really, what more can I say? It’s Skeletor: by virtue of his recognition alone, he’s more than earned a spot in the Top Three.

2. The Grim Reaper.

Arguably the single most iconic skeletal figure in history, the Grim Reaper - the embodiment of death itself - could really take up an entire list of his own. (And he probably will, one day.) There are so many versions of the Reaper out there, it’s kind of amazing: when people imagine what death’s avatar looks like, it’s likely that the typical imagery of a skeletal figure, garbed in a dark cloak and carrying a scythe, is the first thing they will imagine. Sometimes the Reaper is depicted as a humorous and comical figure, such as the version found in “The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy.” On many occasions he is depicted as an evil monster, such as the version of Death found in the “Castlevania” franchise. Other times, he is something of a neutral force, as death is neither truly good nor evil when you think about it; probably my favorite example of this is the one found in Terry Pratchett’s “Discworld” universe. Bottom line, I think the fact that skeletons so often represent death, to the point where the very embodiment of the Angel of Death is depicted AS a skeleton, speaks for itself as to why this ranks so highly. Honestly, I was tempted to make this choice number one, but I decided against it for several reasons. Still, iconic as the concept of the Grim Reaper is, the character - in pretty much all his forms - has more than earned high praise here.

1. Jack Skellington, from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

“Nightmare” is one of my favorite films of all time, if not my absolute favorite. It’s not a complex movie, really, but its simplicity is part of what makes it so wonderful! Jack is, by extension, one of my favorite characters of all time: hailed as “The Pumpkin King With the Skeleton Grin,” this dapper, noble, gentlemanly bonehead is the ruler of Halloween Town, a world of ghosts, goblins, and ghouls (oh, my!) whose only job is to make Halloween as frightening as possible. But, despite his undead state, and wicked sense of humor, there is no malice in Jack’s mischief; he just sees it as a job. A job he’s apparently very, VERY good at, from the few examples the film and other spin-offs give us. Jack’s really a very good sort; charming and debonair, but also rather naive. A cockeyed optimist in his own way, and a bit of a prima donna, Jack’s over-the-top antics and spirit of adventure are what often get him into trouble; he has a problem with thinking things through. However, when things go wrong, Jack is ready for action, and quick to take responsibility, take charge, and take chances. His heart is in the right place at all times, even if his brain doesn’t always get there right away. Mixing intelligence and charisma with a childlike simplicty - much like the movie he hails from, in fact - Jack Skellington is an endearing and interesting character who deserves every bit of love he gets from myself and the world over. He’s just as iconic as the Grim Reaper, Skeletor, and others on this list, if not more so! And for all these reasons and more, I happily (albeit pointlessly) name Jack Skellington my Favorite Skeletal Character!

HONORABLE MENTIONS INCLUDE…

Captain Barbossa, from Pirates of the Caribbean. (He really only counts for the first film, which is why I didn’t include him on the main list.)

The Speaking Skull, from The Last Unicorn.

Manolo Sanchez, from The Book of Life.

Spinal, from Killer Instinct.

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phoenixcatch7 · 3 months

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Hey mdzs crowd how would wwx being a bloodborne hunter sucked into a night of the hunt every full moon sound?

Maybe not a full long night, just an 'hour' of it every month, so he finishes one full hunt a year??

A qi free place, exactly like the actual game, but he has to sneak away into the moonlight portal or risk an agonising transformation into a grotesque beast himself for the duration the moon is in the sky. Cloud cover does nothing. He will try and kill everything in his path unless chained.

A choice between becoming a werewolf or the hunter, basically.

And lwj somehow following him through the portal once, to this qi less place, but as a cultivator of significant insight and an unprotected human of normal blood it goes REALLY downhill fast until wwx is able to free him, either by a high adrenaline scene getting a collapsing lwj back through the portal before it closes or by managing to drag his increasingly agonised and overwhelmed body to the sanctuary until the time is over, thus wasting valuable time and making things so much worse for wwx in the next full moons. It's a very angsty and traumatising reveal all round.

Because wwx is a whip smart guy with dangerous thoughts on resentment and the use of corpses, who went through horrifying things and emerged amazingly intact but not untouched, and I think it'd be really interesting to see the interplay of these dual lives. How the cultivation world is so, so much better in pretty much every way, but its own horrors reflective of yharnam, its capabilities for so much more than what they have.

Like, he'd be so much more desensitised to horror and gore, but it'd be matched by the stubborn drive that this is his home, his refuge from the dragging terror of the hunt, and he'd defend that to his last breath. And living a life as a (horribly fragile if lethal) mortal and still surviving the worst yharnam has to throw at him, he'd have a very different outlook on losing his core. He's already seen how, with the right tools, he can be just as dangerous if not more than the average cultivator. And in the cultivation world there's just so much more potential!

His inherent goodness, too, would not survive without damage just from the smog of hopelessness in the air. A wwx who can't keep that instinctive urge to help, but now has to choose, with every second, to remain kind (if not extremely inflammatory about it lmao).

The contemplation of demonic cultivation, too, would have a very different sort of draw. It's not just forbidden, taboo, but he's seen the very worst of it in action; the healing church, the orphan of kos, the vile bloods, the school of mensis, the feral beasts in rotten human skin roaming every street convinced they're still human.

But wwx isn't wwx without truly amazing levels of trailblazing hubris and curiosity, and he'd have the little niggling whispers in the back of his head, theories about how what they did could have been used for actual good, or at least more humanely. When he committed to the risk of demonic cultivation, he'd feel the dangerous itch to practice on things already dead, things that can't touch his home. To organise his goals, get some sort of advantage from this awful place, where the consequences (probably) can't follow him home. But yharnam is the most dangerous place possible to try messing with blood and the dead, and the knowledge of the rheumy eyes of the eldritch monstrosities above him is a heavy pressure on the back of his head.

I'd love to explore the themes of the changes wrought, these two different existences touching through wwx, but also can you imagine the yiling patriarch with a gun and a butchers knife?

#Wwx really living up to those rumours huh #World's first guy to discover blood types and invent blood transfusions therefore saving the lives of thousands to come #But noooo everyone remembers that one time he had a flashback to the night of the hunt during a night hunt and #Ripped a zombie wolfs throat open with his teeth #Lwj still wants him tho have no fear #mxtx #mxtx mdzs #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan wangji #wei wuxian #the untamed #Idk maybe lwj finds it hot when his crush is insanely competent and also covered in blood. Who's knows what's going on in his head #mdzs fandom #wwx #mdzs wwx #the untamed wwx #This happened because I can't consume two media at once at NOT fuse them #Runner up was mdzs/bayonetta because wwx would make the best witch ever but bloodborne doesn't go with like ANYTHING else I have its so dar #bloodborne

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renlyslittlerose · 6 months

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Kinktober Day 26 - Breakfast in Bed

Today's prompt: Breakfast in bed

Dedicated to @teadrunktailor, my literal boss who, upon hearing me lament that I was running out of ideas, blurted out 'breakfast in bed???' as a theme to write! This is T rated because I am not about to write actual smut for my boss, no matter how close we are l o l

Without the Other - 1,853 Rating: T Content: Character introspection; Hurt/Comfort; Injured Obi-Wan; Brief discussions of medical situations

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Anakin knew he wasn’t the Jedi he should be.

Though quick on his feet and powerful with the Force, Anakin lacked the other things that made a Jedi great; that made him something of substance rather than a boy gilded with prophecy but not much else - nothing worthy of the accolades and appraisals of his peers. He was arrogant and brash and curt; his deference wasn’t something easily earned nor given; he didn’t do things because he wanted to but because he felt he ought to, and he cared too deeply about one thing and not enough about another.

His anger was sometimes overwhelming, lashing and tight across his chest and the back of his neck, taking hold and shaking until he gave in to the depths of his monstrosity. He wanted to hurt, to maim, to devour even though he knew he ought to hold back and let the Force guide him as his Masters had always instructed. Other times he was seen as sullen, the darkness within that was once hot and invigorating becoming cold. He would seek the joys of life but be met with only resistance from his mind, the Force seemingly abandoning him as he struggled to breath without splitting himself apart.

He scared those around him with his power, his use of the Force not a gentle thing but something unruly and dangerous. There were times where tapping into his powers felt like slicing his breastbone apart so as to bleed his energies into the world, gruesome and painful and difficult to staunch the flow of once it had started. Sometimes he wondered if it would just be easier to bleed out - to slip into the stream of the Force and become one with it in all ways, his consciousness part of the greater collective while his body rotted away to become nothing but dust upon the robes and hands of his Master.

He didn’t speak of the last part to anyone, though he felt it all the same.

But perhaps Anakin’s greatest failing wasn’t his rage, nor his grief, and not his hubris nor his arrogance. But it was his capacity to love - too much, too greatly, too selfishly. He clung to that which he adored until they bent and broke beneath his touch, pieces of them embedding them in his hands and chest until they became a part of him. Anakin had always thought that his love, and his ability to adore and worship beyond what the Jedi had suggested, was his greatest power. It made him fight harder, work harder, and do the things thought impossible. Love guided him and instructed him. It fed the ravenous beast in his belly that always wanted more - that demanded more from the life that he lived.

And then his mother had died, and Anakin touched the void he’d been trying to escape from all his life.

Love and all its multitudes had betrayed him, cut away at his flesh and organs until it reached bone. It carved out the marrow and made him hollow before pouring in a sickness that Anakin still had yet to get rid of. It followed him everywhere he went, this warped and twisted version of love, staining his dreams and his desires and making him fear his attachments.

Yet they persisted. He cherished Ahsoka and dreaded her eventual Knighthood for he knew that she would leave him. His childhood adoration of Padmé had only grown as he’d aged, her wisdom and kindness so necessary to Anakin that he believed even if he were to become a part of her, he’d never attain the goodness that she had within. That he would always be lacking in comparison.

But nothing compared to his love for his Master - for Obi-Wan. He saw him as both a brother and a father, a mother and a tutor, a lover and a confidant. He was Anakin’s mirror in all his complexities - tender where Anakin was abrasive, humble where Anakin was arrogant, subtle where Anakin was forward. He represented the best of Anakin and the worst, his teachings both guiding Anakin and restraining him, making him feel both cherished and humiliated.

Obi-Wan was a part of Anakin. They were a single entity cut in half and divided between two bodies, their souls incomplete without each other. Without Obi-Wan there would be no Anakin; it was as simple as that.

The realization came to him as he sat next to Obi-Wan’s med-bay cot, Obi-Wan swaddled in white sheets that made him look pale and sickly. Dark bags rested beneath his closed eyes, the weight of his duties still evident on his brow even in the darkness of sleep. Machines beeped quietly, monitoring the steady beat of his heart, but Anakin didn’t need their mechanized read-outs to know that Obi-Wan was still with him. Barely, but still there.

The accident had come abruptly - one moment Obi-Wan was standing and whole, a grim look of determination on his features as he held up the left flank of their forces, and the next he wasn’t. Anakin had felt his silence in the Force before he saw him on the ground, a broken droid laying on top of him, his crumbled form barely visible beneath the smoke and dirt.

Grief screamed through Anakin’s entire being upon seeing the bowed head of copper.

It was as if he’d ceased to exist the very moment Obi-Wan had slipped from their bond. Like dirt from a shallow grave was shoved in his throat and nose and ears, up and down nothing but concepts as he rushed headlong into oblivion, chasing after the one man who had made it all make sense.

Though the Clone medics assured Anakin that Obi-Wan would be fine - that he wasn’t dying nor even close to it - Anakin had sensed his loss so profoundly that even now, sat on a chair that dug into his back and thighs, it didn’t seem real.

For a moment Obi-Wan was gone, and for a moment so was Anakin.

He’d been told to get some rest but didn’t leave his post, things such as sleep and food pushed aside in favour of his obsession. Each breath Obi-Wan took in was like a salve to his wounds, coating the burns and the aches until things hurt a little less. Droids hovered and prodded, a few programmed to ask Anakin to leave, but he paid them no mind and remained by Obi-Wan’s side, tears at the corners of his eyes as the stone in his gullet grew in size.

Eventually, hours or perhaps days later, Obi-Wan shifted, and Anakin with him. Blue eyes hazy with sleep and the fog of pain blinked open, Obi-Wan’s brows furrowing as the light from the room shone down on him. A moment passed where Anakin allowed Obi-Wan time to reorient himself, his hands clasped together as he squeezed and squeezed, metal twisting with sinew and tissue before—

“Anakin?”

Anakin let out a stuttering breath and swallowed the stone. “Hey.”

“What happened?” Obi-Wan asked. He shifted in the bed, groaning as the bruises across his sides pinched.

Anakin steadied him with his hand along his shoulder, pushing him back down despite Obi-Wan’s protests. “You got into a fight with a battle droid.”

“I take it I lost?” Obi-Wan put up little resistance to Anakin’s pressure and fell back on to the bed.

“You won, but it got its revenge by falling on you.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “That was rather rude of it.”

Anakin smiled. He wanted to kiss Obi-Wan - to assuage his fears and feel Obi-Wan’s heat and life beneath his lips. But it was improper. Here they were simply brothers in arms - General and General, Jedi and Jedi. Nothing more.

“How long was I out for?”

“I don’t know,” Anakin admitted. “Few hours. Maybe days.”

“Maybe days?” Obi-Wan repeated. He looked up at Anakin with confusion. “How can you not know?”

Anakin shrugged. “I haven’t been keeping track,” he admitted.

Obi-Wan frowned but didn’t say anything else - didn’t press into the bruise that Anakin had already caused. He knew Obi-Wan was concerned about his attachment - his obsession - to him and those he loved. He didn’t need further reprimand. It never worked, anyways.

“They’ll take you to the bacta tanks soon,” Anakin said, trying to focus on something else. “They wanted to wait until you’d woken.”

“Wouldn’t want me to suffocate, I suppose,” Obi-Wan said. He shifted again and sat up a little further on the bed. Anakin grabbed his pillow and re situated behind him, his touch tender along Obi-Wan’s back. Bandages, dense and thick, were felt through the thin material of his gown, and Anakin bit his bottom lip until it hurt.

Sitting back down Anakin soaked in Obi-Wan, admiring the pink in his cheeks and the life in his eyes. Obi-Wan fussed with the blankets, a look of displeasure on his face. That too was comforting.

“I hope the men didn’t see me like this,” Obi-Wan mumbled.

They had. They’d all come in, one at a time or sometimes in small groups to check up on their General. Anakin had shooed them away with a quick glare.

“I told them not to come,” Anakin said. “Figured you could use the rest. And that your ego couldn’t handle them seeing your hair out of place.”

Obi-Wan snorted, the sound catching in his chest as he winced. Anakin didn’t apologize, grateful to see Obi-Wan awake and aware and reacting. They locked eyes then, Obi-Wan’s bright blue with Anakin’s deeper tones. Anakin let himself get lost in the hues - the greys mixed with the light blues, so bright like the sky and just as overwhelming.

The beep of a droid brought Anakin back to the space, and he watched as the droid brought over a tray of food. It dropped the tray on the bedside table before rolling off, little trills and beeps accompanying it.

“Breakfast in bed. I’m being spoiled,” Obi-Wan said with a small smile.

He brought the tray to his lap and poked at the military rations trussed up to look vaguely appetizing. Anakin watched with tired eyes as Obi-Wan sipped the caf without sugar or cream before shoving some round fruit in his mouth.

Obi-Wan’s voice broke him from his reverie. “Have you eaten, Anakin?”

Anakin blinked back his exhaustion and shook his head. “No, not for… not for a while.”

Obi-Wan grabbed a cup of what looked like oatmeal and passed it to Anakin along with his spoon. Anakin took it without complaint and shoved the lumpy substance in his mouth. Oatmeal it was…

Perhaps the Jedi were right; perhaps this love he had was dangerous and perhaps it would warp and twist into something else. Perhaps it would be his downfall - and perhaps he would drag everyone down with him when he did finally collapse.

But perhaps Anakin didn’t care.

#obikin #star wars fanfiction #lemon fanfiction #kinktober 2023 #lemon does kinktober

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polkadotsunshine · 11 months

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Dr. Pepper

I sort of like soda. If it’s in front of me I’ll drink it but mostly I just have water. I sort of like 7 Up more than I like any other soda in the same way that I sort of like red M&Ms more than any other color. Here’s the thing: nobody “sort of” likes Dr. Pepper. Its strong flavor cleanly Donnie Darko divides the world into lovers and haters. You are either a die-hard Dr. Pepper fan or you can’t stand the taste.

On my first full day on a vacation to Texas, I was explaining this school of thought as we bought groceries for the rest of my stay. As I elaborated, my host stopped dead in his tracks, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Well, you’ve never had to drink nothing but Dr. Pepper for 12 days straight.” I could sense this trauma had not yet healed so I didn’t ask what he meant.

In this silence, he leaned over to the shelf beside him and, with the biggest smile I have ever seen him have, he pulled out two massive three liter bottles of Diet Dr. Pepper. I had never seen a three liter bottle of anything before. He noticed my shock and held them up to a two liter bottle on the shelves. “You don’t have this kind of thing up north.” He was right. With a slight flourish he dumped them into our shopping cart. You don’t make room for that kind of thing in your cart. Everything else makes room for it.

The gears in my head fell into place. Thoughts with this amount of torque change a person. I asked my host to mentor me in the ways of Dr. Pepper; I too wanted to drink nothing but Dr. Pepper for days on end. With childish optimism, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could cross the infinite divide between hate and love. My host accepted my request. In his wisdom, he picked out a 12 pack of Dr. Pepper & Cream Soda Zero Sugar cans.

On the first night, I was still jet lagged and turned down every suggestion of night time activities. I didn’t want to roast marshmallows or play board games or watch a movie. With our options exhausted, my mentor at last suggested, “Well do you at least want some Dr. Pepper?” I did.

I had to literally roll the bottle out from the back of the fridge because the three liter monstrosity could not fit in even the fanciest of Texas sized fridges. Then, I poured myself a glass and retired to my quarters. I lay awake as a terrible stomach pain overwhelmed me.

I consulted an online network of supplementary Dr. Pepper mentors to see if this could be a symptom of my transition to Pepperhood. One scholar replied, “Let the doctor work.” I downed the rest of my glass and fell asleep. When I woke up, I at once understood the advice.

The previous day, in my hubris, I had eaten a downright vile volume of queso for lunch, despite my lactose intolerance. As previously described, I sort of like soda and will drink it if it’s set out in front of me. Well, I really like queso. Imagine the visceral things I do when something I like is set out in front of me.

My friends unknowingly organized my funeral when they ordered, without my input, a heaping bowl of queso topped with chorizo, pico de gallo, and guacamole. A cheese induced brain fog had obscured this memory and convinced me that Dr. Pepper could be at fault. I would not blame her again.

As many non-American home remedies claim, a good swig of toxic US soda will counteract the toxins of sickness and flood them out. Well, buddy, Dr. Pepper has 23 flavors to besiege the comparative 1 of lactose. Throughout my entire second day, my body ejected an uncountably infinite mass of cheesy hell. Up against the overindulgent Texas queso, Dr. Pepper’s toxins waged the American Civil War inside my stomach, in a thrilling prequel to the inevitable police state of Osmosis Jones.

On the third day, I was cured. That night when we went out for dinner, in the name of stomach Reconstruction, I ordered, “Just water.” I now have philosophical proof that God exists because my water came in a crimson frosted plastic cup bearing the Dr. Pepper logo. The water tasted sweet. When we got home, I celebrated with a can of the cream flavored Dr. Pepper. I liked it a lot more than the Diet Dr. Pepper variant. At that exact moment, I was hooked on Pepper fever.

On the fourth day, I suffered a painful hunger because, to put it bluntly, all the food around the house sucked. I didn’t want to eat. Yet, Dr. Pepper provided. As a non-soda drinker, I shockingly learned that a simple can could fill you up. I leveraged this ability for the remainder of my trip. Dr. Pepper blessed me with a new experience of life; for the first time outside of a buffet, I felt full when eating dinner. On the fifth day, I understood how to use Dr. Pepper’s caffeine to fix my sleep. On the sixth day, I became at peace with its flavor. And so it was that on my seventh and final full day in Texas, I rested. And it was good.

On my trip back to New York, I felt a familiar stomach pain while boarding my airplane. I had eaten two cheesy tacos from “Buc-ees” for breakfast. Despite the relatively small amount of cheese in those tacos compared to the queso one week earlier, the poor quality of the food amplified its severity. Though “Buc-ees” sold merchandise of its mascot, was several times larger than my local grocery store, and was generally hostile to poor people, it was still a gas station with gas station food. My position as a polite prisoner in a plane with 100 other people only made the situation worse. I knew what I had to do.

I asked the flight attendant for Dr. Pepper. It calmed me long enough for my stomach to process the food. At last, I entered the airplane bathroom and blasted the last remains of Texas out of my body. I know with spiritual clarity that I flushed that toilet at the exact moment the plane crossed the Mason-Dixon line. The war was over. The boys, now men, were coming home.

I love Dr. Pepper.

Dr. Pepper is a warrior, a friend, and to be completely honest, tastes kinda bad.

#maya writes #long post #dr. pepper #best of

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agentrouka-blog · 2 years

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It would be a poetic if in the a Dream of Spring Dragonstone erupted in too the sea just like the Valyria, i mean if Red Keep is going to be destroyed why not also the Dragonstone

I do love the idea of all the volcanic hints paying off and destroying the architectural monstrosity with its aroma of brimstone that is Dragonstone Castle. A destruction by the fires of the earth would be a poetic mirror to the Doom that the Targaryens escaped when they fled Valyria (and set up shop - and castle - on Dragonstone).

That said, I have no idea how GRRM could credibly make it happen in a way that is justified (i.e. why is this happening and why now) and that doesn't undermine the impact of Dany burning KL, i.e. the self-destruction of House Targaryen based on their own hubris and egotism.

Then again, there's Summer Hall. And the loss of Dragonstone might actually be a contributing factor in escalating her endgame path, should GRRM choose to play it that way.

I suppose it would largely depend on just how heavily blood magic will feature on Dany's end in her Westeros arc.

#anti daenerys targaryen #anti targaryen #dragonstone

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stellarhistoria · 8 months

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i'm getting to my drafts inna moment here but i find it fascinating that so many of my muses have Issues or Disconnects with their religions / with the gods themselves like some matter of greek hubris moment and instead of being KILLED they WON? like... kairos and ozy half included because being killed as a full immortal doesn't count.

kairos: a greco-roman monstrosity (real term, specifically a cosmic one) that fell out of christianity because of the trauma of his bio parents, ended up hunting down the gods of several universes on essentially assassination order as an ex-eldritch horror, and then he got scruffed by the three main tricksters (wukong, hermes, loki) and now half-worships them half-befriended them

ozy: a devoted ancient egyptian lich who never wanted to be who he is now but takes it in stride because he's met so many wonderful people, fallen in love over and over again, been killed and betrayed and risen to great heights over and over again, and he wouldn't trade it for the world even though lichdom feels like a betrayal to his gods he was ordered to commit

orlain: an egyptian monk elf who harbored so much rage from being saddled with the memory of being cheated on by his first love but not having any memory of his best friend who has stayed with him since before the cycles, being told that the gods use them as "capri suns of immortality" for each one of them that they "consume their essence" of. the rage towards the heavens, towards fate, towards choices that aren't choices, and then looking a fallen god in the face and saying this isn't fair with intent to kill and being sidelined by the answer of it isn't, and i'm sorry.

saros: actual real best friends with hermes and ma'at but doesn't worship them, has met several gods and thinks they're all quite silly, but isn't against what they do.

#important.#♡. ren writes ⁄ ⁄ underneath crimson skies .

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flowers-and-literature · 1 year

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I love you A Monster Calls I love you dark fantasy with powerful messages I love you monstrosity being a metaphor for consolation and grief I love you vampires I love you age old gothic tales I love you monstrosity being a metaphor for queerness and hubris

#thoughts thoughts thoughts thoughts thOUGHTS THOUGHTS!!!!!!

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tatsumi-harem-chronicles · 2 years

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magical girl au in my brain…. the first time hiiro and aira meet, its entirely by coincidence, though perhaps its fate’s design— a witch descends upon the mall complex aira’s in, pulling a good amount of people into its labyrinth, and right as aira’s about to die to one of the witch’s familiars, hiiro swoops in and dices it to pieces

hes only there to find rinne and for no other reason. expecting his brother to show up soon, rather than defeat the witch itself, hiiro simply protects the witch’s victims, hinging on rinne to show up and save the day and then hiiai kiss or something i didnt get far

[1]snkdbf to hiiro’s surprise, rinne does not show up to aira’s, neither do any magical girls its been a couple of days, and hiiro’s very visibly pushed to his psychological limit with keeping the humans he could find from killing each other (or themselves). in this time, he and aira talk — aira learns of hiiro’s desire to “destroy all magical girls” and hiiro learns of aira’s love for magical girls. they obviously start off on the wrong feet but fighting for your life will very quickly acquaint you with your allies so they cope, with aira placating the other people he’s with and hiiro handling matters of protection and resource allocation (they need to Eat and Drink Water after all </3)

except in all this time, the witch has only become stronger and stronger. hiiro’s back-up plan for escape falls through when he can no longer find an appropriate ‘exit’ to the labyrinth, and the witch’s familiars are only becoming stronger, smarter, and more cunning, and the psychological influence of the witch unnerves the victims hiiro is protecting, though aira is immune due to the latent well of magic within him. on top of all this, after cutting down a familiar that nearly does another human in, hiiro’s subjected to his hubris in the form of corruption rendering him immobile from an internal magic tug-of-war, trying to keep himself from becoming a monstrosity with the belief that he could be a danger to the rest of them, hiiro opts to kamikaze it and kill the witch with the resulting explosion when he turns, except aira offers to form a contract with him and then hiiai kiss again or something eccentric party night suddenly popped in my head

hiiai kiss so real

their transformation sequence should involve kissing /j specifically because of this au i started watching futari wa precure research purposes bdjdbfjf after defeating the witch, they learn the reason why neither rinne nor any magical girls showed up, and its because rinne fought off every magical girl from interfering, hoping to pressure hiiro into thinking of the victims’ sakes first before rinne’s didn’t work of course but hiiro and aira forming a contract is Also a satisfactory conclusion to his gamble, and thus rinne allows himself to be arrested and taken away by the Magical Girl Police (akatsuki?) before hiiai can get their bearings post-witch-defeat

[anon1]LMAOOO magical girl police 😭😭😭

[anon2]i can believe magical girls but I draw the line at rinne willingly giving himself up to law enforcement /j

HAHAHSISHKDJFF he doesnt go without a fight i assure you but kuro slaps him across the face and rinne goes down easy

#enstars #ensemble stars #magical girl au #hiiai #hiiai: ready- start! saga #rinne amagi (mentioned)#mod talks #misc

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kitsunefyuu · 9 months

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What is your favorite thing to write story-wise with All for One? Since you seem to write him a lot into all your fanfics.

It depends! I adore writing him as a father and older brother caring for his family. Someone that truly adores them and does want the best while also being obsessive. Unable to see how he is hurting them because thinks he can make up for it later. The End Justifies the Means, kind of mentality.

However, I also love writing him in very soft and cute moments like with Inko or a young Izuku. Where he is trying very awkwardly to just be a normal person for them. Trying to make them happy.

But my absolute favorite is when I Monsterfy him. As in turn him into literally some kind of monstrosity usually because of his hubris. Like in the one shot I made Between Life and Death for Dad for One week he allowed his paranoia to become all-consuming until lost everything and became a walking corpse. Or just writing him as an unreasonable Eldritch being who truly can't comprehend humanity in "The Horrors You Seek" series.

The main reason is I love him.

I love his flaws and fucked up humanity while also believing in his humanity. That he has chances to step back and stop he could have stopped if the right things are said but he is the only thing at fault. Or he is the only thing that causes pain to the cast not because thrives on it but because believes he has to. But I also love stripping him of his humanity! Of twisting him into a monster that makes him more natural.

I'm still trying to figure myself out when writing but I adore writing him.

#yoly's talks #my hero academia #all for one mha #all for one #[ I love him and love torturing him but also love him just being evil. ]

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prometheanglory · 3 years

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To feed my inner myth-loving child how about ⚡ with Vinh (OKAY SHSHSH I KNOW WHATS SHE'S BASED OFF OF BUT...), Chase, Xuehai, Holly and Edgar please!

(if that's too much I don't mind if you cut an OC or two out 😔)

⚡ What mythological god would you associate with your OC?

TEEHEHEHEHEHEH TY FOR THE ROT AYA 😳😳😳😳 fighting for my life to find mythological gods but its worth it

vinh:

HESTIA

the most ‘on the nose’ example would be hestia! goddess of the hearth, domesticity, and family! she is granted a position amongst the twelve olympians for her oath to maintaining the celestial fire (and subsequently keeping the peace by becoming a sworn virgin to evade marriage from either Poseidon or Apollo). I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY… HESTIA IS SUCH A GOOD FIT FOR VINH…… EVEN IF SHE ISNT IN MANY MYTHS…

there’s smth mentioned abt how since she was tasked with the celestial fire, she was never able to leave the house of gods even when others were able of traversing as they pleased — she alone would stay in the temple and attend to her duties even when other gods could traverse between worlds…… 🙉🙉🙉 and there’s a subsequent issue of how hestia is later replaced by dionysus as one of the 12 olympians in later greek practices… smth abt it. yeah. vinhcore. also she’s the eldest daughter. and also she is kinda treated as an antithesis to aphrodite… and she’s usually depicted as a modest woman with very sparse honors and no actual chosen emblem… a very silent existence that went easy into that good night of silence. im going insane actually.

chase:

ARTEMIS

honestly it’s hard as hell to pick any gods for anyone from stagrove since theyre soooo….. well. u know. the entire point is that they cant rly be elevated or ostracized from their very… Grounded And Human Ways. BUT THAT IS NOT ENOUGH TO STOP ME. ANYWAY. ARTEMIS. MAIDEN GODDESS OF THE WILDERNESS, HUNT, WILD ANIMALS, AND MOON.

a chunk of the time when she’s killed people, it’s because they’ve asserted that they’re better than her. granted, chase is a little better at not killing people when they want to think of themselves as superior to him — but it doesn’t change much that they don’t take kindly to being treated as an underdog. speaking of dogs, i think its very… fitting that a chunk of artemis’ motifs suit stagrove well. u know. a hunting dog, a long range weapon (bow vs gun), a stag, and… well, cordell could be seen as the nymphs that were left to watch over the hunting dogs. anyway, chick that has no interest in anything other than spiting people and hanging out in the wilderness and dude who has no interest in anything other than spiting people and hanging out in the wilderness.

xuehai:

NEMESIS

ironically, mr. hubris himself gets to be the dispenser of dues for arrogance. I THINK ITS FITTING FOR HIM… goddess of balance, vengeance, and retribution… she operates in a rather karmic way, but is ultimately seen as an unyielding and implacable force of justice…

I LIKE TO THINK OF XUEHAI AS THAT TYPE OF CHARACTER. UNYIELDING. INESCAPABLE. A TYPE OF EXISTENCE U ALWAYS INADVERTENTLY DREAD. on that same note, theres the fact that she is also seen as a distributor of fortune — not in the scope of good or bad, but just giving what is already due. there is such a thing as too much good and too much bad and both of these wrath-filled monstrosities are ready to crack down on what must be done. also bc xuehai has that folkhero vibe contained in a big bad menace’s flourish of Everything I Say Is Right Because I Said So.

holly:

PERSEPHONE

not in the scope of wife to hades, but more so in the lens of the maiden of spring who’s name is near synonymous with death. I LIKE… THE JUXTAPOSITION… i don’t know how to explain it, but in the sense that in order to really be seen as persephone (or holly), spring and death must go hand in hand.

i’m disregarding the entire hades wife thing even if thats one of persephones biggest… known things ig ? but anyway i’m thinking more abt how she plays a role in other ppl’s mythos…. like when she was kind enough to give psyche a portion of her beauty, but unfortunately her beauty was imbued with the essence of death (so psyche died). also the way that she is hardly ever referred to directly by name when her mythos was being shared, so she’s generally just referred to with alternative names (the maiden, the mistress, etc.) likely due to superstition surrounding death and anything related to the figures surrounding it. she’s a kind woman, a responsible woman that just so happens to be shrouded in the looming threat of dying ❤️

edgar:

HADES

ummm <3 teehee <3 i don't know how to describe it other than the way he’s best contained in the idea of sparsely mentioned death figure. neither of them are evil people by nature, they’re just associated with incredibly grim and ill-spoken things. also the persephone thing. yeah. he kinda takes a backseat to persephone in terms of being mentioned and who gets to have prevalence in mythos bc it is easier to speak of her as a woman associated with death rather than the man who’s actually death. not to say that he’s ~more powerful and dreadful~ than persephone (or holly) but just in the sense that. you’d much rather mention one person than the other because they’re easier to deal with.

i WAS going to assign him the muses bc of his ties to art/culture/story-telling/etc… but 🕴nay methinks . hades it is. also the entire tricking persephone into staying in the underworld thing. and the kidnapping. yeah.

#twst #twisute oc #answers #holly gardenour #edgar motley-mothford #qian xuehai #chase manchester #vinh torch #oc asky

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lisle-joyeuse · 3 years

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Pastry pt. 1

I’ve been killing time before I move by testing out recipes, and usually I stick with breads since pastry is a bitch. So far, I’ve done two attempts: mini lemon tarts and macarons.

The lemon tarts were a Father’s Day special, but the end result was good enough to warrant making this a staple pastry (the other staple pastries...are just cheesecake variations and birthday cake). The macarons...I will make them again on Friday and then never again unless requested by someone I love.

FILLING: best part. Curd was made according to Claire Saffitz’s recipe, jam was made by me. I used a mixture of raspberries and cherries, added some fresh thyme and mint at the end. Definitely did not cook the jam long enough initially, so I had to do a longer pre-curd bake to set it, which led to the shells becoming over-baked. Claire’s curd recipe is more sour than the previous recipe I’d been using (Ina Garten’s), which makes a good balancer for other sweet things.

TOPPING: stabilized whipped cream, fresh mint, edible flower. I piped the whipped cream without thinking on the first tart, which is why the numbers are off. The most enjoyable part of this entire process, which was expected because I truly do not enjoy making pastry. Decorating is fine and good, except cake decorating stresses me out, but more on that at the end. :)

These little pink bitches were so annoying. Everything was sticky. Everything was violently pink. My (already fragile) patience was tested. So, my first mistake was attempting these at all, knowing that they’re incredibly sweet. My second mistake was trying to improvise a round piping tip out of the wrong kind of ziploc bag, leading to irregular sizes as seen :) in the picture :). No pictures of just the cookies because they’re hideous.

COOKIE: followed Tasty’s recipe, which was fine. I didn’t rest them long enough, and I think something is up with my oven because the suggested 300 degree F baking temp did not cook them through. This might’ve also been due to not resting them long enough to skin before baking. We’ll find out again :) on Friday.

FILLING: again, followed Tasty’s recipe and also the Binging with Babish Mandalorian recipe, which was a mistake. I hate buttercream. I hate making buttercream? I’ll eat it if it’s on something I purchase? If given the choice, I’d much rather replace it with any other option besides fondant??? So I’m not sure why I blindly followed this recipe, because it trapped me in the process of making something I hate. The last time I made buttercream was a few years ago in...high school? I don’t remember when, but I remember that I hated it back then, too. Thankfully, I had extra curd that balanced out the otherwise cloying sweet monstrosity. There are??? so many other filling options available that do NOT involve buttercream, and I will be experimenting with those in the future.

FLAVORING: Yeah. The concept was there, but buttercream ruined the execution. I bought three different kinds of flavoring the previous day and was excited to try them out, so I ended up with a vanilla-rose macaron, rose buttercream, lemon curd. They tasted good despite being hideous, so the flavor combo wasn’t the issue. I’d recommend it if you enjoy rose flavored things.

Due to hubris, I will be attempting macarons again on Friday, this time with a vanilla cookie, dark chocolate ganache filling, and possibly a jam to balance things out (and round piping tips). I made a bunch of stone fruit and mint (yellow and white peaches, cherries, no plums or nectarines because I didn’t buy nectarines and only bought 4 plums, then made the executive decision to keep the four plums for eating) jam today for a bread project tomorrow, but I’m not sure how good it would be with chocolate. Pride is a sin, if you’re into that, but so is buttercream. :) At least something good (hopefully) can come from pride.

Thanks for reading, tune in again tomorrow or Friday, and we’ll see how things go.

#collegeblr #gradblr #baking #pastry #studyblr #amy food posts

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jedimayukidaawesome · 4 years

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Theory: Xenia tried to revive her husband after he died, but something went wrong, and she had to kill him all over again.

I have been replaying S2 of Xenia’s route, and when Gideon mentions resurrecting MC, Xenia shuts it down firmly, as it’s implied that Xenia witnessed resurrection going wrong before, hence her stance on it.

That and she mentioned that her hubris caused whatever fate befell Valerion, hubris meaning ‘excessive pride or self-confidence’, with the definition in Greek tradegy being ‘excessive pride towards or in defiance of the Gods’. Theoretically speaking, she could have been so sure that the resurrection would work (probably through Amara’s successful resurrection), that when Valerion died, she was 100% certain that he would live again and everything would be fine.

So when it didn’t, or, more correctly; it messed up, she was completely shocked and shattered by this revelation, and she killed him due to whatever pain he was in, or due to whatever monstrosity he became. Danilo would’ve been against it as the Autumn Priest, as their beliefs and magic surround death, and the Priests are believed to be descendants of the Goddesses. As of such, Xenia’s resurrection attempt would’ve been seen as an arrogant defiance of the Goddesses as a violation of the natural cycle of life and death, and thus she believes that Valerion’s failed resurrection was of her own doing, and Danilo believes the same.

So in short, Xenia could never bear witnessing MC being revived into a pain or accursed form, and would rather have MC die than MC experiencing experiencing that torment, and by extension, never having to kill the one she loves a second time.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk

#lovestruck #xenia of the autumn #reigning passions xenia #rp xenia #xenia

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dirthavarens · 4 years

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The Beginning (Dragatha)

Fandom: Dracula (2020) Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing Relationship: Dracula/Agatha Rating: Explicit Warnings: None Word Count: 8,298 Summary: She hadn’t seen him in fifty years, not since the ship exploded and left everything aboard scattered on the seafloor; a relic of a two person war. He was one of those relics, a deadly artifact she had sought out first and foremost upon her awakening;;

Agatha Van Helsing awakes at the bottom of the seafloor in a state of undead. As always, her curiosity leads her to more than she bargained for but no less than she can handle.

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She hadn’t seen him in fifty years, not since the ship exploded and left everything aboard scattered on the seafloor; a relic of a two person war. He was one of those relics, a deadly artifact she had sought out first and foremost upon her awakening;;

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Much like Jonathan Harker, Agatha Van Helsing had been swept into the churning waters below her, sinking into the frigid sea around her. Her last breaths had been painful lungfuls of briny water and assumed it would kill her faster than if she had fought against it. She had awoken very nearly after, her body writhing on the seafloor as she snapped back to reality in an instant. It didn’t take her long to figure out what had happened to her.

Sister Agatha Van Helsing was stripped of mortality and entered a betwixt state of semi-existence. All she had to do was feed and she would become what she had set out to destroy. Curiosity ravaged her mind as she breathed the water from her lungs, letting them compress to nothing. She observed the sensation before she walked along the seafloor as she would a sidewalk.

Hunger was in the back of her mind and she wondered if a fish would suffice or if she would have to ingest human blood. Could she even catch a fish? Where was Dracula? Surely if she survived he had as well.

Questions piled in her brain, one lapping over the other, as she searched the floor for something. It was difficult to see through the debris and waves, but once she found her bearings and settled her mind, Agatha was able to focus on the task at hand. Surely if Dracula was able to track down Harker with such efficiency, she would be able to feel his pull on her as his…

‘Victim,’ she scrutinized her own thoughts, her brow scrunching together reflexively. The word didn’t sit well with her, for she did not see herself as a victim. Rather, she was a byproduct of her own hubris and his repulsive instinctive nature.

Agatha felt her ears perk and she turned her head towards what had unexpectedly caught her body’s attention. It was a fleeting feeling, but it was enough to motivate her pace. She followed the sensation and found what she had been looking for.

His box of dirt.

She wanted to reach out, to know that he was in fact in there, but she knew better. The compulsion was stronger than any natural urge she had felt as a human. It was hard to resist the need to see him, to give herself one more chance to end his life. Yet, she refrained.

She needed time to gain strength and insight. And now she had all the time that God could offer her. Or rather, that Dracula offered her, she guessed. He was no god, he was hardly a man, yet she could not stop thinking of him, of how he looked in his crate, if the water had seeped into the soil. Harker’s “account” of his stay at Castle Dracula was starting to make intimate sense to her as she forced herself away from the crate.

Agatha shifted her gaze to the seafloor, looking for any sign of an incline, and upon finding it, followed it until she could feel the ripple of waves above her. She emerged from the water as if walking up stairs and noticed it was nearing morning, the dew settling on the vegetation in the distance. A little early to be conducting experiments, in her mind, but she would conquer all of them with time.

On the breeze, she caught the scent of food, of civilization, of… whatever possessing nectar flooded her senses. It was closer than the other scents and she scoured the beach to find what it was. Weeks prior she claimed to not see the appeal of blood, but this new smell, this input, drove her to near infuriating madness.

Then she saw the body. And she ran to it, her desire to help overriding her desire to feed. As she came upon the man, she realized the severity of his injuries. He appeared to be a watchman of sorts based on his attire, but that struck her as an unimportant detail in comparison to the way his femur protruded from his leg and the abnormal twist of his neck. It was clear he had fallen from the cliff and would not last much longer. She could hear his pulse as it slowed and watched as the liquid spilled from his wounds like a fountain. Never before had blood been so inviting or so black in the moon’s light.

“P-please…end my pain…Ma’am, I beg of you,” lamented the man when he saw her approaching. She knelt beside him, recited prayers in Latin as she brought her hand to rest on his forehead. “You’re a Catholic?”

“A nun. Or I suppose I used to be,” she explained upon finishing her prayers. “I’m sorry cannot save you.”

The man’s expression grew cross, simultaneously frustrated and faded as his life continued to leave him. “I don’t want to be saved, I want mercy. I can’t suffer like this. Please, Sister. Whoever you are, do this for me.”

The urgency in his voice, it reminded her of the screams at the convent. Pleading, desperate, final. However, the blood pouring from him muffled the shrill cries of the month’s past. Agatha leaned down to an intimately close level and felt her body change, felt the hunger build in her. She could see the reflection of a beast in his dying eyes.

“Are you an angel of death? Is that why you came to me?” The man interjected, fear lost to his voice, resigned to his fate.

“Perhaps fate has a hand in all things. Please do not fret now. I can take the pain away until you are sleeping.” She felt wrong. Everything felt wrong as she lowered her mouth to his. Her first kiss in years and it was with a stranger she was about to murder.

‘A mercy killing is not murder. It’s hardly killing at all,’ rang a damnably condescending voice in her mind that sent a delicious chill down her spine. She had not anticipated the reaction to hearing him speak. The man before her groaned and she turned to his neck, focusing on what little life he had left. His pulse was almost gone now, his heart struggling to function. ‘Drink, Agatha. You know you want to, and look at him. That’s very much how the second mate looked right before I devoured him. No chance of recovery, might as well enjoy yourself while you can. He certainly will if you can control him. Though, I’ve never seen a fledgling do it before.’

She felt her stomach twist painfully as she pieced together what was happening within her mind. Dracula was in her head, speaking to her through some sort of mental connection. He was with her even as he sat in the bottom of the sea, pestering her as a man continued to suffer before her.

Fate toyed with her or perhaps God tested her, but Agatha had a decision to make. She could allow the man to suffer, to die naturally as humans are supposed to when accidents happened. Or she could claim his life and become the slouching monstrosity she found so horrific and fascinating.

‘Hardly a choice, you know. This is what you’ve always wanted, Agatha. To study the beast you must become one. Morality and God have no place in survival or in science. He is your sustenance and your ticket to a life of increasing, limitless knowledge.’

She ignored him as she sank her teeth into the man’s jugular, focusing entirely on finding his thoughts, his dreams, his aspirations. Agatha wanted to know the man from whom she drank. Information could bring him comfort and she saw a flash of a memory.

Shepherd’s Pie, warm and inviting, a woman behind it. The eyes she looked out were those of a child… His mother?

‘Will you ever fail to impress me?’

The memory was a place to start and she tried to make a connection with him, but the taste of his blood kept interfering as she drank him deeper. Her teeth locked into place as her jaw clamped down, securing the artery in her hold. She felt like she had broken a fast, indulging on pastries and delicacies she did not have names for. Only when another memory, much different from the first, played through her mind did she realize what was happening. Her eyes grew wide and she loosened her grip, pulling away enough to encourage his peaceful departure. His mother was waiting for him, or at least he hoped she was.

“You must cling to love as you fall from this world, to courage and to strength. Do not fear death, James. There is nothing to fear in happy reunions,” she whispered tenderly in his ear as his lungs slowed in his chest. The hot prickling at her eyes brought forth tears as she returned to his neck, devouring the last shred of life from his body. She pulled away, tears hot at her cheeks as she looked down at the lifeless corpse, drained to a ghastly white.

The blood that remained at her lips took a sour smell and she used her sleeve to rid herself of the scent. She felt stronger than ever within a matter of moments and was able to rationalize a man’s death to herself. He was going to die and she hastened his departure to spare his suffering.

‘One should always speed the parting guest. You remembered,’ his proud and most unwelcome words trespassed onto her thoughts once more. She could nearly see him behind her eyelids when she closed them. ‘This is the last night you’ll have my company for a long while, Agatha. Be sure to survive until I wake.’

“What’s to keep me from going into the water and staking you my first chance? I could do it now, all I would need is a piece of driftwood,” she called toward the open water as she stood from the body of James the Night Watchman. He was startled by the explosion out at sea and fell from the cliff to the rocks below. The poor man had been twisted among the rocks for nearly two hours before Agatha came along.

His death was not enough to distract her from the shift in her speech. She had absorbed his native tongue very much the same way as Dracula had learned it from Jonathan Harker. Wonder sparked in her eyes and she understood her initial hypothesis to be true. Stories, memories, secrets, lives, were all in the blood. That is what Dracula had meant by blood is lives.

‘Your curious spirit. Your intelligence, your hunger for information, your desire to know every dark corner of this world. Need I remind you, you bargained your life to me in order to save that shrilling child. You’re a part of me now.’ His breathy chuckle echoed between her ears as she lifted the deceased man from the rocks and walked him into the water. She could feel her abdomen clench at the sound of his voice. It was a despicable response and she shoved the thought down as she swam out far enough for the tide to take the corpse away from shore. Her easy strength and energy came from the exsanguinated body that drifted away from her arms.

‘See? One must keep a tidy slaughterhouse. The fastest pupil I’ve ever had, and to think all your learning is going to be turned against me. You’ve been given a gift, Agatha. If anything you shouldn’t be planning to kill me. No, my dear Sister, I think you should explore the range of your capabilities.’

“You are narcissistic even in your obscenity. If you are so confident, then perhaps you should step from your box and meet me on shore in little over an hour.” Agatha sounded like she was talking to herself as she began to make her way back to shore, unaware of what lurked in the water as she swam. “I have a theory I want to t--”

She gasped as she felt a firm grip at her ankle and her body was suddenly jerked underwater. Agatha’s first instinct was to fight against him, knowing full-well that it was Count Dracula who had his grips on her ankle, on her hips, on her waist. In the disturbed water, she let out a snarl, entirely vampiric in nature and lost in the liquid around them. He smiled at her through the water and she kicked at his shin, but he dodged her easily in a smooth movement.

‘I’m sure you do,’ he purred in her mind and his tone suddenly changed as he was able to look at her. ‘I have a different idea. Mind, you are allowed to say no.’

‘Good. Then I don’t have to say it. Let me go. Return to your box, Count. This is the last night I’ll have your company, yes? I’d rather begin seeing as little of you as possible. Thanks,’ she retorted defiantly and shook one arm loose then the other. Agatha returned to the surface with the Count emerging right after.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake. Has no one ever told you no? Is your ego truly that fragile?” She rolled her eyes but remained for a moment longer. “Speak to me on shore if you wish, I don’t want to be waterlogged by the time the next living person sees me.”

How easily she accepted her undeath. Merely rationalization and she was going to make the best of the situation.

“Under one condition.”

“And what would that be?” She was almost afraid to ask. Entertaining him was an easy way to get information from him. If she could twist whatever his terms were to her benefit, then perhaps she would indulge him further.

“I don’t want to just talk when we get there.”

She blinked incredulously at him. The implications alone were laughable and she couldn’t help the breath of disbelief she expelled from her nostrils. At first, she thought he was trying to throw her off-balance.

Upon further inspection, however, it was clear to her what he wanted.

“Did the explosion scramble your brains, Count? Why would you think I’d want to lay with you after you slaughtered the Sisters and so many innocents while you fed off me for weeks?” Her words were scathing as she started to swim back to shore, not caring if he followed or not.

“Because, you’d be lying to both of us if you said you didn’t and lying is beneath you, Agatha,” he stated plainly as he kept pace beside her, his black hair silk in what was left of the moonlight. “And because I’ve been in your head. I know your dreams, I know your desires. As we played chess, I could smell it on you.”

Her cheeks flushed as the compartmentalized memory came back to the forefront of her mind. How could he discern personal and professional fascination? A beast is only aware he’s getting attention; he doesn’t care what kind. He was no better, but he was right.

“I’m a nun, not a saint.”

“A vampire, not a nun,” he corrected as they stepped out of the water. “You’re not constrained to all those silly little rules anymore. You can live as you like, do as you like, experiment as you like. Now, let me speak my piece while I play by your rules for a moment.”

She crossed her arms over her chest as the wind blew through her tangled, wet mess of hair. He was right in saying she was no longer a nun. In truth, Agatha hadn’t felt like a nun in a very long time. Still, that did not mean she was going to simply give her body to the man who just hours earlier had tried to kill her. Even if he was dripping wet in front of her, his hair mussed, and clearly exhausted. And admittedly, very handsome. “I’m waiting.”

“I don’t know how long I’m going to be asleep. You did a number on me, even if you can’t tell, and I need time to recuperate. I’ll need to be back in my box before the sun rises. By your count, that’s in an hour.”

“So that’s why you want to bed me? Because I injured you?”

Dracula shook his head and laughed before stepping closer to her, his chest heaving from exertion. She examined him closer and noticed odd protrusions from under his shirt. “No, Agatha. I want you because the next time I see you, it will be too long to have waited. It might actually kill me in my sleep if I’m not the first to have you as you are now. It is my handiwork, after all.”

Broken ribs.

“Good, it will save me the trouble,” she snorted indignantly, raising a brow at him. Agatha made note of the way his gaze kept wandering from her eyes to her lips. She did her best to ignore the stir in the pit of her stomach. “You have my life, Count. Which, if I’m careful, will continue long enough to kill you.”

Something in him changed then, his smile disappearing as his eyes grew dark. A new strategy perhaps?

“Why wait? Kill me, if you truly want me dead now. Here,” he pressed, voice low, as he slipped his suspenders from his shoulders and pulled his shirt over his head. The fabric fell to the gravel beneath him and he took another step towards her. His eyes were on hers, demanding, testing. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick. “Go find your piece of driftwood, pierce my heart, and watch as we both crumble to dust.”

She swallowed the thick feeling in her throat as she trained her gaze on his, unflinching as the wind picked up around them. He was too close and she was still feeling the power from her first feed. An effective tactic indeed.

She could not step back lest she show weakness, so she squared her shoulders and raised her head. There were many things Agatha still wanted to do, alive or undead. Now, she had a better and more willing test subject: herself.

“Not until I know the reason behind your fears, Count Dracula.” She had to steady herself when she spoke. Any closer and she feared she would fall into his natural gravity. Even at the short distance she was away, her head swam, but she had to keep herself in check.

“Excuses are unnecessary,” he imparted and closed the space between them. She gave a breath of protest against his mouth, her hands coming to his chest. When it came time to push him away, she couldn’t. Instead, Agatha moved her hands to nestle in his hair and hold steady at his neck, bringing him closer to her.

He flicked his tongue at her lip, noticing that it had already healed over nicely from when she ripped a chunk out of it when she was mortal. She opened her mouth in response, drinking in the taste of him as he sampled her. His breath still carried the flavors of Sokolov and even in her repulsion, she found herself giving into him. The captain had been a good man, undeserving of the fate bestowed upon him, but Dracula made her forget about him, about everything, simply by kissing her, no opiate involved.

The hand at the back of his neck held him steady in her hold as the other moved against his chest. There should have been a heartbeat under her fingertips. There should have been warmth in the fervent ministrations of their mouths, there should have been many things...but Agatha still sank into him. She wanted more and she damned herself for it. Her natural curiosity and blood-high crashed over her at once as her would-be murderer put a hand at the small of her back and drew her closer.

“That’s better,” he hummed as he broke the kiss, a glib smirk dancing at his lips. Agatha pulled back from him, her hands returning to her sides as she put space between them. Her innards tumbled wretchedly within her, caught between pleasure and disgust.

“Deplorable,” she interjected, mostly at herself. Never had she planned on breaking so many vows in one night, but Dracula stood shirtless, bruised, and battered before her. And he wanted her, more than anything she had seen. More than her blood, more than standing upon English soil, more than each and every nun and crew member he had torn apart. She could feel his natural allure pulling at her, coaxing her to him like a beacon in the dead of night.

“So what say you? Your body’s response is clear, certainly. But what does that rigid logic say, mm? Does it tell you no? To run? To escape me?” He knew better than to think that her mind would ever tell her to run. Her fear of him was no more than justified caution. Dracula returned his hands to her as he closed the gap. “Or is it silent now? All those silly little reservations you’ve had for weeks… You can’t tell me you haven’t been curious, even for a nun of your standing.”

“A vampire, now, remember?” She forced a steady breath and worked her jaw, ignoring the stir in her core when he spoke. “Thanks to you.”

“Ah, as much as I would love to take full credit for corrupting you, I’m afraid you drained that man of your own volition,” he pointed out, dark eyes trained on her. In them, she could see more than she ever could before. His pride, his yearning, his pain. “Agatha Van Helsing, the first Queen of vampires. A merciful murderess, an angel of death.”

“Hardly,” she insisted, steadying herself to the point of shedding herself of her humanities as his thumbs massaged her clothed skin. Her chest stilled and her eyes were unblinking as he moved a hand to her chin, drawing her face closer.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

Her eyes flitted beyond him to the deep grey casting upon the horizon, the water turning a strange obsidian, before refocusing on him. She could not deny that she wanted to feel him inside of her or that she hadn’t thought of how or if a vampire could in fact have sex to completion. Beyond her curiosity, need burned within her as though she carried Hell itself inside of her. “Count Dr--”

The look in her eyes must have been enough to give him permission. His mouth crashed upon hers in a punishing kiss and she parted her lips for him, his name lost as a groan against him. Dracula’s fingers trailed down her habit, bunching it in his hold until she could feel the wind against her thighs. He withdrew from her lips and watched as he pulled the fabric up, revealing her skin to him. It occurred to her then that he had not taken advantage of his position when she was unconscious aboard the ship.

‘Ah, you think so lowly of me as to take to rape?’ he inquired within her mind, clearly injured by her silent implication.

‘You did with Harker, did you not? And your brides? The second mate, even,’ she returned as she stepped out of his hold. Even as a monster, she would not bed a rapist. Harker had not given a solid answer, but it was to be assumed.

“Is that what he told you?” Dracula pulled back for a moment and laughed with disbelief. “The kiss of the vampire is an opiate, Agatha. I made them dream, but I did not dishonor them. Why would I need to play with my food in such a way? It would spoil the flavor. As for my brides, I won’t sleep with an unwilling participant.”

He was on her again, his kiss much gentler as his fingers threaded through her knotted and soaked hair. Agatha found truth in his words, knowing too well that his narcissism would not take kindly to such an act and eased into the kiss. His lead was easy to follow and they moved as a single unit closer inland. The gravelly sand underfoot should have hurt more than it did, but the sensation only stimulated her more as his hands returned to her habit.

“Stay out of my head,” she breathed between his lips and he drank in the words with delight. A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth.

“No promises,” he murmured in return, drawing the habit up her torso. “Now, be a lamb and lift your arms so I can take you properly. We haven’t much time to waste.”

She shot him a glare but obeyed, lifting her arms and exposing herself before Dracula. The moment that followed had been spent in deliberation. She wanted to cover herself but the way he was looking at her with obvious depraved sin made her smirk and shake her head. “Even now you act as a beast.”

“Don’t feed me that line, Agatha. Not when you’re standing so beautifully exposed for me,” he cautioned before dipping his head and hand to her breast. Her nipple perked under the exploratory flick of his tongue and she drew in a quick breath. He brought his head up, leaving his fingers to idly play at her raised flesh. “How long has it been for you? Not by your own hand, but from another. I know you weren’t pure when you took your vows. How long?”

“Twenty-five years. I was seventeen and unwed. Why does that interest you?” Agatha hooked her index finger into his slacks and guided his hips closer so she could work at his belt. “Did you think I would say sooner?”

“I was asleep for a week, I wasn’t sure if the dear captain had tried and succeeded. The way he looked at you, obeyed you like he was your slave. I should have bled him worse than I had.”

The quiet snarl in his throat grew nearly imperceptible as he took possession of her mouth, claiming her with every impertinent motion. Below, his fingers rested on hers, guiding her in the undoing of his belt, the button of his slacks, and then released her as she worked at his zipper. He took her face in one hand while he stepped out of his slacks in an easy motion. Agatha wanted to protest, to defend the captain, but he had her in a hold from which there was no exit.

She heard his shoes clatter against the rocks behind them as he left her mouth sore and panting for breath. She realized then that it was a human habit that would be lost to her in the coming years. Still, she could not pass the opportunity to probe him, provoke him, draw out the beast until it roared in her face.

“Jealous of a man who can do as he’s told?”

Dracula’s nostril twitched impatiently, but he did not reply. The sky around them turned a dark grey as clouds rolled in from the sea. Perhaps, they would have more than the time the Earth granted them.

“Well?”

“I could never be jealous of such a man. Too weak to act on desire, too soft to take risks. Hardly a captain if you ask me. Martyrs are a pestilence upon this Earth. So eager to die without truly knowing how it feels to live.”

“Then why want to bleed him?” Her insistence earned her a hand on her hip that spun her in his hold and pulled her flush against him. She could feel his cock throbbing against her rear as he reflexively swayed his hips forward. The hand at her hip crept towards her center while the other took her throat.

He entreated a hum of unbridled delight in her ear as he dipped his finger between her folds and found himself instantly coated. “Because he wanted you. He wanted to have you, Agatha. How could I let another man have the life promised to me? By your own words, I have you.”

She shuddered against him as the heat within her unfurled and spilled into her abdomen. He prodded experimentally against her entrance, earning a frustrated groan from the woman in his arms. “You seek to own me, then?”

“I could and will spend an eternity trying. For now, I will take you as I know I can have you,” he purred shamelessly as he ran the pad of his finger against her clit, wetting it with her own juices. He released her neck, cupped her left breast, and kissed the side of her head. His other hand was preoccupied circling her nub. Agatha arched her back against him as a trembling whimper spilled from her lips. “Do you think you would be this ready for me if you weren’t undead?”

He should know the answer by now. Her body had been willing from the start, her mind took a moment to catch up. Dracula had her where he wanted her, but was taking his time. Why? As he said earlier, they hadn’t much time to waste. Why was he dawdling now?

She turned once again in his hold and took his cock in her hand, gently rubbing his cockhead with her thumb. “Temptation is nothing more than curiosity. I follow peculiarities which interest me and you happen to be one of them. But I’m learning you quicker than I thought. Now, cease this tedious small talk.”

He palmed her ass with both hands then clamped down on the flesh in his hold. The shock of pain rocked through her and she tightened her grip on him, his shaft pulsating in her grasp. She released his cock and held to the back of his neck, a silent command. Dracula lifted her into the air and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him, staring him down as he beamed up at her.

“And I thought I’d have you in a proper bed,” he chuckled as he walked them up the hill and lowered her down in the first patch of dew covered grass he could find. The cold beneath her came as shock and she arched her back, nipples rubbing against his torso. “But I suppose there is always next time.”

He shifted down in the grass and spread her legs wider, separating her folds with two fingers and marveling at the glistening wetness that awaited him. “I always loved a lively one, but a wicked one… So willing and so open for me. Agatha, you’re amazing.”

“Spare me your self-praise, Count,” she shot as her eyes darkened and her cheeks burned. Like a thief caught in the act, Agatha could not deny how his words melted her and sent a wave of heat crashing over her. She squirmed under him and dug her heels into his flanks. “Why are you stalling?”

A rumble above them pulled her attention away from him. Her gaze moved to the sky and noticed the way the clouds churned above them. There was a storm on the horizon. He would be safe in its darkness until he had his way with her and she knew it. Almost too convenient.

Her gaze snapped back to him and glared up at him with her accusation clear on her expression.

“I swear this wasn’t me,” he admitted with a grin, flashing his teeth to her as he sat back and turned his head toward the sky. She studied how the muscles in his neck stretched, the way his lips parted as he looked up, and found herself wandering into dangerous territory.

“How fate favors the bold.” His words brought her back to reality, away from forbidden thoughts, and more importantly, back to him. She shivered and dropped her head against the ground as he pushed a finger into her and curled it, instantly finding her sweet spot. Agatha’s mouth teetered between open and shut as a hitched breath slipped into the late night air.

He withdrew from her delicious heat and plunged back in, another finger added. She wanted to curse him for watching her pant beneath him without giving her more, undoing her with nothing more than his hand. Twenty-five years without sex had left her starved for contact, a hunger long forgotten until he stood before her, naked and unabashed at the convent.

“I’m surprised you’re responding so well to my hand alone. Did you not take care of yourself in the nunnery, Agatha?” The count shifted so he was looming over her, face close as he thrust and twisted his fingers. He curled the digits inside of her over and over, lapping at that one spot that was causing her to shake uncontrollably. “Shall I make you come for me? Do you want me to give you your release?”

He had her lost and rocking against him, her walls clenching around his unrelenting fingers. Agatha forced her head up, bruising his lips in a kiss that was more of a bite. A chance to cling to reality.

“Darling, your teeth are rather sharp now. Be mindful not to rip my lip off,” he laughed quietly against her mouth, kissing her back and pried his way into her mouth. She felt the slick of his tongue against her own as though every nerve was on high alert. His fingers stilled inside of her. “Answer me. Do you want to come?”

“Bastard,” she whined and dropped her head against the grass. Her chest heaved as she glared up at him. He removed a digit from her and raised his brow. God, he was going to torment her. Dracula was going to make her beg for her release. She swallowed what shred of her decency remained and closed her eyes. “Please.”

Another crack of thunder.

“I’m sorry? What was that? You’re going to have to speak up. I’m afraid the weather is a bit tumultuous in these parts.” His amusement was palpable as he curled the lone finger inside of her. She was caught between a groan and a growl as she began to tighten around him again.

Another stroke, then another, then another, each slower, deeper, more deliberate. He played with her, giving her just enough stimulation to want more, but not enough to grant her satisfaction. “I’m waiting.”

She could have punched him--should have punched him. He was self-righteous in every sense, but the way his simper played as his lips as his second middle finger rejoined his index inside of her threw those--and all--thoughts to the wayside. His slow, scorching kiss was an added bonus.

“La petite mort,” she whispered hoarsely against his lips before capturing them again. The kiss was fast and hard as Dracula drew his head back and smiled down at her.

“The only you’ll ever have.” A promise.

The rain began to fall around them as he trailed down her body, his fingers working idly inside of her. She arched her back in whatever direction his lips went. Down her sternum, to her breasts, pecked every rib with care, he traveled down to her core.

“I wonder how you taste.” His breath was hot against her before reaching his tongue out to graze against her nub. Once, twice, three times over before he looked up at her. “Exquisite.”

She pushed herself up to watch as he worked her over. The sight of him fucking her with his mouth and hand enough make her cry out; the sensation enough to make it lost in thick, incomprehensible Dutch. When he brought his eyes to hers, Agatha’s abdomen clenched. He looked near feral with lust but focused entirely on her pleasure. She could not deny the ravenous beauty between her thighs.

Her hips bucked against his mouth, but he held her down with his free hand, pinning her in place as he drank her in. Agatha felt her walls constricting around him, her mind going numb as her world crashed beautifully around her. Dracula removed his fingers from her body and moved to swipe away every last decadent drop of her release with his tongue.

“Brute,” she panted when he finally separated his mouth from her, licking his lips to clean up the remainder of her orgasm.

“I’ve been called worse,” he returned as he trailed kisses back up her body.

“Mm,” was all she managed to get out before he kissed her with a muted fervor. If she hadn’t known better, Agatha would almost mistake it for tenderness.

“Now.” He glanced between them, observing every part of her, as though memorizing her features. Another rumble of thunder sounded as lightning veined through the sky. Through the shadows the brief instant of light caused, Agatha could have sworn she saw something bittersweet in his expression. “Shall we begin?”

Whatever she thought she saw…it was gone, replaced by a wolfish grin and eyes as dark as pits. She glanced down in time to watch Dracula align his cock at her entrance. Her nerves buzzed endlessly as he rubbed his hardened length between her folds, coating himself in her juices.

“Fute,” came his moan as his cockhead dipped inside of her. She had two options. Fute in French, meaning something that’s cute. Or her second choice, Fute in Romanian, meaning fuck. Agatha had many vices in life, gambling being one of them. The higher the stakes, the greater the reward.

“You will mind your tongue while inside of me.”

“Oh, that’s right. You speak Romanian, don’t you?” His uttered inquiry was painted in obvious amusement. He clearly missed the other obvious truth to her statement. Like it or not, she was what Dracula would call his bride. All languages were the same.

“There is a certain level of study and exploration that requires the knowledge of many languages,” she explained as he stilled his head inside of her. There was genuine interest in his eyes, but he pushed deeper into her with a slow thrust of his hips. A groan escaped her and echoed against the rocks as he filled her, his cock pulsing against her tight walls. Her arms wrapped tightly around his back, nails hooking into his skin, as he pushed a bit further, hitting her limit as he bottomed out.

She cried out his name into the last of the fading night as he pulled his hips back slowly, nearly exiting her entirely, before thrusting back into her. The storm raged around them, but they ignored it entirely. Agatha could only focus on the way his cock felt buried inside of her and the small grunts and moans he made with each movement.

“I misspoke earlier when I called you wicked,” he uttered, his breath hitching as her nails split open the skin upon his back. “Wicked is fun. Lively is dangerous. Feral is useless. But you, Agatha…”

Her name was a groan on his lips as he shifted to meet her gaze. Dracula withdrew from her completely, paused for a moment to take in the sight of her, and thrust mercilessly back into her. His pace felt like a prayer and a punishment inside of her. “You are perfect.”

Pressure built within her as he continued to angle himself perfectly, pushing deep inside of her to hit every possible spot he could. “Perfect.”

Her lips met his halfway as he lost his rhythm, his ministrations erratic as he started to chase his high. With the rain crashing down around them, their bodies slid easily together, and Dracula did not have to wait long for his release. A stuttered moan tore through his throat as he buried himself deep within her and spilled inside of her once, another thrust, twice. He pushed inside of her one final time and Agatha lost herself to him. “Perfect.”

She clung to him as she came, one hand buried in his hair, the other clutching his shoulder as her legs wrapped around his waist, securing him tightly inside of her. A silent, shaking breath that turned into a cry of reverence. Hot tears pricked at the corners of her tightly closed eyes as her orgasm overtook her, her head dropping back. Her legs trembled as she slowly released her hold of him. Liquid beads rolled down her temples from sheer pleasure.

Dracula’s jaw slacked as he looked upon her, exhausted and appeased. He did that to her, to the nun who swore his death, and she had wanted every second of it. As a nun, no, as a human, she could not allow herself such sin; as a vampire, however, she knew herself to be damned and could sin without consequence to her mortal soul.

She gasped as he pulled out of her, her body still crackling with excitement. If her heart could beat it would be throbbing, her lungs would burn, and she doubted that her pelvis would still be in one piece.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to her cheek, and at last her lips before he fell to the earth next to her. The storm continued to rage around them and only when the thunder crashed in the sky did she notice that she was in Dracula’s hold. Her head was on the undamaged part of his chest, arm wrapped comfortably around him while he held her to him.

“I need to give you something before I go,” announced the Count without preamble.

Agatha propped herself up to look at him and took note of the severity of his tone.

“The estate and some funds to return to Holland. You’re going to need to rest at some point. The less a vampire rests, the weaker they become, the stronger their impulses become. While you have extraordinary self-control, I don’t think you’ll last through the week without needing to feed again, especially with how low that poor fellow was.”

Reality seeped back into the forefront of Agatha’s mind as he sat them both up. She was going to need to feed and who she fed on decided how she was to live her life.

“I’ll try to stay awake for as long as I can to help you through the first few ni--”

“Why would you offer your help now?” she interjected, perplexed.

“Because I enjoy you, Agatha Van Helsing, more than I’ve enjoyed anyone in hundreds of years,” he started curtly. “You deserve a fighting chance if you really are set on staking me.”

“Let me guess, under the condition that I do not do so while you sleep?”

Always an ultimatum.

“Precisely.”

“Then I have a condition of my own.”

“Name it.” He moved closer to her as he spoke, fingers moving strands of soaking hair behind her ear with a grin on his face. She hated him for the warmth that unfurled in her stomach at the touch.

“If I figure out, with certainty, what it is you fear, I get to wake you early.”

His smile grew as a breath of laughter left him. “Is that all?”

She nodded her head as he moved in to take her lips. A kiss of excitement, of challenge. Another game for them to play. Another hunt. This time, he was the prey. She returned it with equal but opposite emotion. There was devastation in her kiss, a promise to him that she would be back before he would wake.

“Agatha, while I’m certain of your ability of discovery, I don’t think our reunion will go as you are currently anticipating. Here,” he beckoned as he reached for the ring upon his finger. “Proof enough that you are a member of my house to get you into Carfax Abbey. From there, contact my law firm, the paperwork should be there. Johnny made sure of it before he traveled to Transylvania. You should be able to access some of my banking information, if not, you can always talk your way onto a ship, I’m sure.”

Even when emerging from the wolf, Dracula had not taken the ring off. The significance of it was not lost to her as he set it in her palm. There was something about the situation that disturbed her. She should be refusing him. Killing him then and there, taking out him and any vampire he may have ever created. Hold him to the sunlight, something.

But she only listened. Perhaps, she wanted the fair fight he was offering her. Or maybe he had a stronger influence over her than she thought. Or perhaps it was something else entirely that gave her pause. Regardless, as the Count continued to instruct her, she committed every word to memory.

She followed him to the water after they were done talking. The gravel underfoot was much softer with the rainfall. As they reached nearer to the shore, he surrendered his clothes to her as hers were covered with blood and unfit to wear into town. She was going to have to claim her status as his wife, no doubt an amusing part of the plan for him.

“I’m going to miss you. Find somewhere safe, will you? I’d hate to find out you burned to dust on your first day.” He smirked at her, admiration aglow in his dark eyes as the sky lightened behind the clouds.

“I’m sure you’ll manage. Goodbye, Count Dracula,” she stated and extended her hand.

Dracula scoffed at her formality and took her hand in his. He turned it so her knuckles were bent and placed a kiss upon their ridges. Before she could have time to protest, he pulled her against him, his lips crashing down on hers. A low growl sounded deep in his chest as she met his kiss with matched passion.

“Easy, boy.” She was going to miss him.

“One last thing,” he muttered as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“You’re really playing with fire, aren’t you?” She was going to miss him.

“Not the first time,” chuckled Dracula as he raised his wrist to her. “Drink.”

“What? Why?” Agatha shot him a confused look.

He sliced at the flesh with his thumb, the blood running down his forearm within seconds. “Over four-hundred years of knowledge is why. You need to know things that I don’t have time to explain. Drink.”

She nodded, took his forearm in her hold, her fangs extending, and sank her teeth into him. Thousands of memories burst into color. Wars, trades, murders, usurpations, lovers, lives, deaths… Everything played out in her mind as she drank. Her world expanded tenfold and she moaned as he held her steady to him.

She tightened her hold on him and pressed her weight into him until he fell back against the sand under him. Agatha broke from his arm as she felt emotion sweep over her that was not her own. She moved to straddle him, undoing the too long pants around her waist and kicked them off.

The whites of her eyes darkened into crimson as she looked down at him, her hand reaching behind her and grabbing at his already half-hard shaft. She moved forward, glanced at his jugular, and descended upon the expanse.

“We don’t have time to--” His speech was lost as she sank her teeth into him. She released her hold of his erection and focused on the way his blood ran through his artery, but did not drink from him. “Agatha…”

Before she had time to act, Dracula sat up, his hand moving between them to guide him to her entrance once more. He sank into her without hesitation and began thrusting his hips with what all that he had left. Agatha cried out, involuntarily parting from his neck, and brought her lips to his. She held him in a breathless kiss as he moved into her, relentless and final, clinging to whatever she picked up in his blood.

He came first, thrusting up into her and groaning something in Romanian as he filled her yet again. Dracula shifted to make her more comfortable, continued his pace, remaining hard as his thumb snaked between them to find her nub. Once found, he teased it out of time with the roll of his hips, sending her over the top. She curled against him as she came, fingers balling into fists against his shoulders.

“How did it taste?” he asked as she lifted herself off of him. Agatha looked to the slacks beside her but decided to not put them on. Not while she was dripping from both of them.

“Like blood,” she lied as she stood and headed for the water. She knew he wouldn’t settle for that answer. His ego wouldn’t allow him.

“I could find out for myself you know. One little listen to your thoughts and I can know the truth,” he reminded as he followed her.

“Do as you must,” instructed Agatha unfazed by his threat, the water pooling around her waist. He turned his gaze to the sky and noticed the light growing, his nostrils twitching impatiently. She looked to her side and noticed him standing beside her, staring down at her. “Return to your box, Dracula, before we both turn to ash.”

He took a few steps forward then paused. She watched as he turned in the water just enough for his eyes to meet hers. “Stay alive, Agatha. It would be an awfully boring future without you.”

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